Tell me about how a guy like Luke Skywalker seems so comfortable in the seediest parts of the galaxy.
So the thing about Luke that everyone forgets is that while he’s a sweet, open-faced, adorable, inexperienced farm boy, he happens to be a sweet, open-faced, adorable, inexperienced farm boy from the corrupt, gangster ridden shit hole of the universe.
We like to mock Luke’s whining and wistful meandering, but the dude spent the first nineteen years of his life on a planet where six feet tall rats are a thing. Not to mention the regular raiders, Jabba’s bounty hunters, fucking Krayt dragons, and the pits have fucking TEETH.
We never really got to see Tosche station, but do we really think Tosche station was that much better than Mos Eisley? I figure there’s a reason Luke started out pretty good with the blaster. And between you and me, he didn’t seem nearly as bothered by that tavern confrontation as he ought to have been.
For all that Han has a well deserved reputation for dealing with scoundrels and seedy dives, the fact is, if you’re going to take one person, you should take Luke. Luke is so sweet and optimistic and nice that everyone in the dive is going to assume sitting duck, but Luke is Tatooine-bred through and through. And on Tatooine, even the cute and cuddly things have a venomous bite. :-D
Frisk riding a gaster blaster with chara floating around and sans there hanging out requested by @derpgreen! i tried my best on attempting to draw gaster blaster for like the second time (i think?) and i’m still not certain if they are suppose to look like this XDDD Anyway thank you for requesting! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
Shara’s mother used to say that she was born a speeder without thrust reversers. She wanted to do everything at eighty parsecs a minute—talk, run, fly, chores, make friends, fall in love. She’d never listened to a warning her whole life, and once she finally climbed into the cockpit of an x-wing, got her hands on the yoke, she was never going to.
Her mother cried, the day she left for the Imperial Flight Academy. When will you be home? she asked, and Shara had laughed because she would be home.
(A point of clarification: Shara never had a homeworld, not then, not yet. She’d never been planetside for more than a few days, however long it took for her mothers to exchange goods for credits and refuel again. Just barely this side of legal, especially after the Empire took over. Shara felt the hum of hyperspace in her bones, could close her eyes and see the tangled threads of hyperlanes, spread out in blue before her. she was always home, in space.)
It wasn’t—or maybe it was, but in the way was the Imperial Flight Academy. She’d hated the Academy.
Cold and proper and regimented in a way that made her feel like something unclean, being washed and washed again until she was thin and grey as their trainee flightsuits.
All those Coruscanti accents, sneering at her—her wardrobe, which was cobbled together from half a dozen Outer Rim marketplaces, her taste for xeno foods and music written in languages other than Basic.
She’d lied, whenever her mothers sent a transmit. Or talked about her scores (impeccable) or her instructors (impressed, even if they were cold and grudging about it.)
(Before you ask, that wasn’t the reason. Or maybe not the only reason—it was a hundred things she just kept swallowing, like drinking thimbles of something only lethal in a large dose.
She didn’t want to die of poisoning, she wanted to die in fire and flying, so—)
When Shara Bey defected for the Rebellion, she did it in true speeder-sans-braking-system style; a decision turning on a Coruscanti second, because there were stars she hadn’t seen before.
It was her last qualifying solo flight—they let the trainees take out one of the just-off-the-line x-wings for the qualifier, as a sort of incentive. (See what you could be flying! except of course, new pilots got stuck with aging TIE-fighters, where one in three died. She’d checked the numbers.)
Shara broke atmo and it was—
There were so many stars. How had she never seen the stars before? She’d hung there in space, watching the stars flick by and staring, awe-drunk.
(Shara Bey never returned to the Imperial Flight Academy. Neither did the x-wing.)
Kes’s mother used to say that he was a mountain, a rock face. He shifted slowly and only when he wanted to, with much groaning. But once it was decided, it was decided, and no one could keep him from it any more than they could stop a landslide.
Kes’s mother had been the one to first put a blaster in his hands. We will keep our world free, she said, painting the practice targets the same off-white as stormtrooper helmets.
They were Republican troopers then, but it was good practice for later. The regime changed, the aesthetic didn’t.
(A point of clarification: they did not protect their world. The Jedi fought them, but the Empire conquered them, and took the blaster from Kes’s hand and the mother who gave it to him. He was young, but not so young he expected her to return from whatever prison planet they shipped her away to. She doesn’t, so that’s that.)
There were those who fought alongside her, who manage to evade her fate. They contact his family, settlers on the Outer Rim, some moon he’s never heard of—
Yavin IV might be the only thing in the whole of the galaxy which changed Kes Dameron’s mind for him. It is the first great love of his life, from the moment he sets eyes on it.
(The second is Shara Bey, and the feeling will be the same.)
His aunts and uncles, cousins—some of which share his blood, but most of which are related only by proximity, and someone his uncle played sabacc with once—are warm and loud, and he is brought into the affectionate crush of them without question.
Though his aunt does look at him curiously when he volunteers to keep watch over the chaqua harvest, and shoot at the rats. I’m good with a blaster, he says with a shrug. His voice has deepened now, and it finally sounds like a man is offering his protection, instead of a child boasting.
Sometimes he can hear them talking about his mother—the strange one, wayward daughter who wanted to fight the Republic over a useless spit of mined-out rock, look at where it got her— Kes always shuts his eyes tight, focuses on his breathing, because the alternative is screaming: what if it was here, what if it was you? would you give up yavin? would you give up me?
Kes Dameron never really left for the Rebellion. When it arrived on Yavin IV, he was already there, sitting on a heap of rock with a blaster balanced across his knees. You’re here to keep our world free, right? he asks.
Really, the answer doesn’t matter. He’s decided, all the same.
Poe’s mother used to say that he was a comet. No question, ishoco, she said. Because no matter how fast you fly, or how much you burn, you’ve come from rock, the same stuff that makes up a world.
So a few weeks ago I had an idea about combining Star Wars with The Sentinel, and some folks seemed to like that thought. So…. I wrote some of it! Shoutout to @likealeafonthewind for helping with some behind-the-scenes world-building on this. @norcumi, I went in a completely different direction than the plot bunny you put up for adoption. Sorry not sorry?
And now, I give you the first part of… “Sentinel Wars!” (Because what is a creative title, I cannot.)
When the war starts, Rex is in the unenviable position of not really fitting into any of the ideal duty placements for a clone soldier of the GAR. He’s a fully-manifested Sentinel, along with about 40% of his brothers, but he is neither able to operate fully on his own, like the command-track Sentinels do, nor synced with a partner to wake him up on the occasions when he does get lost in his senses, like the ground troopers and the specialized Sentinel teams.
It’s usually not too difficult for any of his nearby brothers to snap him out of his head, if he gets lost in a sound or a scent, but it would be easier if he’d found someone to sync with. Still, he’s careful with himself, as much as he can be. Zoning out too often or too deeply gets you culled, but Rex is stubborn. He’s not getting culled, and he’ll defy his own karking instincts to make sure of it. But that still leaves him with all his senses primed and no permanent partner to watch his back.
Request: “can you do something where everyone loves the reader bc
they’re so funny and just genuinely fun to be around but for some reason kylo
doesn’t know how to talk to her”
Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader
Word Count: 1984
The first day on the Finalizer had been daunting. There were troopers
marching everywhere, the eyes of officers lingering over your badges, and the
booming voice that came overhead announcing things every so often. The combined
stomping, glares, and loud voices caused some sort of a sensory overload, and
you felt your chest tightening with anxiety as you tried to hurry along to your
designated station. Once you arrived though, you found the environment totally
changed. People were sneaking smiles and whispered inside jokes, and as you
entered some even shot you a welcoming grin. Your station was full of
engineers, planning how to better and create new weapons for the First Order.
The pay was good, and the work hours were relaxed. You were the most brilliant
minds in the Galaxy, and to your joy you found that your fellow intellectuals
also shared your similar sense of humour.
Within the first week, you had settled comfortably into your
cohort, even getting to know some of the officers and generals. General Hux
stopped to check on your work often, as he was tasked to make sure all was in
order at least twice a week. Along with a couple fellow engineers, you sat with
Hux a lot during lunches and big First Order events.
In the next month, you had built a family here. Your co-workers
were more like friends, and apart from a few who preferred to stick to their
work and be alone, everyone loved you. You were funny, smart, witty, sarcastic,
and above all you were kind. You were the most likable person on board, and
even though you enjoyed time to yourself every now and then, it did feel
amazing to be popular with everyone. You had also been asked out on many dates,
but you politely declined all of them. Your heart had unfortunately become tied
to only one.
Idea for never a Jedi Anakin. Very Grey Anakin as a outlaw. Completely untrained but has figured out some force things. Abuses powers to work various illegal jobs for various people. Is often a nuisance to the republic and sometimes to the separatists. May even be wanted for murder of a hutt. Obi-Wan gets sent after him because he never gets to escape the Skywalkers.
**Bounty hunter with craftily hidden morals Anakin** holy shit, now that is something I can get behind!
I bet he’s figured out he can influence people. Hell, probably knows how to Force Choke. Definitely still has premonition dreams. Ooooh man I love this idea!!
Shmi would still be alive in this scenario. I bet Anakin would still come home to the farm every once in awhile, bring his Mom gifts and such. (Is Shmi lowkey buddy-buddy with every lowlife on Tatooine, who treat her like royalty? Fuck yes. She’s hellishly good with a blaster. She knows several languages. She knows where the best cantinas and job offers are located. She’s a force to be feared and loved).
He would be the worst thing to happen to both the Republic and the Separatists. He doesn’t like hurting people (unless they deserve it), but he’s willing to take jobs from both sides. He loves messing with Jedi, especially a certain ginger-haired Jedi Knight (he’d still be a Knight, damnit) that seems intent on getting him to join the ‘good guys’.
He’s friends with clones. He’s probably friends with Hondo Ohnaka. He probably knew Jango Fett. He probably killed Jabba the Hutt because he could, throwing the Hutt Clans into a tizzy because of it. He has the potential to be as gifted an assassin as Ventress, and I’m sure Palpatine has decided to keep an eye on him. (He isn’t above having Skywalker captured by his own particular agents, and kept at his estate for training. The boy could prove useful.)
He meets Obi-Wan in bars and buys him drinks. “You’re barely legal,” Obi-Wan says with a huff. Anakin is all smiles, charming and bright. “On Tatooine, the drinking age is whenever-the-fuck-we-get-our-hands-on-alcohol.”
Outside of his standard bones, teleportation and telekenesis, Sans still has his Gaster Blasters, however, they’re useless in their normal form and he only has two. Only when they equip onto one or both of Sans’ arms is when their true potential is released, and his iconic left eye changes accordingly. Sans’ Gaster Blasters have two modes: Long-range and Close-range.
Long range comes in one form: an arm cannon. In this mode, his eye changes into a crosshair shape and the cannon can either fire in short little rounds, a small beam (as displayed) and a bigger beam. If they’re equipped onto both arms, then Sans can fire a super charged buster beam when combined. However, that will take a lot out of him, not to mention the recoil is a quite the killer.
As for close range, it comes in one of two forms: claws or an arm blade. His eye turns into what appears to be two sickles opposing each other. The claws can be on one or both arms, but the regular sword can only on one arm. However, like the combined cannon form, Sans can create a large beam sword, but also like the large killer beam, that will take a lot out of him.
Sans can have both activated. By that, I mean he CAN have a cannon on one arm and a blade/claw on the other (Omnimon, anyone?). The downside to that is that he can’t be able to do either of the super beam or sword, since that requires both arms to have the same mode. His eye obviously becomes a mix between the two modes.
The Gaster Blasters DO have a default form, but…they’re more useful as pets in that particular state (and maybe for transportation). Don’t worry, I have a ref for them, too:
Design-wise, they’re just regular blasters with markings on them lol At least it’ll be useful as a color ref.
Also, I personally like the crosshair eye better lol