eerian-sadow:

aniseandspearmint:

peradii:

“Womp rats,” snorts Wedge. “Womp rats, would ya believe it, this star-eyed little waif burbling on about rats–”

“Womp – did you say womp rats,” says Shannah Yvetta, materializing from behind his X Wing. Wedge jumps, which is a perfectly natural response to being confronted with six and a half feet of grumpy rebel who is eighty per cent scar tissue and twenty per cent misery.

“Yup,” says Wedge. “Rats. This –”

“Yeah, I heard bout that. Fuckin’ impressive, ain’t it? Can’t quite believe it myself.”

“What do you mean?” says Wedge. Shannah is never impressed. Shannah never shows any emotion that is not ‘the Empire killed and ate my wife, sons, dogs etc and thus everyone in it must die’ or ‘sleeping, but still vengeful.’ 

“I mean – Womp Rats,” he says, like this is explanation. 

“Rats,” says Wedge. 

“Womp rats. Did I ever tell you how I lost my arm?”

“–was it the Empire,” muttered one of the attendant pilots. He was quickly shushed. 

“No. I was on Tatooine, picking up some parts. And this swarm of rats came surging into camp. Weren’t scared of us, not at all. Ate three of my men where they stood. Ate them alive. Smallest of these fuckers was six foot long, nose to tail-tip. But that ain’t counting the spines, sticking out from their shoulders, barbed and brittle and designed to break off under your skin. Or their teeth, big as my hand. And we shot them, and they kept coming, and we shot more of them, and they were so fucking fast, ducking under the sand – burrowing – and popping up where you didn’t expect them to and… and in the end we brought them down but they didn’t stop trying to bite until we’d smashed their skulls to rubble. Two hours later, the men who had been bit were screaming. The bites went bad, see. Womp Rats carry the Black Rot. It’s gangrene on steroids. Eats you up. Healthy flesh went necrotic in minutes. Evolutionary thing, I hear. Symbiosis between the host and the virus; because when we’re dead and rotten we’re just easy to slurp up, like soup.”

Wedge has gone faintly green. Silence spreads out among the other pilots, settling like a blanket, so Shannah’s voice carries far. 

“So. The ones who got bit on the torso died fast. The Rot got to their hearts. Do you know what it looks like when someone’s skin falls off their ribcage, so you see their heart turn black, turn liquid, and stop?”

Wedge makes a thin, frightened noise. 

“I was lucky. It just got my arm. Skin went purple, black, started to slough off. I cut my arm off. And I lived. I still dream about them.”

The silence has taken on a strange, sacred quality. No one wants to be the one to break it. And then –

“Hi guys!” Luke Skywalker is almost a foot shorter than Shannah Yzetta. His hair is corngold, and his eyes are indeed starry, and he fits every definition of a waif. 

“Hi Luke,” says Wedge. “We were just…uh. Talking about Womp Rats.”

“Oh yeah,” says Luke. “Pretty good with some toast.”

“Um,” says Wedge. “You ate them?”

“Course we did. I killed enough to feed half the village come breeding season.”

“–huh,” says Shannah. His robotic fingers flex. 

“It was something to do. We’d goad them to attack us, take them out mid leap. Fast little things. But not fast enough.” His grin is cheeky – sort of, because Wedge is pretty sure there isn’t meant to be bloodlust in cheeky.

“So,” Wedge says, “two metre gap. Reckon you can handle it?”

“I know I can.”

This time, Wedge believes him.

oh my god this is amazing. 

Tiny adorable little angel of death from above Luke Skywalker is the BEST Luke Skywalker.

His mother would be so proud.

This. Is. Awesome.