#strills should be cat like

[cienie-isengardu]

I will take this concept of strill over the dog-like (as wookiepedia says) from 2010 Topps Star Wars Galaxy Series 5 by Shea Standefer any day any time

but so far those are the only two official sources outside RepCom book series to give some idea of how strills could look. Which drives me crazy because we deserve to have more strill pictures!

Star Wars Roleplaying Game: The Unknown Regions

[art-of-wackylurker]

[Commission Info]

Cookies for those who remember my Image You Can Hear with that odd dog because BEHOLD. It has an official ref now!

Lishuck, a fluffier and less volant relative of a strill, and a fairly common pet in the more rural areas of the planet I'm making up

Basically dog software running on cat hardware but animated blanket with parenting tactics of a jacana

[personalswtorheadcanons]

To everyone. If you were to have any creature in the galaxy as a pet, what would it be and why?

Selene: I have a few gizkas! They're adorable and I love them! I could list off a number of other creatures I'd love to have as a pet but we'd be here all day!

Oro'a: I wouldn't mind keeping a Rancor. My half-brother has told me that the women of our homeworld, Dathomir; were mastering riding these beasts before we were kidnapped and enslaved.

Zaedesh: I've stated before that I like Tukata's and grew up with them as pets. Although, I've heard Shae and Dedalera mention a Strill before and I'd be interested in having one as a pet.

Dedalera: I want a Strill as well. I'm convinced Torian is planning to get me one for life day, but he's not telling me.

Leyka: I've never had a pet. They are liabilities and weaknesses if you become attached.

Selene: *slides over a datapad saying she's planning on giving Leyka a tooka for Life Day and if she finds out someone blabs, their body won't be found*

Nivirhy: I mean...T7 is my friend but he's also kinda like a pet? He always has that excited and happy demeanor that reminds me of canines.

Sorla: Canines and felines are suitable pets but I personally don't believe that any wild animal should be kept as a pet. I only have this little creature because I don't want anyone eating it. *pets the porg perched on her shoulder*

Teeubo: I want a Vorantikus to scare people with! *chaos gremlin laugh*

Zenahi: I don't have time for pets. If anything, Jorgan counts because he's part cat.

Nivirhy: *Side eyes Zenahi*

Zenahi: What?! He purrs like one!

[roseaesynstylae]

Here are some headcanons I have about the Bad Batch’s pets.

Hunter: He’s a dog person, unsurprisingly. He’s probably going to end up owning a pack of them. I think that, out of a desire to have pets that can hold their own, he’d end up with ones that are super frigging dangerous (despite his repeated admonitions of Omega bringing home rather violent animals). Some options would be the vornskr (dogs that hunt Force-sensitives; Hunter would end up training it not to attack Omega but everyone else should step carefully), the charhound (fire doggo), the Raquor'daan (dog with a skull face and scorpion tail), the Coromon headhunter (literally eats heads), the Howlerunner (another dog with a skull for a face), the akk dog (Force-sensitive dogs from Mace Windu’s homeworld; probably terrified the vornskr into leaving it alone), and the early death dog (he has no ground to criticize Omega for bringing home dangerous pets). Who knows, he might find a strill somewhere and add it to the pack.

Crosshair: He already has Batcher, but he could do with some more therapy animals. For instance, the scarred tooka cat that despises everyone who isn’t him with a fiery passion. Or the ice vulture that decided that he was its new parent and now sits on his shoulder glaring at everyone. Or the nexu kitten that, like the vulture, is firmly convinced that he’s its mom. Crosshair has resigned himself to his fate.

Wrecker: You’d think he’d have something big and tough and intimidating. Instead, Wrecker has a deep love for hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, rats, and mice. One of them is named Mr. Nibbles. It seems like the kind of pet ownership that would end in tragedy, given Wrecker’s enhanced strength and over enthusiastic behavior, but he’s very gentle with his. If you upset him, you will get glared at by several dozen angry rodents. Of course, that would be the least of your problems.

Tech: He likes bugs and fish. Their workings and behaviors are fascinating, especially the bugs, and he finds the movements of the fish soothing. He claims that he isn’t attached or anything, but the fact that he’s named 90% of them causes a lot of side eying.

Echo: He didn’t need a pet. He didn’t want a pet. So why, through some sequence of events he doesn’t quite follow, does he now own a rancor?

Omega: Last week she brought back an abomination of Sith alchemy with too many tentacles and eyes. It spits acid, guards mind-shattering secrets, and likes to eat sentient flesh. It also acts like a puppy around her and lets her braid its hair(????). (Whatever she’s decorating, it’s not hair.)

[its-a-full-galaxy]

It was late at night when Talon snuck through the pitch black darkness. Her target was a sleeping Darius. She crouched, calibrated her move and then pounced on his form like a cat, settling on his chest. She was just playing. "This could have been very dangerous for you. You shouldn't let your guard down," she teased, her eyes glowing yellow in the dark.

Darius should not have been on watch that night. He knew it even before he told Talon he'd take the first watch. He knew it in the ache in his neck from wearing his helmet too long, the fogginess in his thoughts that kept him from thinking too far ahead, and the sigh his entire body seemed to give as he leaned against the wall of a rusted-out hut.

After nearly two weeks of tracking the Clawdite down, they finally found the grifter's regular routes. All they had to do now was wait for them to show up. But finding them had been rigorous. Between using skills he hadn't needed in years and re-exploring a place more developed than the last time he'd seen it, it took every skill and trick Darius had to get this far in the job.

It was exhausting. Not that he'd ever let on with Talon around, she had too much energy for him to even feign exhaustion.

Unfortunately, he was too tired to feign anything right then. As the minutes ticked by, Darius's head began to tilt slightly, his arms folded securely against his chest. Despite his best efforts, the caff and caff concentrate he'd consumed, the Mandalorian tucked his chin against his chest plate as his eyes drooped closed.

A soft snore escaped the Mando, his mind finally making itself at ease when something pricked his mind. Something familiar, mischievous. Nosey?

He heard the Strill in his dream and was about to call to it when something large slammed into him! Instinctively he tried to roll but whatever pounced him was already on top of him, pinning his folded arms to his chest

"Haar'chak!" he barked, still dazed between asleep and awake. "Vi chur ram'or!"

Then he heard the voice and stopped, blinking behind his vizor as he saw just who was on top of him. He blinked a gain and let out an aggravated groan as he wiggled his arms free. He then let out a calming sigh as he rested his hands on either side of her hips.

"Ohhh Talon. Uh, yeah it could've been very dangerous for me, falling asleep while on guard. But not killing me in the first stroke could've been very dangerous for you too. Pouncing a Mandalorian awake is definitely not a step towards a long and healthy life."

He gave a relieved chuckle and looked up at the Sith. "Then again, you seem to like playing with dangerous things. Heh, I hope this doesn't become a regular thing."

[mydetheturk]

for @bobadinweek‘s fall fest! the theme i chose was “creature feature” which somehow made shapeshifting mandos. so.

this’ll be up on ao3 some time in the next week or so. Enjoy!

~~

Din, aged nine, was adopted into the Djarin Clan of House Vizsla.

“Some things happen, with Mandalorians,” Mr. Bral said, brushing the hair out of Din’s eyes. “You don’t have to become one of us, not if you don’t want to, but we’ll train you to defend yourself, in case something does happen, okay, Din?”

It’s not like Din, aged nine and recently orphaned, was going to say no, even if some of the stuff Mr. Bral did was different. Sharper and more agile and a little more vicious when Din watched him train with some of the other adult Mandalorians.

“Not sure I want to pass on this to him,” Din heard Mr. Bral say one night when Din couldn’t sleep and he was sneaking into the little kitchen to make a tiny cup of tea.

“Then when – and it will be a when, Bral, even you can’t argue against that one, Din’ika’s a little firecracker – when Din passes his verd’goten, one of us can sponsor it.” That sounded like one of Paz’s buire, Armorer Vizsla.

“What’s up, kid?” Din froze. Ba’vodu Arla. Paz’s other buir. She grinned, sharp against the night. “Alright, alright, I won’t tell your buir you’re up. Shoo. Back to bed with you.”

She ruffled his hair and gave him a tiny shove, back toward the sleeping room. Din hurried back to the sleep room and curled up under the blanket. He would be asleep long before Mr. Bral came in.

 Din, aged forty one, has not lived through the Clone War killing his parents, the death of his buir at the hand of the Empire, who, a decade and a half later, tried to wipe out his people, survived a very targeted attack on his person, his ship blowing up, and took out a karking Moff for a little tit of a Dark Jedi to take him out now.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Boba jokes, but there’s a half serious layer to it as well.

Din is Mandalorian, and Boba is in blood, if not in name.

Boba knows, has known, doesn’t know enough.

Din is Mandalore now, has accepted his duty, and he reaches inward and pulls, drags out his own form, glinting in the reflection of the puddles around them. Boba’s been moving around in the rain like he was born to it, and as far as Din’s gathered, he was.

Barreling into the Dark Jedi – so named by Luke, who, even if he isn’t an expert on the subject, still knows more about them than Din does – Din goes for the throat while Boba goes for the legs. At least, Din assumes its Boba – the form has Boba’s markings, green and red and gold, all framed in black.

The Dark Jedi dies in a pool of their own blood, and Din rumbles, low in his chest. The form that should be Boba hisses back, and distantly Din recognizes the sound of a strill.

But this is the first time since before Gideon that reached in and given in and given up control, and Din doesn’t really want to wrestle it back under his skin for once.

Instead, he pads over to where Boba is laying and flops down on him, rumbling low in his chest.

“Why the force are you so big? Don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know, Djarin.” Distantly, Din is dismayed that Boba’s already shifted out of his other shape, but it doesn’t exactly matter when Boba’s got his hands scratching the scruff around Din’s neck.

“Shoulda known you’d be a big bastard cat.” Boba runs his hands over Din’s face anyway, smoothing out skin wrinkles. “C’mon, ‘fore Skywalker shows back up. Don’t think he knows about this one.”

Din groans once he’s bipedal, the shift having worn him out more than he’d expected.

“Akaan’uliik?” Boba asks.

“Kurs’calek.” At Boba’s curious head tilt, he clarifies, “Ambush predators. Big cats out on Jakelia.”

Din can perfectly imagine the sharp grin on Boba’s face. “Ambush predators, huh? Pretty fitting.”

“Says the strill.”

Boba just shrugs. “Skin flaps are comfortable, what can I say? I can also glide.”

Sighing, Din shakes his head a bit. “We have jetpacks, Boba, why would you need to glide?”

They’re still bickering when Skywalker bursts through the door spouting nonsense about a Dark Jedi.