I like the sound of that.

Han & Leia Appreciation Week 2019  

Day 7, October 26:  Free day; anything you want

I’m taking the opportunity of the very last of this year’s appreciation to do the world a favor by singing the praises of the incomparable legend that is Cicatrick.  For any that still exist and somehow don’t know, Cicatrick is a true gift to the Han/Leia fandom, who absolutely OWNS the AU genre.  

Before I discovered Cicatrick’s work I didn’t see myself as a fan of Star Wars/hanleia AU set in different times and/or places, but was I ever wrong about that!

New Hope, Indiana, the OT 1950s AU, is so multilayered and brilliantly thought-out; identifiably Star Wars yet wholly unique; and without giving away any spoilers, as the climax of the “mystery” was playing out, I was in utter awe of the creativity, talent, and genius of how that all was set up.  And that’s without even mentioning the incredible and spot-on portrayal of the Han/Leia relationship.  

Then there is the true GLORY that is Whiskey Knot.  For someone who would have sworn that AU was not for them, this fic is probably my very favorite Han and Leia one, period.  An Old West AU, it less strictly follows all of the elements and characters of the OT, but it is a brilliant character study of both Han and Leia that certainly applies to their OT counterparts.  What’s more, there is just something indefinable that captures you about this story.  It fascinates and pulls you in, both what’s happening in the here-and-now and the story that is playing out from the past.  Absolutely breathtaking.  I find myself re-reading it several times a year.

And The Rules cannot go without mention.  If you insist on preferring your Han/Leia strictly within the confines of the OT Star Wars world, here it is.  This story, too, has it all:  compelling character study; lovely portrayal of Han/Leia; an OC character (dare I say, villain?) who utterly comes to life, more so than any OC I’ve encountered; vividly portrayed scenes (seriously, I don’t have to try to picture scenes; it’s like they leap off the page and come to life of their own free will).  The latest update was literally the gift of multiple fics in one.  Just in the Han Solo, Part 1 and 2 chapters you’ve got a story thread going on just after Yavin IV, a pre-ESB story thread currently unfolding, and a flashback tale from the week before:  all fully fleshed-out stories that could have each easily been posted all on their own.  When you go along for the ride with Cicatrick, you often get the treat of multiple stories in one!.

It was useless.

Leia shivered and came to terms with this grim truth. Useless. No matter how many socks she layered, no matter how close she dragged the standard-issue space heater, and no matter how she adjusted her thermal sleeping bag, it was useless. She could not get warm. And, similarly, no matter how many nerfs she counted and no matter how she tried to let herself drift off, she simply could not sleep when she was shivering as she was.

Leia groaned into the silence of her dark quarters. Over the weeks she’d become accustomed to the inescapable cold: she could tolerate seeing her breath puff in front of her in the command center. She could tolerate the biting sting on her face when she stood near to the blast doors. She could even tolerate needing to eat her meals with her gloves on.

What she could not tolerate, it seemed, was shivering on her cot night after night, feet like ice, teeth chattering. Stubbornly, Leia darted one arm out from within her meager cocoon and grabbed her heavy coat off the back of the chair near her head; she laid it over her sleep sack and scrambled to get her hand back inside, heat escaping from within her sealed thermal nest.

Better, she thought. Much better. She burrowed deeper down into her bedding, waiting to warm up.

But she didn’t.

Drawing her knees up to her chest and tucking her hands under her armpits, Leia scowled to herself. She couldn’t do this again—she couldn’t go through another day exhausted and cold again. She felt as though she’d taken giant steps back: after Yavin she’d been perpetually exhausted and agitated, unable to sleep at night due to her nightmares. It seemed that just when they’d finally stopped—when she’d finally started feeling—better, feeling—not like herself, not her old self, no, she would never be her old self again, but..... she’d started feeling like a person again. A person, and not a droid, not a machine on autopilot with one function, one goal programmed: defeat the Empire, defeat the Empire, defeat the Empire..... Just when that angry, broken, hollow Leia had left, she found herself caught in the cycle again. Sleepless nights spent shivering, long shifts spent suppressing yawns, irritable, freezing—why did no one else seem to be quite so freezing?

Curled up in a ball and covered in goosebumps, she craned her head to check her chrono. It was almost midnight, and she was running out of sleeping time. Soon enough her alarm would blare and she’d have to emerge from her sleep sack-jacket shelter into the icy pre-dawn of Hoth. She’d have to freeze her naked ass off in the sonic ‘fresher stall, then cross the drafty base to the mess hall for caf, which she’d sip with bleary dismay, resigned to the countless chilly hours stretching before her before she could crawl back onto her cot once more and try again to sleep.

Maybe if she put her snowsuit on over her night clothes... Was the space heater faulty? Surely no one else was suffering so on a nightly basis—it was torture, this cold, but damned if she would complain.

The chrono read 0017, and her nightly battle with herself began.

She could go to the Falcon. Oh, how wonderful it would be... the old freighter was warm, so warm. She could make herself a hot cup of tea in the warm galley, make use of the warm ‘fresher, climb into the warm crew bunk with no need for three pairs of socks or her heavy duty coat, and sleep.....

Except she couldn’t go to the Falcon, not for a hundred reasons. The first being that it wasn’t fair, was it? The rest of the rebels had no place to seek refuge if their beds were cold at night, and who was she to vote in favor of their relocation to Hoth, subject everyone to this icy hell, and then sneak off to sleep cozy and toasty on the Millennium Falcon while everyone else huddled against their crappy heaters? No, she would share the same fate as all other enlisted personnel, and shiver right along with them.

Oh, but she could take that thick, plush blanket from the main hold, abscond with it to the crew quarters, and fall asleep wrapped up in it, bundled up, breathing in its wonderful smell—

Like Han. It smells like Han. You want to fall asleep smelling Han? You want to fall asleep thinking about Han? Perhaps you don’t want to fall asleep in the crew quarters at all, but perhaps his cabin, perhaps his bunk—perhaps not wrapped in his blanket but wrapped in is arms, is that what you want? His heat, his smell, his touch—?

Leia squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head, desperate to silence the voice inside it, desperate to drive away the images it had evoked.

This was her problem. This was the worst part of Hoth. For every moment she spent hating the cold she spent twice as many longing for Han Solo, and like an untreated wound the wanting seemed only to grow worse and worse, festering, spreading, infecting. For months Leia had had countless reasons why she couldn’t pursue him: From a practical standpoint, she needed to devote all her time to the rebellion and could afford no distractions. From a moral standpoint, it was disrespectful and tasteless to get caught up in something so trivial and juvenile as a crush after what had happened to Alderaan, and from a personal standpoint, could she even have a romantic relationship despite all her baggage? Her grief, her guilt, her crippling fear of more loss, her fear of vulnerability, her trauma, her triggers? Selfish to impose that on anyone else—and Han wouldn’t want to go to bed with her anyway if he knew it meant going to bed with billions of dead Alderaanians. How could she be thinking of that, anyway, after what had happened? Shouldn’t she be consumed still by her need for revenge? Her despair? And Han was leaving, he wasn’t committed to her, he would hurt her, he—

He was still here. Two years later, here. Making her smile. Having her back. Treating her like a person, pushing her buttons, making her feel, making her heal, making her forget the insidious cold and—

And couldn’t she just go to the damn Millennium Falcon for the night?

Leia rolled flat onto her back, glaring at the dark ceiling. Her resolve was crumbling and she knew it. And not just with regard to his ship. Just as each night her she was more tempted to go sleep on the Falcon, so too was she more tempted to screw her list of reasons and give over to her feelings for Han.

She closed her eyes, imagining it. What would it be like? If she told him how she felt about him—confessed that she had feelings for him, wanted him... Would he answer in kind? Or would he let his actions speak for him? In her mind’s eye Leia pictured it, how his surprise would give way to relief, happiness, and then intention. Would his gaze sharpen, soften? Would he lift his big hands to cup her face, draw her to him, kiss her? Leia tried to imagine what it would be like, kissing him. He was so tall—his stature so strong, body capable and masculine—would he hoist her up closer, to claim her mouth with his? Would he kiss her softly, at first? Or deeply, aggressively, with all the pent-up desire they’d both been harboring for so, so long? She was sure, wasn’t she, that he’d been desiring her, too...

In her cold quarters Leia felt her face was hot, and that there was heat in her stomach and...

She swallowed. There was another way she could warm up and find some sleep tonight...

Leia felt suddenly, foolishly, wary. It wasn’t that she’d never touched herself before but she’d never done so with premeditated intentions beforehand to think of Han, had never been driven to it from thinking about him to begin with, and was it wrong? Dangerous? It seemed dangerous, to wade so deeply into the depths of her own desire...

Biting her lip, her heart pounding, she slid her hand down her body. Her fingers were cold at first, but it was like she was barely paying attention to her own touch. Instead, she was suddenly, desperately imagining how his lips would feel against her throat. How often had she looked at those lips, how they slanted with his smirk, lopsided when he grinned... The thought of them moving over her skin dissolved any inhibition she left; she could think of nothing but Han.

How would... how would it feel, if it were his fingers, not hers, gliding between her legs? Her entire body seemed to come online at the thought of him touching her there, like Han was some ON-switch she’d never before discovered. Breathless all of a sudden, Leia imagined herself in his bunk, how good he would smell—his skin—the sound of his voice—kissing him...

As Leia’s fingers continued to move over herself, she opened her eyes.

She saw him there, beside her, above her, watching. In the low light his eyes moved over her with such heat that Leia felt herself lit on fire. Naked before his gaze, touching herself while he watched, she was neither shy nor inhibited.

“Kriff,” he hissed, face awed, eyes darting to watch her hand before settling back on her face. “Kriff, Leia. Fuck.”

He lifted a hand to grasp her hip—it slid up her body, over her ribs, and Leia felt dizzy. His hand moved between her breasts, cupping one and then the other, his gaze rapt and intense. Leia was in some kind of trance, unable to do anything but continue, unable to feel anything but pleasure, unable to question what was happening.

With her free hand she drew him down to her and moaned into his kiss, exulting to finally know his mouth, to feel his tongue against hers.

“Leia,” Han moaned, voice low, needing. She felt that it both reflected and amplified her own desire and lust, and in response she could only whisper his name in return, no control over herself, drifting and swept along. Leia felt like a spectator rather than a participant as Han’s mouth found her neck, as she felt herself tilting her head for him, arching and biting her lip.

Like she was trapped in her body, observing with shivering wonderment what was happening to herself.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned between sucking kisses against her pulse point. “You’re killing me—Leia, hell, you’re killing me—“

Han’s kisses brushed along her collarbones and chest. She felt a huff of breath against her skin—wet from his mouth—as he drew back to look down at her, the sound of it like disbelief, like he couldn’t believe her or couldn’t believe how badly he wanted her, Leia didn’t know, but Han bent again, his sucking kiss at her breast now, and Leia arched in shocked response, the hot wet pull at her swollen flesh almost too much to bear.

She heard her own voice—she thought it was her voice, she had never heard herself sound like this before.

“Han!” she gasped, whimpering. “Mm, oh, Han—“

The movement of her hand between her thighs was futile, her fingers powerless against the rising want—not enough, not enough, not—

Han breathed Leia against her skin and reached for her hand, trailing his own down her arm to her wrist and lifting it urgently to his mouth. He pressed a kiss against her palm, his eyes dark gold, before hastily replacing her fingers with his.

Leia was almost stunned to hear the sound she made, shocked that he was touching her so intimately, shocked that she was allowing it—his fingers moving over her slick flesh so different from her own, enflaming, incredible. She found herself reaching for him, touching him everywhere she could reach, her hands moving seemingly of their own accord. Leia gripped his soft hair, clutched him against herself, ran her palms and fingertips over the smooth flesh she’d never before seen—his arms and shoulders and back so strong, so hot, so hard. Leia was lost in her haze of bliss, the scene otherworldly, incendiary.

Han pressed one finger inside her and she felt her mouth open in a soundless cry.

“Like this?” he asked gruffly against her lips, kissing her once more. “This what you imagined, Sweetheart?”

Leia felt herself nodding against him, felt herself spreading her legs wider, felt herself moving to meet his stroke between her legs. She heard herself continuing to moan against his mouth.

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh. Han. Yes.”

Han’s face looked almost pained, his expression so affected it was almost tortured.

“Hell,” he groaned. “Leia.”

Leia bit her lip and arched her back as Han crooked his finger inside her, her legs shaking.

“Can’t believe you—on that ice ball, I—Leia, d’you got any idea how bad I wanted you? Hell—“

These words he whispered by her ear and Leia ran her hands over the planes of his broad back again and again, nodding, stroking his hair, promising Yes, saying I know, yes, I— over and over. Trying to tell him, to show him, how she’d shared that burden of want, how she’d been as powerless as he against the force that had been drawing them together all that time....

Han eased a second finger in alongside the first and Leia felt her fingers in his hair clench and pull.

He seemed to hiss his agreement.

“Tell me what else you thought about.”

Demand or plea, Leia didn’t know or care, she couldn’t, she was held captive by this spell, by the unfamiliar thrill of his fingers moving inside her body, by the glory of his bare form pressed against her.

Before she could answer Han drew away once more, moving away from her. Leia watched with surreal anticipation as he laid down a few more kisses—on her nipples, above her naval, his tongue sweeping over the shape of one hipbone—

She should have been shocked as he lifted her thighs against his shoulders, as he withdrew his fingers from within her to grasp her hips with both hands. He met her eyes with a gaze so hot and hungry and reverent that she quaked.

“Did you think about this?” he asked fervently. For one second it seemed to Leia that he tried to grin, but his voice sounded shaky when he asked her, and any effort he made to smirk was soon forgotten in the face of his desire.

Leia heard herself answer.

“Did you?” she asked, holding his gaze. Seeing him look up at her from between her legs. “Did you imagine this?”

Han’s grip about her tightened.

“Yes,” he confessed. He suddenly laughed against the crux of her body. “Kriff, don’t think there’s anything I didn’t imagine—“

His voice trailed off, saturated with lust, and then Leia clutched at his hair as he resumed those hot kisses once more. Again she heard herself encouraging and entreating him, trembling to feel him loving her with his mouth and tongue.

Han swore softly—she could just barely hear him—and let go of one hip to touch her again as he had before—

“Oh, stop!” Leia gasped, overwhelmed. “Han—please. I want you—“

He lifted his head again to look at her, stopping at once.

“Wanna make you come like this,” he groaned, turning to press a kiss to her inner thigh. “Want—“

But Leia was shaking her head, squeezing his hand.

“Get up here,” she begged. “Please. I need—oh—Han—“

Han spent one more moment teasing her with his tender ministrations before rising up onto his hands and knees.

It occurred to Leia that the sight of him was more magnificent than anything she could have imagined. His bare body above her, moving over her—lean, muscular, golden... Hazily she attempted to memorize every detail: how his flat abdomen flexed, how his broad chest narrowed to his lean waist and hips, the sight of his strong thighs, his—

Han seemed intent on kissing as many parts of her as he could reach on his way to her mouth. She watched, stricken and panting, as he kissed her belly, between her breasts, the bends of her inner elbows. He pressed three soft kisses over an angry scar on her upper arm that Leia had never seen before.

Against her shoulder he whispered a series of Sweethearts that moved Leia almost to tears.

She found herself parting her legs once more and urging him to settle between them. Han cupped her face between his hands, kissing her gently, and Leia sighed, drunk, exhilarated. Oh, how she had wanted this. She wanted this, she wanted, she—

She heard herself say “I imagined this too,” with an intimate sigh. What was she trying to do? Tease him? Please him? Or simply share the vulnerable truth?

Han rested his forehead against hers.

She thought he would say “me too.”

Instead he said “I love you.”

Impossibly, Leia closed her eyes against his neck, murmuring “I know, I know,” and waiting for him to finally shift to press inside her, needing to feel him there, knowing that only he could have made her feel this way, would ever make her feel this way, in both her body and her heart, she needed to feel them joined together, to answer the ache there, oh, she loved him, she—

Leia opened her eyes, startled, sweating, and confused. Somewhere nearby there was an alarm going off.

She sat bolt upright, fumbling for her chrono. 0515. She was on Hoth, she was in her quarters, fully dressed, she—

Trembling, Leia looked down at her cot. It had seemed so real—in Han’s bunk, the two of them, it had been so vivid. Her body still thrummed with the pleasure, still felt the phantom heat of his body, she...

She was so, so screwed. Leia groaned, shaking her head, pressing her fingertips against her temples.

A sex dream. A sex dream? Oh, and he would be at the briefing this morning! With disgust, Leia kicked away her sleeping bag and stood to shuffle towards the ‘fresher. She’d really made a mess of things this time. Just how exactly would she manage to look him in the eye after having touched herself while fantasizing about him? After having drifted into the most carnal, the most erotic dream—

Leia stripped out of her sweaty thermals and cycled on the sonic ‘fresher, for once not freezing in the early morning but flushed, hot.

Never again, Leia scolded herself. I am never doing that again, I can never let it happen again. Last night was a momentary lapse in sanity that will not be repeated if for no other reason than to keep from going insane—

The sonics deactivated and Leia stepped out of the stall. Now that her heart rate was calming, she was beginning to feel cold again.

So much for nothing, Leia thought irritably, running her hands over her arms in an attempt to stimulate some heat with the friction.

Then Leia frowned, and looked down at her arm. With one fingertip she traced a line where in her dream that scar had been, the one that Dream Han had kissed so carefully...

Leia shook herself and began to dress. Dreams rarely made sense, after all. It was time to face reality. And the reality was that she needed to stop thinking about going to bed with Han and start thinking about her duties.

As she left her quarters for the morning and tread her daily path to the mess hall, Leia actively decided not to reflect upon the most alluring part of the entire dream:

“I love you.”

“I know.”

I am not in love with Han, she told herself fiercely as she made her way through the icy passages. She repeated it over and over again like a kind of desperate mantra, but as she got to the mess hall and saw him sitting at their usual table, she deflated. She couldn’t even succeed in convincing herself.

Leia frowned outside the Falcon. As she’d left her quarters and headed across the chilly base, she’d been convinced this was unremarkable and harmless. After all, Han had told her that she could come by in the mornings for caf—in fact, he’d been telling her so for months. There was no deeper meaning to be found in her decision to take him up on the offer at last, she insisted, and surely Han wouldn’t think there was. No, it was nothing more complicated than the fact that she hadn’t slept well, and his ship was on her way to her early morning meeting, and while usually she made it a point to drink the mess hall caf like all other enlisted personnel, well, it was so early and in-between shifts anyway—was it so terrible if just once she wanted to be warm while she drank her caf? Ramshackle and temperamental though the Falcon was, the envirosystem was certainly functioning, and Leia had to admit that the ship was like heaven on Hoth. Not that Leia would ever openly acknowledge that it was the one place she found she wasn’t shivering, but it was true: Han kept the main hold so warm it was practically cozy.

Leia let out a breath that curled as a cloud before her in the icy morning. There was no one around in the hangar bay, but the Falcon’s ramp was down and light spilled from within the ship. She glanced down at her chrono—0400, and her stomach gave an odd kind of twist. Abruptly she felt like an utter fool, loitering outside Han’s living space practically in the middle of the night.

Organa, what is the matter with you?

She lifted a gloved hand to her forehead and closed her eyes in exasperation and embarrassment. Her logical argument now seemed transparent and weak. Certainly while she was brushing her teeth and tugging on her boots and convincing herself it was completely casual to go get caf on the Falcon, she was conveniently not addressing the frankly erotic dream she’d had about him the night before.

Waking on her cot in the darkness, panting and afflicted, tormented by images of Han tangled up with her in all kinds of sexual positions, had become practically a nightly occurrence since they’d set up base on Hoth. It was almost laughable—certainly ironic—that she kept waking up hot and sweaty on a planet so cold their speeders wouldn’t work. There in the frigid air, even, she felt a burst of heat, remembering how in her dream Han had smirked up at her from between her legs, gaze intense and tender, before bowing his head to resume pleasuring her with his tongue—

Horrified, Leia whirled away from the ramp as though the ship’s occupants could somehow see what she was thinking. Fool! She was a fool. Leia Organa, princess and senator, ambassador and diplomat, commander and spy, was stunned and red-faced to be confronted with the abrupt truth of it. After all these months of denying it, Leia was skulking around Han Solo’s ship at a positively indecent hour, like a teenager with a crush, because she wanted him, was hoping to see him—was entertaining, even as she stood there—all kinds of fantasies that featured a sleepy and rumpled Han Solo emerging from his cabin, pleasantly surprised to find her there, voice perhaps rough with sleep, joining her in the galley for an early caf and some tender banter laden with innuendo and feelings...

And that was how Leia knew that she wasn’t simply lusting after Han. Because surely if that were all it was, her secret hopefulness for an early morning encounter wouldn’t include that rare, treasured look he got on his face, the one that was equal parts roguish and bashful, like the other day when he’d slipped on that patch of ice in front of her and had skidded and slipped, arms flailing, before finally landing flat on his back on the ground. And Leia, through a gasp of laughter, had spoken without thinking, so charmed and enchanted by his baffled expression, as though his own feet had betrayed him, as though he couldn’t believe it of himself—cocky and sturdy Corellian balance and swagger—to fall on his ass in the hangar. She’d held out a hand to help him up, any semblance of pretense or station forgotten, and had said, ‘Knew you’d fall for me eventually, Captain Credits.’

Han had blinked in surprise, his eyes flashing to hers as though in disbelief, and then he’d grinned, lopsided and big but somehow meaningful even as he’d grasped her outstretched hand and waggled his eyebrows at her.

‘Just trying to follow protocol, Princess,’ he’d smirked, his eyes light and laughing. ‘Ain’t us peasants supposed to lie all prostrate at your royal feet?’

Now Leia winced at the memory. She wondered if it was obvious to everyone, what was developing between the two of them. Wondered if he would take her appearance on his ship at 0400 to mean what it did—that Leia Organa wanted him badly, in more ways than one.

So what if he knows how you feel? asked a voice in her head. Leia had found herself arguing with this voice often—it was the same voice that, last week, had tried to convince her after a particularly graphic dream to stay in her cot just a little bit longer, to turn off her alarm and close her eyes, pick up where her dream had left off, and slide her hand down into her standard-issue thermal leggings—

Shaking her head and smoothing her braids, Leia turned back to the ship. For once the voice in her head was in complete agreement with her own common sense. So what if Han knew how she felt? Wasn’t... wasn’t she all but certain, now, that he felt the same? And wasn’t it becoming increasingly obvious, after all their partner missions and moves from base to base, that Han wasn’t leaving anymore? In fact, as he voluntarily took on more and more responsibility with the rebellion, no longer simply smuggling supplies but running patrols, scouting perimeters, conferring with General Rieekan, and quite frankly acting alongside her as an active rebel spy, well...

She couldn’t kid herself. She was beginning to think he was planning to enlist. And if he was sticking around, if he was enlisting, if he harbored the same earnest feelings for her that she was nurturing for him...

What reason did she have to keep denying this, other than her own fear?

And Princess Leia was tired of being a prisoner of fear.

Taking a deep breath, she marched up the ramp.

She didn’t realize until she strode into the main hold and found it empty that she’d half-expected to find Han sitting at the holochess table waiting for her. Instead, though all the lights seemed to be on, neither Han nor Chewie were anywhere to be found. She paused and took off her gloves, relishing the warmth of the ship. With the ramp down and the main hold illuminated, she’d assumed Han was awake, but perhaps he was indeed still sleeping. It was three hours before the morning shift, after all... perhaps it would be best to collect her caf and go...

Reluctant all over again, Leia crept quickly and silently through the hold and headed for the galley, but rounding the bend in the corridor, she froze.

She had found Han.

She had found much more of Han than she had bargained for.

There, in the open doorway of the forward hold, across from the ship’s tiny galley, Han Solo hung from a bar with his back to her. He was naked from the waist up, his skin golden and taut over the muscles that were working beneath, contracting and bunching as he lifted his big, long body again and again, bringing his chin to the bar. He was wearing a pair of faded bloodstripes that rode low around his waist. No holster rig. No shoes or socks. Leia wasn’t aware that she was staring, incapable of any thought or observation outside of Han, absorbing and cataloguing the details of his body in a kind of stunned and ravenous daze.

The steady grip of his big, strong hands around the bar. The forearms she had so often admired. Biceps that seemed even more impressive like this, unobscured by shirt sleeves or jackets, bulging as they moved his entire frame up and down. These attached to the broad shoulders she found so attractive. Back masculine, muscular, lean. Waist and hips narrow, and accentuated by the fit of his well-worn trousers his ass firm and—

Suddenly Han let go of the bar and dropped to the deck, and Leia, startled, jumped and made a mortifying gasping sound, and Han whirled around at once.

There was a single instant of shocked eye contact, Han gaping at her in surprise, Leia pinned on the spot by the sudden, embarrassing realization that it was 0400 and she appeared by all accounts to have crept aboard to spy on Han’s shirtless exercise.

“Worship?” he blinked at last, visibly relaxing after the scare she’d given him. He reached up to prop one arm up on the bar he’d been hanging from, his posture open and nonchalant, gaze upon her curious and discerning. What Leia was discerning was his bare chest and abdomen. She opened her mouth to say something—anything. Did Han know—goddess, he—it wasn’t fair, to look like this. Always Leia had found him attractive. From the start she’d thought him handsome, thought his body perfectly proportioned. But his bare torso like this? The sight of his flesh, his physique? Lanky but muscular, lean and strong, a masculinity so overt that she was blushing, and in an instant she recalled her dream, only the details became powerfully vivid in light of this new intel, heightened and improved by the new knowledge of how Han’s bare body looked in rhythmic motion. She imagined him lifting his head from between her legs and holding himself above her, how he might look rocking over her, those bulging biceps, the broad shoulders, flat abdomen and lean hips—

“Leia?”

Never had Leia been more grateful for her diplomatic training. Never in her entire life.

“I’m sorry,” she said with such composure that she surprised even herself, although she could feel her face burning. “I’m supposed to meet General Rieekan at 0430 and since you said I could... ‘come over anytime to defrost,’ I—I thought I’d...”

Han’s eyebrows were raised with such incredulity that his forehead was rumpled, and as she trailed off his mouth slanted into a pronounced and gleeful smirk.

“You sure took that literally, Sweetheart.”

Leia flushed.

“The ramp was down and the lights were on, so I knew you were up, otherwise I—if I’m imposing I can go to the mess hall—“

Han let his hand fall from the bar and stood up straight, shaking his head. He looked suddenly earnest.

“No, I. I meant it literally. C’mon, gave you the ramp code, didn’t I?”

It was Leia’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“I thought you gave me the ramp code for ‘emergencies’ in case we were on a mission and you were ‘captured by some kriffing Imp.’”

Han shrugged one bare shoulder.

“Yeah well, freezing your ass off on this ice ball ‘s a good enough emergency if you ask me, Highness. Can’t fight a war if you’re in the medcenter with frostbite.”

Leia smiled softly, still acutely aware of his state of undress. She was looking with determination at his face, but she knew Han had already caught her staring at his body.

She cleared her throat.

“I was just hoping to have some caf...”

Han nodded.

“Already got some going—not the instant shit though. Brewing a pot, if, uh. If you got time to wait.”

Leia nodded and they both looked at each other for a moment, and to her astonishment Han looked as shy as she suddenly felt. Not because of his nakedness—somehow she knew she could have come upon him entirely nude and he wouldn’t have been embarrassed—but something about the implications of her arrival and his invitation to stay for caf seemed to have struck him as significant.

xxx

When Han joined her in the galley, he was wearing a thin undershirt, and Leia was as relieved as she was disappointed. They leaned facing each other against the galley’s compact cooktop, waiting for the caf to finish and breathing in the aroma while it brewed. Leia looked down at her hands, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

“Do you wake up this early every morning to... exercise?” she asked in an attempt to make conversation. She regretted it instantly. For some reason drawing attention to the fact that she’d watched him doing chin-ups felt like she was drawing attention to the powerful reaction she’d had to the sight.

Han took down two thermoses from one of the storage compartments overhead and reached for the pot of caf as the dispenser beeped and turned off.

“Sometimes,” he said gruffly. “Not usually this early.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Han cut his eyes to her, and Leia wasn’t sure what happened next. Sometimes she seemed to have powerful moments of intuition, but this seemed to transcend even that. Perhaps it was her imagination, ignited by the look on his face, which was at once furtive and candid, and shaded with longing, but suddenly her dream came again to her mind, their bodies writhing together, except this time they were in his bunk instead of on her standard issue cot, and this time—though she knew it was impossible—she could have sworn it was no product of her own mind.

“Something like that,” Han breathed.

As she watched he poured a measure of caf into each thermos, and before she could say a word he took creamer—real cream, not powdered—from within the cooling unit and added some to her thermos.

Just the way she liked it.

He lifted the thermos to pass to her, and when she took it from him their fingers brushed. She watched Han’s gaze focus on their hands brushing before lifting to settle on her face, his eyes greener than usual in the light of the galley.

Leia wondered if he could tell she was tempted to set the caf aside, forgotten, to run her hands up under that thin white shirt, to find out what the skin felt like there—if he was as hard and smooth and warm as he’d appeared when he’d done those merciless chin-ups.

Han turned to face the cooktop and rested both hands on it, grimacing, and then reaching to run a hand through his ruffled hair, clearly still in a disarray from the night. He lifted his thermos to his lips and took a long drink that Leia found so arousing that she was almost angry. Could she think of nothing else? The chin-ups surely were sexy, but drinking caf? Why did the sight of his lips pursing on the thermos and his throat working as he swallowed have such an effect on her?

And when had the galley gotten this small? So small they could barely fit inside together without touching.

Leia lifted her caf to take a drink, too, just for something to do, but as the steaming beverage touched her tongue she jerked away in dismay.

“Kriff!” she gasped, the scalding liquid burning her tongue. She’d become so accustomed to the lukewarm instant variety in the mess hall that she’d forgotten how hot Han’s caf could be. Some caf splashed out of her thermos and out onto her hand, and she cursed again. Leia inwardly cringed. So far she’d awoken from a sex dream about Han Solo, she had talked herself into entering his ship at 0400 and had fretted about outside for almost five minutes, she had been caught checking Han out while he exercised shirtless, she’d stood tongue-tied and nervous before him while the caf brewed, had fantasized right in front of him about having sex with him, and had spilled her drink and burned herself to boot. This was not how Leia had imagined the morning would go, and in fact she couldn’t remember ever having been so clumsy—literally or conversationally—in her life.

“I must be more tired than I thought,” she explained weakly as she reached for one of the rags Han and Chewie used to dry dishes. Han grabbed it first, though, and instead of handing it to her he took her hand in his and toweled off the caf.

“You burn yourself?” he asked, brow creasing in concern as he inspected her hand.

“Oh—no. Well—yes. My tongue, not. Not my hand. I shouldn’t have taken a sip so soon, it was hot—“

“Should’ve warned you,” Han murmured, appearing genuinely contrite. “Knew it was hot—know how sensitive your mouth is.”

They both froze and looked at each other, his hand still holding hers. While it was true that Han often joked about how long she spent blowing on her soup and tea and caf before deeming it an acceptable ingestible temperature, after a morning of starkly carnal thoughts, his words seemed explicitly provocative. He seemed to think so too, for he was staring at her, at her eyes and her lips in turn, and as before she’d imagined running her hands up under his shirt, now she imagined moving to kiss him, inviting him to discover just how sensitive her mouth might be, and other parts of her, too.

Leia moved forward as though in a trance. Han was suddenly like a ship and she was caught in a tractor beam, drawn towards him, and she didn’t fight it. He turned her hand in his so that their fingers were laced together, and just that sent a thrill through her, to feel her hand in his like that, his rougher, bigger palm against her own. He held their joint hands against his chest, against the soft fabric, and Leia actually bit her lip against her want as she leaned forward—forward—she actually went up onto her booted toes. Han’s other hand moved to rest against the side of her neck, fingers brushing her jaw, thumb against her cheek, and it was no longer true that she didn’t shiver on the Falcon, for a shiver ran all the way down her back then. Han was looking at her like he was starving, like he wanted to kiss her more than anything in the galaxy—if he had said so just then she would have believed him at once, the way he was looking at her. His gaze was sharp upon her, reading her, becoming less wary and more hopeful by the second, and it was the hope that most affected her, the way it seemed to open some secret shutters that had previously left some crucial part of him obscured. Leia had forgotten all about her dream now, for it paled in all ways in comparison to the real life man before her, jaw yet unshaven, scruffy bed hair a mess in a way that seemed to invite her to mess it up some more, undershirt taut along his shoulder and chest—over the beautiful shape of him that she had seen so gorgeously bare, and eyes that looked at her like—hot and yearning, looking at her like—

Leia tilted her face up. Han drew her towards him. She closed her eyes, breathless, ready—

Her comm blared from within her pocket, and they both jumped as though they’d been caught red-handed. Han released her at once as she fumbled to silence the alarm—the schedule reminder she’d set the day before: Taun-Taun Meeting 0430–Five Minutes

“It’s 0425,” Leia gasped.

Han looked winded. Leia felt winded. Dazed, she reached for her thermos of caf.

“I—I need to go,” she said. Apologetic. Why was she apologetic? She wasn’t rejecting him—did he think she was rejecting him? Was that something Han would feel? She suddenly realized—yes, she could do that to Han. She could make Han feel that—rejection—and she knew it instinctively, and not just because she knew he held that power over her too but because of that hopefulness he’d revealed—“I’m sorry, I—the meeting—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Han muttered, gruffer than ever before—was he blushing? she certainly was—he stepped aside to let her pass, and Leia was crestfallen, her face flaming. Was this it? Their chance ruined? What if he never tried to kiss her again? What if this whole awkward encounter put the whole thing to bed for him? Would he tease her now, about their almost-kiss? Would they pretend they hadn’t almost kissed? So long she’d awaited it and now she had to rush off to meet Carlist Rieekan to see the stupid taun-tauns that would be used in place of speeders?! Not knowing what else to do, she moved to hurry past Han.

Leia slipped with such stereotypical calamity that she could have been on a holocartoon, her boot slipping in what she instantly realized—even as she fell—must have been a puddle of caf that she’d spilled on the deck when she’d sloshed it over her hand.

But Leia didn’t wind up on her ass, because Han caught her, his hands clamping her arms like a vice. They looked at each other in mutual surprise, and somehow this was the last straw for Leia. The final embarrassment after a full morning of embarrassment.

It wasn’t princess-like but Leia was a woman, not a title, and so when she finally spoke she said exactly what she felt.

“Fuck this morning.”

That’s when it happened, just as she’d imagined. Han’s face crinkled into delight, and he grinned. The big lopsided one like when he’d slipped on the ice, the one that she imagined sometimes when she was falling asleep.

He laughed—not a moment of it at her expense—and helped her stand back up.

“Dunno,” he grinned, releasing her. “Been a pretty good morning for me. We should do it again. Tomorrow.”

Leia smiled back at him, shy but pleased, and smirking herself, too, with him, at him, at herself. She nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow!

With that she moved—more carefully now—to step by him and into the ring corridor.

It wasn’t until she was hurrying down the ramp, caf in tow and certainly late for her meeting, that Han called after her.

“Hey, Sweetheart!”

She glanced back to see him at the top of the ramp, in the bloodstripes and undershirt and bare feet still despite the chill that surely reached him where he stood, his expression practically ecstatic. He leaned against the hatch, as he had so many times before, and spoke.

“Who’s falling for who, now?”

So what if he knows how you feel?

Leia lifted her thermos at him in salute.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.”

“That’s Captain Credits to you, Princess.”

When Leia met Rieekan in front of the enclosure that now held several dozen of the oddest creatures she’d ever seen, she was ten minutes late, she had caf on her snowsuit, and the taun-tauns smelled like nerf manure, but Leia smiled into her thermos.

PLEASE REBLOG AND ADD ANY OTHERS YOU MIGHT KNOW OF <3 <3

WOOKIEEPEDIA. The source of anything and everything you want to know related to Star Wars. Good for fact-checking, character history, or simply killing time. There is also, of course, the official Star Wars Databank! STAR WARS GALAXY MAP. A fantastic project that maps the Star Wars galaxy as we know it. Consider donating ( if you can! ) to help keep the site up and running! Also check out W.R. van Hage’s map and the Star Wars Atlas Online Companion. TIMELINE. While hosted on Wookieepedia, this is nevertheless deserving of its own bullet point. This page provides an approximate timeline with dates of all canon material. You can also filter items, so that it displays only TV episodes, for example, or only books, or only movies! Find the Legends timeline here. STAR WARS SLANG AND PHRASES. A collection I’ve been keeping of phases, slang, idioms, insults, and more from the Star Wars universe. This also contains a glossary of frequently used terms, such as “refresher” in place of “restroom”. Please feel free to use/share! 

STAR WARS NAME GENERATOR. This is a fun one AND a life saver. You can generate up to 100 Star Wars-sounding names ( first and last! ) with a click. 

OTHER GENERATORS: 

Spaceship names as well as spaceship type/models

Earth-like alien planets for any alien planet you don’t have info on

Random landscapes, see above

Technobabble generator for when you need a reason for a red alert

Alien plant/herb/flower name generator. Also: mineral/metal/gemstone names, material names, medication names, and descriptions of alien substances

Scifi tool names for gadgets and gizmos

OTHER WEBSITES:

Jeff Russell’s Starship Dimensions, Dirk Loechel’s Sci-fi Spaceship Size Comparisons, and other Star Wars Deckplans

Star Wars Post 

Star Wars News Net

pactole asked you:

Could you draw Star Wars Han x leia :3

Pffffft absolutely, excellent suggestion! Hoth Leia is best.  

Never drawn anything like this before…new things new things. Stretching my art muscles.

Hiiiiiii anon! 

Thank you. Yes, we still write but, for various reasons, we haven’t published anything new in a long while. We are always exceptionally slow to get things finished anyway, but we’ve both also had lots of other fun distractions of late --- and we’re our own worst enemies when it comes to publishing fic. We can’t let it go until it feels perfect, and getting it to that point is sometimes a struggle, especially when we find that a “fluff” piece (which was supposed to be < 5k and quick to write) has morphed into something weightier and altogether more involved than we had anticipated. 

Moreover, we have a bad habit of dealing with any fic-writing frustrations by abandoning the current difficult project and hopping over to a fresh story to work on that for a while. Our complete lack of discipline when it comes to writing has resulted in a collection of c. 45-50 stories in various stages of completion. Yikes. 

Three of those are at the top of the pile: [1] Decisions (a pre-ESB fic currently close to 17k words), [2] our own take on the trip to Bespin (a behemoth already at 34k words), and [3] a fluffier fic that takes place c. 07 ABY (4k words). The first two are closely related - they take place within a span of a few months - so we’re trying to make sure they hang together as they should, which probably means completing them both before we publish. Sigh. 

I know we will eventually get all three finished, but it may be a wee while yet before we get back to writing, because @jhgraham​ is arriving this Friday for a week-long visit! YAY! I suspect we’ll be traipsing around looking at castles and lochs and glens, and/or drinking wine and talking for hours while she is here... but once she is back over the water and we’re both hunkered over our computers again, we’ll get back to it -- and hopefully produce something we’re both happy with, and that you will enjoy reading. 

The HSBCAS called. I responded. :) 

Han didn’t know why he was nervous.

Seemed like a dumb thing for him to worry about, all things considered. Hell, compared to what he and Leia had been through, and, more importantly, considering what they’d just done? He knew he was probably overthinking it, and that in itself was novel—before he’d met her, overthinking was unheard of in Han.

Seemed like since the fateful moment he’d laid eyes on her in that kriffing detention center, his thoughts had been one big whirl.

Now he thumbed the piece of flimsi apprehensively. A tiny foot moved in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, you got an opinion?” Han asked the foot’s owner.

From inside her little carrier, which Han had resting before him on the caf table, the baby continued kicking a tiny, brand new infant foot. Han gazed down at her, feeling that feeling again. Like he’d been punched in the chest, like he’d lost his breath. That crashing whoosh in his gut, that all-consuming wash of awe and devotion and pride and disbelief and protection as he looked upon his newborn daughter.

Only four weeks old, Breha was still littler than Han could even believe. Her sweet skin was fair and rosy, her huge eyes blooming hazel, so peaceful and precious and miraculous that Han could scarcely believe it. Had he ever dared to dream this? He thought back on the rebellion, on wanting Leia so badly that every night he’d ached. How risking his life hadn’t been a second thought, not if it had been to protect her.

But did he ever picture this? Him, not only her husband and partner but father of her child? A baby—the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen—made with Leia? Borne out of his love for Leia, and hers for him?

With a reverent hand he touched Breha’s stomach—his hand was practically bigger ‘n all of her—and looked down at her, nestled serenely in her pale pink onesie.

“What do you think, huh? Think Mama’s gonna like it?”

He must have imagined the Princess-like purse of her little infant lips.

Han glanced back down at the flimsi, and checked his chrono.

It was Intergalactic Mother’s Day, and Han had been a man with a mission. He’d risen at the crack of dawn and intercepted Breha before she could wake Leia, intent on letting his wife sleep. Ever in-tune through the Force to their kid, Leia seemed to be alerted to the baby’s every need at once, rising from their bed to feed her, change her, hold her, nurse her before Breha even had time to make so much as a squeak.

It drove Han kriffing crazy—how could he ever help if Leia was off and in action before the baby was even crying? A few times now Han had woken, hazy, in the night to feel of Leia attempting to get up—through the lingering tendrils of his sleep he’d taken to reaching for her in the darkness, drawing her back down to the mattress, beseeching and mumbling as he tried to wake—Let me, Sweetheart, I’ll go, you g’back t’sleep—

But not today. Today he’d swept his sleeping daughter up from her little bassinet at the crack of dawn, creeping stealthily around their dark apartment and congratulating himself on his own tactical prowess.

Can’t wake up Her Worship with her little baby Force mumbo-jumbo every time she needed something if Han anticipated her needs first.

Not so bad at this parent thing, he’d thought proudly as he’d shuffled around the kitchen making a pot of caf at 0500 in the morning, Breha changed, fed, and burped, soundly asleep against his shoulder and his beloved wife soundly asleep in the bedroom.

He’d bounced gently back and forth, one hand cradling his daughter’s little head, while the caf maker had slowly brewed his choice Corellian blend.

That was how it had gone all morning.

At 0600 he and Breha had attempted to sneak out of the apartment. “Goin’ on a little mission, huh, baby?” he’d whispered to her as he’d buckled her into her carrier. “Gotta be real quiet like, right? Don’t want to alert Her Highnessness—we’d blow our cover.”

The baby didn’t make a peep. The dog, however, had been another story.

“Aldie, shh!” he’d hissed as the husky had followed him, whining, to the door. “We’re going to get flowers for the Princess—you gotta stay here!”

0615 had found him, shaking his head in exasperation, in his speeder, Breha dozing in the back seat, Aldie happily sticking her head out the window.

By 0700 he’d been arranging the bouquet of pristine white Alderaanian tulips on the kitchen table—Aldie watching intently, Breha sweetly unconcerned.

Now he was getting cagey. Leia would surely soon be up, wondering where he was, looking for the baby. And he was almost done, too. He’d let her sleep, he’d gotten her flowers. He was about to get started on a big breakfast that he’d insist she eat in bed. His canine and infant co-conspirators had been mercifully cooperative. No crying, no barking, no metaphysical magic communications to alert the Princess.

All that was left was this kriffing piece of flimsi, still blank after fifteen minutes, making him sweat. Han was beginning to doubt himself. When he’d first seen the holo ad to “Make Intergalactic Mother’s Day special for the mother in your life,” Han had felt a panicked jolt. He and Leia had a kid, she was a mother—was he supposed to do something? He’d researched Alderaanian celebrations and found that they’d seemed to be in line with what the holonet said was done on most other planets: breakfast in bed for the mother in question, some flowers, maybe a nice gift. Things to let the mom have a day off, get some rest, feel some appreciation.

But Han had frowned. On the one hand, was it dumb? He didn’t need some holiday to show Leia appreciation. But he did appreciate her, and she did need rest… Maybe it was corny and dumb, but he figured any excuse to pamper her a bit seemed like a good idea to him. And she’d love the rare Alderaanian tulips. And she always loved his flatcakes. And surely she’d appreciate that she hadn’t had to wake up to nurse Breha before the sun was even up.

But hovering with the stylus over the blank sheet of flimsi, Breha kicking her perfect baby legs in her carrier and Aldie curled up on the couch beside him, Han wasn’t sure. What if this whole thing made Leia miss her mother? Or what if the flowers and the breakfast weren’t enough? Should he have gotten her a gift? He didn’t think Leia expected a gift, but the flowers and the breakfast didn’t seem to come close to conveying how much he loved her, how he cherished her, how much he admired her. Tulips didn’t seem like anything compared to watching Leia give birth to their daughter, her strength, her determination, her labor delivering their child. Flatcakes were nothing compared to watching her nurse Breha, seeing the fierce-tender love that lit her eyes when she looked down at their baby. What was some crummy note compared to Leia and all that she was, not only as a mother but as the woman he loved?

Breha made a tiny whimpering noise, and Han’s eyes snapped back to see her little nose twitch, her little foot flail, tiny Leia-chin jut up before she settled once more into her plush little seat. Han thought of everything he and Leia had gone through to arrive at his moment, together and happy, in a free and safe galaxy, with their daughter.

“You’re right,” Han murmured. “She doesn’t need a fancy present. She knows.”

Han set the stylus to the flimsi and wrote.

xxx

“Alright, kid, this is it,” he crooned against her downy soft hair. “Play it just like we practiced, huh?”

Han leaned against the panel that cycled open the bedroom door and peered inside.

Leia was nestled on her side of the bed and appeared, to Han’s chagrin, to be waiting patiently. The room was filled with a cheerful morning sunshine that was rare on Coruscant and which shaded Leia in soft, bright gold. The moment he’d got the door open Aldie bounded forth and seemed to clear the room from doorway to bed in one giant leap. She curled gleefully up against Leia and turned dopey eyes on Han that seemed to say “look! It’s mom!” as though Han might not have noticed.

“Good morning,” Leia smiled sleepily, propping herself up against the pillows. Against his shoulder Breha began to squirm and fuss, which was certainly not how he’d told her to play it, so Han moved to hastily hand her over to Leia.

“And good morning to you,” Leia cooed, arms outstretched to take the baby, who settled at once and seemed to radiate contentment the moment she felt her mother’s touch. Han watched Leia lie the baby down in her lap and bend to kiss her forehead and nose, his heart in his throat. Why after so many weeks such a scene still affected him so profoundly he couldn’t say—shouldn’t he have been used to this by now? The sight of Leia, braid disheveled and voice raspy with sleep, cradling their kid, bathed in the morning light, both so kriffing beautiful, so beloved to him, their healthy, perfect daughter and kriffing Leia—that was Leia, his Sweetheart, the love of his life, gazing down at the kid she’d made with him—

Aldie put her head on Leia’s shoulder and gave her a look so beseeching that Han was able to blink away the burn in his eyes.

“How rude of me,” Leia said obligingly to the dog, whose tail gave a hopeful wag against the bed. “You’re my baby, too, aren’t you?”

“Speaking of babies,” Han said gruffly, sitting down on the bed beside her. “Happy Mother’s Day, Sweetheart.”

He handed her the carefully folded piece of flimsi and leaned in for a brief kiss.

He watched Leia’s arch brows rise on her forehead.

“What’s this?” she asked softly, and Han felt bizarrely bashful. When he said nothing she unfolded Han’s carefully written letter.

Sweetheart,

Not as good with words as you are, so cut me a break here. Used to think that looking out for myself was the only thing that mattered. Never could have imagined that a stubborn little piece of work like you would change my mind, but I’m glad you did—even if you spent the next three years insulting my ship. Since then I’ve seen your intelligence, determination, bravery, and strength firsthand, and I’ve experienced your compassion, your thoughtfulness, and your faith every day. I know you’re a hero to everyone in the galaxy for running the rebellion and rebuilding the Republic from the ground up, but that’s not why you’re a hero to me. You’re the best woman I’ve ever met, Leia, and you’re already the best kriffing mom there is. And I got that on good authority, ‘Worship—my informant is only four weeks old, so she doesn’t know how to lie yet.

Figure we got this parenting thing covered—if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s nothing you can’t do. But you don’t got to do it all by yourself. I’m real lucky to be your partner—so park your royal butt right here, Princess, today you’re eating breakfast in bed.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Happy birthday, @knightedrogue! You are a genius and as kind and driven as you are brilliant. I am so proud to be your friend. The Rules finishing soon, but in the meantime have a Bespin bit from that ‘verse. Spoiler alert: yes, Han and Leia end up together in Jewels ‘verse.

NSFW.

XXXXXXXXX

“Dejarik’s just not your game.” Leia said, sipping her icy water.

Han lounged in the accelerator couch, frowning when his sore shoulder prevented optimal laconic stretch maneuvers. But he gave it his best. Let no one say Han Solo did anything halfheartedly when it came to his girl.

Especially flirt.