I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C56 Hutt Captured!

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“Ready to die, you fat ugly slug?”

Peter, donned in his Star-Lord mask, squared off against the holographic image of Jabba the Hutt. Any pretense of civility quickly faded as Jabba reclined before him, encircled by his anxious minions. Despite his vanished smugness, his denial of the dire situation was evident. For some inexplicable reason, he seemed convinced that Peter wouldn't dare kill him.

Jabba's chuckle resonated through the speakers, his massive form shifting as he spoke. "Your threats are empty, Starling," his translator relayed crisply. “The great Jabba warns that killing him will provoke the wrath of the entire Hutt clan upon you. He highly doubts you could withstand such an onslaught.”

"Is that it? That’s where your confidence comes from?" Peter taunted, a grin evident in his voice as he prepared to shatter Jabba's preconceptions.

With a swift motion, Peter directed the holographic display to zoom in on Jabba's flagship. "Let’s wake you up to reality, shall we?" He muttered, and fired two plasma cannons aimed directly at the engines of Jabba’s ship.

The monitor displayed the instant chaos that ensued on the flagship. The engines erupted in flames, the ship shaking violently, casting Jabba and his crew into turmoil. Jabba's voice boomed with rage and fear as he yelled at his subordinates, struggling to maintain his composure.

Peter's voice was calm, almost mocking. "Still in denial, Jabba? Or did that jolt you back to reality?" He paused, but Jabba remained silent, his face contorted with both fear and anger as he gnashed his teeth.

Seeing this, Peter’s tone shifting slightly as he continued, dismissively waving a hand. "And as for the Hutt clan, which you so cowardly threatened me with, sadly, they mean absolutely nothing to me. You're not dealing with some scared slave here. To me, you Hutts are just a bunch of oversized worms, and I would gladly exterminate any more of your kind who are stupid enough to come looking for trouble."

As the reality of his dire situation set in, Jabba’s face contorted with frustration and anger. He screamed at his crew and then turned his fury towards Peter, his words a garbled mess of Huttese.

Peter leaned back, his smirk almost audible. "Come on, Jabba. Why don’t you speak Basic with me? I know you can; you've understood me this whole time without your interpreter. Or do I need to target the heart of your ship to get you talking?" He frowned thoughtfully, adding, “Though I doubt you’d survive if I did that…”

Jabba responded with a guttural snarl, stubbornly refusing to switch languages, viewing any language other than his own as inferior.

Unphased, Peter signaled for another shot. This time, the plasma cannon’s fire streaked across the void and struck the tail end of Jabba’s flagship, causing another violent shake. The impact was felt even through the holographic link, Jabba’s eyes wide with shock and fear.

"How about now? Reconsidered speaking Basic yet?" Peter's tone was teasing, almost playful, despite the seriousness of their standoff.

Grinding his teeth in visible frustration, Jabba finally spat out his reply in Basic, his voice dripping with contempt. "You... you are nothing! A child playing at war!" His fury built as he continued, his tone menacing. "Mark my words, Star-Lord, I will end you myself! And should I fall, the Hutts will rain down upon you and everyone you hold dear!"

The room fell silent for a moment, the crew of Knowhere exchanging looks of disbelief and quiet satisfaction. Jabba speaking Basic was not just a concession; it was a clear sign of his desperation. 

Peter smiled, satisfied and smug, as even in the movies, Jabba never lowered himself to speak another language. "Well, now that we can understand each other—let's talk about what happens next."

Jabba's fleshy face twitched with a mix of anger and anxiety. The realization of his dire situation was dawning on him, the dominance he was so accustomed to wielding was now just a memory. 

"Then what do you want from me?" He glanced at the green Twi'lek standing demurely at his side, her eyes downcast. "Look," Jabba gestured towards her with a heavy, begrudging motion. "Take Oola, the finest dancer from Ryloth, and a hoard of credits, enough to buy a moon or two. Let me go, and all this is yours."

Peter crossed his arms, his expression hidden behind his mask yet clearly dismissive. “You really don’t get it, do you? I’m not some scoundrel out for loot—or slaves,” he added pointedly, his voice firm and resolute. “Knowhere’s got me covered on the money front, and I’m not in the business of owning people, well, at least not innocent people…”

The Hutt's eyes widened in disbelief, his usual tactics crumbling before him. "You refuse even this? What more could you possibly want?" Jabba's voice was a mix of incredulity and fear, his authority slipping further with each word.

"Well, since you asked," Peter said, tapping his fingers on the control panel thoughtfully. "Your engines are toast, and even if I wanted to let you go—which, spoiler alert, I don’t—you’re not going anywhere fast. So, here's the deal."

He paused for effect, enjoying the tension. "You can either become a very explosive Hutt firework, or come quietly and be part of my new collection. Maybe being on display in a glass box will give you some perspective.” Peter revealed his plan, a mischievous grin spreading beneath his mask.

Peter's decision to keep Jabba alive was calculated. He was aware of the strategic advantage Jabba could offer alive rather than dead. The Hutt’s influence was vast in the outer rim, and he was still uncertain about the full extent of the Hutt family's power and how they might retaliate if Jabba was killed. 

Keeping Jabba as a captive not only neutralized him as a threat but also provided Peter with a valuable bargaining chip. If the Hutts came seeking vengeance, and he wasn’t able to fend them off, Jabba would be his leverage to negotiate peace or, at the very least, buy time to prepare for any future conflict. 

‘Besides, I can always just kill him later…’ Peter thought with a shrug. 

Peter felt a certain grim satisfaction in deciding to keep Jabba as a collector's item. Unlike the innocents Jabba had trafficked and enslaved, Jabba himself was no victim. He was a ruthless cartel boss, whose empire was built on the suffering of countless beings across the galaxy.

Moreover, Peter saw this outcome as karma—Jabba was receiving exactly what he had dealt out into the universe. The very fear and control he had wielded were now his to endure, encapsulated within the confines of Knowhere.

Jabba, a being who thrived on the suffering and subjugation of countless lives, was now forced to become a display piece, if he agreed of course. 

After all, Peter didn’t mind just blowing him up and calling it a day. 

Jabba’s eyes widened, his mind racing through the options presented. Each was as unpalatable as the other, but the survival instinct of the Hutt was strong. "This is humiliation!"

"Think of it more as... retirement," Peter quipped, his smile only growing. "You’re not in a position to negotiate, you know? I’m offering to spare your insignificant little life, so the least you can do is accept and be grateful... And who knows? Maybe being part of my collection will be fun? I mean, I doubt it, but you won’t know till you try."

Jabba, seeing no other viable options and with the cold emptiness of space looming as a stark alternative, finally nodded in reluctant agreement,

Defeat, thick and bitter, settled over Jabba like a shroud. With a low, guttural grumble, he conceded. "I accept your terms, Star-Lord. I will become your prisoner." He gave up, muttering curses in Huttese under his breath.

Peter’s grin was triumphant, clearly satisfied with the outcome. "Smart choice. And don't worry, I'll make sure you're comfortable. Maybe I'll even add a viewing window and let people pay to see the magnificent Jabba the Hutt!"

As the transmission cut off, Peter watched with glee as Jabba's face flushed with fury and embarrassment, savoring every moment of his discomfort. ‘Man, I love Karma…’

————

Minutes later…

The silver streaks of Knowhere's drones glinted against the backdrop of the cosmos as they surrounded Jabba's battered flagship. With mechanical precision they efficiently destroyed all of the ships weapons before towing the massive vessel towards the docking bay of the space station city.

On the docking platform, Peter stood with his allies—Groot, Howard the Duck, and Cosmo the Spacedog. Carina was back at the palace, preparing what was soon to be Jabba's new 'residence'.

Howard, reloading his trusty Tommy gun, glanced at Peter with a sly smirk. "So, how much you wanna bet that slug isn’t gonna stick to the deal?"

Peter scoffed, a playful twinkle in his eye behind his mask. "That's a sucker’s bet. No way Jabba’s not gonna pull something."

The group's collective gaze hardened, each preparing for the inevitable confrontation. Cosmo's eyes narrowed as she levitated a cluster of metal scraps, her psychic energy crackling with anticipation. 

Howard’s smirk widened as he aimed his weapon, and Groot’s bark-like skin bristled, his stature growing as if drawing strength from the tension in the air.

Their wait was short-lived. As soon as Jabba's flagship's doors hissed open, a horde of Hutt soldiers spilled out, blasters firing wildly. Instantly, the platform erupted into chaos.

Howard burst into laughter amidst the gunfire, a gleeful sound barely masking the Tommy gun's rat-tat-tat. "Just what I was hopin' for—a little action!" he yelled over the noise, mowing down the attackers with disturbing efficiency.

Groot extended his arms, sprouting a thick wall of branches that shielded the team from incoming blasts. Meanwhile, Cosmo unleashed her telekinetic fury, hurling objects with lethal precision. Soldiers were flung backward, crashing into their ship like ragdolls.

Amidst the turmoil, Peter stood calm and collected. Only once his crew had cleared most of the grunts did he motion them forward, stepping into the flagship with the air of a king entering a conquered castle.

…

Inside the throne room at the heart of the ship, Jabba waited, his anxiety palpable as the sounds of battle drew closer and closer…

Until suddenly, the room's opulent doors swung open violently, propelled by a telekinetic shove. His soldiers, who had been ordered to ambush Peter's crew outside, were now being hurled through the air, smashing into the walls with sickening cracks.

Jabba’s eyes widened in panic. In a desperate, clumsy move, he pulled a blaster hidden within the folds of his fat. He fired at Peter, hoping to catch him off-guard.

But Peter was ready. With an effortless flick of his wrist, he absorbed the energy from the blaster bolts before they could even reach him. And with another gesture, the blaster ripped away from Jabba’s grip, turning to aim directly at the Hutt's forehead.

Peter's voice was cool, almost casual as he spoke. "So, Jabba, do you want to surrender, or would you rather take a deep breath through your f*cking forehead?"

(A/N: I stole that one from the new Deadpool trailer…)

Defeated and cornered, Jabba's eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape he knew wasn’t there. With a low, resigned grumble, he nodded. "I surrender," he spat, the bitterness of his defeat coating every syllable.

A/N: 1944 words :)

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