Welcome to my project for SW WLW week! These oneshots are largely unconnected, unless you think of them as the two meeting in life after life until they get it right, until the last two.

The prompts for this first one were: Gay Awakening and Pirate AU.


In one universe of many, Qi'ra boarded a covert attack ship named the Striker.

Bring me the little rich rat, Lady Proxima had told Qi'ra, her decadent jewellery glinting in the dim, murky light of her pool. If there were any rich rats around here, Qi'ra couldn't help but think, it was her. She and her senator father want to 'clean us up,' drive out the gangs. She needs taking care of.

Not necessarily murder, she knew, though Qi'ra had certainly done worse in her years of servitude. Han, the big softie, never liked the dirtier jobs, but Qi'ra still had her eyes on the role of enforcer and she wouldn't get that if she played nice. Whatever Proxima wanted done to this Princess of Alderaan, she would do it.

Better her than Qi'ra.

And the job came with some perks, as well. She'd been allowed into a ship off-planet for the first time ever. Corellia was putrid on the ground level, but seeing it from above was a different matter: seas of grey-green waste, textured tumbles of built-up civilisation that had been run down three centuries ago, the white-capped poles blemished with black and grey.

Everyone around her was oohing and aahing at the skies and the million stars that Corellia's piss-coloured lights washed away. But Qi'ra kept her eyes on the planet below.

She had never seen another world but she knew her own was a shit hole. There was no point forgetting that—especially when she had a job to do.

Corellia's junkyard that passed for rings was an ideal place to hide a scrappy pirate ship, bartered from the Hutts and fixed up with spit and miracles. Qi'ra fingered the small blaster she'd been trusted with for this mission, gripping the accompanying stun baton tightly.

Han shot her a grin from the co-pilot's seat but she ignored it. The Worms' primary pilot grunted at him to focus.

Qi'ra focused too. The Tantive IV, the diplomatic ship captained by Raymus Antilles, owned by Senator Bail Organa, used by Princess Leia Organa on her numerous sanctimonious relief missions. Corellia, as one of Alderaan's nearest neighbours, was getting the brunt of some of her efforts first, and if she managed to get enough relief and policing there, she might even shut down the White Worms.

They couldn't do that. Qi'ra had fought so hard, all these years, to be where she was now. She wouldn't lose it.

The Tantive IV winked into realspace on the edge of Corellian airspace and Han hacked their comms with barely a thought.

"—Princess Leia Organa, here for the scheduled relief mission—"

Even her voice was pretentious and fake. She'd be easy to kidnap, then hopefully easy for Proxima to intimidate. Actually, killing a Core world princess might be problematic politically, but it was amazing what the Empire would turn a blind eye to if they didn't like the politician.

Tank, the Aqualan leader of the mission, grunted his instructions. "Attack. Now."

Han jammed the Tantive's comms. Qi'ra finally replied to his grin with a grim smile as he patted her on the shoulder, then stood with the boarding team as the Striker careened towards the Tantive and opened fire.

The next few minutes were a blur. The ships jerked as they connected, the Striker seizing the Tantive's airlock like a snake seized a rat between its jaws. Qi'ra rocked with the motion and was one of the first fighters on the ground when the doors hissed open.

They met fierce resistance from the bodyguards. Bolts flew, blew molten plasma across the metal walls, but there were more intruders than defenders and soon they were retreating back down the corridor, shooting haphazardly over their shoulders.

"Secure the escape pods!" came Tank's shout. "Locate the target!"

Qi'ra sprinted down the corridor and took the first left where everyone else fanned out across the ship. A few men Qi'ra didn't know followed her. She kept an eye on them as she went: one blue-skinned Twi'lek and one gruff human. She trusted neither of them not to try to steal glory for themselves, but she could take them if they did.

They came upon the first escape pod and shot the controls, disabling it. Then the next. Then the next. The engine room and other guts of the ship expanded on their right, and it took everything in her not to jump at shadows.

She did jump when the bolt came.

It struck the human man in the chest; he went down instantaneously. Qi'ra whipped her head around and returned fire, forcing the attacker to retreat to where their aim was less deadly.

The Twi'lek wasn't so wise. He grunted and barged forwards, punching out shots in a rapid staccato, but in a few moments he was nailed in the lek, then the forehead. Qi'ra grimaced at the splatter of blood and brains.

That was a mistake. Her moment of distraction saw her attacker dive with range again; they shot right through her ponytail and left her hair a sticky mess. She did the only thing she could do: she brawled.

They weren't expecting her to leap. Qi'ra's fist landed right in a chest—where she'd thought the abdomen would be, but her attacker was smaller than expected. She used that: yanked them towards her, under the glaring lights, before they could shoot again.

She stared.

Her assailant—a young woman with intricate braids and a stony expression—pulled herself up to her full, diminutive height and glared.

She was, Qi'ra hated to admit, highly attractive.

She brought up her blaster. Qi'ra kicked it out of her grip and was backhanded for her troubles. Small hands gripped her own blaster fiercely and she twisted away, snarled—tossed the blaster aside rather than give it up. It scattered into the next escape pod.

The woman—Princess Organa, it had to be—dived for it. Qi'ra tackled her. They rolled across the floor, faces inches apart, and Qi'ra tried to fight the paralysis when they locked eyes.

She lifted her hands to punch again, but Organa gripped her wrists.

"Who are you people," she hissed. "Why are you attacking!?"

"I just need another mission under my belt, Princess," Qi'ra grunted, trying to free herself. Organa's grip was strong. "'Else I'm back out on the streets."

"That's why we're here, I'm here to help—"

"I can't trust help from a stranger."

"Then get out of my way."

Organa struck Qi'ra across the face and she fell to the side, cursing. She scrambled for the escape pod.

"Oh no you don't," she hissed, but Organa already had the blaster. Qi'ra leapt in after her and rolled to duck the bolt that soared past her ear.

It struck the button to detach instead.

No.

No.

Organa smiled grimly and pulled a lever. The airlock disengaged. They were floating in space, untethered.

"I have no interest in being captured by whoever you work for," Organa spat.

"Captured? Pah. Lady Proxima just wants you and your relief efforts out of the way." Qi'ra eyed the blaster but didn't dive for it again. She glanced at the controls, the ship—the shots from the Striker just missing their pod. "We had orders to fire on any escape pods that were released."

Organa went white. "You're saying we're going to die."

"You've killed us both, yeah."

Organa swore in a language Qi'ra didn't know. "I hate you."

"It's mutual, trust me."

"I don't trust you."

"Likewise."

"But sit your sorry backside down there." Organa grabbed her arm and frogmarched her to the only seat in the escape pod. "And steer."

"Steer?"

"I'm going to escaped this. I want to live." Organa eyed the Tantive and the Striker getting smaller with every spiralling moment. Bright shots shattered out from them and puckered their hull. "My question is: do you?"

When Qi'ra laid hands on the controls, they were hot and shaking under her touch.