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tisfan · 4 years

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Flying My Way

Title: Flying my Way Written by: @tisfan Card: 3023 Square: S2 - AU: Star Wars Rating: teen Triggers/warnings: Tags: star wars au, spice runners, hutts, mechanic!Tony, flirting Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 1484

Pralla the Hutt was typical of her species; fat, slug-like, and an unappetizing shade of purple with green splotches that made her look rather like some fruit gone soft and rotten.

Tony hadn’t even realized Pralla was female until she spoke, and not even then, until the translator droid started yammering. As a point of honor, most Hutts spoke exclusively Huttese, even if they understood many languages. It was frequently the only such point.

Besides, the talk-droid made the Hutt look important.

“The magnificent Pralla the Hutt gives you greetings, star captain,” the droid said, “and she hopes you will enjoy your stay at her palace. Make yourself comfortable, and she will be delighted to discuss business with you in the morning.”

She wasn’t, thank the Maker, talking to Tony.

Tony wasn’t the star captain. He wasn’t even a crewman on the ship. He was, in fact, a hired mechanic, brought in specifically to work on the specialized divan that Pralla used to move around her palace. Tony’s father had designed the thing, and been richly rewarded for it. But Hutts lived a lot longer than humans, so here was Tony, hoping he could fix it.

Because the Hutts did not like being disappointed. And there might have been that small incident with some damages in a bar fight -- totally not his fault, the other guy was cheating at Sabaac, and Tony did not like a cheater. He’d thrown Justin Hammer through a window. But it was Pralla’s casino, and she might still have been offended.

In either case, he needed to fix the divan. It was his only hope.

The space captain gave Pralla a quick bow, graceful and somehow sarcastic, like the Hutt didn’t deserve the respect she was demanding, but in such a flowing manner that Tony was pretty sure Pralla didn’t realize he was mocking her.

I like you already, Tony thought, watching him go, wearing all black and walking like people had damned well get out of his way. Tony wondered what ship he was flying. And why. And what cargo he was taking on.

And reminded himself that curiosity about a gangster’s business was likely to get him into trouble.

The line of petitioners moved forward, and Tony moved with it.

Finally, it was his turn. He presented his gifts and his best wishes, and allowed that he would be delighted to assist in the manner of mechanical difficulties with the repulsor tech that kept the divan floating.

“Her most excellent beauty, Pralla the Hutt, welcomes such a brilliant mind to her palace, and hopes you will be pleased to join the festivities this evening. She entreats you will stay behind as petitions are dismissed, to look over your father’s work.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Tony said, trusting the talk-droid to add all the accustomed flattery and honorifics. Since the talk-droids were the ones who bore the first brunt of disapproval from the Hutt, he was pretty sure the droid was doing its best.

When the room cleared of everyone except her magnificent slugness and the talk-droid, Tony was beckoned forward. Obviously, it was very difficult for the Hutt to move off the divan. At least Tony had thought ahead and brought his portable lifts. “If it won’t trouble you too much, I’ll just slide these under here--” Tony was already moving “--and take a look at what the problem is.”

The problem was a squashed Klatooine paddy frog -- honestly, the Hutts ate the most disgusting things, which was only made more revolting by the terrible liquor they drank. Perhaps Tony should feel grateful, since the Hutts ate things that most civilized races wouldn’t touch, and therefore rid the galaxy of it.

Didn’t matter. Pralla needed a maid, not a mechanic. But Tony could fix it, quick enough. Consider his debt to the Hutts paid, and then get the kriff back to his shop before anyone could say anything. Pack his stuff onto a couple of veractyls and make for the jungle. Get as far away as possible. Because paying off a debt with the Hutts was almost as dangerous as getting into debt in the first place.

Hutts collected power and favors; and there was nothing they liked better than to reel back in a sure winner.

Staying overnight, drinking Pralla’s wine, partying with the gangsters; Tony could almost guarantee he’d do something stupid, and end up owing the Hutts. And this time, more than was fixable with a bucket and a scraper.

Maybe he could dodge the party entirely. Go see what ships were in the Hutt’s hangar bays. Looking at new ships could distract him from drinking and playing cards, at least. Maybe he could even find a ship looking to leave the planet and needed a good mechanic.

There was an idea. Ships. Off world. Find a new life somewhere away from this stinking swamp.

He carefully lowered the divan to the floor. “There you go, your magnificence,” Tony said. “Go ahead, give her a test ride, see how she holds up.”

Pralla’s talkdroid expressed the Hutt to be pleased, and Tony let another droid take him out of the throne room. “You mind if I duck into the hanger a bit, there, Shiny?”

Tony didn’t know if the droid had an objection. He wasn’t listening. He walked away from the beeping mechanical, gazing around.

One Radiant VII, blue with yellow accents. Hideous, but a good workhorse of a ship. It could use a new landing gear. A few more bumps and hard landings, and that baby wasn’t getting off the ground again. But the ship didn’t really speak to him -- it had modified weapons that had been badly installed -- and the crew was almost entirely Gand, which meant Tony would probably need an atmo suit to live on their ship.

Two non-standard light freighters, and then--

“Holy hell, that’s beautiful,” Tony said, stopping dead to stare at the gleaming ship.

“Thanks,” the star captain Tony had seen earlier said. “She’s my pride and joy. The Winter Soldier. A HDR-32 Dynamic. With modifications.”

“Of course,” Tony said. “You… uh… looking for crew? I’m a top-rated mechanic. Starships as well as weapons and droids.”

“My name’s Captain Barnes,” the man said, offering a-- cyber arm. “Why don’t you come aboard, and we can talk about it?”

“Sure thing, Droideka.” Tony nodded before he remembered that this was the man who was captain of a starship and who worked for a Hutt, and who might not appreciate Tony’s sense of humor about nicknames. Too late now, and while he didn’t exactly brace to get shot, he noted a certain amount of tension in his shoulders.

“Most of my crew’s not currently here, taking advantage of the Hutt’s hospitality and doing some trade,” Barnes said. “But I’ve got a co-pilot, a gunner, a reclamation expert, a drop-trooper, and Peitro.”

“What’s his job?”

“He doesn’t have one, he’s the boss,” Barnes said. “We’re here at his word.”

“Yeah? So, sounds like you could use a mechanic,” Tony said. A reclamation expert was smuggler code for salvage. Usually illegal salvage. People who wouldn’t ask too many questions. “And I want to get off the planet. So--”

“Sure,” Barnes said. “We’ll do a test trip, we’re headed to Taris, and then a restock at Nar Shadda. If it doesn’t appeal, you can probably get on another freighter from Nar Shadda, and we’ll part ways.”

“Sounds good,” Tony agreed, not missing the sharp look that Barnes shot him. “We can discuss pay after I look at your ship.”

“You in trouble with the Hutts?” Barnes surmised.

“Not. Yet,” Tony said. “But I don’t hold out hopes for my chances, unless I get out of sight, and hopefully out of mind.”

“Well, we have trouble onboard already, so you’ll fit right in. Come on, I’ll show you your bunk.”

“You could show me yours,” Tony suggested, because his mouth just did that sometimes, whenever he was looking at someone who was attractive and just a little bit dangerous.

“I only cohabitate with people who can dance, and drink, and still fly a starship,” Barnes said.

Tony’s eyebrow went up, because he was pretty sure Barnes was actually flirting with him. Which was… nice.

“I’ll buy the first round,” Tony offered.

Barnes grinned. “In case you’re flying solo after dancing, this is your bunk--” he jerked a thumb at a fairly standard rack. “--and that one, at the end of the tube? That one’s mine.”

Tony stuck his head in through the hatch, just to be an ass. “Oh, that’s a nice bed. I definitely want to be sleeping in that.”

“Come on, then,” Barnes said. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“It’s a bargain, Captain,” Tony said, offering his hand.

“You can call me Bucky,” he said. “I only make people call me Captain when they’re under me.”

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsbingo #winteriron #star wars AU #bad flirting

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sunshinechildskywalker · 5 years

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Grounded for real!

It seems the second day of senior year has brought better technical luck than the first! So, without further ado, hopefully, I present Grounded!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What in nine Corellian hells happened?!” Vader’s chilling voice thundered upon seeing his son dwarfed in a medical cot. Luke looked up to him, his blue eyes shadowed with shades of surprise and fear. Pinkish bruises and fresh gashes accented his weary face, a striking contrast against his piqued skin. The sight struck a regretful chord in Vader’s heart as unwelcome memories of the boy quivering at the end of his scarlet blade resurfaced, almost the same injuries echoed on his face. Vader strode to the foot of the bed, his black cape fluttering behind him dramatically as he cleared the distance in a few long strides.

“Father, ple-”

“I demand a status report on his condition, immediately,” Vader ordered crisply as he whipped his head around to focus on the poor medic standing beside Luke. Both the liquid vial and the syringe in the man’s hands began to shake involuntarily. The medic proceeded to relay the information despite the terrible quiver in his voice. A bruised rib, significant blood loss, and a sprained arm that was miraculously not broken. The boy was lucky...this time.

“We...we will have the smaller injuries on his face treated with bacta soon,” the man assured, his thin frame now trembling enough to match his voice.

“How soon?” Vader snapped.

“Uh, um, with..within the hour, sir,” the medic stammered.

“Make it sooner,” Vader demanded. “I want those bacta patches on him immediately. What was the cause of his injuries?”

“Father-”

“Quiet!”

“A...a ship crash, sir.”

“A what?!”

Luke sighed, leaning his face into his hand.

“Father, it’s not wha-”

“Silence! What injection are you preparing for him?”

“Painkiller, sir.” Fury and fear raced alongside each other in Vader’s veins, feeling the urge to both deliver a stern lecture and rip the syringe out of the medic’s unstable hands to care for the boy himself. After a long moment, Vader’s authoritative bass broke the silence.

“Medic, leave us. Postpone administering the drug and retrieve the bacta patches,” Vader ordered. The medic froze, almost as if still trying to process the fact that he had survived long enough to take orders from the former ruthless Imperial enforcer. “Now!” The medic scurried from the room, practically tripping over his own feet. Vader’s masked gaze followed his retreat until he was out of sight, then slowly brought his attention back to his son. Luke offered a small, sheepish smile.

“So ‘postpone’ means I’ll still get that medicine, right?” Vader shook his head in disdain at the boy. Luke sincerely hoped that didn’t mean he was answering his question in the negative.

“You are impeccably foolish, child,” Vader berated. Luke sighed again, dropping his gaze to the side of his bed.

“Look, I know-”

“Know what? That you could have been killed? That you could be lying somewhere on the other side of the galaxy, without anyone having the knowledge of your whereabouts?” Vader demanded, his wild hand gestures accenting his message.

“I know you’re angry, but-”

“Angry? You believe me to be merely angry? No, I am absolutely livid with you, Luke. Your reckless actions have surpassed any expectations I ever had. You were clumsy; you were stupid, you-”

“Father-!”

“Do not interrupt me! You clearly do not understand the gravity of the situation.”

“I was just making a little trip-”

“To the Raxus System?! You explicitly stated that you were traveling to visit your sister on Coruscant.”

“No, I just flew past Raxus-”

“And you believed they would not be suspicious of an X-Wing class ship in their radar?” Luke huffed hot air from his lungs. He threw up his hand in partial surrender, but there was still an edge of agitation with his next words.

“Look, I know it was stupid-”

“Indeed it was, young one,” Vader snapped, almost a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice. “You are a target to that region, and I know you are very well aware of it. There is no possible excuse you could give me that would justify your careless actions.” Luke shot Vader a hard glare, daring to challenge him. His feathers were certainly ruffled now.

“Are you finished?” Vader’s index finger pounced and shook at Luke disapprovingly.

“Do not use that tone with me, nor that expression. Now, explain to me just what you believed you were doing.”

“Will you actually let me finish?” Luke asked with daring courage that would make any bystander fear for the young Jedi’s life.

“Only if you say something worthy of hearing to its entirety. Now speak,” Vader commanded curtly. Luke closed his eyes, attempting to find his calm. He took as deep of a breath as he could manage with his bruised rib and spoke.

“I went to Tatooine,” he admitted. Vader scoffed, although it emitted an odd sound through the vocoder.

“I did not believe you took me for a fool, my son. Tatooine is nowhere near Raxus, and nowhere along the path of return.” Vader took a menacing step towards his son, using his dizzying height as an advantage. Judging by the way Luke shrank back slightly, it proved effective. “I will only ask this once more, and for your sake, I suggest you answer me truthfully,” Vader spat. “Where were you?” Luke turned his head away from his father, resisting the urge to bite his lip.

“It was…” He sighed, seeming to expel the last of his reservations with the breath neither party realized he’d been holding. “It was Naboo.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The name of the planet Luke knew to have once been home to his mother hung heavy in the air. He gave a tentative nudge to his father’s shields, but quickly retracted. The anger still emitted a strong presence, even through the durasteel-like shield, but Luke could sense something dulling it. Perhaps...guilt? No, it couldn’t be at that intensity. Luke had only ever sensed that prominent shade of guilt in his father just after the events of the Second Death Star. Could he truly believe that this was his fault? And that he considered it near as grave?

Just then, the medic reappeared, lingering in the doorway momentarily so as not to interrupt the family drama and aggravate Vader further. He hesitantly approached Luke’s bedside, the bacta patches in hand. Luke offered the poor man a friendly smile, hoping to ease some of the anxiety incited by his father. The medic smiled back, despite the worry clouding his eyes.

“He..here are the bacta patches, Commander,” the medic said, trying to monitor Vader out of the corner of his eye.

“You can call me Luke,” the young man offered as the medic peeled the back off the first patch. Luke felt his father bristle just behind his shields.

“Al...alright, Luke,” the medic replied, testing the name on his tongue. “I’m going to place one of these just below your eye, and the other on your forehead.” Luke closed his eyes and allowed the medic to do his job, averting his gaze from Vader when he reopened them. “Now, your physician requested a blood sample for further testing.” Luke nodded and turned his arm over. Vader took a step closer to his bedside, his gaze fixed on the poor medic.

As Luke felt the medic’s anxiety spike to an astronomical level, he thought he should be the one tethered to a machine monitoring his heart rate. Under Vader’s scrutiny, the medic’s hands shook more violently as the seconds ticked by. As he prepared the needle and brought it down to Luke’s arm, Vader took another step, tipping the medic’s anxiety over the brim. The needle slipped through his fingers and sliced Luke’s skin.

“You clumsy-!” Vader snatched the medic’s collar and yanked him dangerously close to his mask. “Stupid-!”

“Father!” a sharp voice barked. Both men turned abruptly, both momentarily forgetting the deadly situation to see if Luke had really just used that tone of voice. The medic, especially surprised, tried to decipher if this was the same young man who had rejected a formal title with the warmest demeanor just a moment before.

Vader turned his helmeted head back to the victim ensnared in his trap. The medic met his gaze with wide eyes.

“Leave,” Vader hissed, venom dripping from his single syllable, the brevity of the order not detracting from its impact. Vader released his durasteel grip in one motion. The medic scampered away from the former Sith Lord like a Klatooine Paddy Frog from a hungry Hutt, lucky to do so with his life.

Luke, whose temper now almost mirrored his father’s, looked straight up to the man at his bedside without an ounce of fear left in him. He tilted his chin up defiantly at his father, his stare hard and unwavering as he shook his head.

“How could you have done that?” Luke berated, daring somewhat of a role reversal. “That man was trying to help me.”

“He clearly has done the opposite,” Vader countered without skipping a beat. He brought his gaze down to his son’s injured arm, scarlet liquid seeping from a small cut on the skin. Before Luke could pull his sprain-free arm closer to him and out of his father’s reach, Vader grabbed it rather roughly and brought it closer to his face to examine it. Luke almost managed to suppress the wince that dictated his features, but not enough to go unnoticed by his father.

“This lesion hurt you, did it not?”

“No, your yanking my arm is what hurt,” he growled. Vader turned it over in his gloved hands, rougher than intended. His thumbs, however, were not near as rough when they glided over the small slice. Luke tentatively reached out once again for his father’s Force presence, sensing his shields lowering just the slightest. He retracted just as quickly, but he could almost sense something akin to ...regret? With some shade of longing?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vader tightened his grip on Luke’s forearm, sensing his own vulnerability being exposed, but he slowly loosened his durasteel fingers upon seeing his son’s skin morph shades flesh should never turn. He bowed his head, his anger almost seeming to drain drop by drop. Luke recognized the odd sound that emitted from his father’s vocoder as a sigh.

“Where are the bacta patches?” Vader asked far more quietly. Luke peered over his bedside to the floor.

“There’s one,” he pointed out, a wave of secondary embarrassment threatening to burn his cheeks as the image of the unfortunate medic replayed in his mind. Vader abruptly dropped his arm, at least letting it land on the bed and not on Luke’s bruised rib. He snatched the patch from the floor, ripped off the adhesive back, and just as quickly grabbed his son’s arm again.

“Hey, wh-”

“Hold still,” Vader ordered, although much more civilly.

“It’s just a cut,” Luke protested, trying to squirm out of his grasp again.

“I said, hold still,” Vader said in a much crisper tone, his fingers snaking and tightening around his arm once again.

“No, just let me go!”

“No!” Vader’s thunderous voice and Force energy rippled through the entire medbay, cupboards rattling and glass shattering audible even from their place in the private wing. This time, seeing his father pose such a risk to others once again, Luke was not angry at him, nor embarrassed by his actions.

He instead felt sympathy, for as he sensed his Force signature, he knew his comment about letting go was not just limited to his limb, by his father’s interpretation. He was fearful to think of his son out of his grasp, to be unable to protect him, and Luke didn’t need his Force presence to tell he was thinking of his mother in that same respect.

“Father, I…” Luke exhaled, bowing his head and avoiding his father’s gaze. “I’m really sorry. I...I should have at least let you know where I was going.” Luke could feel his father’s molten rage begin to simmer down to boiling in the silence that followed.

“Your punishment will not be as severe if you tell me of your findings.”

“Punishment?” Luke asked astonished as he pulled a face.

“Did you truly believe this wouldn’t cost you anything?” Vader asked, fulfilling the role of parent all the more.

“Yeah, I figured crashing was enough. Don’t you think so?” Luke challenged. Vader growled deep within his throat.

“The fact you put yourself in such a situation is what is subject to punishment.”

“But-”

“This is non-negotiable, Luke,” he cut off. “Now, will you tell me of your findings and lessen your consequences?” He took another menacing step towards him, his voice dropping almost a full octave. “Or will you bite your tongue and multiply them?” Luke looked away, setting his jaw, but closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to settle his temper. He brought his gaze back up to meet his father’s, taking one final breath to ensure he would stay calm, and spoke.

“I met my grandparents.” Luke didn’t need to look down to know the creak of leather was from his father’s now-clenched fists; he was only glad his arm wasn’t in their grasp at the moment.

“You what?” Vader bit out, his anger quickly bubbling up again. Luke held his eye contact through the mask, resisting the urge to smirk.

“I said, I met my grandparents,” he repeated calmly. Vader jerked his head to the side, taking a few steps away from the bed, then turned right back around; the rage-induced pacing had begun. He tried to start multiple sentences, all of them surely intending to put his Luke in his place and ensure he would never overstep his bounds ever again, but they all only began with flustered fragments of words until he could only pace faster to express his frustration.

Luke couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of a smile threaten his lips, seeing his father, the master of ordering everyone around with the most precise and fluent word choice, fumbling before him now like an enraged toddler, unable to even begin his spiel.

“Don’t even think of drawing humor out of the situation,” Vader snapped, his index finger pouncing and shaking at his son. Luke quickly dropped the amused expression.

“You…just…hng…” Vader continued. After a few more moments of the floor practically wearing down under his large boots, and Luke avoiding watching to keep himself from giggling, the former Sith Lord finally slowed his pacing and stopped at the foot of the bed, facing his son squarely.

“What did you discuss with them?” He finally voiced. Luke met his gaze again.

“My mother,” he responded simply.

“Obviously,” Vader scoffed. “More specifically. What did you discuss with them?” He repeated, his words tighter than a Twi’lek dancer’s dress in a Hutt’s lair.

“We talked about her career-”

“Of which I easily could have told you,” Vader cut in, although Luke continued to tick off topics on his fingers without pausing.

“Her charity service to the galaxy-”

“Which I knew of as well.”

“And you,” he finished off simply. The sound of creaking leather grew more familiar to Luke as the conversation progressed.

“What did you dare utter about me?” Vader growled. Luke couldn’t prevent his lips from curling into a small, mirthful smile.

“I’m afraid I blew your cover and told them about how you tried to lay down your life for me.”

Luke could see his father visibly deflate minutely in relief, and his own eyebrows furrowed.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Luke questioned, mildly offended. “Do you really think that little of me to believe I would criticize you behind your back?”

“After all I’ve done, I cannot see why you wouldn’t.”

“You can’t be serious, Father! I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you!”

“But I was the very reason you risked death once again!” Vader shot back, his voice rising. “I vowed I would never allow anything to happen to you after the war, and now look where that has gotten you!”

“This was not your fault, Father! You didn’t ram into the back of my ship and send me nose first into the ground!”

“I might as well have. I kept you in ignorance for far too long.”

“Father, I had my reasons for not pressing. If I-”

“And just what would they be?” Luke dropped his gaze to the sheets covering him, his fingers beginning to toy with the hem.

“I didn’t wanna push you,” he admitted. “I can feel how hard it is for you to talk about her. I just...I didn’t want you to be in pain for my benefit. I figured when the time was right, you would tell me about her, I just...I don’t know, I guess I couldn’t contain myself. I really wanted to know about her, but I didn’t want you to have to get hurt in the process.” He sighed. “I guess I just ended up getting both of us hurt instead.”

Luke kept his eyes on the sheet hem he was still fiddling with for a moment more, but stole a quick glance up at his father upon the absence of a response. His mechanical arms were crossed over his chest, gaze aimed squarely on Luke, making him feel ten times smaller. He tentatively reached out to feel his anger begin to dissipate, although ever so slowly. He dragged his eyes back down to the sheet covering his injured body.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. Vader stood silent for a moment, only his incremented breathing supplying to the silence. Then, heavy footfalls approached Luke’s bedside, and Vader sat on the bed. He reached out to cup his son’s face ever so gently, tilting it this way and that. He took in every little scratch, each shade of his bruises, and every single one of the exhaustion lines accenting his face. Luke held his gaze as he looked him over.

“How much pain are you in?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Answer my question.” Luke sighed as his face continued to be examined.

“It’s...not great, but I’m alright.” Vader tentatively ran his gloved thumb over Luke’s face, shadowed with the assortment of bruises and now-covered gashes.

“I’m sure I caused you pain such as this during the war as well.” Although others who may have been privy to this conversation would never have picked up on it, Luke knew there was great regret in his father’s quiet words.

“Father-”

“You know it to be true, Luke,” Vader stated, admittedly harsher than intended. He bowed his head, and Luke could feel his anger threaten to return full force.

“It was the past, Father. And far different circumstances.”

“But look at us now! You, lying in a medical cot, injured by my own actions once again-!”

“Father…”

“I never deserved to call myself your father during the war, and I hardly do now-”

“Father.”

“You and the galaxy would have been far better off if I had died instead of her-”

“Father.” Luke set a hand on Vader’s arm, making solid eye contact with him as he turned his helmeted head. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Luke-”

“Father,” he said gently, restraining him from further self-berating. He held his eye contact, rubbing his hand soothingly on his mechanical arm. “You know I have forgiven you. Now, you must forgive yourself.” Vader bowed his head once again, not being able to bear to see her son with that same expression of compassion on his face she had given him for so long. After a moment of silence only interrupted by Vader’s measured mechanical breathing, the former Sith Lord laid his hand overtop his son’s on his own arm.

“After you have recovered,” he began, keeping his head bowed. “We will discuss her.”

“No, father, you don’t ha-”

“No, I am in need of it as well. I...I cannot let her light go extinguished.” Vader let his hand fall, still not able to bring his head up. “And you deserve to be rightfully informed.” Luke kept his hand on his father’s arm, joining him in bowing his head.

“If it’s going to be too painful for you, please don’t,” he insisted, but Vader shook his head.

“This is long overdue, young one. The knowledge of you knowing as little as you do about your own mother is far more painful than reliving the time she was alive.” Luke reached for his father’s hand, although slightly painful to stretch.

“Only if you’re ready.” Vader slowly brought his head up to his son, his late wife’s compassion on full display upon the boy’s youthful face. He tentatively brought up his gloved hand to smooth his blonde hair back, mimicking his own mother’s actions from so long ago. Luke smiled.

“Rest, son.” Vader rose from the bed, but Luke couldn’t bite back the cry of pain that escaped his lips as his bruised rib was aggravated. Vader whipped back around, setting a hand on his shoulder. He froze.

“You never received painkiller, did you?” Vader asked, although guilt washed over him as he already knew the answer. Luke shook his head, gritting his teeth.

“It’s...it’s fine,” he grunted through his pain. “You can loosen up just a little, I’m really alright.”

Vader grasped Luke’s chin in his gloved hand tightly, jerking his face up to look at him.

“I will not lose you,” he vowed. “Especially not…” Vader bowed his head, subconsciously tightening his grip. “Not the way I lost her.” Luke locked eyes with him through the mask when he looked up, his blue eyes fierce with determination despite the pain he was in.

“You won’t.” The weight of the vow settled around the two, and Vader broke the silence.

“I will find the medic now,” he declared, turning to stride away.

“Just don’t scare him again,” Luke pleaded lightly. The former Sith Lord turned back around, noticing again just how small his son looked lying in the medical cot. “Please.” Guilt tugged at his heart as he sighed.

“I...will make an effort,” he acquiesced, but his index finger pounced once again. “But if he so much as scratches you without medical reason, I will ensure that he-”

“Father,” Luke cut in gently. “He’s going to take care of me.”

“He’d better take excellent care of you, or else-” Luke raised his eyebrows at him, and Vader released an irritated sigh. “Or else I will find you a new medic.” Luke nodded his head, his lips curling into a smile.

“Thank you,” he said, half surprised such a simple movement could interrupt the former Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy.

“He should consider himself lucky that he has a patient much more forgiving than I am.” Vader’s words circled a compliment, and Luke’s smile grew.

“The same patient should consider himself lucky to have a father that cares so much for him,” he complimented back, although he knew it would make the recipient uncomfortable. A beat of somewhat awkward silence hung in the air, for Vader didn’t know how to take such praise, but he broke the silence after a moment.

“This will not lessen your punishment.”

“Oh come on, Father!” Luke laughed, hardly any real offense in his tone. “We were having a moment!” Vader shook his head once again at his son, not being able to deny the slight swell of adoration he could feel in his chest.

“Rest, Luke. I will retrieve the medic,” he said, slight fondness in his tone only his son could read. Luke’s smile grew even wider, and Vader began to walk away.

“I love you, father,” Luke called after him, the words becoming easier to say as of late. Although not the words he would have preferred to hear in return, Luke knew concern and affection were buried deep underneath their rough pronunciation:

“You are grounded.”

#my fanfiction #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fluff/angst #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader #crash landing #hurt Luke #star wars #Star Wars Fic #star wars fanfiction #post rotj #feels

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glockgal · 4 years

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your moira rose/baby yoda art just cured my depression. thank you so much for your service

AHHHH thank you for sending me your sweet feedback, it has ascended my spirit!!! Pairing Moira and Baby Yoda was like pairing a fruit wine with Klatooine paddy frog.

#you've inspired me #blairwitchz

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lj-writes · 6 years

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What delicacies from the Star Wars galaxy (Roasted Porg, Klatooine Paddy Frogs, Colo Claw Fish, Dex’s Double, Endorian Chicken Pot Pie, Portion Bread, Fried Nuna Legs, Blue or Green milk) would you want to try in real life?

I want to try roasted Porg, boldly going where Chewie has not gone before.

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effyeahrhettandlink-blog · 6 years

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Star Wars Food Taste Test - Is Jabba the Hutt's Klatooine Paddy Frog tasty? Mythical Chef Tess whipped one up for us and other Star Wars feasts froma . galaxy far, far away. GMM #1242.1 Watch Part 2: https://youtu.be/3ta8sjjnzk0

#Rhett and Link #Good Mythical Morning S12

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lordviridis · 7 years

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30 Day SWTOR OC Challenge - Bonus Day

Bonus Day: Free Day!

Is there anything about your character you wanted to say but didn’t? Their favorite outfit? A particular story? What inspired them? A favorite AU? Anything at all! It can be silly or serious, dark or fluffy! Your choice!

The putrid air on Hutta seemed to seep into Gesad as she walked from the market back to Tolte’s palace. She hated going outside but had had no choice when the cook ordered her to go and buy the Klatooine paddy frogs for Tolte’s feast tonight. The aquarium she was carrying weighted heavily on her as she walked, at this point she wished only to make it back to the palace without dropping it or being soaked through by the splashing water.

Her fear came true in front of a guard as she tripped over the uneven floor. As she watched the aquarium leave her hands and break on the floor her stomach lurched. Why couldn’t this had happened in the kitchen, in front of one of the cooks who were too busy to punish her beyond slapping her. The guards on the other hand were bored and gladly took their boredom on misbehaved slaves. She just hoped this Gamorrean wasn’t one of the brutal or creative ones. Apparently not as he reached for the whip at his hip. The Gamorrean’s whip detached from his hip and Gesad readied herself for the strike, no point in avoiding it. Time seemed to slow as her mind tracked the whip piercing the air, her back already flinching, still sore from the last time.

The Zabrak’s hearts were racing as she woke up, the fear of the dream lingered in her mind. The memory might be years old but the terror it evoked still etched in her mind as if from yesterday. This time she knew how to handle the fear, she might have only have grasped the basics of the Force but understood the concept of harnessing that fear. Unlike on Hutta, where she would have tried to detach herself from it, she examined the feeling, storing the memory of it to be used later. Hearing her stomach grumble, Gesad decided to make her way to the kitchen.

Gesad was surprised when she didn’t find Leela in the kitchen and a quick extension of her senses through the Force revealed that the Sith wasn’t in the apartment. Gesad found this peculiar as it was Felday and usually Leela had Felday’s free. Noticing a datapad on the counter, the mystery solved itself as Leela had left a message:” Had to go and see my Master. Will be back late so consider it a free day.”

The Zabrak wasn’t sure how to react as she had never had a free day. Even during the past two months on Dromund Kaas she had spent every day studying and training as her knowledge and skills were lacking to put it kindly. Going out and exploring the city wasn’t an option as Gesad was very well aware of the bias against aliens and she had no desire to test Imperial hospitality without the human Sith by her side. So something inside the house then, but first breakfast.

The warm tea cup felt wonderful in her hands as she started flickering through holochannels, not staying on one for long. It didn’t take long for her to decide that the Imperials had boring programming, if it wasn’t official state news it was some document or series that held little interest to her. Or maybe it was the time and the programming would get better in the evening. Maybe she should try reading, it might even be a good way to improve her skills. Despite Leela’s selection of holobooks not being the largest it took a good while for her to find something to read. In the end she settled for Darth Dianthus’ Treatise of Sith Philosophy. Not light reading but hopefully interesting.

The front door opened, alerting Gesad to the passage of time. The sky outside the windows had grown dark and the rain drops beat against the window. She could hear Leela from the entrance: “I apologize for missing our session today, my Master’s summons came as a surprise.”

“That’s alright,” Gesad’s response was more hurried than necessary. She still wasn’t comfortable living with the Sith. “I hope everything is well my lord.”

“Yes, quite. Though I realized I have been completely ignoring the cultural aspect of your training. So to make up for my grievous error I thought we should go to the opera tonight.”

Gesad wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She had no idea how to act in an opera, also she was sure she’d stick out like a sore thumb thanks to her horns.

“You don’t have to worry, I got you a dress and will make you look presentable. Besides it will do you some good to go out.”

“I have been outside, my lord”

“The balcony hardly counts. Now put this on” – Leela handed Gesad a dress that had probably cost more than she had – “we have an hour before we must get going.”

The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like her. Her painted lips created a contrast that made her skin look pale and the mascara and eye shadow darkened her eyes. Leela on the other hand looked pleased with her work: “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Gesad couldn’t help but smile, this was the first time anyone had complimented her and she didn’t feel like burning her skin off.

“If you are done admiring my handy work we should get going.”

Gesad glanced at the mirror quickly before following Leela. Maybe a night outside would do her some good. Also with Leela around fewer people would feel the need to comment about her non-human status, and causing social scandal might be more fun than she imagined.

#kat's ocs #30dayswchallenge #oc:gesad #I actually wrote something #I swear it becomes more lighthearted after few paragraphs #literally at the point in Gesad's life she isn't sure what's going on #she actually gains her self confidence during/after Korriban #my writing #viriwrites

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