Here is a list of our works that are our Star Wars OCs. Weāll try to keep things organized by series to make it easier. Each origin story is written by the respective creator, and each one shot will have the author specified. Enjoy!
Summary:Ā It's not easy to make friends when most of the Resistance thinks you're an out-of-touch celebrity that's just using their base to hide out from your problems. Despite Leia's best efforts to protect her, Mey-Gon is determined to prove herself on a real mission. With Relix by her side, it should have been a fun mission. It should have been an easy mission. But when things go very wrong, it sets both the Resistance and the First Order on a new path, racing toward the same goal. Will Mey-Gon's involvement in such a dangerous mission finally earn her some respect? Will a certain someone find that he cares more than he realized?
Next Chapter
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Two shuttles zoomed overhead, arcing away from the base with an X-wing flanked on either side. They were outbound, so identifying them wasnāt really necessary; but Mey-Gon figured it would be good practice, so she held up her scanner and pointed it towards the shrinking ships. Within a couple seconds, all four identification codes populated onto the screen of her device with the approved symbol alongside each one.
Troop transports and fighters. No doubt they were on their way to prevent another First Order attack, and hopefully they would make it in time. Mey-Gon remembered well the terror of facing down stormtroopers alone when help had come too late. And she also still recalled the aftermath sheād witnessed in the towns where help hadnāt come at all. Part of her longed to go on a combat mission too, just to really feel like she was fighting the First Order; but she probably wouldnāt be much help, considering her training results.
Leia required that every Resistance member be combat trained - from the lowest mechanic to the top command - just in case the base ever came under attack. Even with all her stunt experience, Mey-Gon knew she was no fighter. She wasnāt particularly fast or strong, and outside of memorizing choreography, she had no instinct for combat moves. Weapons training had produced similar disappointing results. She knew how to handle various kinds of blasters and rifles, but her target accuracy averaged around 37%. Practice would improve both skills, hopefully, and she was determined to prove herself worthy of a real battle someday.
She tried to twirl the scanner around in her hand but fumbled it and winced as it clattered to the platform floor. While she picked it up and inspected it for damage, she heard the hum of an approaching speeder and knew that her replacement would be taking over in a minute. Luckily, the device had survived the drop and shouldnāt give the next shift any trouble. That was the last thing Mey-Gon needed tacked on to her reputation.
Besides combat training, Leia also preferred everyone to be cross trained to do several jobs, so that, in emergencies, someone was always qualified to jump into any position. Most beings trained for a few duties but excelled in a particular one and stayed there mainly. Mey-Gon had bounced from position to position over the past couple months and never really got the hang of anything. At first, Leia had tried to keep her close by assigning her to the control room, but the systems and codes were far too technical for her; so she tried maintenance, but had to rely on droids for most of the mechanical jobs. From there sheād been shuffled through various duties where her lack of skill couldnāt cause much damage.
āHey!ā she greeted cheerfully, peering over the edge of the platform at the girl jumping out of the speeder below, āThat time already?ā
āIām sorry!ā the girl scrambled for her chrono, āAm I early? We donāt have to change shifts yet, if youāre not ready.ā
āNo, no, youāre on time. I was just...ā Mey-Gon frowned, āCome on up.ā
As she triple-checked that she was leaving the radio and scanner in good condition, she tried not to let the frustration show on her face, lest it be misinterpreted by her replacement. Making friends was proving hard enough for her already. Maybe it was the fact that she hadnāt worked in one position long enough to become part of a team, or maybe it was the general confusion or nervousness that a lot of beings seemed to develop when interacting with her. All her life, sheād been surrounded by people trying very hard to be her friend, so she had never had to make this much of a personal effort before. It was yet another thing she was discovering she had no natural talent for.
āSharp eyes, safe skies,ā Mey-Gon smiled as she handed over the scanner. It was something sheād thought up over the last few hours of solitude, and she was quite pleased with herself for it.
The girl just blinked, then broke into a nervous grin and nodded, āYeah...you tooā¦ā
Mey-Gon held in her stiff sigh until she had climbed down from the platform and hopped into her landspeeder. Maybe there was a reason she kept getting assigned to solo duties away from the base lately. She didnāt mind this post - the jungle out here was beautiful - or the occasional supply runs up to the fleet hidden in DāQarās orbital ring, but the constant distance from her Resistance comrades did little to improve her social skills.
The route back to base took several minutes, so she lifted her knees to the steering bar and used her arms to rearrange her hair into a more flattering style, now that she didnāt have to wear the helmet anymore. She liked to look nice whenever she was off duty, and she was eager to get out of this uniform. Eagerness was no excuse for sloppiness, though, so she slowed down as she entered the main thoroughfare of the base and navigated her way to the hangar garage where all the land vehicles were stowed, amongst other things. There were even a few swoop bikes tucked away somewhere, but Leia had made it clear they were for missions, not joyrides; and Mey-Gon had yet to be sent on a mission.
With the landspeeder parked securely in its spot, Mey-Gon climbed out and unclasped her uniform jacket, leaving it open to expose the fine pink blouse she had been wearing underneath. She was pleased with how well it reflected her personal style, even when tucked into the tailored trousers that went with the drab jacket. It would have to do until she got the chance to change into one of her dresses for the evening. As she walked around the parked vehicles, she spotted two Ithorian mechanics chattering melodically in their language as they rubbed down an astromech droid straight out of an oil bath.
āHi, guys!ā Mey-Gon waved and the chattering stopped, āNeed any help?ā
There was an awkward silence as the Ithorians tilted their heads to and fro to look at her through one eye at a time. She had no capacity to read their expressions, if they were even wearing any, and didnāt really expect an answer, since they were incapable of speaking Basic; so the awkwardness hung there until the droid tootled a friendly reply. Mey-Gon wanted to kick herself when she realized that she couldnāt understand droids either and there was no elegant way out of this stupid attempt at casual interaction. Her only solace was that the droid was BB-8, and that meant Poe was probably nearby. He was one of the few people who did talk to her occasionally, and there was an inexplicable comfort she got from being around him. Perhaps it wasnāt inexplicable, actually, but she didnāt want to think about it too much.
āOkay, carry on,ā she backed away from the mechanics and heard them pick up their conversation again as she made her way toward the front of the hangar.
āMey-Gon!ā a familiar voice called when she neared the flight simulation pods.
āRelix!ā she brightened and changed course to see what he was working on.
Other than Leia, Relix was probably the person Mey-Gon spent the most time with and was the closest thing she had to a real friend on this base. Of course, he was friends with just about everybody, but somehow he still took the time to include her in some of his projects and social activities. He was good at nearly every job, so whenever Mey-Gon got reassigned, she could always count on him to show her the basics. Unlike most of the others, Relix never acted awkward or impatient with her, and was consistently positive and encouraging. He was the nicest, most genuine human sheād ever met; and despite joining him often at the blaster range, she couldnāt actually imagine him shooting anybody, not even a stormtrooper.
āAre you done for the day?ā he asked as she approached, and his BD unit, which he called Codey, chirped at her in greeting from where he was perched on Relixās shoulder.
āJust got back from my last shift at the lookout point,ā she nodded, peering into the open control panel that he was leaning over, āTrouble with the sims?ā
āThey keep going out of sync,ā he swept a hand toward the other three pods, which the pilots used to simulate different battle scenarios together from the safety of the hangar, āBut Iām pretty sure the glitch is coming from this one.ā
āItās definitely this one,ā groaned a female voice and Mey-Gon looked up to see a human pilot leaning out of the pod they were working on.
āHi, Tallie,ā Mey-Gon greeted.
āHey, Mey-Gon,ā she returned, not exactly coldy, but warily, then looked at Relix, āDid you find the source yet?ā
āOh yeah, I got it,ā he assured her, āItāll just take me a couple minutes to clean it up and reboot the program.ā He shot Mey-Gon an eager grin, āIf you want to wait for me, I was thinking we could go work on your ship. Iāve been brainstorming different ways to coax a little more power into the sublight engines.ā
āThat sounds great,ā she brightened, āTake your time, Relix. Iāll wait for you.ā
Despite her initial attempt to donate her private light corvette to the cause, Leia had insisted that Mey-Gon keep ownership of it. As a result, she was now one of the few beings in the Resistance to have a personal transport; and it was a privilege that didnāt go unnoticed, like most of the other privileges that she enjoyed as a favored friend of the general. Still, she only ever used it for the occasional trip up to the fleet on supply missions or as a sanctuary of privacy when she was having trouble sleeping in her assigned bunk in the barracks. As much as the corvette had comforted her with its familiarity and reminders of her old life at first, they were both slowly transforming into something new in the service of the Resistance. Relix and his mechanical friends had been dying to give the luxury transport a military makeover, from weapons to shields to engines. He was constantly enthusiastic about making new modifications and Mey-Gon was always eager to try them out. It was one of their favorite projects to work on together. She was even considering giving the ship a proper name in honor of its transformation, though she hadnāt settled on one yet.
As Relix and Codey turned their full attention back to the open control panel, Mey-Gon wandered over to the break station and grabbed a cup off the shelf. Out of habit, she rotated it under the light and frowned at the dirty smudges around the lip. It may be a garage break station, but she still couldnāt understand why other beings cared so little about cleanliness. Then again, it wasnāt like she would be using it to drink purified comet glacier water, like she used to have imported to her mansion. She meticulously wiped the cup clean, then filled it with tap water and sipped delicately as she moved back toward the pods to wait for her friend. He was calling back and forth with Tallie inside the pod, asking her to check things every time he made an adjustment under the hood.
Mey-Gon leaned against the outside of the next pod over, carefully watching the exchange over the top of her cup. Sheād always been good at studying people and imitating the traits she chose. There was a stark difference in the way Tallie - and almost everybody else, for that matter - talked to her, compared to the way they interacted with Relix. What did he do differently? She needed to figure it out and try it, herself.
Suddenly the hatch she was leaning on popped open, bumping her forward and sloshing her next sip of water down her chin and onto her nice blouse. She groaned and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
āOh, hey, Mey-Gon,ā Poe hopped out of the pod, āYou joining in for the next sim?ā
āWhat? No,ā she shook the water off her hand in exasperation and glared at the spreading wet spot on her chest, āWhy are you so determined to embarrass me?ā
āEmbarrass you? How?ā he smiled innocently, even after glancing down quickly at the evidence of the spill he had caused, āAre you nervous?ā he teased as he pulled a small bottle from his pocket, āMaybe youād like a little liquid courage.ā
āI donāt get nervous,ā Mey-Gon said defensively, even as she eyed the bottle, ā...but I would like some.ā
āItās yours,ā he tucked it into her hand and relieved her of her cup, draining the rest of the water into his own mouth before elaborating, āSome girl up on the flagship gave it to me, but itās not really my taste. I figured youād like it.ā
As she uncapped it and took a few experimental sips, she witnessed Poe half-heartedly wipe the water cup off with his shirt then walk over and set it back on the shelf she had taken it from. She made a mental note to thoroughly wash all break area dishes before using them from now on. When he returned, she couldnāt help but hum approvingly at the smooth flavor of the amber liquid, āI do like it. Howād you know?ā
He grinned and leaned in close, whispering, āBecause youāre an alcoholic.ā She made an indignant noise and bumped him away with her shoulder, making him laugh as he shrugged, āWell, I only ever see you at the bar anymore.ā
āThatās because I donāt get sent off on hotshot missions all the time, like some people.ā
His smile tightened, āThatās because Tatooine would freeze over before the general put you in harmās way, like some people. And not just because your combat scores are so low.ā
āWhy do you know my combat scores, Poe?ā she scowled, actually embarrassed this time.
āIām gunning for a promotion,ā he explained proudly, āand every good commander should know the strengths and weaknesses of those around them. What I donāt know is your performance in a fighter, so hop in and weāll load up a new battle scenario.ā
It was tempting, terribly tempting. Mey-Gon missed the speed, maneuvers, and competitiveness of racing so much. The slow, safe life of base duty the past couple months had left an aching pit in her stomach that used to be filled with passion and adrenaline. Plus, there was something about starfighters, especially X-wings, that she had always been attracted to. Sheād been dying to train in one, but never had an excuse until now. Normally, sheād ask Relix to be the one to instruct her through something new, because he was never judgmental; but there was such sincere interest in the look Poe was giving her that she felt maybe she could trust him as a teacher too - at least when it came to something he loved as much as he clearly loved flying.
āI would...ā she admitted slowly, ābut I donāt know how to fly stick.ā
āSeriously? Itās completely intuitive,ā he lifted his forearm up in between them, then grabbed her hand and held it down on top of his fist, moving his arm like a flight stick as he identified the directions, āPitch, yaw, roll left, roll right...see? Easier than the yoke in your corvette. You can just follow my lead in the first round; Iāll be your wingmate.ā His smile betrayed just how excited he was about finding someone new to fly with, but Mey-Gon was still distracted by having her hand trapped between his, so she simply nodded. Poe turned his head to call toward the other pod, āWhat do you say, Tallie? You and Relix against me and the princess?ā
Tallie exchanged a look and a playful shrug with Relix, then she called back, āSure, we should be all synced up again now.ā
Poe looked back at Mey-Gon, quite pleased with himself, for some reason.
āFine,ā she pulled her hand back to uncap the bottle for one more quick drink before the looming humiliation, then tucked it away into her jacket, ābut go easy on me until I get the hang of it, all right?ā
āYouāll do great,ā he assured her, then helped her up into the simulator he had been using, āHere, this oneās all set up and ready to go. Iāll jump in one of the other pods.ā
Mey-Gon settled into the seat and looked around at the replica cockpit, feeling her heartbeat start to speed up in anticipation. Suddenly her view was obstructed by Poe leaning over her in the confined space as he pointed out various buttons and switches.
āOkay, most of the control panel should be familiar,ā he rattled, āPretty standard, like any cruiser. Youāve got your various indicators, monitors, warning lights, inertial damper...this one is deflector shields, targeting scope...trigger controls here on your flight stick, this one for laser cannons, this one for torpedoes. Hereās your comlink, which goes through your helmetā¦ā
He grabbed the helmet off the top of the panel and fitted it carefully over her hairdo then adjusted the mic angle to line up with her mouth. It was a completely different design than her swoop racing helmet, but Mey-Gon probably could have figured it out herself. Still, she was more amused than annoyed at the way Poe was fussing over her. Whether she embarrassed herself in this first simulation or not, it was just nice to find something new to share with him - something that disrupted his usual cool demeanor and had him looking even more excited than her. And she had to admit she was pretty excited, not just about trying her hand at piloting a fighter but also about finally getting a chance to see Poe in action too. The man had a reputation for a reason.
āOkay,ā he leaned back, āThatās about it. Just buckle in the harness - Iāll let you do that yourself - and when I close the hatch, the screen will-ā
āOh, excuse me! Wing Commander Dameron,ā a distinct voice rang out from the hangar floor and Mey-Gon saw Poeās eyes narrow in annoyance.
āWhat is it, Threepio?ā he asked without even turning.
She perked up to peer over his shoulder at the gold droid. Almost everyone seemed to develop the same look Poe was now wearing whenever C-3PO interacted with them, but Mey-Gon was delighted by his presence. Protocol droids reminded her of rich, well-traveled beings and made her feel like she was on Hosnian Prime again or some other important place. If she hadnāt found such a good publicist, she might have employed a protocol droid, herself, back at the height of her success.
āAh! Miss Niek,ā he lifted his arms, āJust who I was looking for, in fact. General Organa requires your attendance.ā
āOh,ā Mey-Gon bit her lip, momentarily tempted to have Leia wait until sheād passed at least one round in the simulator, but the temptation fled as quickly as it had come. She met Poeās eyes apologetically as she pulled the helmet off and smoothed her hair back, āSorry, Poe. Princess business.ā
His genuine look of disappointment cracked when one corner of his mouth twitched in appreciation of her joke, āNext time, then.ā
āNext time,ā she promised and let him help her down out of the pod.
āIām sorry, but have you seen Lieutenant Nalen?ā C-3PO asked her, āHe is being requested as well, and Iām aware he was working here not long agoā¦ā
āYeah,ā Mey-Gon nodded then yelled toward the most distant of the four pods, āRelix! We have to go!ā
āComing!ā he yelled back.
āHey, Poe,ā Tallie called, relief audible in her voice, āSince itās just us, do you want to attempt a pass at stage eleven?ā
āYeah, letās go for it,ā he hopped back up into the pod, his energy returning.
Mey-Gon lowered her head to rub self-consciously at the wet spot on her shirt before finally clasping her uniform jacket back up. Maybe it was better that she didnāt slow down the practice exercises for the real pilots, after all. Her desire to have some fun was ultimately a waste of their valuable time.
Hey all, Megan wrote about her OC Mey-Gon! We hope you enjoy and follow along as we slowly introduce the rest squad and their wild adventures!
Word count: 1021
Summary: Mey-Gon is safe with the Resistance now, but that doesn't mean things are any easier for her. After a restless first night, she finds herself struggling with even the simplest task; but luckily a certain pilot happens by to get a second shot at rescuing her.
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Day 2 at the Resistance Base
Mey-Gon stared at the machine blankly. There was a little icon that looked abstractly like a cup of caf but sheād pushed it and swiped it and tried everything she could think of, yet her mug still sat empty under the spout. Even if she wasnāt dead tired and shaken to her core, she still probably couldnāt have figured out the commoner machinery. She missed her butler droid so much that she suddenly felt herself tearing up and had to sniff loudly. Embarrassed, she glanced around the mess hall to make sure nobody was staring at her; but the space was mostly empty, and the only other beings up this early were focused on their own food and cups of caf.
She would much rather be sleeping. It wasnāt like she had a job to do yet. However, after the second nightmare in one night about being hunted by stormtroopers, she had decided to drag herself out into the dawn hour and grab some stimulant. Without a uniform yet, she was once again wearing one of her own beach dresses. She had picked one in olive green, a little closer to the color palette of other Resistance uniforms, but the material was still light and thin and left much of her exposed to the chilly DāQar air. A nice hot drink would help with that, she thought bitterly as she shivered.
Looking around again, she immediately noticed a new figure striding into the mess hall with a thermos in his hand and an astromech droid rolling at his heel. He was wearing trousers and a leather jacket now, rather than a jumpsuit, but there was no mistaking that hair and that face. It was the pilot from the previous day - Wing Commander Dameron. He stopped when he saw her and the droid bumped into his leg, emitting an annoyed beep. At first it looked like he wanted to retreat, but he knew heād been spotted and resigned to finishing his walk across the room. Mey-Gon snatched her mug out from under the machine and stepped back, also contemplating an escape but unable to think of a dignified way of pulling it off.
āYouāre up early,ā he commented casually as he arrived at the counter and placed his thermos under the machine.
āCouldnāt sleep,ā she replied, watching carefully as he touched the very same button she had been abusing; only, when he did it, caf came out of the dispenser. She glared at his thermos jealously.
āAre you all right?ā he continued, sparing her a glance.
āSure,ā she said simply, wanting to change the subject, āHowās your arm?ā
āNothing a little bacta couldnāt fix,ā he rolled his shoulder with the beginnings of a smile, then lowered his eyes shamefully and sighed, āLook, Mey-Gon, Iām sorry I couldnāt get there sooner.ā
She nodded, āIām sorry I left you behind.ā
āWell, at least we both made it,ā he looked relieved that there were no grudges being held, āAnother day, another chance to fight.ā
āYeah,ā she said quietly, trying not to think about the next battle and how much it might resemble her nightmares.
Suddenly, he lifted the mug out of her hand and placed it under the machine, working his magic on the caf button again, āSo...youāre rich?ā
āI was .ā
He chuckled, āI guess we were all something before we got here.ā
āWhat were you?ā she tore her eyes away from the stream of caf to look at his face, which suddenly tensed with unease.
āUh...New Republic Defense Fleet. I just defected for the Resistance a few months ago.ā
āOh, Defense Fleet, huh?ā she smirked, recalling how much trouble she was always in for her rants about them and their inaction, āSo you were bored.ā
His expression set into something more distant and serious, āIn this galaxy, you either fight, or you sit back while others fight for you. I figured out which one I preferred.ā
She stared at him, slightly dazzled all of a sudden, despite her fatigue. His features were handsome enough - the hair had potential, if he would just put in a little effort - and his style was rugged and utilitarian, but it suited him. She had spent years acting opposite some of the most beautiful beings in the business; she had attended galas on the arm of some of the most powerful males in her system; she had dated and partied with the smoothest, most charming men in the social scene; and yet none of them had ever demonstrated an ounce of the kind of conviction and inspiration that this pilot just had. There was something irresistible about that.
Her thoughts were interrupted when he placed the warm mug back in her hands and she inhaled the glorious scent of the caf wafting up from it. As embarrassed as she was about needing the help, she was grateful that he had once again showed up to rescue her. She looked down at the dark liquid and muttered, āWell, thank you for fighting for me, Wing Commander.ā
āAny time,ā he smiled genuinely, āAnd you can call me Poe.ā
She looked up with an appreciative grin and again found herself studying his face. He had a nice smile. She wished theyād started out with that kind of smile, but at least they had come to it eventually.
After probably a couple awkward seconds of staring at each other, Poeās astromech interrupted the pair with a curious whistle. He looked a little embarrassed as he glanced down at the droid then back up at Mey-Gon, āBB-8ās right, weāve got a lot of work to get started on-ā the little droid gave a protesting whine, but he continued, ā-so I guess weāll see you around. I hope you feel better.ā
āThanks,ā she replied lamely, then watched him walk off toward the door while the droid rolling behind him swiveled its photoreceptor between his back and Mey-Gonās frozen form. As soon as they were gone, she let out a sigh and turned to look for some sugar for her caf.
She probably knows from the get-go that the alliance between her father and Maul is not going to last because it is not designed to. Maul is using her father to further his grand design but now she has the opportunity to be a part of that grand design in a unique way.
But that would mean betraying her father and her entire clan but, in all fairness, her clan isnāt exactly comprised of the best people (I mean...they took over their own planet in a coup) but Maul isnāt a great alternative (except for heās sexy as hell) because heās the head of a crime syndicate and he usurps her father and the duchess.
And if she does choose Maul, sheās with the man that killed her father. And if she chooses her clan over Maul, when Pre Vizsla dies she gets out in a worse position where she can betray her clan anyways and Maul by defecting like the Night Owls or she has to remain in close proximity to Maul with the knowledge that she chose her clan over him and in the end she lost both.
Fuck her relatives go get your alien boyfriend, girl I believe in you
In which Maul receives news and a Starlight hears her nameĀ
Realizing Maul didnāt learn about Danica until Starlight was about 4 months along. She couldnāt bear to tell him sooner, not after a decade of being so careful.
tw pregnancyĀ
*Starlight is named in this so reads more as OCX Canon
She stares at the mirror, it was obvious now.
Starlight places her hands over her growing bump, ā But Stars how I longed for another little one and here you are.ā
āā
Something is amiss. His Starlight not among the little crowd who has greeted him. Aster and Cress take his hands and lead him to her.
His Starlight sits at her vanity coming through her hair. Aster goes over and whispers. Starlight smiles and kisses the girlās forehead before standing and turning.
Maul stares. Cress can sense the wave of concern that spreads all about them, āItās okay, Father. Buir said the baby is doing well.ā
The baby.
āMe and Aster think they might look like Buir this time.ā
The baby.Ā
Aster gives her own comment, āBut Buir said she prefer if they look just like us, because we were adorable little tomatoesā the small girl wraps her arms around Starlightās middle, ā We canāt wait to meet you, little baby.ā
Kanan didāand was pleasantly surprised when she reached out to touch him. āYouāve been holding out on me,ā she said, running her finger along the collar of his shirt.Ā
āIād never do such a thing.ā He sidled up closer to her, surprised by this new attitude. If excitement turned her friendly, he wasnāt going to object. āYou can have anything you want.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā Hera & Kanan in A New Dawn by John Jackson Miller
Chiss Triangle where reader is a painter that married Thrass. Thrawn knows you better than you know yourself because of your work
Oh godĀ oh no
This is something he takes advantage of, obviously. How could he not? To love someone, you must know them, truly, fully, thoroughly.
He walks through the gallery youāve set up, analyzing each piece, finding the intricacies between the brush strokes even you hadnāt known were there. But each one is telling, each one holding a different story, a different emotion. He smiles to himself each time he learns something new.
And often, youāll find him here, lingering around nothing in particular, as if waiting for you to stop by. You smile, greeting him gladly the way you always do, asking which one had caught his eye today.
He gestures to one on the wall to his right, remarking how incredible it is, laying out all heās learned of you from that work alone. You feel a warmth in your cheeks, a smile you canāt hold back.
āYou can see all that?ā you ask, almost laughing.
And he nods.Ā āOf course. You tell the most detailed tales in each of your pieces. You may as well be an open book to read, yet the inner workings of your mind are yet a mystery I seek to solve.ā
His words stick in your mind that night, and many nights after the fact. You find yourself going back to your gallery often, finding him there each time without fail, and you listen to what heās learned that day as well, an eagerness to see him taking hold each time you show up. You feel seen. You feel heard.
You marvel at it all to Thrass, the nights you return from these meetings. He sits on the bed, listening to your wonder, your excitement.
āItās like... he can see right through me... clear as day,ā you sigh in amazement, a far off look in your eyes.
And Thrass... forces himself to be glad to hear it. Burying his rough hands beneath the sheets, he smiles at you.
āHeās always had... that... gift. Art is a passion of his, as well as a talent. He can study something and... know it in moments.ā He fails at releasing the tension in his shoulders, the shake in his voice.
āIām sureĀ he can create something beautiful if he tried, as well,ā you say, peering down at your own palm.Ā āI wonder what stories he would tell...ā
He shouldnāt be feeling this way. He knows that. His fists shouldnāt tighten where they hide. He shouldnāt feel so utterly voiceless.
And yet... he cannot create. Not the way that you can. He cannot learn and analyze. Not the way Thrawn can. Merely listening, playing, it isnāt the same. He wants to know you the way Thrawn does, he has truly tried at every turn. But where your world exists in colour and wonder, his does so in darkness and vibration. He cannot know you without using words, he cannot give you what you seek from Thrawn. And no matter how much of you heās memorised, how many aspects he can recite from memory, he does not know what you wish he did. He never will.
I refuse to put Thrass through more pain right now so
What if he does try to learn how to analyze the way Thrawn does? What if one night he goes to the gallery when no one is there and pours over each painting, searching for anything that would give him a deeper insight into the inner machinations of your mind.
He canāt seem to find anything, all that fills his head are images of moments heās had with you which while delightful to recall arenāt what heās after.
Heās getting frustrated. All his doubts about how right he is for you rushing to the forefront of his mind. Would you truly be happier with Thrawn?Is be standing in your way? Should he consider ending your relationship?
And just as heās resolved that he has to let you go his eye catches on a particular painting. Itās newer than the others, evident by its placement and the vibrancy of the colors. It has to be the one you finished only a few days ago. It leans more abstract, the colors are blurred together in a subtle flurry of swirling brush strokes. There are places where he can tell you purposefully let the paint on the brush run out completely so it appears as though it fades into the background rather than coming to a sudden stop. He notices that if he moves his eyes too quickly the image in the center of the canvas seems to move.
Or rather flutters.
The painting depicts what he believes is a butterfly, a native insect to your home planet, resting on a personās hand close to the top of their index finger. Itās wings are pearlescent and dotted with large black spots drawing towards the insects small, slender body. He can see just part of its dorsal which are an iridescent blue slightly obscured with brown.
The hand it rests on is in a relaxed position and a pale blue shade. Although it does not connect to any body - it fades into the background instead - he recognizes a small scar close to the knuckle. Itās his hand.
He remembers when you painted this.
He was in his studio, quietly playing what you had called a piano. Thrass recalls the melody so clearly. It was light and airy, he wanted to capture the feeling of dancing through the clouds. Heād been working on it for a few days. Youād entered silently and waited till he had stopped to write down a new chord before announcing your arrival with a quiet hum in greeting. Youād been trying not to startle him, heād jumped anyways.
āI like that one. I canāt wait till you finish it.ā You kept your voice low, just above a whisper, as youād stepped closer to him. He remembered your hands sliding over his shoulders to link in front of him and the slight, familiar weight of you leaning on him. Youād pressed a kiss to his temple. āIt reminds me of butterflies.ā
He asked you what they were, listening intently as you explained while also noting that there was dried paint still clinging to your skin. Sometimes he forgot that the paint actually wasnāt a part of you.
Youād stayed with him the rest of the time too. After returning with your sketchbook, you curled up in a chair nearby youād long ago stolen from the parlor room and moved into his studio for this purpose alone. And heād gone back to playing.
And as Thrass stood in your gallery, vaguely aware of the slight sting in his eyes, he cast his gaze to your other pieces, to the ones Thrawn had analyzed. And he was suddenly aware that he could hear them. That the memories they brought forward was him holding a deeper understanding of who you are. Where your world is colorful and filled with wonder and his is dark and populated by notes instead there is still a story shared between them.
Thrawn may be able to look at your paintings and see the individual aspects of you that each line and brushstroke speaks of. But Thrass can see you. He can see the stories within them, the feelings each one holds.
And he realizes, alone in this gallery, that while he may never be able to analyze a piece of art like Thrawn he is able to love the innermost parts of who you are instead.
