Tag: fanfic

gaslightgallows:

phantoms-lair:

joanielspeak:

krey-9-jorce:

delirious-comfort:

rumple-belle:

worryinglyinnocent:

emospritelet:

robertmarch82:

kedreeva:

I hear a lot of people bitching that they can’t leave kudos multiple times per story, or can’t leave kudos on every chapter, or whatever.

Well, take a page out of this marvelous book, because I swear I’ve never been so happy to receive kudos as waking up to multiple people having done this on multiple chapters on a story I just posted.

The bar just got raised, folks.

Would… would writers be glad to read a comment, that is saying “kudos”? 

We’re happy to get a smiley face, honestly. Leaving another kudos like this is great. Anything that tells us we aren’t just screaming into the void

^^^^^ This. Even the smallest comments are golddust. 

Seconding, thirding, and fourthing all of this. Saying or typing anything is amazing.

writers are happy with anything that isn’t ‘update pls’ when you just uploaded. type the alphabet and we’ll be grinning like fools cuz ‘sames’. 

Dang I know what to do now!!!!

Oh, but you can get creative with your extra kudos! 

LOVE LOVE LOVE!

(✿◠‿◠) – “I heart this so much!!”
⊂◉‿◉つ – “OMG, the surprise was so sweet!
☆(❁‿❁)☆ – “AHH! Love it!”
≧◠‿◠≦ – “All the feels!”
٩(˘◡˘)۶ – “Woot!!”
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) – “I see what you did there and/or that smut was on point.”
┑(￣▽￣)┍ – “Sweet praises for you!”
ლ(╹◡╹ლ) – “I love this story so hard, I get tingles when it updates!”
ʘ‿ʘ – “WHat?!”
(●⌒∇⌒●) – “Squee!!”
(❁´◡`❁) – “Oh dear god, cavities!”
(ﾉ´▽｀)ﾉ♪ – “This made me siiiinnnnnggggg!!”
┏(＾0＾)┛ – “Happy dance!”
ヾ(＾∇＾) – “Wonderful fic! Thanks again!”

OMG sadface.

(┬＿┬) – “Literally crying, rn.”
(^)o(^) – “Holy moly!” 
(◕﹏◕✿) – “How … how could you do this to me?!”
ಥ‿ಥ – “I’m not crying you are!”

FLAMES!

ᕕ(◉Д◉ )ᕗ – “WTAF?!”
(⊙…⊙,) – “Did yoU JUST.”
ᕕ(˵•̀෴•́˵)ᕗ – “HOW DARE YOU! With my OWN EYES!”
(ノ°Д°）ノ︵ ┻━┻ – “TABLE FLIP, you son-OF-A-!”

I canNOT with you!

(@[]@!!) – “WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”
＼(◎o◎)／！– “WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT.”
(´･_･`) – “I do not know how I feel about this.”

Assorted.

><((((’> – “This fish is delicious.”

Feedback means everything to fanfic writers and hitting a like or kudos button doesn’t really give that. Even one word reviews do wonders

I’m bookmarking this. That list of kudos emojis is perfect and I need to use all of them. 

STAR WARS: Episode VII

THE BLOOD OF WARRIORS

It is an odd time for the Organa Family. Former-General Leia Organa has entered her fourth year as the Chancellor of the New Republic’s Senate. Her position is far from secure as the opposing parties have been vocal about her oversight. Though war is at an all time low, there has been a recent rise in missing children, both in the Republic and Mandalorian space.

With support from the New Republic Intelligence Services, Leia has devoted most of her time to focusing on this crisis. Unfortunately, this effort has yielded no results, and drawn the ire of the Mandalorians. The ungoverned clans have not taken kindly to either the loss of children or the breaches of privacy.

Espionage agent Captain POE DAMERON has followed a secret lead to Hosnian Prime. Should the information prove reliable, the star pilot may have found the source of the missing children. With the assistance of his friend, BB-8, Captain Dameron is on the case…

Chapter I: The Unkar Plot

Poe Dameron’s Wall-Watcher exited out of hyperspace above Hosnian Prime. The first time Poe saw it he mistook it for Coruscant. The atmosphere was equally stained with lights, but the color was different. Still, who could blame him for his confusion?

“Got some memory in your banks, buddy?” Poe asked his floating companion as they entered the atmosphere. BB-8 responded with a disgruntled beep, not unlike one her dad would quip.

“I know, I know,” Poe responded. “Just make sure you’re rolling.”

The Wall-Watcher, cloaked in its field, aligned itself with a night-club tower. Poe’s target was on the top floor, and, unsurprisingly, seedy bars with illegal activities didn’t like to permit New Republic agents to snoop around the premises. Luckily, Poe had other means of entry.

As the Wall-Watcher magnetized to the wall, the hood popped open, and Poe, dressed in civilian clothes, began his ascent. His backpack doubled as a silent jet pack, and BB-8 followed quickly behind him. A quick landing on the balcony would only seem suspicious if the balcony wasn’t reserved for the drunkest clients. Poe made his way into the establishment.

If there was one thing for which he had to give his enemy credit, it was style. The night-club, known as The Niima Outpost, was both vibrant and subtle. The neon lights were constant, but the sparkle-pop tunes from the live band offset the more garish aspects of the club. Poe approached the bar.

A handsome Duros immediately bought him a drink. Poe thanked the man and downed the ale. Before his glass touched the counter, the bartender had moved over to another customer. Activating his contact lens thermoscope, Poe found three heat signatures in the kitchen, shorter than the chef. Just as he expected.

“So, what’re you doing here?” The handsome man asked Poe. “Business, or pleasure?”

“A little bit of both,” Poe responded. As he readied his pocket-pistol and braced his shoulder against the kitchen door. “Thanks again for the drink!” Poe’s jacket charged an electric shock disabling the door’s cyber-security system. The force of his shoulder was enough to break the physical lock. Poe quickly dispatched two stunning bolts to approaching security guards. The chef, a large Crolute man, had been preparing a meal, and quickly flung the contents of the hot pan at Poe. Dodging the steaming sauces, Poe dove behind the bar. As he rose, he saw the chef pointing a knife at one of the patrons that had run in to investigate.

“Drop your gun,” the chef commanded, “and get out of my bar.” Poe lowered his pistol to the floor.

“Easy,” he said. “No need to take things out of hand.” Hearing her cue, BB-8 activated her magnet and swung towards the chef’s knife. With the patron free, Poe delivered a flooring knee, ending the fight.

“Well,” he said to BB-8. “Do you think this is enough to call the local authorities?”

——

The Hosnian Police Force had responded to Poe’s call. The officers were happy to have something to do besides prosecuting parking violations. The Niima Outpost had been suspected for months, but was built like a fortress. Fortunately, the New Republic had better technology.

Poe was being thanked by a pair of parents of one of the children. BB-8 waited for a pause in the conversation to interrupt with a notification. Poe excused himself and walked away. BB-8 flipped her projector topside and landed in Poe’s hand. A fully-colorized hologram of Chancellor Organa flashed to life.

“Ah, Captain Dameron, I take it your mission was successful?” The Chancellor asked.

“Well, yes and no,” Poe returned. “We definitely busted a slave ring. So, that’s great news. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the one we were after.”

“Well, as much as I would like to celebrate, I’m afraid we have another lead for you. How soon can you meet us on New Alderaan?”

“Us?” Poe asked. This sounded like a joint mission. Did that mean what he thought? “Uh, yes, Chancellor. We can get there in less than a day.”

“That’s great,” Leia responded, already distracted by her aide, Armitage. “May the force be with you, Captain.” The light of the hologram flickered off as BB-8 returned to her floating position. Poe and BB-8 made their way back to the ship, being met with thanks and congratulations along the way. It was days like this that Poe loved his job.

L.J.’s note: Here are the designs for Poe (link), BB-8 (link), and Poe’s Wall-Watcher (link) in this universe, also created and submitted by Moth!

Why Rose could still be Jedhan

Yes, I know, she’s from Hays Minor in the Otomak system, but Hays Minor was a poor mining colony, a frozen wasteland only settled for its mineral resources. Even before the First Order took it over and systematically destroyed it Hays Minor was a harsh place, with no indigenous animal species and temperatures so lethal people couldn’t go outside without special protective suits. It’s not the kind of place where people dream of raising their families, but someplace people go because they have to make a living–and, if they have young children, because they have nowhere else to go.

And what was Jedha known for? Force religion, sure, but also for mining kyber crystals. It would have been home not only to believers and clerics, but also to skilled miners experienced at extracting these invaluable resources. And also to violent partisans, of course, a backlash to the Empire’s anti-religious repression and ruthless exploitation of the area’s resources, but for now let’s look at more ordinary citizens just trying to go about their lives.

Imagine you are a miner on Jedha.

You were fortunate enough to survive the blast of the Death Star. Maybe you escaped into space like the Rogue One crew did, or maybe you didn’t live in the Holy City–maybe you were working on a mine elsewhere. Even if you were not in the City or its outskirts, though, you have to get out eventually because the blast is breaking the whole moon apart, kiling your world. You’ve lived on Jedha for generations and have no ties anywhere else. Where do you go?

The galaxy is wide, but the reach of the Empire is long. The stigma of being from Jedha clings to you and comes back in the form of refusals to let you settle, even violence from the authorities or from neighbors. Maybe one of the excuses is that you’re a terrorist, because your origins are associated with the memory of the partisan zealots who held out against the Empire in a mountain fortress until their violent ends.

Maybe you settled on other, more hospitable planets only to be driven out, losing everything you built and barely escaping with your life. Others were not so lucky. Maybe you learned to change your dress and customs so you would not stand out, learned never to talk about Jedha so you would not draw unwanted attention. Even your spouse might not know, if you met them after Jedha. (All things in your life are divided into before and after Jedha.) Maybe your spouse is from Jedha, too. Maybe you met them in the diaspora, which is bittersweet because you never would have met and fallen in love on Jedha. The two of you agree that it is best to stay silent about the home whose name still echoes in your hearts. Survival comes first.

You never talk to your children about Jedha. You don’t tell them what the ceremonies you hold from time to time mean, religious ceremonies from home that you carry on in secret, mourning what can never be again.

Maybe you even fought in the Rebellion yourself, finally free to shout and scream and sob the name of Jedha when you run into battle, a cry for justice. It hurts every time to say it but you do it anyway, letting the name tear your throat and your soul, Jedha, Jedha, Jedha, so you will not forget, so the world will not forget.

Maybe, despite using the name as a rallying cry, the other Rebellion fighters did not always look kindly on you and the other Jedhan fighters. The whispers of “extremist” and “fanatic” still cling to you, and the same people who say “May the Force be with you” to each other may find your ways in the Force strange. There are a thousand glances and words that cut and every time you have to wonder, is this because I’m Jedhan? You try not to be so sensitive. You pick at the meanings behind meanings, trying to disentangle the threads that trip you up. You hope for a better galaxy anyway, and that’s what you’re all here for no matter where you’re from, right?

When the Empire collapses you rejoice and weep, and say a prayer of thanks. There can be justice at last, and better days for the Jedhan refugees. The New Republic promises to do right by you and the Alderaanians, to all the people who lost everything to the Empire.

The promises, fragile and hollow, break under strain. You, like much of the Jedhan disapora, are vocal against the truce with the Empire’s remains, warning they’ll be back. You are called warmongers and extremists. You and your fellows ask for the New Republic‘s assistance with resettlement, demand that the Empire officials’ riches from the lifeblood of your people and peoples elsewhere be returned to the Jedhan diaspora and so many others displaced by the Empire. You are called greedy and a nuisance.

You are still not welcome anywhere, and if anything seem to be an inconvenience to a universe that wishes to move on and forget. You drift, body and soul, without a home, and survival becomes increasingly more pressing as your family grows.

Then you hear about a mining colony far out in space–an inhospitable place, a deadly place actually, but they’re looking for people and they can use your skills. Maybe you even hear of it through the refugee grapevine, and other Jedhans are going so it’ll feel a little like home. Nothing will ever be home, but it’s a living and a community. You could do worse than that.

So you raise your daughters on a frozen planet, in a shelter specially shielded to keep the planet from killing you all. You watch them play in the artificial light, happy and smiling and alive, and you are content. You are luckier than many, so many that you will carry to your grave.

You don’t talk to your children about Jedha, the old fears locking your lips, not wanting them to go through what you had to as a Jedhan. When you and your spouse make them matching medallions you tell them they represent the twin planets of Hays Major and Hays Minor. In your heart of hearts you think of them as being Jedha and NaJedha, orbiting each other even in ruin. You hope your daughters’ lives will be better, not touched and tainted by destruction as yours was. Maybe that’s another reason you don’t want to tell them about Jedha, because you don’t want that shadow over their lives.

And Hays Minor has been good for your family, after all. Your daughters can do worse than think of a community of courageous, hard-working, honest people as home. This is enough. Not perfect (not Jedha, never Jedha) but enough, and maybe you’ll save up to move to a kinder planet where life isn’t quite so harsh, a place where your eldest can see and touch the animals she’s always talking about, where she and her sister can stand in the sun and breathe unfiltered air.

Your dreams and your heart shatter when a Star Destroyer blots out the sky over your home a second time. They will be back, you and your people warned the galaxy. You just didn’t think, never let yourself imagine, that they would come for your home and your family first. Not again.

reycalrissianskywalker:

Good things come to those who wait (E, 1,1k, oneshot, gentle sex, hand jobs, teasing, body worship)

(I don’t trust tumblr’s search engine to show the other promo post I made, hence this post)

For the first time in what felt like forever Luke and Lando were alone. They had the whole night together, no disturbances, and as soon as they closed the door they started to undress one another. It was quick and unceremonious. Even Lando just threw his clothes on the floor without care, but it had been too long, too long .

   The first time Luke had seen Lando naked he had been at a total loss of words, and even now the sight still took his breath away. Lando was pleasantly soft in just the right places – beautiful , Luke had managed to call him the first time they had been together. Lando had laughed and asked if that was the only thing Luke had to say about him. It was. It still was. Luke had never been one with words, not the way Lando was. Surely there were many words to describe Lando Calrissian, but every time Luke tried, he was lost in the marvel that his lover was.

read the rest on ao3

Reblog if you are a fanfiction author and would like your readers to put one of your fic titles in your ask + questions about it

outside-the-government:

(Originally posted by @bams-boleyn – copied and pasted so it wouldn’t blow up the formatting on my blog.)

  • 1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?
  • 2: What scene did you first put down?
  • 3: What’s your favorite line of narration?
  • 4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?
  • 5: What part was hardest to write?
  • 6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?
  • 7: Where did the title come from?
  • 8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?
  • 9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?
  • 10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?
  • 11: What do you like best about this fic?
  • 12: What do you like least about this fic?
  • 13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?
  • 14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?
  • 15: What did you learn from writing this fic?
  • This is so unique, reblogging on the off chance anyone is interested!

ds9vgrconfessions:

Follow | Confess | Archive

[The idea of 7th season Jadzia being promoted to captain of a ship and thus only being in some DS9 episodes would have been a good one. It could have built on the character work from “Change of Heart.” The promotion would have gone to Worf, but instead they pass him over for her. That would have created believable, complex, but ultimately surmountable tension between Worf and Jadzia.]

Thiiiiiis. Also, if Jadzia had lived she and Worf could have had a child. Imagine the emotional stakes if the baby was on DS9 for a while with Worf since it’s a slightly more stable environment than a starship, though barely, before having to be evacuated to the Trill homeworld to be with Jadzia’s family. Ezri could even have made an appearance as counselor on board the evacuating ship, assuring Worf that she will make sure the infant would be cared for until arrival. We would have gotten to see Worf as a father, seeing him manage a wartime long-distance relationship with his wife, the two of them more determined than ever to win the war so their child can grow up in peace.

Jadzia could have died at the final battle in a brave sacrifice, showing us just how high the stakes are. Maybe she could message the Defiant one last time, telling them what she’s about to do, and while Benjamin hesitates Worf doesn’t skip a beat, telling her that he will sing songs of her courage. Jadzia says, with infinite emotion and a bit of humor, that she knows he will. We see her ship destroyed and Worf sings to her honor as the battle rages on. We see a different side emerge later on, however, when he is alone and views her prerecorded good-bye message.

We can even have Ezri as the new Dax by having Jadzia and the other survivors of her ship being beamed away in emergency transport, but Jadzia is too gravely wounded to wait for a more suitable host. Ezri can consent to be implanted with the symbiont out of compassion even though it was not something she wanted or was prepared for, just like in the original Season 7. Then she can give Jadzia’s final words to Worf, Benjamin, Julian, Kira, Quark and everyone, telling them that she was thinking of them to the last.

But when Worf asks her to go see the baby with him, Ezri hesitates a long moment before saying “no.” His wife is dead, she tells him gently, and Ezri has her own life to live as Dax. She’ll meet the child later on to tell them more about their mother, but it would be cruel to everyone involved for her to be involved deeply in the child’s life. Besides, she says with chirpy attempted humor, she can barely walk around safely and won’t be leaving the symbiont center for a good while.

Then it finally hits Worf that his wife is gone, the mother of his child is never coming back, and as we gaze into his stricken eyes we see the weight of the future the two of them must face without her. The losses of this war are irrevocable and devastating.

When Worf accepts the position of the Federation’s Ambassador to Klingon he says he will be in regular communication with the child and travel often to Trill, and when the child is older they will join him on Kronos to be brought up in the other half of their heritage. Worf expresses his determination to be both a mother and father to their child, and to let them know what a brave and honorable woman their mother was. Benjamin, with great feeling, tells Worf he will be an amazing father.

Like, let Jadzia have agency in her own death instead of the
egregious random fridging we got. Let Benjamin’s insistence that they
push the final offense on Cardassia have actual, tangible consequences.
Jadzia’s death in battle would have shown the stakes of war better than
any number of ships exploding on screen.

The Last Strike of the Empire: Chapter II

Chapter II: Desertion

  The doors to the turbolift opened to the sound of the Emperor’s cackles. “Tied onto a string indeed,” he muttered to himself. Piett glared at Darth Vader as they crossed paths.

  “Do you know why I keep such a rabid cur in such a place of power?” asked the Emperor softly, the doors having barely closed behind Piett. “A cur’s weakness, properly manipulated, can be a powerful tool.”

  Darth knelt at the foot of the stairs where the Emperor day on his throne. “My master.”

  “Lord Vader.” Palpatine rose from his throne. “When I found you, I saw… power. Unlimited… power. And beyond that… something truly special.”

  Palpatine’s yellow eyes regarded Vader’s black mask. “The potential of your conception… a child of the Force. A dark lord of the Sith, a power rival to none, the strongest weapon in the galaxy.”

  The Emperor slowly shook his hooded head. “Now… I’m afraid I was mistaken… about a great many things.”

  “That is impossible,” said Darth. “I have dedicated everything to your service.”

  The Emperor sneered. “Take off that pitiful little mask.”

  There was a pause, then Darth reached up and unhooked the mask from his suit. With a click, it came free. Dark brown hair tumbled from it, framing a face with a long scar running across a striking blue eye. Darth’s lip trembled with a tranquil fury that threatened tears, but the tears did not come. They were hidden behind his furious, handsome eyes.

  “Yes…” Palpatine murmured softly. “The face of Anakin Starkiller. You have the heart of a Jedi… and the spirit of Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

  “I destroyed Obi-Wan Kenobi!” protested Darth. “I waited eagerly for the moment when I could strike him down!”

  “And look at you now!” Palpatine snarled. “The deed threw your mind into confusion! You were defeated by a common smuggler and a boy who had never used the Force! The Death Star was destroyed, and Yoda lives! You… have… failed!”

  Darth lunged at his master, but sparks flew and knocked him back. Indigo lightning leapt from Palpatine’s fingers as the Emperor struck and struck again, sending electricity pulsing through Darth’s muscular body with every burst. Palpatine’s teeth were bared as his eyes blazed with fury. Darth screamed and moaned until Palpatine ceased, standing with his fingers hanging in the aftermath of the outburst. Smoke curled from Darth’s armor.

  “As long as the Jedi remain in the galaxy,” said Palpatine, “hope lives. Virtue lives. Freedom lives. Goodness… lives. I thought you would be the one to crush it once and for all.”

  The Emperor sat in his throne. “Unfortunately, you are no Sith.” He shook his head. “You’re only a child… in a mask.”

  In the turbolift, far from Palpatine’s prying eyes, Darth stared at his helmet. Fury boiled inside him.

  “It’s all Palpatine’s fault!” he shouted. He threw his helmet against the wall. “He’s holding me back!”

  Darth kicked his helmet viciously, denting it. His brown locks hung in front of his angry reddened eye as he breathed hard, chest heaving.

  The turbolift doors opened and Darth Vader stormed out, leaving his helmet on the floor. “Prepare my ship.”

  Luke stopped. Standing there in the fog was a short, green creature in robes with his back turned, gazing at the swamp.

  Luke’s eyes widened. It was Yoda.

  The Jedi Master Ben’s voice had told him about. The Jedi Master who had ushered in an era of peace in the Republic, before the Empire seized control.

  Trembling, Luke approached the Jedi.

  Yoda turned and looked up. He stared at Luke, his green brow furrowed with surprise.

  Luke pulled out his lightsaber and extended it to the Jedi.

  Yoda stared at it and took it in his tiny green hands.

  Yoda looked down at the saber, marvelling at it. His green eyes widened. He had not seen the weapon of a Jedi in almost nineteen years.

  Yoda chucked the saber into the bog and hobbled away.

  Luke stood aghast. He looked between Yoda and the bog, then walked over and picked up the lightsaber. He shooed away the scaly bat-birds that were investigating it.

  Luke dashed after Yoda, who was giggling to himself as he hopped along on his stick.

  Yoda was incredibly fast for a little old gremlin. He hopped in his boat and paddled across the swamp.

  Luke groaned. How could he follow him?

  Luke saw a vine hanging over the swamp. He closed his eyes and pulled it to him with the Force, using it to swing across the muddy pond.

  He dashed after Yoda, who was holding a spear over the water. Yoda speared a giant worm out of the swamp and pulled out the spear. He looked Luke dead in the eye and began slurping up the worm headfirst. The worm disappeared further and further into Yoda’s belly and still he slurped. It continued to emerge from the swamp as he slurped and slurped.

  Just when Luke was wondering just how long the worm was, Yoda bit it off and sardonically held the bloody, wriggling stump out to Luke. Luke made a face of disgust and Yoda dropped the half-eaten snake back into the swamp. The bat-birds cawed across the bog.

  Yoda galloped across the swamp, flipping and twirling in the air as he went. He squeezed under a root and disappeared into the tree.

  Luke ran up to the tree. He cried out as his boots splashed in soupy mud. He bent down over the entrance to the little hut. “Master Yoda!” he called.

  “Go away!” shouted the Jedi master in a shrill, raspy voice.

  “I won’t leave here,” Luke protested. “Ben sent me!”

  “Hm? Ben? Know him I do not,” Yoda huffed. Luke could not see him. He appeared to be hiding crouched behind one of the earthen columns of his abode, sulking.

  “Master Kenobi! Obi-Wan!” Luke yelled. “I’m Luke Skywalker! I’m here to be trained as a Jedi!”

  “No more Jedi will I train,” Yoda replied. “Home you must go.”

  “I’ve come all this way,” said Luke. “I’m from the Rebellion. Master Obi-Wan sent me. We need your help.”

  “No more Jedi will I train,” Yoda repeated. “Came here to die I did. Away you must go.”

  Luke turned and sat in the mud, brooding. He looked up. Artoo was completely drenched in mud, beeping.

  “What is that sound?” asked Yoda.

  Artoo beeped emphatically.

  “R2?” inquired the Jedi. His pointy-eared head poked out from the entrance of his hut. “R2-D2?”

  Artoo beeped.

  “Doing here, what are you?” asked Yoda.

  Artoo began to issue a stream of explanatory beeps.

  Yoda’s ears drew back with alarm. “Wait,” he croaked. “Where is Obi-Wan?”

  Han walked into the hangar. Leia was there, holding a blaster.

  Han leaned against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

  “Admiral asked me to guard the hangar,” said Leia. “People trying to desert. I’ve had to stun four people so far.” She patted her blaster.

  Han sucked in his lip and nodded, trying to act casual. “Cool.” He started walking away, towards the Falcon.

  “Can you believe there are people trying to desert?” asked Leia, walking with him. “It sickens me, how disloyal they are.”

  “Oh yeah, just sickening,” Han agreed.

  “I mean, after we destroyed the Death Star,” Leia rambled. “You’d think they’d have a little more hope. The admiral knows what he’s doing.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Han, winding his way around the hangar, trying to give her the slip.

  “I’m just glad you and Chewie aren’t deserters,” said Leia. “At first it seemed like you were, but now…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Han waved. “Happy to help.”

  Leia became quiet. “My friend Holdo died in that attack run.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Han, not knowing what else to say to get her off his back.

  “She was full of hope,” Leia reminisced. “We were like sisters. She gave me this japor snippet from Alderaan. I have half and she has the other. Had.”

  Leia pulled out the snippet and looked at it. Absently, she walked directly in front of Han, blocking his way into the Falcon.

  “Would you mind going back to your business so I can go back to mine?” Han snapped.

  “And what is your business?” asked Leia, raising an eyebrow. “What are you trying to do?”

  Han stopped. “Well, I…”

  “Boarding the Falcon,” said Leia, slowly realizing Han’s intentions, “with a packed bag.”

  “Now gimme just a second to explain, your worsh–” Han started.

  Leia aimed and fired. Blue rings shot into Han’s crotch and arced through his body. He grunted as he fell to the floor, stunned. His body sizzled as he lay unconscious.

  Leia stood over him, glaring. “You’re just like the others,” she spat.

finnreyultd:

Chewie: [comment in Shyriiwook]

Rey: You’re right, Finn’s lips do look like they’re as soft as Felucian cloudbread …

Chewie: [statement in Shyriiwook]

Rey: I know! Those shirts definitely show off his amazing shoulders. That was the first thing I noticed on Crait. Well, one of the first things.

Chewie: [declaration in Shyriiwook]

Rey: Well, we haven’t had any time alone for me to tell him that yet, but … I will. It just has to be the right moment. I can’t just blurt it out like a kriffhead, you know?

Chewie:

Rey: Do I know where Finn is now? Well the last time I saw him, he was talking to General Organa. Why?

:’) For Finnrey Fridays’ Languages theme, done on commission by the amazing @goldengrimoire3!