Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

Anonymous asked: Omg for that cannon thing can you please do Grantaire from Les mis and rey from Star wars??

Mmmm YEAH.  From this thing.

Grantaire

• Canon: Grantaire is a boxer, fencer, and dancer.  I know these are common knowledge, but I feel like there are some really glorious opportunities afforded there.  He’s also evidently well-studied, just…in really random stuff, which speaks to me.
  
• Headcanon: Even supposing he’d lived through June 6th, Grantaire wouldn’t have survived long without his friends.  He’d have faded away, been found dead in the street within a month.
• Heartcanon: This is, what, what I think should have happened?  I don’t know, might’ve been nice if someone lived?
• Soulcanon: I might have liked a little more description of the death scene, Vic!  Would’ve been nice!  But my firm belief is that Enjolras probably died pretty much on impact, whereas Grantaire took a minute or two to bleed out.  He didn’t mind, because he fell looking at Enjolras’ face, angled so that the other man looked alive and merely pensive, and he’d say there are worst last sights.  He kept his grip on Enjolras’ hand until he was finally too weak to force his muscles to cooperate.
• Crotchcanon: Sooooo the night before the barricades rose Enjolras probably decided…well, eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.  ‘Be merry’ here accompanied by an intense eyebrow wriggle.  Fight me.  Grantaire figured that at least this way he would know that Enjolras’ skin tasted like before they died.  If I ever wrote fic for this ‘and then there was wildly improbable sex’ incident, it would be intense angst.

Rey, my own sunshine daughter

• Canon: Rey is flawless.  Rey built her speeder and taught herself quarterstaff fighting.  I hear she refused to trade a droid even though she was offered sixty portions.  I hear she managed to fly the Millennium Falcon through an old star destroyer on her first try.  She met Han Solo and he offered her a job.  One time she lightsabered Kylo Ren in the face.  It was awesome.
  
• Headcanon: Rey has definitely…done what needed to be done.  By which I mean she’s definitely killed a dude, and possibly eaten them, depending on how strapped she was for sustenance at the time.
• Heartcanon: I appreciate why Rey didn’t kill Kylo at the end of the movie.  Nonetheless, that hunting-wolf prowl with her teeth bared and the light of a dying star on her skin really did it for me, and I might have liked to see them deal with the fact that even Jedi kill, sometimes.  And Rey’s NOT a Jedi, is the thing, so–yeah.  Basically the summary here is that I want to see Rey kill a dude with a lightsaber.  Kylo would be ideal, but not at all mandatory.  I also really want to see her talk to a Force ghost, and I really, really want that Force ghost to be Anakin Skywalker.  I am only interested in the Rey Skywalker thing insofar as it makes her Anakin’s granddaughter, not Luke’s kid (I’d love it if she was Leia’s kid, Rey Organa is also a plot I’m into, but that seems a little less likely), although I feel like Rey as the savior of the Force Mark III is really excellent.
• Soulcanon: Okay but as long as we’re playing defiance-of-all-reason, what I really want is for Rey to be a midichlorian pregnancy.  The Force decides that the last go-round of a Chosen One went horribly awry (although I have some thoughts on whether that…is strictly speaking true, in the Force’s eyes), so this time, the Force is like “I’m gonna do it again, and it’s going to be another angry sand orphan, but instead of an ex-slave who immediately gets indoctrinated into a powerfully repressive and increasingly rickety ancient Order, it’s going to be a scavenger with a moral backbone like soldered titanium and a quarterstaff, and she’s just gonna fucking wreck people with both.”  And the Force drags Rey kicking and screaming into her destiny and drops her in Luke’s lap like “Be nice to your auntie, bye-bye now” and Luke is like “Um…I don’t deserve this.”  Luke, you fucked off into exile for fifteen years and left your sister to run another rebellion, this time against her son.  You deserve to have your Force-auntie fucking wreck you with her stick and her moral backbone.
• Crotchcanon: Um…the OT3 is a thing and y’all can fight me.  The Damerons.  Poe struggles for a little while with the fact that he seems to have two (young) heroes trying to actively seduce him, in their awkward ways.  Rey’s version of ‘seduction’ is just to press various foodstuffs into his hands and watch with an eager smile as he eats them, Finn’s is a little more like actual flirting, but not a lot.  Finally he just comes back to his quarters (he has a private room by virtue of being a squad leader) and finds Rey literally sitting naked on his bed, legs crossed and calm as when she’s polishing BB-8′s optical sensor.  Finn apologizes, hovering anxiously near the wall, and says that they’ve been trying to convince him to date them but he doesn’t seem to get the message, so Rey got impatient.  Poe gives in to the inevitable.  And then there’s sex.  Lots of sex.  Poe gets the shock of the decade when ever-so-serious General Organa reaches up to clap him on the shoulder in approval, once the others let him out of his quarters again.

the-cimmerians:

therebeljyn:

ok but i really need my girl rey to make herself a new lightsaber because the one she’s got now kind of has a 100% hand loss rate 

\_(ツ)_/¯

the emoji is what truly brings this post to a pinnacle of excellence

(Source: dearartemis, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

margotkim:

Finn, Rey, and Poe seem like the kind of people who’d have a relationship that requires a very strict ratio of 2 human disasters to 1 mature adult, and they rotate turns about who has to be responsible.

Like Poe comes back from a meeting to find Rey and Finn both wearing buckets on their head as they blindly sock wrestle (half a dozen pilots in a circle around them, egging them on) and Poe’s first thought is, “shit, they’re both already wrestling so I have to be referee.”

(Source: andhumanslovedstories, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

Red and White

notbecauseofvictories:

sporkmetender replied to your post: Prompt me

Phasma meets Leia somehow and is unmasked during the meeting.

It was a strange quirk of stormtroopers, Leia thought—bury them under flat, white plasticine and all those human tics and weaknesses turned inward, were trapped under the skin; right up until the moment you removed the armor, when it came roiling to the surface, pressurized. She’d noticed it in Finn, a tendency to emote with his whole body and stare too long; drum his fingers on datapads and the edges of tables, move like a blaster shot. The crew of the captured Domitia did it too—she’d been watching them on the monitors for fifteen minutes, and she’d lost count of how many times they stalked the width and length of the cells, restless as animals.

If she had been another sort of woman, Leia might have taken heart that humanity persisted, even in the midst of profound darkness. 

Instead, she was wondering whether their meager supplies would feed an extra fifty mouths, and what she was going to do when they wouldn’t.

(There was a voice at the back of her head whispering, do what is necessary do what will keep yours safe, eliminate them—

Leia had a great deal of practice ignoring that voice.)

Leia’s gaze wandered back to Captain Phasma as the woman made another circuit around her cell. There was something different about her—the particular way she held herself, maybe, or the washed-out light on her hair—and it stirred the deep recesses of Leia’s memory. “Buzz me through,” she said suddenly to Lieutenant Luo, who jerked upright in his seat. 

“Um,” he answered eloquently. He looked at the door to the cell block as though expecting it to open under its own power. “Ma’am? Shouldn’t we wait for…”

Leia waited, curious as to how he was planning to finish that sentence. No one was coming, except whoever drew the short straw from Intel, and maybe Luke or Rey, when the stormtroopers (inevitably) refused to talk. The Resistance didn’t have interrogators, it barely had prison guards—she hadn’t thought there was a need for them, among her guerrilla hit-and-run pilots and ex-smuggler logisticians. First Order personnel didn’t walk away from a Resistance attack, as a rule; not even into prison cells.

”….someone,” Luo finished in a small voice.

“Buzz me through, Lieutenant,” Leia repeated, not unkindly. She liked Luo. It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t anticipated this, that the sight of all that white armor piled up on the duracrete had made her blood run hot and too-loud in her ears. It had taken Luke quietly nudging a memory at her (aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper) to remember she could breathe at all.

The red rage was still there, of course, thrumming through her blood, whispering eliminate them as it moved in her veins. 

Leia breathed.

“Yes, General,” Luo said, and buzzed the door open.

Keep reading

Anonymous asked: what kind of relationship do you think finn and leia would have

notbecauseofvictories:

look

Let’s say you are a General. You were a great number of things before, but you are a General now and it suits you better than all the rest put together, it fits you like a second skin and fills the hollows where people/planet/father/mother/husband/son/brother/republic should be. And let’s add that you are a good General; decisive, even-handed, capable of managing the day-to-day operational work as much as engineering strokes of tactical genius. Some of your advisers wish you would cry more public, show a softer, more maternal side, but you are fresh out of softness. It’s scar tissue now. 

More importantly, your soldiers love you. (Well, not you, very few of them know you, you have lost most of the people who knew you—but they love the princess or the senator or the general, and that’s close enough.) They love you even though you use them, use them like starfighter parts, like numbers on a datapad, and smash them against the bulwark of the Darkness. They love you for it. This is called loyalty. You wish you did not elicit so very much of it.

But still, you are a General, and you recognize your like when he walks onto a Resistance base. 

He is young, and his world is narrow, still—a jedi, a flyboy, a ship, a whole mess of intangible loss and an inviolable sense of what is Right. But Generals have come from less. (You would know.) The first week he is out of the medbay, you stick him in Intelligence, just to see what he can do without a blaster in his hand. Generals generally only carry one at their hip. (You do not carry a blaster at all.)

It only takes him fourteen months to work his way up to a seat at the leadership briefing. The only other person to climb the chain of command that quickly was Luke Skywalker, and that was largely honorary; between the Death Star and the lightsaber, Luke had been the recipient of a lot of honor.

You make a mental note to have your moofmilker brother check Finn for Force sensitivity if—when—he returns. 

“Lieutenant Finn,” you greet the other general on his first day in the command center. He salutes like a wet dream, all grace and pinpoint precision. You wonder if he had to readjust his automatic responses with the biotech spine; you can’t tell. “Tell me, what on earth took you so long?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, falling back into ‘at ease’ with that same terrible grace. His smile is like a blaster-shot. “Had to prove myself first.”