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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years

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A Sister for BB-8

Words: 1148 Pairing: Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral!Reader Summary: Reader is Poe Dameron’s significant other with a pension for scheming. This time the Commander has come upon his partner surrounded by unidentifiable parts and bright buckets of paint. One thing is for sure, Reader always keeps him on his toes.

“What are you doing, Captain?” You looked over your shoulder to see the newly minted Commander Poe Dameron walking towards you. You looked away from him to focus on the on your current project.

Poe took in the scene he’d walked upon. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a semi-circle of open paint jars. They were colors the resistance, and probably most of the galaxy, hadn’t seen in years. One jar of pale pink, a brilliant magenta, a bright green and a dark grassy tone were each sitting with a brush balanced precariously atop them. A smaller container of black was held in one of your hands its companion brush hanging lazily out of your mouth. Littering the floor along with your painting supplies were several tools. This included a sonic screwdriver that he remembered lending to Rey.

“Are you going to make me ask you again?” Poe sighed.

“WhatdoesitlooklikeImdoing?” You questioned with the paintbrush still in your mouth. He could write you up for insubordination. You supposed being the highest-ranking being at the outpost gave him that right. He’d even gone as far as threatening to do it once or twice since becoming general, But Poe never stayed mad at you. At least not usually.

“Come again?” He asked, making a great show of leaning in to hear you. Rolling your eyes, you took the paint brush out of your mouth.

“I said What does it look like I’m doing?” You gestured at the heap of scraps in front of you. Poe could tell you were building something, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was meant to be.

“Making a mess on the only freighter ship I have access to on world.” He said, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead.

“I cleared it with Rey beforehand. She said I can use the Falcon for as long as I need.” You explained. “I wouldn’t just take over the lounge area of her ship without asking.”

“No one asked me if it was okay!” Poe argued. “What if I needed Rey and Chewy to take the Falcon to get supplies?”

“Do you need Rey and Chewy to get supplies?”It seemed he wasn’t going to be going away any time soon, so you put down the pot of paint in your hand and your brush on top of it.

“No, but…”

Poe, she’s a Pre-Empire freighter.” You interrupted him. “The Falcon takes so long to get started up I would have plenty of time to put my supplies away before Rey and Chewy needed to take off.”

“What are you building anyway?” He scrutinized the pile of parts, tools and paint.

“I’m glad you asked! I’m building a friend for Baby.” Baby was your nickname for Poe’s personal atromech. It has started when you told him he looked after the droid as if he were his own child.

“BB-8 doesn’t need a friend. He has me.” Poe disagreed.

“Okay, then I’m building a friend for me.” You shrugged.

“All of this, is going to turn into a droid?” He gestured at the all-around chaos you’d left in your wake.

“Well, she’s going to be small. Have you ever seen a BD droid?” You began sealing up your paints and trying to clean your work area. It was getting close to dinner time.

“A BD? How in the world did you find a BD droid on this planet?” He wanted to know.

“Well, I didn’t exactly find it here…but I didn’t spend any of our credits either.” You rushed to assure him. “See I told Rey I wanted a droid of my own and she asked Chewbacca how one goes about getting a droid on this planet and he mentioned the Jawas and…”

“Jawas?!” Poe’s eyes widened and his brows shot towards the ceiling.

“Let me finish!” You hissed impatiently. “So Chewy remembered that he and Han had a whole hanger of unused parts at Maz’s place. He sent her a holo and she was able to ship a few crates of stuff over. Rey translated to the Jawas for us and got me all the parts I needed. All I have to do is help her and Chewy re-run the hydraulic fuel line for the lifts. I get some workspace and a droid, the Falcon gets updated hydraulics.”

“Uh-huh, and did the Jawas have five buckets of paint available too?” His face had rearranged from incredulous to amused.

“Okay, that I did have to order with credits, but I promise every cent of it was my own. I wanted her to stand out.” You explained. “I’m painting her the colors of this fruit we used to have on my home planet. I really only ever ate them in the summer, but I always loved the colors. A hard green rind on the outside with a white to red gradient inside. They didn’t have an overwhelming flavor but they were so watery and juicy!”

“So what are you going to call this little melon droid?” He crouched down to inspect the pieces you’d painted. It looked like you’d nearly finished before he interrupted you.

“Haven’t thought of a nickname yet. The first part of her serial number is BD-4, which I like because it’s half of eight, and she’ll be half the size of BB-8. Like a lil’ sister. Plus, my partner was born on the fourth moon of Yavin.” You kissed Poe on the cheek. “Anyway, I think having Four around will be good. Not only will it give Baby someone to talk to in his own language, but Four will be full of useful tools. I mean she’ll have the standard scomp link and holoprojector, but BDs were designed to aid researchers and explorers. She’ll have grippy little feet that’ll make walking on all sorts of terrain easy. I’ve even seen people use BDs for ziplining or attaching weapons to them!”

“Droids don’t need to have weapons.” Poe laughed.

“I think Artoo would disagree.” You told him.

“Fine!” Poe conceded. “You can keep the BD, sorry, Four. But she’s your responsibility! I don’t want to hear you’ve stolen away any of my communications officers to help you program it am I clear?”

“One question, if someone volunteers to help say Finn or Rose, am I allowed to say yes?” You asked.

“I’m just going to assume you’ve already roped them in somehow so fine. No finish cleaning up so we can eat. I’m starving.” He ordered.

“Ooh what are we having for dinner?” You wondered excitedly.

“Something fast and from a food synthesizer since my partner has been out bartering with Jawas and painting droid parts all day.” He teased.

“I mean it was this or I upgrade the hyperdrive in your X-Wing.” You shrugged.

“Don’t even think about touching her!” He warned with a smirk.

Author’s Note: Can we normalize the idea of making droids fun colors? Like okay a watermelon colored BD might be ugly but she could be cute!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron reader insert #poe dameron fan fiction #poe dameron fan fic

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revoleotion · 3 years

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for a writing request: some rey and luke father-daughter shenanigans? maybe like rey reminding luke about how much wonder the galaxy holds while in return luke is teaching her force stuff? it’s kinda vague cuz my brain can’t come up with anything else but i know i’ll love where you’ll go with this!

them!! this was so much fun? And it might not be TLJ canon but that's what we do for porg nuggets jokes.

content warnings: discussion of meat/food

“Is that porg?” Rey asks, gesturing down on the piece of meat Luke served her. The Jedi looks at her like she just suggested joining the First Order, or perhaps spontaneously turned into a Jawa. She looks down on her hands. No, still human, and unusually clean because Luke asked her to wash them before dinner.

“What,” Luke asks back, except that he can't really turn it into a question. It comes out as something in between, an offended little word. “No, of course not.”

“I wouldn't have minded!” Rey says because, really, she doesn't. She's not that interested in where her food comes from, which is a natural thing that happens when you grow up on a poor desert planet all by yourself. She wouldn't do rats again, at least not if she doesn't have to, but there's worse things than porg.

“You're... you're a very strange person,” Luke tells her. It's probably the most emotion he's shown towards her so far, and the way he's looking at her suggests that he might even be amused. He's not how she imagined him to be. No, he's almost the exact opposite of that. Where Leia has been kind, Luke is rough. Where Leia pushes on, Luke gave up. And even though both of them glow so bright in the Force that Rey can't help but feel drawn to them, she can tell that Luke is hiding most of his Light.

“Happens when you grow up on Jakku,” Rey replies. “The desert doesn't make it easy.”

“Tell me about it.” Luke drops his piece of unidentifiable meat down on his makeshift plate and sits up straighter. “Tatooine. But I assume you already knew that.”

She shrugs. She only knows so much about the legend Luke Skywalker, and looking at him now makes her wonder if any of it is true at all. Apparently, some of it is.

“Well, truth to be told, I was actually born on Coruscant. If you trust Ben's word, which I do.”

The name has a painful little sting to it, even though that's not how it always was to Luke, Rey assumes. The name Ben must've been something nice, once, something full of wonder, something that left enough of an impact to be carried on into Luke's life, all the way over to his sister and her child and...

“Not that Ben,” Luke says, like he can read his mind. He probably can; Rey is not good at hiding her more obvious thoughts. “But I assume, in a way, we've come full circle now.”

She looks at him. “We need you.”

Luke sighs, rolls his eyes, picks up his food again. “Nice way to ruin the conversation. I already told you, I'm not going.”

“Then teach me.” She asked him before, honestly, it feels like all she's been doing ever since she reached this planet. “Like Ben taught you.”

She hopes that this part is true, at least. Luke's eyes are blue, she notices, when he stares at her with what seems to be an odd mixture of surrender and curiosity. He's giving up, giving in.

“You're a strange person,” he repeats.

“So you've said, Master.”

Luke mutters a curse Rey is very sure she has picked up in the darker corners of Jakku, back in the day. He's smiling.

“There's this very old Jedi saying. That should be the first thing I teach you. Are you ready?”

Rey is ready. Or at least as ready as she can be. She nods, eager to learn whatever wisdom Luke is willing to share.

“It goes like this.” Luke takes a deep breath, and then the smile widens and Rey is very sure that he waited years, if not decades to reveal this. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

#star wars #fanfic #luke skywalker #rey skywalker #the last jedi? we don't know her

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spoon-writes · 4 years

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Chapter 22 | Ends of the Earth

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse, and soon they travel across the galaxy looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 22 - A Mandalorian Walks Into A Bar

The trepidation that had been clinging to the back of Din's mind ever since they entered the system ballooned into a whole new beast as soon as he stepped out of the ship. The hangar on Alpha was crowded, ships and sentients packed tightly together, recycled air thick with smoke and harsh chemicals. Eyes bored into his armor, and he made sure his blaster was ready and within reach. Two Bothans stood in the shadows between two ships, and one of them nudged the other and nodded not so subtly towards Din.

So it was going to be one of those days.

In front of the nearest access gate, a dead Twi'lek lay on the floor, a blade buried deep in his chest and a pool of blood slowly growing underneath him. The crowd stepped over the body, tracking blood into the station. A Jawa scurried across the floor and dove for his pockets, but it seemed like someone had already grabbed whatever there was to steal.

The gate led down a dimly lit corridor that curved all the way around the station. It was clear it hadn't been built to serve as a haven for pirates; through the murk, he spotted a flickering sign leading to the mess hall.

It had been the right call to leave the kid on Zessol, but Din still had a nagging worry that something was going to happen. He knew Sinead would keep him safe - she had risked her life for him before – but the people hunting the child would never stop. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

He passed a cantina, music blasting through the open doors loud enough to make his teeth rattle. The ground was sticky with drink and other mystery fluids that were spilled on Alpha.

Sinead's face kept popping up in his mind, unbidden, and smoldering anger made his pulse speed up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the look in her eyes when realization struck back on Seavo. She’d looked broken. And now Kyen was just like those who’d brought her to Sriluur. His hands curled into fists.

The next cantina was darker and less crowded, the air hazy with smoke and grease from an open fire where a Wookiee was roasting a slab of unidentifiable meat. He stepped inside, and what little conversation there was fell into a hush. The bartender put down his tankard when Din approached.

"Looking for someone," he said, putting a hand on the countertop to show he was unarmed.

"Not gunna find 'em here."

A couple of credits landed on the table between them. They disappeared into the bartender’s sleeve in the blink of an eye.

"Aye?"

"Kyen Beck. That mean anything to you?"

"Nope."

"What about Red Vekkass?"

The bartender's eyes flickered. "Might know a thing or two. Might not."

More credits landed on the table.

“Some of his crew stops by now and then, you know, to lay off steam. S’long as they don’t give me any problems, I don’t ask questions.”

“Where is he?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

Din’s fingers twitched. “Where do I find the right person?”

Had Sinead been there she would have had the bartender wrapped around her little finger by now.

“Dunno.”

"That's not good enough." Din stared at the man, clenching his teeth under his helmet.

For a fraction of a second, the bartender's eyes flickered to something behind Din. Stepping back, he grabbed two bottles from behind the bar and hid them under the counter.

"Evenin', fella."

Din didn't take his eyes off the bartender.

A large Nikto leaned against the bar to his right, tapping a rhythm on the worn wood. "Don't see many Mandalorians around these days. Thought you all died, or somethin'."

"Nice armor." A human man appeared on his other side. "Very shiny, isn't it."

"Very shiny, yeah. Say, how much you pay for a thing like that?" The Nikto leaned closer, his breath slightly fogging Din’s visor. He could smell the stink of alcohol.

Breathing slowly, Din widened his stance and analyzed the situation. The human seemed clearheaded, but the Nikto was leaning heavily against the bar, his eyes slightly unfocused.

The anger grew from embers into flames.

"Ay." The Nikto grinned, and there was a sliver of grey meat caught between his front teeth. "I'm talking to you." He reached for the helmet.

Stepping back, Din grabbed the Nikto’s wrist, twisting it around and slamming his other hand down on his arm until there was a sickening crack. The Nikto crumbled to the ground with a scream.

Metal glinted in the light, and Din ducked under a blade aimed at his throat. The human grunted in frustration and swung the blade again, which scraped against the beskar. Din dispatched him with a sharp knee to the gut and a punch in the throat.

A flask smashed on the ground. A human halfway out of his seat sat down slowly and averted his eyes.

Din rounded on the bartender, who slunk back, hand inching beneath the counter.

"Don't even think about it," Din barked, and the bartender froze, fearful eyes straying to the patrons, who all looked stiffly into their drinks.

"I'm not gonna ask you again." Din leaned over the counter and grabbed the bartender by the collar. "Where is Red Vekkass?"

"I-I don't know, I really don't! Some of his gang were in here not long ago, you might be able to catch them!"

"Where?"

"Level 25. The big Twi’lek calls the shots, is sweet on one of Madame Jath's girls. I'm sure you'll find him there. It’s down in the old morgue.”

Din watched the sniveling little man for a second. He could be lying, but Din had to get out of there. It was only a matter of time before whatever fear gripped the rest of the patrons dissipated.

"If you're lying to me, I'll be back."

He left the silent cantina and started pushing his way to the lift that would take him to level 25.

The fight had been too short. His body thrummed with adrenaline; every sound, every change in the air felt like a shock to his system. Starting another fight would be easy; if there was one thing Alpha didn't lack it was hostility. Had he been younger, he probably would have stayed for another brawl, but now he had two people waiting for him on the planet below.

Level 25 was near the bottom of the station, a labyrinth of seedy establishments and darkened apartments where groups of sentients sat around open fires. The harsh air found its way under his helmet, making his eyes sting. Multicolored lights broke through the haze, streaming from open doors that led to spice dens or brothels where tired-looking women of various species called out to possible patrons.

He found the old morgue tucked into a dark corner. A Wookiee leaned against the wall beside the wall. He glared at a Snivvian who dared to cross the threshold. Other than that, the place was quiet.

Finding a spot in view of the door, Din leaned against the wall and waited. A sickly smell of trash filled the air, and he concentrated on breathing through his mouth, trying to push all thoughts of Sinead and the child out of his head.

He was about to go in there himself when a young human man appeared, looking around before stealing into the bordello. He was small and wiry, out of place among the pirates and smugglers. Five minutes of standing in the choking stink and greasy smoke later, the human finally came back out, supporting a Twi'lek that dwarfed him in both height and weight with an almost visible cloud of alcohol. A stumbling Gamorrean with one large tusk broken at the tip made up the rear.

"Get your kriffin' hands off me," the Twi'lek burbled and tried to tug himself free.

"Wait!" The human struggled under the weight. "We need to head back-- Vekkass said-"

Din perked up at the name, and he followed as they stumbled through level 25, taking care not to lose them in the crowd.

"You think I give a flyin' kriff wha’ he s-says ..." The Twi'lek lost his balance and hit the ground with a crash. The Gamorrean threw up against the wall. "Don't just stand there, boy, help me up!"

At last, they ended up in a hallway void of anyone except a small rodent scurrying across the ground with a piece of moldy bread in its mouth. As sounds of sentients fell away, Din heard the engine humming from somewhere below.

The Gamorrean stopped to dry heave, clinging to an overflowing dumpster, while the other two shambled ahead. Din moved silently, his footsteps concealed by the hum and bangs that came from the station. He lowered his center of gravity, got ready to attack.

The Gamorrean let out a squeal. Din grabbed one flailing hand by the wrist and slammed him into the side of the dumpster with a crash. He was out like a light.

The Twi’lek whirled around, yanking the kid with him. His watery eyes widened, and a strangled gasp escaped his mouth before he pushed the kid towards Mando and started running. He made it two meters where a patch of uneven ground tripped him up, and he fell headfirst into a wall and slumped to the floor.

The kid pulled out a blaster. Din started running, letting one blaster bolt ping off his armor, before reaching out and yanking the weapon away. He pushed the kid to the ground, who crawled until his back hit the wall. "Y-you d-don't know who you're dealing with."

"Red Vekkass," Din snapped. "Where can I find him?"

"I-I don't know-"

"Don't try me. I know you work for him. Where is he?"

The Twi’lek groaned.

The human took a deep breath, ready to yell when Din grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"He's not gonna help you. Tell me now!"

“He’ll kill me for this.”

“I’ll kill you. Where?”

"H-he's in the Dalchon sector. A mining station above Dilo."

Dalchon sector. They were close enough.

Din looked down at the pale face with a mop of unruly dark hair and blue eyes bright with fear. He looked too young to be mixed up with all of this, even though Din had been younger the first time he had picked up a blaster. This kid, though, didn't look like he was cut out for the pirate life.

A sudden, uncomfortable knot formed in the pit of Din's stomach.

"You from Seavo?"

The kid swallowed. "How do you know that?"

Of course.

Din gritted his teeth. He released the kid and gave him a hard shove down the hallway. "Go home," his voice was deep with threats. "Don't come back to Alpha. Don't go anywhere near Dalchon. Find the first ship out of here and go. Home."

"But what-"

Din took a step forward and sent the kid skittering through the doors without looking back. Giving him a moment's head start, Din started back towards the hangar, grateful that he didn't have to spend any more time in the suffocating, smoke-filled station. He left the Gamorrean bleeding and the Twi'lek trying to pick himself off the floor. Killing them wasn’t worth the plasma.

When the ramp to the Crest closed behind him, he allowed himself to breathe out deeply, relax his shoulders and close his eyes for just a moment. The stink of Alpha clung to his armor like sludge.

Finally, after waiting for the swarm of starships to let up, he had permission to land back on Zessol. Through the window, he saw a minuscule Sinead stand by the landing pad with a bundle in her arms. He paused in his tracks when the ramp came down; Sinead was spattered with mud and grime, her braid partly undone, the loose strands hung limply down her face. The kid sat in her arms, chewing happily on a piece of candy. His face and hands were covered with sugar.

"What happened to you?"

She let out a slow sigh. "You know what? Don't worry about it."

As she came closer, a stab of sewage met Din’s nostrils. She handed him the child. "He needs a proper name."

"... okay?" Din turned and watched her disappear into the ship. The kid left a sticky handprint on his vambrace.

Inside, he found her carefully peeling off her jacket on throwing it on the floor. There was a small gash on her arm that she carefully examined.

"Uh, Mando? Can you ..." she gestured to the ladder. "I need a shower …”

A small jolt went through him, and he cleared his throat. “Uh, right.”

Once the door to the cockpit shut, Din looked down at the child, who was happily chewing on the candy. "What've you two been up to?"

He placed the kid in his chair and booted the navicomputer to calculate the route to the Dalchon system. He tried not thinking about Sinead. The sound of running water was audible beneath the noise of Zessol.

One last trip, and it would all be over. They would both get what they wanted; Sinead would get answers, and he would get the nau’orar. He could go back to dodging bounty hunters and keeping a low profile. Without Sinead, his life would become marginally easier; at least, the amounts of life-threatening situations would decrease.

He flexed his hand that had been damaged by the nexu, a tremor of pain prickling across his skin.

Finally, the navicomputer beeped, and the ship rose from the platform, jumping into hyperspace as soon as it was out of Zessol’s orbit.

The door opened, and the scent of soap announced Sinead's arrival.

"You okay?" He gave her a quick glance; her cheeks were tinged with pink, her long hair left wet trails on her shirt.

"Yeah. It looked worse than it was." She leaned forwards and peered at the navicomputer. "You find out where we're going?"

"They're holed up somewhere in the Dalchon sector."

She released a slow, shaking breath. "Alright."

He wanted to say something, but his mind was drawing a blank and all the words burned in his throat. The anger was back, intense, and insistent. He wanted to punch something. Preferably Kyen. He chanced another glance at Sinead, who was staring into the whirling mist of hyperspace, the pulsing blue light simmering in her eyes.

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: sinead

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scavengersholocron · 6 years

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Fresh this week from the Star Wars website, they have given us a glimpse of what to expect from the new Star Wars novel: Thrawn: Alliances. The book is being released on July 24th, 2018 and will give us a look at the first meeting between Grand Admiral Thrawn and General Anakin Skywalker. We first heard about this interaction in the original Thrawn book and if you were like me, you were interested in the story that lay hidden there and hoped that Timothy Zahn would take advantage of the hype and tell us more about it in the future. Well, it appears the future is here and from the excerpt below, it appears that we will definitely be getting a glimpse into that past.

I’m excited to read the story and see what is in store for the fans. If I were to take an educated guess, like many of the Star Wars novels, I think this story will be jumping back and forth from the present day to the past. I’m sure that they will be perfectly woven, with past events giving us an insight into the current events taking place in the story.

From the summary proved about the book (seen below) I had a feeling that we would get some backstory on the original meeting of the two masters:

“Ominous words under any circumstances, but all the more so when uttered by Emperor Palpatine. On Batuu, at the edges of the Unknown Regions, a threat to the Empire is taking root—its existence little more than a glimmer, its consequences as yet unknowable. But it is troubling enough to the Imperial leader to warrant investigation by his most powerful agents: ruthless enforcer Lord Darth Vader and brilliant strategist Grand Admiral Thrawn. Fierce rivals for the emperor’s favor, and outspoken adversaries on Imperial affairs—including the Death Star project—the formidable pair seem unlikely partners for such a crucial mission. But the Emperor knows it’s not the first time Vader and Thrawn have joined forces. And there’s more behind his royal command than either man suspects.

In what seems like a lifetime ago, General Anakin Skywalker of the Galactic Republic, and Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo, officer of the Chiss Ascendancy, crossed paths for the first time. One on a desperate personal quest, the other with motives unknown . . . and undisclosed. But facing a gauntlet of dangers on a far-flung world, they forged an uneasy alliance—neither remotely aware of what their futures held in store.

Now, thrust together once more, they find themselves bound again for the planet where they once fought side by side. There they will be doubly challenged—by a test of their allegiance to the Empire . . . and an enemy that threatens even their combined might.”

I personally cannot wait to see what the two have in store for us readers. Both Thrawn and Darth Vader fighting to be Emperor Palpatine’s right-hand man. Master of the Force vs Master of the Mind. Honestly, if you think about it, both Darth Vader and Thrawn combined are essentially Emperor Palpatine himself!

After reading the exerpt below I am now more excited that before about getting my hands on this book come July 24th!

Pulled directly from the release by StarWars.com:

Taking a final look at the nav display, Anakin pointed the Actis toward the horizon and poured power to the drive—

Abruptly, R2-D2 trilled a warning. “What is it?” Anakin said, frowning as he checked his rear display.

And felt the back of his neck tingle. There was a ship back there, the size of a medium freighter but of unknown configuration.

Settling into orbit right beside his hyperdrive ring.

“Unknown ship, this is General Anakin Skywalker of the Galactic Republic,” he called. “Identify yourself and state your purpose.”

Nothing. Maybe they didn’t communicate on any of the Republic’s standard frequencies.

Or, more likely this far out, didn’t speak Galactic Basic.

Anakin pursed his lips, running through his list of trade languages. He knew Huttese and Jawa Trade Language fairly well, but Batuu was a long way from Hutt influence. Meese Caulf? He was a bit far out for that, but it was the best he had. “Unidentified ship, this is General Anakin Skywalker of the Galactic Republic,” he said, working hard to wrap his mouth around the Meese Caulf words and hoping he was getting the grammatical structure right. “You are intruding on Republic equipment and interfering with a Republic mission. I order you to pull back and identify yourself.”

“I greet you,” a calm voice came back in the same language. “Did you give your name as General Skywalker?”

“I did,” Anakin said, frowning. “Why, have you heard of me?”

“No, not at all,” the other said. “I was merely surprised. Let me assure you I mean no harm to you or your equipment. I merely wished a closer look at this interesting device.”

“Glad to hear it,” Anakin said. “You’ve had your look. Pull back as ordered.”

There was a pause. Then, at a leisurely pace, the ship drifted away from the ring. “May I ask what brings a Republic envoy to this part of space?” the intruder asked.

“May I ask what business it is of yours?” Anakin countered. It wasn’t very polite, but he wasn’t feeling in a particularly polite mood. Every minute he was stuck out here making sure this prowler behaved himself was a minute he couldn’t spend looking for Padmé. “You can be on your way at any time.”

“On my way?”

“To continue your travels,” Anakin said. “To go wherever you were going before you stopped to look at my hyperdrive ring.”

Another silence. The alien ship, to Anakin’s annoyance, had halted its sideways drift and was now pacing the hyperdrive ring at a distance of a hundred meters. Still far too close for comfort. “Yes, I could continue on my way,” the intruder said. “But it might be more useful for me to assist you in your quest.”

R2-D2 gave a puzzled twitter. “I already told you I was on a Republic mission,” Anakin said. “It’s not a quest.”

“Yes, I recall your words,” the intruder assured him. “But I find it hard to believe that a Republic at war would send a lone man in a lone fighter craft on a mission. I find it more likely that you travel on a personal quest.”

“I’m on a mission,” Anakin ground out. This was starting to be really irritating. “Directly ordered here by Supreme Chancellor Palpatine himself.” Not that Palpatine even knew Anakin was here, of course, let alone sanctioning the mission. But if the stranger had heard of the Clone Wars he’d surely heard of Palpatine, and dropping the chancellor’s name might add some weight to his side of the conversation. “And I don’t have time for this.”

“Agreed,” the other said. “Perhaps it would be best if I were to simply show you the location of the ship you seek.”

Anakin’s hands tightened on the yoke. “Explain,” he said quietly.

“I know where the Nubian ship landed,” the intruder said. “I know the pilot is missing.”

Anakin ground his teeth. “So you intercepted a private transmission?”

“I have my own sources of information,” the intruder said, his voice still calm. “Like you, I seek information, on that and other matters. Also like you I’m alone, without the resources to successfully investigate. Perhaps in alliance with a Republic general we may find the answers both of us seek.”

“Interesting offer,” Anakin said. And now, finally, he was close enough. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out to the Force.

The intruder wasn’t human, though of course Anakin had already guessed that. He was near-human, though, like many other species in the Republic.

But the texture of his mind was unlike anything Anakin had ever touched before. It was neat and well ordered, the patterns of thought flowing smoothly and precisely in ways not unlike those of scientists or mathematicians. But the content of that flow, and the muted emotions accompanying it, were completely opaque. It was like a neat and precise array of unfamiliar numbers.

“So what answers are you looking for?”

“I wish to more fully understand this conflict in which you’re embroiled,” the intruder said. “I wish answers of right and wrong, of order and chaos, of strength and weakness, of purpose and reaction.” There was a slight pause; and when the voice came back there was a new formality to it. “You asked my identity. I am now prepared to give it. I am Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo, officer of the Expansionary Defense Fleet, servant of the Chiss Ascendancy. On behalf of my people, I ask your assistance in learning of this war before it sweeps its disaster over our own worlds.”

“Fine,” Anakin said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll make preparations at once,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “One additional thought. Chiss names are difficult for many species to properly pronounce. I suggest you address me by my core name: Thrawn.”

“That’s all right, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Anakin said. Did this being go out of his way to be annoying and condescending? “I think I can handle it.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” the alien said.

“That’s what I said,” Anakin said. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“It’s pronounced Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Yes. Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Anakin clenched his teeth. He could hear a slight difference between his pronunciation and the alien’s. But he couldn’t figure out how to correct his version. “Fine,” he growled. “Thrawn.”

“Thank you,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo—Thrawn—said. “It will make things easier. My shuttle is prepared. Let us depart.”

Thrawn: Alliances Excerpt Released Fresh this week from the Star Wars website, they have given us a glimpse of what to expect from the new Star Wars novel:

#anakin skywalker #Darth Vader #Novel #scavengers holocron #scavengersholocron #Star Wars #Star Wars Novel #thrawn #Thrawn: Alliances

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depizan · 7 years

Text

Look, it’s a ficlet! For the first time in ages, and not even particularly maudlin or anything!

For the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge prompt Celebration, and because @darth-char suggested I write Kyrian and Jezari Life Day fluff, I present...

Kyrian and Jezari Life Day fluff.

Tatooine wasn’t high on Jezari’s list of planets to spend Life Day on, but holidays came second to credits when you had a crew to feed. And, in this case, credits had meant a delivery to a settlement so tiny their landing pad was a fused circle of sand just big enough for the Luck.

The huddle of sandy buildings consisted of one cantina (doing double-duty as the town hall), several houses, and a repair shop run by an elderly Sullustan. How the town had afforded the delivery of parts and food, Jezari didn’t know. And didn’t want to know. Tatooine was one of those planets where it was best not to ask too many questions.

A sandcrawler was parked perhaps half a kilometer further down the spine of rocks that protected the town from the worst of the desert winds - close enough to attract townspeople who wanted to buy something, and far enough that the Jawas could claim not to know anything about anything that went missing while they were there. It and the lights and tinny music of the cantina were the only signs that the town wasn’t abandoned.

Jezari retreated into the lingering cool of her ship. It seemed just as oddly empty as the town. Risha had rented the repair shop’s speeder for some mysterious errand, Corso and Bowdaar had gone to check out the cantina, and Kyrian… had slipped away at some point.

She knocked on his cabin door. No answer.

Great.

There was no reason to worry. He was an adult. It wasn’t as if he could get lost in the middle of the Tatooine desert; there was no where to go.

Never mind that the Tatooine desert was full of angry natives, desperate criminals, and uncharted Imperial outposts.

Even he wouldn’t just go for a stroll in the desert. Nobody does that. He’d gone off with Corso and Bowdaar, that was the only sensible explanation.

They’d divvied up the credits, Risha had rented the speeder, she’d stayed a moment to reassure the Sullustan that Risha was absolutely reliable and wouldn’t wreck, lose, or steal the speeder… She hadn’t really paid attention to what Corso had said beyond “cantina” and “Bowdaar.” Of course he’d gone with them.

Jezari stopped in the middle of her third circuit of the ship and rubbed her forehead. I’m an idiot. She’d join them at the cantina and pretend the menu wasn’t really “10 things to do with a dead womp rat.” It was better than pacing the Luck and getting worked up over nothing.

Kyrian hadn’t gone to the cantina. She met him coming up the ship’s ramp. He was carrying a large, rather battered metal box. It looked as if it had fallen off the back of a speeder. Repeatedly.

“Where- What is that?”

“Ah.” He looked at the box as if it had just appeared in his hands. “It’s for you, actually.”

She stared at him.

“I think Bowdaar said it was Life Day,” he said. “Republic holiday? Gift giving?” He sounded uncertain. “I thought you’d gone to the cantina with the others.”

“No. I mean, yes it’s Life Day. Cantina food on Tatooine is awful.” She was babbling. “Here. That looks heavy.” She took the box before he could object.

It didn’t look heavy, and wasn’t, but he’d been shifting it more and more to his left side as they’d stood there. She hadn’t been about to say that, though. She set it on the acceleration couch in the lounge.

“It’s for your jewelry making,” Kyrian said. “I thought the Jawas might have interesting… parts.” He waved at the box. “Though I didn’t intend to get this much. I’m not sure if they wanted to make sure I got my credits’ worth, or if they wanted to offload as much as possible before I came to my senses.”

She pried the top off. The box was about two-thirds full of a dazzling array of circuit board fragments, gears, archaic bulbs, tiny crystals, slivers of wiring, and odd and unidentifiable bits of metal and glass. Junk even Jawas couldn’t sell, but with time and tools and jeweler’s wire…

“It’s too strange, isn’t it,” Kyrian said. “I’m sorry. I-”

“It’s wonderful! Thank you.” She hugged him. “If you wore jewelry, I’d make you something. Oh. Your present! Hang on.”

It took her no time at all to retrieve the half-bubble ship’s terrarium she’d picked up on Nar Shaddaa. A tiny garden of moss and ferns grew on dark earth under a clear dome, the whole thing held aloft by a miniature repulsor.

“I know you like nature,” she said, “and I saw you looking at these…”

“Thank you!” His smile lit his face.

She grinned. “I should get you a whole forest.”

“I don’t think that would fit on the ship.”

“A tiny forest? Okay, maybe not, but if this works out,” she tapped the terrarium’s dome, “we could get a couple more for out here. Bigger ones.”

“I’d like that.”

Her crew properly accounted for, Jezari had no intention of subjecting her taste buds to the local cantina’s idea of “food.” The ready meals she stocked the Luck’s galley with weren’t exactly the height of cuisine, either, but they were at least edible.

She and Kyrian took a couple of cushions from the lounge and pushed a cargo pallet out onto the landing pad for an improvised picnic dinner. Tatooine might be hot, sandy, and generally none-too-hospitable, but it did have lovely sunsets.

She’d even collected a bottle of wine from the Luck’s rather limited stores. So it was as cheap as the ready meals, at least it tasted good.

They clinked glasses.

“Happy Life Day.”

#i write #Jezari Solarin #Kyrian Nessar

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thegarbagechute · 7 years

Photo

The Twi'lek tried to carefully put all the pieces of fruit he had just bartered off a merchant in his old, raggedy bag that turned out to be too small this time around for his purchases. The fabric stretched but not by enough to keep some of the holes in it from opening up even further.

He gave up on his attempt to put the last piece in his bag and took it in hand instead while he continued wandering down the dwindling road. On either side of it, merchants and brokers of all kind were starting to take down their stands and remove their wares from the public's eye as the day and the market drew to a close.

A couple of Jawas and their translation droid seemed to be in a heated argument with a Duros fellow who had something clenched tight in his fist and was shaking it furiously at the Jawas, no doubt expressing his opinion on his recent purchase. Even though they were a long ways away from Tatooine, there was no shortage of brokering Jawas on this backwater desert planet either and here too, not all of their goods were worth something despite them claiming otherwise.

Azil'mort paid it no further mind and let his eyes lazily roll to the other side of the road as he walked on, his hands fiddling a little bit with the piece of fruit which closely resembled a dragonfruit.

His eyes fell on a large cage and two gentlemen nearby of unidentifiable species as they had their back turned towards him, grunting and wiping sweat off their brows while they loaded one of the cargo speeders they had with them with smaller cages; some empty and some containing various critters they undoubtedly had intended to sell as pets to the public.

The large cage, too, was still occupied. However, Azil'mort assumed for a brief moment that the beast locked in it was no longer alive as it did not move at all when he walked past until he heard a soft chirp.

He slowed in his step and the creature stirred, weakly lifting up its head. It turned to face him and it edged a little closer to the bars that kept it imprisoned. Intrigued, Azil stopped and observed the creature from where he stood, a mere four steps away from it.

The creature seemed so pale and sickly, that he never would have guessed it to be a Varactyl had it not moved its head between the bars and out of the shadows, its beak and feathery mane now visible, though the latter was lacking all the vibrant colours that was so distinctive of the species and not as voluminous. Azil instantly attributed its condition to its captors, who had taken up arguing over how the platform should be loaded.

He was about to turn away and walk on, but, as if it had sensed it, the Varactyl chirped louder this time to draw his attention and it succeeded. Azil raised a brow and watched it jerk its head towards him, its mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Only when he noticed the creature's nostrils flare, did Azil'mort remember the fruit in his hands.

"Right, of course," he murmured under his breath. He cast a quick look at the salesmen nearby, who had yet to notice his presence, before he stepped towards the cage.

The Varactyl perked up a bit, as though it was surprised that his attention-luring tactics had worked. It eagerly shifted forwards when Azil knelt down. He tore the fruit in two and offered the first half his right hand. The Varactyl was hesitant to take it at first, but when Azil moved his hand just a tiny bit closer, the creature seemed assured it was okay to take it without getting beat. Carefully, it took the first chunk of fruit out of his hands with its beak, but then wasted no further time and gobbled it right down. Expecting as such, Azil already had the other portion of it ready when he heard a loud, unhealthy cough.

"What do you think you're doing?" a condescending voice called to him from just a few steps away. Azil did not bother looking up at all and merely kept his eyes trained on the Varactyl while it also ate the second piece.

"A dead cargo is a worthless cargo, wouldn't you agree?" the Twi'lek answered.

At the lack of any further response to that, Azil did look up and saw that he was dealing with two Nikto gentlemen. They looked scruff but were by no means as intimidating as they clearly made themselves out to be, no matter how fiercely they crossed their arms over their chest. Eventually one of them thought of a comeback.

"You think we're not taking care of our goods?" the one on the left asked, trying hard to sound like he had taken offence to that.

"Judging by the condition of this one here-" Azil nodded at the Varactyl in front of him that was now curiously sniffing at Azil'mort, "I would say that you are not. The pale skin and missing feather ridges on its back and head as well indicates lack of vitamins and minerals--"

"She came to us like that," the Nikto on the right said, clearly getting impatient with the Twi'lek already, who had started to gently stroke the Varactyl's beak with one hand.

"Oh, of course she has," Azil nodded understandingly, "as did they, I assume?" He pointed at the smaller cages stacked by the road. He could make out lumps and little legs and fur, but whatever was inside them, Azil could not recall having seen it move even slightly just once.

Only one of the Niktos could be bothered to actually turn and look at what he was pointing at, while the clearly more dominant and impatient one on the left had run out of patience.

"Look, are you going to buy her off of us or not? Otherwise just beat it, old man."

Azil rolled his eyes at that cheap insult and turned his head to the Varactyl in front of him, who was eyeing him intently. Whether she was trying her hardest to get him to give more fruit or not, he could not help but feel sorry for her and a small bond between them... even though he knew jack about creatures, unless parts of them contributed to medical breakthroughs and the Varactyl was not one of those.

"Well, it is certainly going to take a lot of time to nurse her back to her former self... Probably a lot of training to get her strength back before she can be ridden again by anyone... So I am thinking you might as well give her to me, because honestly, in this state she's not worth much."

The Niktos looked at each other in disbelief. Having gotten confirmation from one another that what they heard was exactly what the Twi'lek had said, they started laughing.

"We ain't just gonna give away our most valuable piece, are we now, old man?" the impatient one asked, probably rhetorically, but it was tough to say.

"That insult is wearing out, so you might want to consider adjusting your tone before I stuff you in one of your cages," Azil'mort calmly replied.

Whether it was getting told by a beggarly Twi'lek that they needed to adjust their tone or the threat that they would be shoved into a cage that did the trick, the Niktos adjusted their stance nevertheless and the one on the right slowly reached for his blaster at his hip.

Azil'mort laughed and shook his head.

"You know what, I don't have time for this. I need to get going if I want to be back home by nightfall, really," he chuckled. He stood up and the Varactyl chirped softly in response. The Niktos seemed to relax when he took a step back from the cage and eagerly waited for him to turn around and scram. However, Azil brought his hands up to his chest and in a swift move pulled them apart. The metal bars of the cage screeched under unseen force as they bent and snapped violently, leaving a large hole.

The Niktos jumped back and stared wide-eyed at the Twi'lek as he coaxed the Varactyl out of the remnants of its enclosure.

"I'm sorry I scared you, darling, but there was no reasoning with these people. Here, have another piece of fruit."

She carefully wormed her way through the makeshift door in her cage, keeping her head low after she had stepped out and circled the Twi'lek, taking the fruit from his hand. He patted her on the back with a smile before turning his attention back to the Nikto duo who had yet to recover from the unexpected turn of events and merely gawked at him from several feet away.

"You can sell that to the Jawas as scrap metal," he jerked his head towards the cage, "which, I reckon, will get you half of what any person would have paid for her, so you gentlemen enjoy that and... see you next week?"

One of them regained his posture fast enough to clear his throat and nod weakly. "Yeah, sure, why... why not... Yeah..."

Azil grinned.

"Good! Let's go, darling, I've had enough of this place for now."

He turned on his heel and set off, his new companion sticking by his side as he continued following the road out of town and into the desert.

#azil'mort #writings #varactyl #which I don't know how to draw but hey #swtor #fic #feel free to point out any mistakes thanks

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