#star wars fiction

[calvincell]

It’s absolutely astounding how much more I enjoy Star Wars as an overall franchise when I engage with Extended Universe & Legends Era projects that aren’t the shows or films (exceptions being Andor & Visons).

Even in regards to the Disney Era, so many of the most compelling writing & stories come from several of the prose books/short story collections (ie Alphabet Squadron & From A Certain Point Of View) and comics (ie many of the Darth Vader graphic novels).

On a lark, after putting off reading my copy for so long, I finally decided to read the often praised Star Wars Legends novel Darth Plagueis via Audiobook on YouTube and, despite watching the sequel trilogy in theaters, the audiobook was the most engaged & invested I’ve been in Star Wars as a storytelling playground since Tartakovsky’s Clone Wars back in 2003. The book is brimming with engaging characters & fantastic rich writing & plotting.

Now I’ve moved on to the YT channel The Archivist Publishing & its Audiobooks for Tales of the Bounty Hunters and the truly outstanding novel Death Star which is an incredible ensemble drama about the compelling lives of multiple characters either willingly, conscripted or outright forced to work on the 2/3rds constructed superweapon. It covers a gamut of perspectives from icons of Imperial command like Tarkin & Vader, to political prisoners of the Empire forced to apply their skills to the Death Star’s construction, to rank & file guards & pilots steeped in worship of the Empire eager for reassignment to the doomed battlestation, and even several individuals from discriminated species simply looking to eek out a semblance of a stable life under the thumb of the Empire. The book is absolutely overflowing with intrigue, magnetic & complex characters, spectacular worldbuilding & just generally terrific writing.

Ultimately, as someone who gravitated more towards Star Trek as my mainstream space scifi franchise of choice for years, I’m glad to finally get truly engrossed in the Star Wars universe & franchise earnestly rather than keeping it at arms length & only watching most of the post-Original Trilogy content out of social obligation to listlessly follow the zeitgeist instead of real interest. And as such I highly recommend that anyone who wants to truly see what can be done in this universe beyond the multitude of mid & low tier live action content we’ve gotten pre & post-Disney or simply just want to read good space opera fiction, definitely check out the Star Wars Legends-branded books & short fiction collections as well as several of the modern Star Wars comics.

[reneeofthestars]

A Helping Hand

Written for the fanzine @forcefatalezine !

Shmi Skywalker strives to make life better for her young son, all while doing her best to keep him safe.

Words: 1202 Rating: General

* * *

Even encrusted in sand, the memory core was intact. Shmi Skywalker breathed a small sigh of relief as she pulled her dark hair into a knot at the back of her head. She adjusted the repulsors on the aeromagnifier and inspected the piece for any fissures. Even though the casing was hearty, a few grains of sand could scratch or rupture the fragile data crystal inside.

What had started as a favor for neighbors had turned into a paying side-job, much to her surprise. At first, Shmi had offered to do computer repairs for others in the slave quarters because she was good at fixing things, and was able to help. But they always insisted on paying her. Sometimes it was in wupiupi , sometimes in food, or fuel, or a trinket. It wasn’t long before word spread, and one day a stranger strode into Watto’s shop, waved the Toydarian away, and asked Shmi how much she charged for repairs.

She’d been so worried about punishment from Watto – she hadn’t belonged to him for very long at that point – but was relieved when he told her that she could do small repair jobs as long as she didn’t take customers from him. And her excitement when he said that she could keep any money she made…

Shmi brought the memory core up to the bulbous glass of the aeromagnifier – an unexpected gift from Watto – and peered at the coarse exterior. The woman who had commissioned her – an Ithorian food vendor on the other side of Mos Espa – hadn’t properly enclosed her stall before the most recent sandstorm; she’d returned to find all her wares and electronics strewn across the street. She was willing to pay handsomely for the repair of two memory cores, and Shmi was determined to get the electronics working. Not because of the wupiupi; because she could , and she was happy to help the woman.

The money would be a wonderful boon, though. Anakin had outgrown his shoes, and there was barely anything left of them to mend. And dear old Jira was in need of a new blanket, as her threadbare shawls exposed her to the harsh nights. And maybe she could surprise Ani and his new friend, Kitster, with a sweet.

She began scrubbing at the exterior of the core with a fine brush. Part of her wanted to avoid getting anything that wasn’t essential, wanted to live bare-bones to save as much money as she could. And if she did, maybe someday, Shmi would have enough to buy her son’s freedom.

It was a whimsical thought. She would never be able to save up the money, even if she continued getting commissions. Watto valued Anakin’s skills too highly. The knowledge gnawed at her, and her calloused hands tightened around the component. Between Anakin’s affinity for mechanics and his reflexes in podracing, it seemed unlikely that Watto would ever agree to let him go. And even if Anakin were freed, where would he go? He was only a child, and the galaxy was a large, dangerous place. She knew in her heart that unless some grand adventure pulled him away, or unless he thought he could help many people, he would never choose to leave her side.

No; the best thing she could do for him was to utilize the extra income and make his life as comfortable as she could.

The front door opened with a hiss, followed by the shuffling of feet and – sniffling?

Shmi’s heart clenched. She immediately set the memory core on the cluttered desk in her small workspace. Rising from her salvaged chair, she rounded the corner to face the entryway. Anakin stood there, six years old and yet so much older, his blond hair hanging in his face as he ducked his head.

“Ani?” she asked, dropping to her knees and checking him over. His clothes were dirty, and there were scuffs on his palms. Streaks of tears cut through the grime on his cheeks. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head without meeting her eye.

She let out a long breath of relief. “Tell me what happened.”

“I tried to help,” he mumbled.

Shmi waited for an explanation, reaching for a clean rag and dabbing at his face.

After taking another moment to collect himself, Anakin explained, “There was a swoop gang by the shop. They were being mean to an off-worlder – he looked scared. So, I told them to leave him alone, that they weren’t being kind. They just laughed.” He looked up at her then, fresh tears in his gentle blue eyes. Angry tears. His small fists shook at his sides. “They laughed at me, Mom. And then one of them pushed me down, and said to mind my own business. But it was my business, because I was there!” 

Shmi didn’t answer right away; she busied herself with wiping the last of the grime from his rosy cheeks. Her heart ached at how angry he was; his indignation practically radiated from him. But her pulse had raced the moment he said “swoop gang”.

“Anakin. I am proud of you for trying to help someone in need. But, my son –” she took his hands in hers, “– you must be more careful. You cannot put yourself in dangerous situations.”

“No one else was helping him!” Anakin protested, pulling her hands closer. “Everyone else ran away!”

“Because they recognized the danger, and knew they couldn’t help without putting themselves at risk.”

“But they left him all alone! And he was crying. I couldn’t leave him alone! And I knew they wouldn’t hurt me, not really. They were being mean, but not cruel.” He looked away, ashamed. Anakin’s round face twisted into a scowl. “And I couldn’t really help. I tried to get between them. But they just pushed me away, like I was nothing.” 

Sadness rested in her heart. Tatooine was not a place where kindness grew naturally; Shmi could only hope that she could shield her son from becoming hard and jaded. She understood his anger, but she had been working with him to talk through it instead of lashing out. And she had found that he often became so set in his line of thought, he forgot to consider the emotions of others.

“How do you think I would feel if you were hurt?” she asked softly.

His expression opened in surprise. “You’d be sad.  And worried.” He paused, eyes searching her face. “You’re worried now,” he realized. “You were scared I was hurt. You’re scared I’m going to get hurt.” Then, in a small voice: “I don’t want you to be scared or sad.”

“Then I need you to be safe. You can always offer help afterward if something happens. You can come and get me. It’s right to stand up for others and prevent hardship if you can. But you must keep yourself safe first.”

Anakin didn’t argue further. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her shoulder. “Someday, I’ll be bigger. And no one will be able to push me around.”

She embraced him tightly, holding the back of his head and kissing his forehead. “You have a kind heart, Ani.”

[namjuicyy]

Taking place during 1BBY, this tiny tragedy follows two Rebel pilots final moments together. Based off Samuel Kim's "Star Wars (Epic Main Theme), and it's recommended you listen to it while you read.

Tw: war zone, battle, suicide.

One by one, ships exploded around her. Squadron after squadron bursting into a ball of flames and gas in the deep of space. Red lit up Libana’s windshield as she watched TIE Fighters bombard what was left of her fleet with their cannons and guns.

That was when she saw it; the purple painted X-Wing of Esmiris Elon. Esmi. Her Esmi. The ship thankfully hadn’t been blown to pieces yet, but it was floating in a ring of debris that had begun to orbit around the nearest planet. That was when she realised she wasn’t the only one who had taken notice of the perfectly intact X-Wing. Pure adrenaline kicked in, pushing on the thrusters she headed straight for the TIE Fighter that was charging and shooting at Esmi’s ship. Green flashes joined the sea of red. Lib smashed the trigger over and over again, her aim poor as she desperately shot to save her Esmi.

The TIE shot and landed a blow.

Another.

Another.

Lib was screaming by now, eyes teared over and her vision blurry. She was shooting into the abyss and hoping that the Force would help her to make her shot and save the only woman she’d ever loved.

Another.

She could see Esmi waking up from the blow that had knocked her out, and immediately she began panicking in her cockpit. She pushed as many buttons as she could, trying to steer out of the path of the oncoming TIE, her BB-unit similarly panicking as he desperately tried to repair what he could of their ship.

Somehow, some way, the Force had granted her this last wish, green colliding with the black metal and blowing it to pieces right before it could land a fatal blow.

“You came back for me!” Esmi said in disbelief. She truly thought she would never see Lib again.

“Of course I did. You still owe me credits.” Another Rebel ship blew up nearby. “Do you still have control?”

“Yes. But my hyperdrive is gone. There’s no leaving for me… not this time. You need to leave, Lib.”

“A life without you, Esmiris Elon, is not a life I’m willing to live. If you die, I die. We do this together, okay?”

With a nod, Esmi and Lib turned to face the star destroyers and TIEs that were charging for the last two remaining enemies. They were about to charge when they heard it.

“Spider Squadron, we have arrived.”

Jumping out of hyperspace above them came Rebel ships. Hundreds of them, if not thousands. While they were still greatly outnumbered, the odds on the battlefield had drastically changed. From their position, they watched as pilots took down TIEs with ease, teaming up and pushing the Empire back. The Empire’s numbers slowly but surely began to dwindle, most taken out when a Star Destroyer had been wrecked. But two more remained.

The Rebels took on damage, of course, but nothing compared to the elation everyone felt when the final Star Destroyer and been blown up, and the remaining TIEs jumped to hyperspace to avoid certain death.

Lib, in her joy, turned to look at Esmi’s ship next to her to celebrate their victory together. But as she laid eyes upon the field once more, she saw that the wing of Esmi’s ship had been blown clean off, and the cockpit door was wide open. Esmi, though strapped to the seat, was undoubtedly no longer breathing. While the rest of the Alliance commemorated this impossible victory, Lib felt her heart breaking. As her world crumbled around her, she had one final thought before she, too, opened her cockpit door…

A life without you, Esmiris Elon, is not a life I’m willing to live.

[findinyourkin]

Paz Vizla from The Mandalorian here. Looking for any sourcemates that want to talk, especially any member of the Nevarro covert. I remember a lot of noncanon people so don’t be afraid. I’m a fictive and the body is 23 so please be 20+. Contact @overgrown-boombox or like/reblog this and I’ll get back to you

!!!!!!!!

[heartiella]

[fleetcaptain]

I need someone to tell me if I'm tripping or not.

Was Eno Cordova named after writer Zoraida Córdova?

[yellodisney]

[machetelanding]

[adhd-coyote]

I just. Love Mando’a so fucking much. It’s so great.

They have three different words to describe ways to be stabbed. Bikadinir (to stab with a broad blade; “run through”), chekar (to stab with a small blade, “shiv”), and kalikir (to stab with a narrow blade, “skewer”).

They have one pronoun. Kaysh. That’s it. Buir is just parent, there’s no mom/dad. No son/daughter, just ad, ad’ika, ikaad. Child. Vod can mean sibling, friend, comrade. All at once. Amazing.

They have dozens of ways to insult someone. Di’kut, someone who forgets to put their pants on. Utreekov, emptyhead. Najaat, no honor. Dini, lunatic. Kaysh mirsh solus, “their brain cell is lonely.” Skanah, “much hated person/thing.” Hut’uun, coward. Ge’hut’uun, not even notable enough to be called a coward (how insulting is that?). Demagolka, originating from Demagol, the name of a scientist who was so fucking shitty that his name became the worst insult a Mandalorian could call you. And that insult is child abuser, monster, war criminal, someone with no honor.

And then there’s “shab”, which we don’t have an official definition for, but the fandom collectively agrees it means “fuck.” Because we have shabiir (to screw up), shab’la (screwed up), shab’rudur (to screw with), and shabuir (jerk but much stronger, AKA asshole/motherfucker).

And Mando’ade don’t say “I love you.” They say “Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.” I hold you in my heart for eternity. Like. Are you serious. That’s so much better than “I love you.” If someone said that to me I would die on the spot.

Mirshmure’cya means “brain kiss.” Slang for headbutt, which is a thing Mando’ade do a lot, apparently. And it’s a sign of affection, too. They show affection by gently bonking their helmets together. How adorable is that???

Oh, and shereshoy. A lust for life “and much more.” Represented by orange on their armor. “The enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it.” And that “oy” at the end of it, derived from “Oya!”

“Oya”, which can mean so many things. A war cry before a fight or hunt. A celebration. An encouragement. “Let’s hunt!” “Hoorah!” “Cheers!” “That’s the spirit!”

This post got much longer than I meant it to lol. I’ll stop here. But you get the gist. Mando’a is a wonderful language and I am in love with it.

[supertaliart]

I went a little off the rails for a power-point-party, so I thought I'd share. Don't come at me about canonicity. Also yes, I spent hours using illustrator to make pose-able vector mando'ade.

Review from my friend: "I feel like I actually learned something?"

[reneeofthestars]

Summary:

In the Old American West, Dooku of Serenno Railways - and part of the Separatist Posse - meets with Baron Carnagae to discuss a business opportunity for the oil town of Abafar.

Written for @wildwestzine , "For A Fistful of Credits" a Wild West AU Star Wars Zine! I'm so honored to have had the opportunity to work on this project; it's such a neat concept, and everyone's pieces turned out so well!

Word count: 1,237 * * *

Dooku’s lip curled as he stepped from the luxurious stagecoach onto the hard, dusty ground. Donning his top hat, the white-haired gentleman took the pocket watch from his vest and checked the time, then gestured for the driver to remain with the horses; this wouldn’t take long. Repocketing it, Dooku turned his attention to the two figures hopping off the rear of the stagecoach. Looming and deadly, the silent guards of the Magna Corps hid cattle prods and pistols at their sides under elongated ponchos, and wide-brimmed hats cast long shadows over their bandanaed faces.

The guards flanked Dooku as he strode up to the parlor. He paused at the door to adjust the red silk cravat at his neck and straighten his jacket; first impressions were important.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of the gaming parlor as he walked in. The Magna Corps brutes split off as Dooku made his way to the only occupied table in the establishment. Placing his hat against his heart, Dooku offered a polite bow. "Gentlemen."

“Mister Dooku, I presume! How wonderful to finally meet you in person!” the thickset Human boomed. Dooku masked his disgust; the man clearly thought he was presenting himself fashionably in his sweat- and drink-stained white suit.

“Your hospitality is most gracious, Baron Carnagae,” Dooku replied smoothly. He sat in the plush chair, hooking his silver-handled cane over the edge of the table. A glass of Corellian whiskey sat waiting for him.

“Only the best for the executive of Serenno Railways. Cheers!”

Dooku sipped the whiskey, surveying his hosts.

The baron downed his drink and followed Dooku’s gaze. “Where are my manners!” he cried. “Mister Dooku, may I introduce Sheriff Kivis.”

Sitting beside the baron, the Sheriff — an Iktotchi man — said nothing. He followed the guards’ movements as they took up positions at the edge of the hall.

“To business! Now, Mister Dooku,” the baron began, waving to the barkeep for another drink, “I understand you have a proposition for us, eh? A lucrative business deal for our humble little company town.”

“Indeed, Baron.” Dooku took another sip of whiskey and settled into the chair. “Your management of the oilfields has been exceptional. The profit margins reported in the HoloNet Press indicate a well-run operation with an opportunity for exponential growth. With our combined resources and drive, I believe that your oil company would be an asset to the Separatists, who would in turn benefit you.”

The grin on the baron’s face wavered. “Oh. You’re… you’re here on behalf of the Separatist Posse? I was — ” he coughed. “I was under the impression you were here representing Serenno.”

“As the executive of Serenno Railways, I have determined that our best opportunity for prosperity is under the banner of the Separatists. At this time, they are one and the same.” Dooku fixed the baron with a hard stare. “Will that be an issue?”

“No,” he answered too quickly, “not at all. The Posse is doing a commendable job in securing the frontier under a dependable governing body — one that understands the needs and dreams of the people. And the corporations that make it possible,” he added with a ghost of a smile.

Dooku hid the curl of his lip by taking another drink. A sentiment parroted straight from the pamphlets. No matter. The last statement solidified Dooku’s suspicion. Like most oil barons, Carnagae was greedy, looking for personal profit; Dooku could easily work with that.

“In order to ensure functionality, Serenno Railways is willing to install a station here in Abafar.”

“A train station?” The baron’s excitement was palpable.

“Of course.” Dooku awarded him a smile. “Making this town a designated station will drastically increase output and delivery.” From his vest pocket, Dooku withdrew a folded paper and handed it to the baron. “And per our contract, protection of Abafar will fall under the jurisdiction of the Separatist Posse. A detachment will be sent to take up residence here. This will enable you to focus your resources on the oilfields, instead of draining them on patrol.”

“And I’ll retain rights?” the baron challenged, his meaty hand closing over the document. “I prospected the oilfields myself. I built this town! I won’t sign them over to the Posse, no matter the offer.”

“Your prudence is a sign of your skills as a businessman. It’s all laid out here.”

Once he’d finished reading, the baron exclaimed, “This seems well in order!” and pulled a pen from his pocket.

“Baron,” the sheriff said in alarm, “you can’t seriously be considering this! The Posse is dangerous — ”

“If you’re referring to the rumors — ”

“They aren’t rumors! The Jedi Marshalls have confirmed — ”

“ENOUGH!” The baron’s fist thumped on the table. “You don’t run this town, Kivis, I��do! And I am going to make us prosperous.”

The baron signed his name with a flourish. He reached across the table to shake Dooku’s hand, and Dooku obliged, managing not to grimace at the man’s sweaty palms.

“We’re happy to work with you, Mister Dooku. I’ll have our branch of Scipio Bank set up the necessary accounts.” The baron turned to the Iktotchi. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Sir?”

“With the arrival of the Separatist troops, your services will no longer be required. Unless you choose to come under my employ in the oilfields, I must ask that you vacate town by the end of the week.”

“You can’t just — ” The sheriff’s cheeks reddened as he leapt to his feet. “I’m not just abandoning them!” He rounded on Dooku. “I won’t let you hurt this town!” He reached for his gun.

Unnaturally fast, a Magna Guard flew across the room and drove its cattle prod between the sheriff’s shoulders. His back arched horribly, a guttural choking noise tearing from his throat as he collapsed to the ground convulsing. But the guard didn’t remove the rod; he leaned into it, pressing a button to increase the voltage.

“I do not appreciate being threatened,” Dooku intoned in a low voice. “I trust that this was an individual action, not the opinion of the authority of Abafar.”

“Of-of course not, sir,” the baron gasped, face suddenly pale.

“Good.” Dooku reached over and picked up the Sheriff’s untouched drink. He sniffed it, then drained the glass; the dryness of the desert air left him parched, and it would be a crime to let Alderaanian Toniray go to waste.

He took the signed papers and folded them carefully into his pocket. He stood, and the baron knocked over his own chair as he hastened to his feet. “My posse will be here in two days to begin the necessary construction. The foreman will act in my stead. I will be in touch to ensure operations are proceeding smoothly. Good day to you.” He took his cane and made for the door. The Magna Guards fell in behind him. Dooku wondered for a moment if the sheriff was dead, then decided he didn’t care.

“I-yes. Yes! Thank you, Mister Dooku!” the baron called in a high voice. “Looking forward to doing business with you!”

Business, indeed. Established oilfields with a plentiful workforce, in a town that could serve as a junction and waystation between several other key towns in the Separatist territories — this would be invaluable.

Stepping outside into the rising heat, Dooku donned his hat and checked his pocket watch. As predicted, it hadn’t taken long.

[delhe-dalim]

Oh Mayday... Warm colors cuz he deserves some warmth 🥹

[mydairpercabeth]

facecards so lethal i started watching star wars

[bikiniarmorbattledamage]

This is truly stiff competition for the worst case of willful false equivalence we've ever seen.

So, for those not aware: Ongoing embarrassment to gamers and the gaming industry, Mark Kern (former lead on FireFall), has been desperately trying to get Gamergate 2 going on X/Twitter... well after others have given up. If you need to get caught up on Mark, I recommend this video by documentary maker and experienced game developer, Dead Domain:

One of the latest fiascos in this mix has been the comparison of responses to character designs from Hades 2 (Aphrodite, left) and Stellar Blade (protagonist Eve, right). The post isn't by Mark, but is part of the general harassment campaign he's trying to lead.

If you're somehow not familiar with Aphrodite, she's the Ancient Greek goddess of love, lust and hot girl shit. It is absolutely perfect characterization for her to show up to a battle (or anything else) nude but for her hair teasingly covering the intimate parts of her body. But the buried lede here is, you don't fight her in Hades and nothing about Hades 2 indicates she'll fight there either, she just likes the aesthetic and has no reason not to indulge.

Stellar Blade will release on 26 April 2024, so we can't really give an informed discussion of her character. But what we do know is the studio head is the illustrator from Blade & Soul, Eve is described as being a member of "the 7th Airborne Squad" engaged in an "operation to reclaim the planet from the Naytiba", and the promotion material promises "an enthralling narrative filled with mature themes, mystery and revelation. Embrace the relentless pace, with no time to pause between moments where critical, story-changing decisions are made."

It's to be compared to games like Nier: Automata, Devil May Cry 5, Jedi: Fallen Order and Sekiro. And the screenshots look like this:

And yeah, unlike Bayonetta she's not supposed to be an unstoppable force of nature (and fashion) who is immune to self-doubt, she's supposed to be the scrappy underdog last survivor of her team.

Weird they gave her a costume that conveys... the opposite of literally everything they're supposed to be trying to tell you about her.

-wincenworks