#˒・*。◞ 011 : ( verse ) ɪᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ. *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs sᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ.

[stillsolo]

@tapalslegacy 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 :: ❝Terrified at what my own instincts might lead to.❞

             𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙾𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙽𝙰𝚅𝚈 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙰 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙷𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼 for as long as solo could remember.  however, it was only recently that han began questioning if his dreams of joining the imperial army had been nothing more than a means to survive, a goal established for the sake of living long enough to one day see it through, rather than a future lifelong aspiration.

in hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming from a visvia away, should’ve known better than to believe he could ever belong to anyone or anything other than himself.  countless years of unsuccessful escapes and relentless beatings had taught him that lesson well enough, but nothing drove it home quite like finally tearing off the razorhound collar that had leashed him to a life of servitude, the very collar shrike had locked around his neck since he was a boy too young to speak, let alone defend himself.

however, liberation soon ushered in a sobering revelation, and it didn’t take long for han to come to grips with the extent of his current ( self-made ) predicament. three months of active duty service on the death star was all he needed to come to grips with the bitter truth: this was not the life he had expected or wanted. and now he had no one to blame but himself.

well, himself and maybe the TIE fighter some hapless acenvir had left unattended in the hangar.

❝i, uh… i guess i see where you’re coming from, sir.❞  han cleared his throat and damned his inexperience with formalities that betrayed exactly how awkward he felt.  ❝i’ll admit, i wasn’t exactly thinkin’ when i commandeered that TIE fighter. but let’s face it, if we’d waited any longer, asmeru’s blockade would’ve flanked us in a heartbeat. we’d be down half our fleet if i hadn’t stepped up.❞

                     ❝i acted on instinct ’cause flying’s in my blood.❞

[stillsolo]

@techniiciian asked:

matt looks up at han with nothing less than utter disappointment in his eyes. he chews, a bit reluctantly, at the overly crunchy bug he’d stuffed into his mouth only seconds ago. “it doesn’t taste as good,” he mummers before forcing himself to commit to his action and swallow down his mistake, “as grandpa made it sound like.”

             𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝙻𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙰 𝙳𝚁𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺 ,  though the gentle curl of his mouth spoke of genuine amusement.  ❝yeah?  maybe now you’ll listen to me when i say: no corellian eats bugs.❞

❝y’know, i’ll wager my last credit that there’s no sanlo back there.  must be a buncha eksters running the kitchens.❞

but what did he expect from an old, run-down diner he’d found floating in the outskirts of the expansion region almost fifteen years ago?  well, better service for one, and maybe a discount for customers brave enough to navigate the station’s poor excuse for a docking bay…  after casting the plated assortment of crisped multipedes and horned krevols an appraising sneer that mostly imparted disgust, han settled into their booth tucked into the corner of the establishment, a glass of brandy in one hand and his right arm draped over the tacky cap.

❝your grandfather…❞   han flung out a hand, a stiff, restricted gesture that failed to retrieve the right words.  words that wouldn’t somehow make it back to his father-in-law and possibly cause another tiff that would end with han sleeping on the couch for the next few days.  ❝is tatooinian,❞ he finished lamely, before clearing his throat.  ❝’sides, no corellian gluttonbug’s gonna taste like deep fried kreetle, and i would know.  luke used to go nuts for the stuff.❞

[stillsolo]

             𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙾𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴, 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 your typical high-ranking military official: tall, a gaunt face with graying hair, dead beady little eyes, and no doubt armed with a protracted lecture about the myriad consequences of failing to follow protocol.  there would be the usual unambiguous threats if he ever failed to comply with orders, as disobeying an order was to disobey his Lordshipfulness, the Esteemed Emperor Vader, along with mentions of his poor academic record and brief praise regarding his test fight runs. the lecture would then wrap up with a heart-to-heart moment, consisting of the old blowhard lamenting they could see themselves in him, that he held so much promise, if only he learned to keep his head down and his big mouth shut.  put talent to good use; let actions speak for him, the usual platitudes han never once asked for.

except, the man awaiting his arrival was unlike anyone solo had so far encountered within the imperial forces.  the grand inquisitor stood apart, not merely due to his bizarre title unaffiliated with the army, but because he was one of the few remaining force users that still used a ’saber.  han had seen him on news broadcasts, often shadowing his Exalted Lordship and his family, or somewhere nearby, always within spitting distance, though always with the helmet on, never without it.

to see the man’s face now, unadorned and exposed, was new and rather unwelcome.  han wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw.  the grand inquisitor was no more than a few years his senior, and that incongruous piece of information splintered the impression of the imperial army he had formed and grown to hate within months.

              ❝with all due respect,❞ solo began with his usual laconic drawl, ❝my men had already deployed ’n took point.  if i’d waited for some wet-behind-the-ears rookie t’ back me up, we’d be picking up pieces of our fleet right now.❞

just who the hell was the one making assumptions here, anyway?  han had been up since zero dark thirty, overseeing the blockade and planning their next move.  if anyone had made wild assumptions, it was this godsbedamned kid who didn’t look a day over twenty!

❝look—sir,❞ he tacked on the formality almost as an afterthought, ❝i acted alone, no one else.  judgment call was on me, ’n it worked out.  lucky me.  i’d do it again if it meant keeping my men safe.❞

after all, with the imperial navy’s lousy track record, han couldn’t exactly trust anyone but himself to keep them alive, now could he?

in han’s experience, confidence was one way to get yourself noticed; arrogance was the quickest way to get yourself killed.  it was common sense to han solo, a fundamental understanding of life in a world that granted no second chances.  this awareness had shaped his view of the brass, whom he perceived as seasoned military types—only old age and cynicism, he reckoned, could breed such callous arrogance.

the reckless abandon with which these monstrous kreetles dispatched their battalions into the fray, as though blind to the prospect of alternative strategies that could mitigate the toll of war, had not only painted a damning portrait of their character, but showed their hands stained with the blood of those who trusted their leadership would keep them alive.

the way han saw it, half of these guys shouldn’t even be called leaders.  they were nothing but a bunch of cold-blooded bureaucrats, no different from the greedy, plump politicians who would preach about all the good they did for their homeworlds, despite carrying the same brand of underlying contempt for the very people they served.

Typically, it wasn't his job to reprimand others, not unless they were directly under his command. Especially when it came to a mission he wasn't even apart of to begin with, not until the 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞.

It didn't help Solo's case that Cal demanded someone let him pilot a TIE Interceptor, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to be involved. It only added to the stress Cal was under, and the other things he had to take care of for the day. The Grand Inquisitor wasn't even supposed to be flying today. However his 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 gnawed at his conscience, concerned of all the outcomes of this because-- This young man snuck off and did something he should not have done.

And the last words that Solo uttered made him want to bash his head against the durasteel walls not too far off.

Cal, with his helmet tucked under his arm, breathed in deeply. Chest expanded and lowered as he turned his head to the side and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a throbbing pain that was knocking at his brain and he knew, from this moment onward, the rest of his day was not looking too great.

He lowered his gloved hand and white sleeve of his uniform before turning to face Solo. BD-1 clung to the back of his dress uniform and glanced between the two, the antennas perked up, followed by a flash of blue light to scan Solo. Cal didn't do anything to stop the droid. He thought it was 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 if Solo was temporarily flash banged by the rays of light. It only took a few seconds, so it should not be anything to complain about.

❝ And is there anyone applauding you, Solo ? ❞ He glanced around the room as his next words started off with a huff and some laughter, only to end with a deadpan expression. ❝ Because there's no accolade here. You could face serious consequences. Vader— ❞

He stopped himself. Didn't even want to consider what would happen, had Vader been in his place. But maybe that's why Cal is the one present instead of his adoptive father.

A whir, coming from BD's antennas, sounded from behind him. Probably lowered the rods. Maybe Cal had started to raise his voice, as that's something BD usually does when that happens. Cal sighed.

❝ I'm letting you off with a warning. ❞ Though there were countless things Cal could have done, like revoking Solo's license as a pilot. Even a warning seemed absurd, but the results Solo delivered was deserving of some amount of generosity.

❝ Though, you are aware that your assumption could have killed others, correct ? ❞ The Grand Inquisitor had caught up on the word around this part of the Galaxy, anything that pertains to Solo's reputation, though only hearing the worst news as he directly asked superiors who the kriff Han Solo is and what was he doing in the sky.

❝ You made the assumption that everything would go well. Sure, you know how to fly a damn TIE. But you also have to take account the others following you. Especially the rookie. ❞

[stillsolo]

             𝙸𝙵 𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚁 𝙼𝙰𝙽 ,  he would’ve agreed, laying approval on thick while putting a thinly-veiled sarcastic spin on the words, testament to a decades-old resentment seething between clenched teeth.  but han solo was no lesser man.  whatever gripes he had against anakin skywalker had simmered down years ago, snuffed out by the eventual friendship they naturally cultivated over a shared passion in piloting and mechanical engineering.

anakin's ( not-infrequent ) former threats of ‘NOCTURNAL ASSASSINATION’ or ‘SUDDEN AERIAL DEMISE’ now seemed like distant echoes of another life.  sometimes, it even prompted a few chuckles. who could have predicted that the man han once regarded as the greatest living threat to his entire being would end up becoming not only his father-in-law, but one of his closest friends?

if only the bastard wasn’t so possessive of his grandchildren.

❝yeah, he’d like that,❞ han drawled, rolling his eyes even as his boy worked himself into a fit of wheezing giggles, flushing his whole face ruddy.  the sight tugged at the corner of his mouth.  ❝the man’s a menace, hellbent on outdoing me in anythin’ and everythin’.❞  like loving his filswikin' kid.

and to think anakin had initially rejected luke’s proposal of having a neo-genetically engineered grandchild, vehemently refusing to entertain the mere concept for months.  it took numerous concessions before anakin finally relented, a stark contrast to his swift acceptance of matthew post-delivery, showering him with all the unconditional love and acceptance only a true parent could ever offer.

              ❝next time he says that, we're haulin' jets back to corellia.  learn your old man’s native tongue, boy.  you’re killin’ me over here.❞

would a sanlo cook these bugs better? matt wonders to himself as he snatches up a few finger thick, crisped millipedes and stuffs them into his mouth. matt studies his old man, munching thoughtfully, as weighs his options. should he tease his dear dad or to leave him be? unluckily for Han, this round of creepy crawlies is pleasantly delicious, and that's enough to help Matt make his choice.

his lopsided grin grows all the wider as he lifts his own glass of blue milk and reaches across the table to clink glasses with the brandy in his father's hand before he takes a swig.

"maybe —" hazel eyes twinkle with cheeky amusement, "—i'm more death starian than corellian."

his shoulders shake with barely contained laughter as he continues, "gran'pa seems to think i might even be more tatooinian, like him."

another three lanky crisped bugs make their way into Matt's mouth, and he chews them down with a wide smile that speaks of playfulness. maybe he'll be more corellian with his food choices tomorrow. today at least, his adventurous appetite seems to be anything but.