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daughter-lilith · 3 months ago

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❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 1

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+ (In future Parts)

CW (For whole story): Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: After 10...11-ish years, BG3 has finally ended my fanfic hiatus. After years of focusing on original novels, I’m honestly so excited to get back into this genre!

For anyone who prefers to read on ao3, you can click here. And for those who prefer third-person POV (what I write most), I have an alternate upload also on ao3.

Lastly, this is technically a 1–2-chapter novella that I'm breaking into about 4-5 parts so it's easier on the eyes. So, apologies in advance if there are any awkward breaks between parts.

You patted the lightweight cream over your face, gently massaging it across your cheeks and up to your forehead until it was evenly spread. Smiling at yourself, you took in your appearance one last time for the night, comfortably dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and black underwear. You had just finished some extra late-night gaming with friends, and you sighed, remembering that you probably should’ve used that time to write instead. Maybe you should’ve used any free time to write, rather than getting lost in other simple pleasures. The third book of your romantasy series wasn’t going to finish itself, and the deadline was fast approaching. Soon, your publishers will be expecting an update.

Turning off the bathroom light and exiting, you put those thoughts aside for now. Right now, you needed sleep, not to fill your head with worry. ‘I’ll get back on track tomorrow’, you thought to yourself. Your townhome was quiet, save for the distant churning sounds of the dishwasher downstairs. Your bedroom emitted a low light from the TV, though the volume was muted. You walked barefoot across the plush carpet, toward your phone that was placed on the small table next to your bed. 3:03 a.m.: the bright numbers flashed at you. You plugged it into its charger, then laid on your queen-sized mattress.

Grabbing the remote, you shut the TV off, which left your room almost fully dark were it not for the soft, orange glow emanating from the salt lamp near the TV. Snuggling under the covers, you exhaled a breath, closed your eyes, and gradually awaited the sweet lull of sleep. A few minutes had passed maybe, you weren’t sure, your consciousness was dangling on the edge of dreams yet still linked to your waking reality. A sound filled your ears, a familiar rumble that shook you out of your near-slumber, eyes fluttering open.

Your eyes landed on the light emitting from your phone, the screen completely illuminated. You usually left your phone on vibrate just in case of anything, but it wasn’t typically a disturbance. And you didn’t normally get messages at this time, except for the occasional random notification from someone who likely lived in a later time zone. Still, as the screen darkened once again, you closed your eyes, not worrying about it. You were a decent sleeper, and once you had fully slipped under, the chance of a quick notification waking you was quite slim. But not even a minute later, another vibration of the same pattern. Your eyes flicked open again, followed by an annoyed sigh as you relented and reached for your phone.

You squinted as the brightness already felt overwhelming despite not having fallen asleep yet. 3:12 a.m. You looked over the screen, noting the blue icon of your security camera followed by the text: ‘a person detected in your front yard’. Then another notification directly beneath it: ‘a person detected at your front door’. You lifted a brow in curiosity. It wasn’t unusual for random things to trigger your camera; a neighbor walking about, even at this hour, or perhaps your neighbor’s cat who strolled the streets at the most random hours. Maybe even someone driving off. Either way, you decided you were going to snooze the alerts but not before checking first.

Unlocking your phone with the print of your thumb, you tapped the first notification. Immediately, your stomach twisted and a heaviness filled your chest. The beat of your heart rapidly accelerated, and you could hear it echoing in your head, a panicked thumping. It wasn’t your neighbor’s cat, or someone walking by, or even movement from a car… Through the camera’s night vision, a man stood directly in front of your door, his head angled down so you couldn’t see his face. He had one arm- one huge, muscular arm- leaning against the doorframe like he was dealing with an internal battle to remain standing. Or as though he had the weight of the world on his rather broad shoulders and looked to your door for comfort. His other arm rested uneasily near his side, it looked like his fingers were tapping against his leg, unable to keep still.

Those expansive shoulders flexed in his position, tensed. And he was tall, almost filling up the entire field of view were it not for the height the camera was set up at. Dark hair, maybe a dark brown, you couldn’t quite tell in this light, was half tied up in a bun, the rest of it pooling at his collarbones. But despite his massive frame, what stood out the most to you were his ears. They seemed a normal size for his head, but the top of them curved into a tall upward point. ‘Elf ears?’ you silently questioned, confusion merging with your heightening anxiety. Surely, they had to be a prosthetic or molding, they had to be, and yet they blended with the bottom part of his ears so well.

You were sitting straight up now, the uneasiness in your belly increasing. What do you do? It was rational to call the cops, you knew this, but how soon would they get there? Do you try and scare him off? Threaten him? You lived alone, but he didn’t know that.

A new wave of panic surged as you tried to remember if you had locked your door. Of course you did, you always did. But what if- what if this was the one stupid night that it slipped your mind? What if— your thoughts were halted when you noticed the stranger lifting his head.

You gasped as he stared at the door for a single moment before his eyes roved up towards the camera. He started tilting his head as he looked intently at the camera, studying it, until his head paused, almost like he knew he was being watched.

You were frozen as you took in his gaze, so intense, so focused. The front door light was on, and paired with the night vision, you could tell he had bright eyes. And those eyes seemed to steal your breath, pulling you in even through the camera. There was so much depth behind his eyes: strength, power, kindness even. But another emotion burned brighter than the rest, a sense of…desperation- if you could call it that. A hopeful desperation, maybe. But for what?

As he looked at you, or so it felt like, you found yourself completely captured by him. The mere sight of him seemed to slow the nervous hammering of your heart, and you took this strange moment to take in more of his features. Apart from his ever-enthralling stare, he also seemed tired, like it had been days since he last rested, like he was too stressed to even get the chance. Four, very precise scars swiped across the right side of his face, from his forehead, cutting across his brow. Whatever injured him, it luckily missed his eye, only continuing to the bottom part of his lip and chin. And on the left side, a curving pattern of tattoos swirled along his face, from the top of his forehead to his chin, and maybe even to his neck but it was difficult to tell from this angle. You couldn’t make out the color, but it was clearly darker than his complexion, dark enough to notice.

A new realization simmered in your mind as your eyes were fixed on him, despite the scarring on his face and the tired look in and around his eyes, he seemed…handsome. He was handsome. More than that even, and perhaps that’s what made it more difficult to look away. You shook your head rapidly. No, his looks didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. He was a stranger outside of your house at three o’clock in the gotdamn morning. ‘Get it together,’ you thought to yourself.

But the movement of his lips pulled you out of your analysis and self-reprimanding, and your heart battered once again as a new wave of anxiety passed through you. He was saying something. You didn’t hear him, as the sound was muted on your end. Your finger hovered over the volume symbol, trembling. Pressing it wouldn’t give your voice sound, but it would allow you to hear his. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb turned on the volume. Instantly, the distant sound of the soft wind passed through the phone. Your heart beating in your chest, you watched the stranger and waited. And it wasn’t long before his lips moved once again.

“Can you hear me?” the stranger inquired, his voice low and gentle through your phone. When he spoke, a cloud of air flowed from his mouth, a reminder of the brisk night. The sound made your stomach tickle, a new sense of nerves but not of fear.

A brief, grave sigh followed his inquiry, and it only confirmed the emotions behind his eyes. He was definitely desperate for something, perhaps even afraid?

You didn’t dare turn on the speaker to respond, your voice suddenly feeling dry as you tried to swallow any bits of saliva you could.

“Please. I mean you no harm,” the stranger spoke again. His brows curved inward, and his mouth slightly turned down. So much suffering in his warm, kind eyes; so much heaviness in his large arms and shoulders.

Your mouth parted slightly, and you found yourself standing now, rocking side-to-side on your heels. Somehow, deep in your core, as his plea rumbled through your phone, you felt the sincerity in his voice. Your intuition was always quite strong, and at this moment, all sense of fear and suspicion began to wane. The logical next step would be getting the police on the phone while keeping an eye on the stranger from one of the upstairs windows. Instead, your thumb found itself hovering over the speaker. Swallowing, you exhaled an unsteady breath and clicked the button, permitting sound from your end now.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound intimidating, but your voice came out softer than you intended, and you clenched your jaw at how vulnerable you sounded.

The stranger’s eyes widened, and his pointed ears seemed to perk up, a surprising hope filling his gaze. A quick mist of air escaped his lips as you heard him release a quick breath. He stepped back from the doorframe, standing taller, and when he spoke again, you could’ve sworn you died right then and there if you weren’t so very clearly still standing. He had spoken your name- well, almost. He used the shortened version, a nickname only your closest friends and family sometimes referred to you as. There was no way he’d know that name.

With a new resolve, you spoke again, this time your voice came out louder, more confident. “How do you know that name? Who the hell are you?”

He said your name game, softer, desperate, his brows once again curving inward. “You’re here, you’re truly here. Please, may I come in? I will explain all.”

Come in? There was no way that was happening… right? The rational part of your brain was like a blaring siren, shouting at you to do the smart thing. But you often moved through life with your heart first, your emotions, leaving your mind to sigh in relief when everything worked out. Or, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your mistakes. You couldn’t let him in, you shouldn’t.

“I will not harm you. Never,” the stranger affirmed, closing off his promise with your name. Another feeling simmered in your heart when he said your name once again, so naturally, like it had left his lips a thousand times before.

“And I should just trust you?” you retorted, your voice a harsh whisper. But your curiosity was developing by the second as you glanced at your robe lying haphazardly in the middle of your bed.

You heard him sigh, his shoulders lowering, a heavy sense of defeat fueling such a simple action. But he didn’t seem irritated or impatient. And the more he peered into the camera, at you, a pool of dread and grief burned into the wells of his bright eyes. An uncomfortable jolt shot across your stomach at the sight. You knew nothing of this man and had never seen him before, but you couldn’t swallow the sorrow that arose in your chest, nearly causing you to forget to breathe. You were always quite empathetic, but this was…unique. Bizarre.

“What does your heart tell you?” you heard him ask, the words so gentle and pure from such an incredible stature of a man.

You blinked rapidly at the question, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Quickly, you tapped the speaker on your phone to silence yourself. A shaky exhale escaped your throat, and you could hear your heart thumping again.

You stared at the man, whose eyes seemed to glow due to the greyscale night vision. You quickly pondered his question…your heart often told you many things, some right some not so much… And yet, as you stared at this man, who stood outside your door in the middle of the night, quick trails of air consistently leaving his lips, your heart answered. Without another thought, you took two steps towards your bed and picked up your robe, swiftly throwing it over you, your arms sliding in with ease. You wrapped it snuggly around your frame, feeling warm except for the skin below your knees that was left exposed.

And now, your heart was guiding you towards the stairs, down the steps, until you were sneaking down the short corridor to your front door. Your phone was still gripped tightly in your hand, and the stranger once again muttered a gentle plea. The sound of his voice caused a prickle across your arms, a new bundle of nerves as you got closer to your door.

Your house was almost completely pitch-black, except for a few flickering lights from alarms, the thermostat, the Wi-Fi modem, and cable boxes. The steady swishing sounds from the dishwasher were the only audible company, but even it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the drumming of your heart.

Coldness hit the bottom of your feet as you left the softness of the carpet and stepped into the entryway. You stopped in front of the tall, burgundy door, the wooden frame the only thing keeping you separated from the stranger. Thankfully, you had indeed locked it, top and bottom, but even that didn’t seem like it would be enough if he chose to get in with force. Glancing at your phone screen, you noticed he diverted his attention from the camera, angling down to stare at your door. You were holding your breath again, unbeknownst to you, and swallowed harshly.

“You’re right there…” he murmured, reaching to place a hand on the door. “Please.”

Your stomach fluttered at his voice; the baritone was much clearer now that you were hearing him from not just your phone but directly outside the door. You closed your eyes, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening. If any guardian angels are listening, now would be a great time to have my back.

You opened your eyes and glanced at your phone. “Just…take a few steps back.”

Immediately, he removed his hand from the door. “Of course.” The large man retreated some, walking backward down two steps.

Satisfied, as much as you could be anyway, you placed your phone down on a small stand near the door, then reached to unlock the door.

One click.

A quick exhale.

A thumping heart.

Another click.

You reached for the light switch next, flicking on the warm-white glow above your head. You began turning the handle, your mind a wild array of thoughts and images of what could happen. But it was your heart in the end that silenced the panicked voices, your heart that gave you the courage to proceed.

Pulling the door back a few inches, cold air instantly prickled your cheeks, causing a shudder to shoot down your back. You leaned your head in between the small opening, instantly locking eyes with the man just a few feet from you.

Your breath hitched. Even standing two steps down did little to lessen the intimidation of his height. His eyes widened as they met with yours, a flash of relief and hope reflecting in his… what looked like hazel eyes. A gleam of silver or blue seemed to glow in the specks of his irises, perhaps from the lighting, but it was otherwise mesmerizing. You could better make out the swirling tattoo on his face, a deep red that only seemed to bring more attention to his eyes. Subconsciously, you ended up pulling the door back more, your body now half exposed to the outside.

The strange man breathed a quick sigh, much more joyful than the ones from earlier. “It’s you. It’s truly you.” A smile spread on his face, deepening the laugh lines on his cheeks. His large arms extended toward you and he took a single step forward.

Instinctively, you recoiled, and he froze, a wave of regret painting his expression.

“Forgive me,” he rushed his words, his muscled arms now hovering in surrender. “I am stricken with disbelief. But I meant what I said, that I would never harm you.”

Without the echo and semi-clarity of speaking through your phone, you could feel the sincerity in his words far more than before. The way his gaze pored into you, the shame that seemed to hover at the idea that he just frightened you, your fear began to wane. Yes, he did startle you just now, but then instantly soothed your anxiety on his words alone. You eyed him up and down, slow, taking in more of his appearance than what could be seen through the camera.

He was even larger. Bulging muscles looked like they wanted to flex in his arms, held back by a strap or belt across his biceps. Green leaves padded his shoulders, decorating the intricate garb he wore. You slightly narrowed your brow in question. He definitely looked like he could’ve just left some sort of Renaissance faire or some comic convention, but at this time of night? Maybe if it was Halloween that would explain things, except it was a few weeks into winter.

Brown armbands covered what you could only assume were thick forearms beneath, and he was wearing pants that were partially concealed by a flowing white skirt- or at least what used to be white. It looked stained, like he had once fallen in mud and he was only partially able to wash away all the evidence. Still, as your eyes returned to him, you certainly couldn’t deny the sculpted ruggedness in his face, his jawline. He wasn’t just handsome, but beautiful even, strange attire and all. And his age, you couldn’t quite measure it. When he smiled, he looked like he could’ve been late thirties. But he appeared a bit older when he frowned, maybe early forties.

“Who are you?” you questioned, feeling slightly more comfortable. You opened the door further, feeling your legs tingle, reacting to the cool air.

But he didn’t answer right away, seemingly lost as his gaze similarly roved over you. But it was slower, more deliberate, and you crossed your arms around yourself, almost self-conscious under his analyzing eye. And even though your robe covered you almost completely, you still remembered you were practically naked underneath. Could he tell that you were?

Clearing your throat, he startled, the leaves shaking over his shoulders, and locked eyes with you again.

“I am Halsin,” he said, confidence oozing in his timbre. A hearty smile followed his introduction, and your caution continued to fade and drift away.

Halsin, you thought. You shifted your mouth to the side, pondering. It didn’t ring a single bell. You had a few lovers in your past, some casual to serious. But there was no way you would’ve ever forgotten such an unfamiliar name, especially if it was attached to the absolute tower of a man before you. You looked at him once more, noting a flicker of hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe you would know something.

“Where did you come from…Halsin?” He frowned at your inquiry, visibly dispirited that his name did not connect with you. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather,” you continued. His arms were completely exposed, and his clothing certainly did not seem well-suited for the winter. While it wasn’t below freezing, there was an evident chill in the air, a reminder that spring was still well off. You suspected that he had to be at least a little uncomfortable.

Halsin smiled at your observation, a gentle chuckle leaving his throat. “You are correct. I did not think to prepare for which season would greet me. As for where I came from… it is a realm quite far from here.” He glanced away, off to the side as he paused. When he looked back at you, there was a sense of uncertainty in his eyes. “A place called Faerûn.”

“Faerûn…” you murmured, narrowing your brows as your eyes searched his face. “I’ve never-- is that a country? An island?”

His smile remained, though laced with a touch of gloom. “A continent.”

A continent? Not one you’ve ever heard of before. A name like that wouldn’t have been hard to forget, especially if it was one of the continents of Earth. You released a soft breath, trying -and failing- to mask your budding confusion.

You heard Halsin speak, his smooth baritone drawing your attention back up his tall frame. “He warned me you may not remember…but I was hoping…” His words drifted off into the cold air. When he spoke, he wasn’t looking at you, like it was meant to be a side thought.

“Who warned you?” Your breath came out harsh as an involuntary gasp escaped you.

He bowed his head slightly, bringing one arm across his chest. “Silvanus.”

Another name unfamiliar to you. You stared at Halsin, quizzically, and it was clear to him that he understood the gnawing confusion that rattled you.

“Perhaps I can come inside to talk? I am fine with this brisk air, and I do not mind explaining all out here but…” he sighed, concern etching at the corners of his eyes, “you are trembling. And I don’t think it’s from fear, not entirely.”

As he said this, a shudder dashed up your back. You weren’t aware how long you’d been shivering, too baffled by the large man before you. Too distracted by this entire interaction. But a sudden passing wind supported Halsin’s observation of you, and you curled your toes inward, trying to shield them from the cold. The air prickled your lower legs, traveling up your thighs and your back. The robe that clutched your frame was as warm as it could be, but not warm enough to soothe you against the winter’s air.

After a light sniffle, you steeled yourself and stared at him directly. “I’ll let you in, but you have to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” he quickly responded.

“Tell me something about me that only those who know me would know. Just one thing that involves me.”

Halsin rocked back on his right foot a bit, shoulders squaring a pinch as he tilted his chin slightly. He turned his head to the side, his expression deeply focused, thinking. Meanwhile, your heart was amping up again, a fleet of nerves crackling in your gut as you awaited his answer. This was it. This was the moment that would solidify if you could completely throw even more caution to the wind and allow this strange man to enter your sanctuary, in the middle of a winter’s night, alone. Finally, Halsin’s voice filled the night air once more, a soft timbre.

“Your back,” he started, still looking away. “There is a mark there- a small streak- it begins near your lower spine, tracing further down, only stopping at,” he paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s lighter than your overall complexion, the only such mark on your body.”

You froze, your voice stunned into silence. Your lips parted, but only the warmness of your breath trailed away, forming a small, fading cloud. Halsin finally looked at you again, uneasily pressing his lips together.

A beating heart thumped loudly. Yours or his? Of course it had to be yours. But the way he was staring at you, the slight tremble in his lips, a brief rock on his heels, he was nervous. Uncertain. Perhaps desperately hoping he was right. Visibly, he did not appear to be an easily nervous man, that he could ever seem to lack any confidence, and yet you felt his nerves even more than you saw it. And he was right- the birthmark that trailed down the end of your spine. Only a few would know of it: your parents from when you were a child, your closest friends who helped zip your outfits up on occasion, and some ex-lovers who were lucky enough to have you in a position of giving them such a view.

It wasn’t something you hid per se, but you didn’t really flaunt it either. In most, if not all pictures of you, you were either clothed or facing forward. Maybe some passerby caught a view of it at beaches or pools, but one had to be really paying attention.

“How…” you breathed, searching his eyes. “How did you know that?”

A brightness washed over his face, and his shoulder evened, standing taller. “Because I know you. And I could never forget you… my heart.”

His… heart? A flush of warmth filled your cheeks. Something in the way he said those words, the way his unwavering eyes focused on you, meant something to you. You meant something to him.

Sure, you could mark him off as some weirdo stalker, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. But an unpleasant tickle poked your gut at the idea, like the very thought of him being such a thing was an insult. And looking at this mountain of a man; who dressed like he came from another time, with large, perfectly pointed ears and a large scar that didn’t seem to be fake… No, he wasn’t just some stalker.

“May I?” He gestured towards the space between you and the door.

You bit the side of your bottom lip, heart thumping. Another rush of wind passed over your feet sending a more vicious chill up your legs. So, you leaned fully to the side, pulling the door back as far as it could go. Halsin seemed to release a breath of relief, before stepping up and towards you. You nearly gulped as he did, almost forgetting just how much taller he was since he was initially standing a few steps down.

He kept his gaze on you as the distance closed, and his large frame nearly filled the entire entryway. You watched him intently, neck angled up the closer he came. Instantly, the scent of pine and sandalwood filled your nose, amplified by the warmth radiating from him. How was that possible? He had been standing in the cold for some time and yet it was like the setting sun in the middle of summer had just entered your home. You almost smiled, overtaken by a sudden sense of peace and tranquility. Of strength and protection. Of the wild and the power that came with it.

Halsin continued to peer down at you, a nearly-there smile on his smooth-appearing lips. You weren’t the shortest person in the world, but you’ve never felt as dwarfed as you do now. Halsin moved by you, careful not to invade too much of your personal space, which was almost impossible in the small entryway. Finally, you broke contact with him and turned to close the door, one final breeze blowing inside as you did. You closed your eyes briefly, shooting another quick prayer before turning around and hustling past the hulking man.

You moved towards the kitchen, feeling the weight of his steps calmly following. You almost turned the main light on but hesitated; the idea of the bright light illuminating the whole room suddenly made you nervous. It was much brighter than the one by your door. This would mean facing him fully, without the presence of faint shadows to help mask any emotions. That and, you were still very much in your robe with just a tank top and your underwear beneath. Your hair wasn’t a mess per se, but not exactly presentable for a guest. Or for whatever he was. So instead, you turned the rotating switch, activating the spherical ceiling lights. A warm, dim glow gradually filled the space as you turned it halfway and stopped. Just enough light.

“Most intriguing,” you heard him say. You didn’t understand what he meant but decided not to question it. There were already too many questions, and you wanted to get to the most important ones first.

Stepping toward the island at the center, you finally turned to face Halsin again as you stopped at the side of the counter. Your kitchen was decently sized and typically didn’t have an issue with a couple of people being in it at once. But Halsin absolutely dominated this space. You noticed his eyes searching behind you, at a very particular area with a quizzical expression. Looking over your shoulder, nothing but more counter space, the sink, and the dishwasher. Was that what he was looking at?

“Oh, I can turn it off if it helps,” you said casually. Maybe it was distracting him. You leaned towards it and hit the pause button instead of canceling it entirely. Instantly, a new silence filled the room, and you were already missing the steady, rhythmic whooshing sounds of the washer. At least it drowned out the sound of your heart which now all too familiarly thumped in your ears.

Turning back to Halsin, who was already looking at you, made you fiddle with your fingers, trying not to cower beneath his gaze. This was your space he was in, your home. So you steeled yourself as best as possible, steadying your breaths, and held his gaze, waiting.

But Halsin continued to watch you, once again trapping you under the powerful pressure of his stare. You licked your lips, tense, and you could’ve sworn you heard his breath hitch.

“Halsin?”

He blinked. “Forgive me, I am just…” he exhaled, smiling, “taking you in.”

Part 2 here! Hope you enjoyed! Would you have opened the door?👀👀 & Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the final part either as a comment or in tags if you reblogged, that way you can binge it or just simply be notified when it's complete!

#halsin x reader #halsin fiction #halsin fanfic #halsin fanfiction #halsin imagine #halsin x female tav #halsin bg3 #bg3 fanfic #halsin x you #bg3 x you #halsin x oc #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction

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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 months ago

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I Know the End | Vol. 1

Poe Dameron x Reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: You were one of the Rebellion’s greatest weapons in the Galactic Civil War, a Princess from a distant planet, a Jedi with wings. Now, you’ve found yourself in a new world, a new war, your old friends long gone.

When Poe Dameron was sent on a wild goose chase of a reconnaissance mission four systems out, he never expected to find the key to his heart…

Note: At long last, here it is. Thank you for your patience. I love you all. I honestly wrote this as a long-winded attempt to make Poe Dameron’s dumbest line “Somehow, Palpatine returned” into a gut-wrenching and emotional moment and it got way out of hand. I am no Star Wars expert, but I did a lot of research for this and consider myself waaaaaaay more of a SW nerd now than I was a mere two months ago. Could probably write a dissertation on it at this point (I say as I literally churned out a novel). It is my first time writing for the fandom, though, so, here goes nothing. I did make up a fair bit of stuff and a good handful of OCs for this. Let me know what you think!

I will also be uploading this to my Ao3 soon for easier navigation <3 If you see it there, don't panic.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, lightsaber and blaster wounds, alcohol consumption, war and the implications of it, gets a little steamy but no smut, reader has nightmares, misuse of the Force, Rewriting the Rise of Skywalker a lil bit…

Word Count: 82.7k total (Split into four approximately 20k chunks)

Reader Is: 24, a Jedi, a Princess, has butterfly wings

Vol 1. | Vol 2. | Vol 3. | Vol 4.

Prologue

Poe’s rain-soaked curls stuck to his forehead as he moved through the alleyway, steps brisk, shoulders straight. Poe Dameron, Commander of the infamous Resistance, and one of Leia’s best spies, which was why he was in a shady alleyway on a planet four systems out.

It had taken him a week of investigation, asking hard questions, chasing cold trails, translating outdated plaques and inscriptions, but finally, he had something real.

He checked the location on the holo again, then looked back up at the metal door in front of him, hesitating before knocking. Eventually, it slid open, and he stepped through, a hand on his blaster.

“Hello?” He called into the seemingly empty pawn shop. “I’m looking for Rhugo. I’m a friend of–”

“You’re Leia’s boy. The Commander.” The pawnbroker parted curtains in the doorway behind the counter, a long cigar poking out of his mouth, fingers long and green-tinted. “Got your message. Wait just a second.”

Poe watched as he reached on the counter, fingers still hovering above his blaster. If there was one thing he’d learned from his time with the Resistance, it was that almost no one could be trusted, to never let his guard down. But instead of a blaster, Rhugo pulled out a small wooden box and slid it across the glass counter. He motioned for Poe to open it.

He stepped forward, gently lifting the hinged lid. Inside, cradled in a bed of velvet, was a golden pendant, palm-sized, a shimmering pink and purple gem embedded in the metal. He stared at it for a long time, mesmerized. It didn’t seem to be a power source, but it had an energy to it he couldn’t quite place. Something powerful. Something all but forgotten.

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to ask your General that, I’m afraid. I’ve been looking for it for her for years. Hasn’t been easy to come by. The very last of its kind, it seems.”

“How much do I owe you?” Poe reached for his pockets.

Rhugo shook his head, batting a hand at the pilot. “Win the war, we can negotiate after.”

Poe grinned. “Thanks. That’s the plan.”

***

When Poe arrived back on the base, pendant in his pocket, the General was waiting for him, an expectant look on her face. He handed her the box, watching as she opened it, waiting for some hint as to what it was, why she had sent him so far to get it.

She stared at it for a long time, exhaling a sigh. Her eyes sparkled with tears. “You have no idea what you’ve just brought me.”

“What…is it?”

“This…this is our spark, Poe. The spark that will reignite the Resistance.” She touched it with gentle fingers, lingering on the cool metal. “This is hope.”

The Princess, the Jedi

You could hear the music from downstairs, all the way up in your chambers. The Mariposan palace was aglow with celebration, as it had often been since the fall of the Empire. The Battle of Endor had been only two years prior and since then, a great sense of peace had settled over the galaxy.

“You’re still doing your hair?” Leia laughed, striding into the room, draped in a long green gown.

“I can’t get it to sit right.” You laughed, redoing the braid nestled into your hair for what felt like the twelfth time.

“Just use The Force to do it.” Han teased, leaning in the doorway, Luke just behind him, wearing that gentle smile that so often accompanied him when he was looking at you.

“That’s not how The Force works.” You chuckled, Leia settling on the padded bench beside you.

She pulled out the braid and redid it with her expert fingers, quick and agile. It was no wonder hers always looked so good.

“You look great, Princess.” Luke complimented, finally getting a good look at you.

“You clean up nice yourself, Skywalker.” You shot back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“There. You’re all done.” Leia walked over to Han.

You gave yourself a once-over and then stood, walking into the center of your spacious bedroom. By some miracle, your home planet, Mariposas, had been untouched by the Empire. And you, as the planet’s princess, did have some pretty nice quarters if you did say so yourself. It definitely beat the tiny, scrappy Rebel bases you’d spent so long in, although they definitely had their charm, too.

“We good up here? The king was wondering when his daughter was finally going to come down to the party.” Lando looked around with a grin. He met your eyes and let out a whistle. “Wow, Princess. You look great.”

“Ha. Thanks.” You replied, glancing at your saber before deciding to clip it to your belt. You and Luke were the only Jedi left. People expected you to have it on you, especially at events like this, where you were not only representing your home planet, but also the Rebellion as a whole. It was an anniversary of sorts, two years of peace across the galaxy.

“If I may?” Luke offered his arm.

“Always.” You slipped yours through his, smiling when he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek.

He escorted you through the halls, down the staircase and into the banquet hall, where the party was in full swing. Your parents, the king and queen, mingled with guests from neighboring planets and systems.

Your older brother, Maddox, the first born and heir to the throne, was greeting guests as well, chest puffed, shoulders proud. Your little sister, Laesynda, though you called her Laecy, ran with the other kids. She was only ten, now. Still full of innocence, eyes glimmering with youth and more hope than you could imagine. With the war over, she had a bright, bright future ahead of her.

“You’re nervous.” Luke noted, voice soft. “Your wings are tense.”

You forced them to relax, pushing down that feeling. But since you had become a beacon of hope, it was hard to live with the pressure of it. Of all the eyes in the room flicking to you the second you entered a room. It had always been like that more or less. You were a princess after all, but it was decidedly worse now.

“I’m trying not to be.” You admitted, wings fluttering behind you like a cape. They were large, but folded neatly out of the way most of the time, their hue fading from a sunset orange at their base, through a gentle pink, to a regal lavender at their edges, shimmering the way all Mariposan wings did.

The ballroom itself was alive in every sense. The walls carved from wood, windows cradled in root-like veins along the walls. Flowers cascaded from the ceiling, orbs of light floating through the air like specks of pollen in the spring.

You stopped walking once you reached your parents, greeting each with a smile and a warm hug.

“Glad you finally joined us, (Y/N).” Your father said, that knowing glimmer in his eyes. “They’ve been asking about you.”

“Oh I’m sure they have been.” You looked at your mother, at the way she’d done her hair, the warm shade of red painted across her lips. “You look beautiful, mother.”

“I was going to say the same about you.” She ran a hand down your cheek. “Try to have fun tonight.”

You chuckled, memories of your Rebellion days flashing in your mind. “I’m good at that part.”

Luke took your arm again, walking towards the dance floor. You stole a moment away while you could, enjoying a few songs together before finally settling at a table. You could hardly sit down between guests introducing themselves to you and Luke, greeting you with those expectant eyes.

Even from across the room, you could feel your brother’s gaze, burning a hole through your forehead. He’d always been jealous, but the attention you got now was enough to crush him, you were sure. During the war, he’d remained painfully neutral, ready to jump ship to whichever side won. You, instead, aligned yourself with the Rebels at the first opportunity, abandoning your royal duties to help the cause however you could. And you were beloved for it.

Eventually, you got the opportunity to sit down. Han slid you a tall glass of Mariposan mead, which you took a few long sips from. You needed it.

“So, what now?” Lando asked, looking at Luke. “Have you figured out your grand plan yet, Master Skywalker?”

“Just about.” He smiled, reaching for your hand, which you gladly took. “We’re going to start up the Jedi Order again. Find the budding Jedi out there, train them up. Complete Leia’s training.”

“Bring back balance to the Force.” You said, warmth in your chest blossoming when you said it. It made sense. Always had. You and him, together, starting something great. It felt right.

“You’ll need more sabers.” Leia noted.

“You still need to build yours, Leia.” You reminded her.

She smiled. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Soon.” Luke promised. “We’ll have to get our hands on some more kyber crystals.”

“Joyride in the Falcon?” Han offered.

“If you and Chewie have any room in that busy schedule of yours.”

He winked. “I’m sure we could squeeze you in. Chewie loves you.”

“I’m rather fond of that Wookie myself.” You grinned, taking another long sip of mead. You looked around the table at your friends. These people you had risked everything with, these people who loved you. Your family in all meanings of the word. And now that the galaxy had settled, you had the opportunity to start fresh, build something new with them, wherever your lives took you.

Leia had already been talking about weddings.

And though you weren’t sure you were ready for that, you would gladly stand in hers, give a riveting speech about her love story with Han, their daring adventures together that always led them straight to each other.

Luke gave your hand a squeeze, those soulful blue eyes gazing into yours, flecks of green swimming in them. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss there. It seemed only inevitable from the moment that you met that the two of you would wind up together, and there you were, still side by side after all that time.

***

Hours later, the party began to dwindle, guests retreating to their ships or their lodging for the night. The lights dimmed and stars began to peek out beyond the sprawling stained glass windows. Han and Leia swayed on the dance floor. Lando and Chewie hovered at the bar, and you and Luke retreated back up the stairs for a quiet night after a few final goodbyes.

You’d both drifted off quickly, you quicker than Luke, pulled deep into dreams and memories that flashed in your mind. Murmurs of a voice.

“Maker, I’m so glad we found you…”

His lips captured yours again, breathing into it. They wandered, down your cheek, past your jaw, down to your neck again. You laced your fingers through his curls, the burn of his stubble against your skin–shocked you back awake.

Whoever that had been was not Luke Skywalker. And whoever they were, this was not the first time you’d dreamt of them, either. By this point, their lips were familiar. Their scent. Fresh Rain. Sandalwood. Leather. Ship Fuel.

You jolted awake, staring at the ceiling, Luke’s body splayed out on the mattress beside you. His breathing was slow, face towards the window. He turned, eyes opening ever so slightly.

“Nightmare?” He asked, creeping closer. An arm hooked around your waist, lips pressing against your cheek, then your lips.

“Something like that.” You said, but you knew he could feel otherwise. You were connected like that. He always seemed to know what you were feeling.

“You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He smiled, nose pressed against yours.

Something in you melted at the look in those eyes. Maker, he loved you so much. You could feel it radiating off of him. And you loved him, too. Your space boy. Your thumb skimmed across his cheekbone as you pulled him in for another sleepy kiss, the sky still dark and spotted with stars.

You turned onto your other side and he slotted himself against you, arm fast around your waist, nose nuzzled against your skin as you fell back asleep, your love swirled with a healthy dose of guilt.

How the Jedi Die

Your eyes fluttered open again when the dawn was melting into the morning. Luke was already awake. You could feel it. But he was quiet, his movements careful, limbs still tucked against your own.

“Training awaits, Your Highness.”

“It always seems to.” You grinned, turning to kiss him before sitting up to start your day. You put on some robes, a solid beige, hints of brown. You had a few that were considered traditional. The rest of your wardrobe was more Mariposan in color scheme. That was, to say, lots of pinks and purples and blues, hints of green from time to time.

You chose your belts carefully, strapping your saber hilt on, slinging your bag over the other shoulder before lacing up your boots.

Luke pulled you in by the waist, both of his hands settling there as yours rose to his shoulders. What a dashing prince he would be, you thought fondly, a hand carding through his soft blond hair as you floated closer. You kissed him gently and he did not hesitate to kiss you back. He never did.

After a quick breakfast, the two of you walked out into the forests of Mariposas. Giant mushrooms marked forks in the paths, lush trees looming tall overhead. Flowers dotted every walkway with color, butterflies flitting from stalk to stalk.

There was a clearing up on the hill that you loved. It was the perfect spot for everything, sparring, meditating, whatever the day brought. You started with the first, taking your saber from your belt and activating it with a click, brilliant indigo light emerging from the end of it. It was one of a kind, your saber, the golden hilt made from your mother’s old bracelets, put together by your own hands with the help of Obi-Wan himself.

Your saber clashed against Luke’s as you moved through the motions, steps familiar. The Force guided you, the path clear as you took each leap and bound, up onto rocks, through the treetops, sabers swinging, clashing against each other, but never making contact with any of the branches. The two of you landed back in the clearing, indigo shimmering against green until he turned away, twirling out of range with grace and precision.

He held his saber extended, meeting your eyes with that smile of his. You both powered your sabers down, breathing heavy.

“That was a good move, the flip you did.” You complimented. “Almost had me there, for a second.”

“Thanks, I’ve been working on those. I liked that move with your wings.” He grinned. “You’re so much better when you use them to your advantage.”

“I’ve been working on that, too.” You chuckled. You’d barely used them growing up, modern technology nearly rendering them useless, but he was right. Mastering using them as a tool was something you needed to lean into. They were an advantage few others had, and they had served you well during the war.

After, you settled onto your favorite seats. Yours was a repurposed stump. One of the woodworkers down in the village had carved it into a stool of sorts, crystals embedded into the rounded edge.

You sat atop it, cross-legged, breaths long and even until the stool disappeared beneath you. You floated, hair cascading around you, robes jostled by the breeze. You cleared your mind, surrendering to the Force, to your path and wherever it took you.

To the Jedi.

At first, there was nothing. A long, dark expanse of comets and stars. Empty, but tingling.

And then you heard a voice.

“We didn’t cover much ground, actually. He was…hesitant to train me. Or anyone, really…”

She was far, that much was clear. A young woman, maybe a little bit younger than you by a few years, but she had a spark to her, that glow of rebellion across her features. Yellow flickering light danced across her cheeks, determination strong on her brows. And she had some training, apparently. You wouldn’t be working up from nothing. It was…reassuring.

You felt a wave of peace in the knowledge that you and Luke weren’t alone in this.

Slowly, you descended back down onto your stump, heart light with the knowledge that there was another Jedi. Not only that, but another woman with the Force.

You stared at Luke, still deep in his meditation. He looked so peaceful, eyes closed, breaths slow as he floated there midair.

Whirring and beeping sounded, closer and closer up the hill. You wondered how long it would be before they found you. The droids. First came R2, Luke’s beloved blue droid. Quickly behind him came your droid, a silver R4 unit with purple paneling and a dome top. They were beeping at each other, talking. Flirting.

“Artoo, you simply cannot say things like this in the presence of a princess!” Threepio scolded, following the two of them up the hill with his stiff movements. He met your eyes with his glowing, mechanical ones. “My apologies. I did not realize the two of you were up here.”

“That’s alright Threepio.” You chuckled. “We’re about done for the day. He’s finishing up.”

“Any leads?”

“I got one.”

“Oh how exciting! Before you know it, this place will be teeming with Jedi!” The droid congratulated you on your breakthrough and for a few moments, it was nice. Until Luke fell.

Your stomach sank and you walked over to him, sprawled in the dirt, looking up at you with a pained look in his eyes. You reached for his arm, but he withdrew, like your touch alone would burn him.

“Hey, it’s me. Talk to me.” You said, kneeling in the dirt in front of him.

The fear melted into something softer and he stared up at you, words budding on his tongue. He exhaled, hands shaking. “It’s bad.”

“What is?”

“There’s…” he shook his head. “Call the others. We don’t have time. R2, tell Han to warm up the Falcon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Pretty far from here.” Luke replied, standing as you did. He rested his hands on your arms, pressing a long kiss to your lips before saying, “go tell your family goodbye. Get ready for a fight. I’ll explain on the way.”

You gathered your things with haste, instructing your droid, who you lovingly called Radia due to her love of playing music over her audio processors, to get your family together so you could say goodbye to them.

Your parents asked where you were going, what was wrong and you didn’t have any answers for them, leaving them with the promises of your return.

“Not to worry, mother. She will spend her life saving the galaxy. The duties of a Jedi are never-ending.” Maddox parroted the words of Obi-Wan when he’d gone to get you to begin your training so many years before. Only you seemed to hear the malice in his tone.

“And after, can I braid your hair? I learned a new one.” Laesynda asked, eyes bright. You knelt down and pulled her into your arms.

You petted her head, exhaling a breath before pulling away to look at her little freckled face one last time. You poked her nose, earning a laugh. “Of course you can. I’ll be back before you even remember to miss me.”

***

It was with record speed that Luke was able to round up the team. You, Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the droids all piled into the Falcon and headed out to a distant planet. Luke plugged the coordinates in at lightning speed, his fingers flying across the console before handing the controls off to Han, who gave that concerned, skeptical look he so often wore.

“You sure about this?”

“Positive.” Luke nodded. He took your hand and led you and the others to the booth around Chewie’s game table.

You searched his face. Usually, you could read him. This time, you could not. He was hiding it from you, shielding you from his thoughts, his feelings. “What is going on? Talk to me.”

“There’s a Sith cult. They’re trying to bring Palpatine back.” He whispered, eyes serious, locked on the checkers of the table between you. “They have a saber wielder. A woman. She…” He shook his head, tears glimmering in his eyes as he squeezed your hand. “We have to stop her.”

“We will.” You told him, but he didn’t seem convinced. Every time he looked at you, he was haunted. Whatever he had seen had been…bad.

You walked out to the cockpit and sat in the seat behind Chewie’s, watching the stars go by at lightspeed. It was kind of relaxing, always had been, like being in a fishtank.

“He’s in a mood, huh?” Han asked, glancing back at you.

“Something like that. Whatever he saw has him in a real funk.”

Chewie roared, reaching back towards you. You grabbed onto his fur-covered arm, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just stressed. We’ll get this figured out.”

Han reached forward, pulling the thruster back and stopping the flow of stars around you. The planet you found yourself on made it…easy to figure out the mood Luke was in. The planet was rocky, skies gloomy and overwhelmingly…red. Thunder crackled in the clouds, zaps of lightning zipping past. Something on the ship buckled, met with a shower of sparks.

“Woahhh!” You shielded your face.

“It’s fine, Your Highness, nothing to worry about.” Han shook off your concern. “She’s taken worse.”

“There. That cave there.” Luke instructed, peering into the cockpit. “Land on the south side. (Y/N) and I will go in first. We’ll need blaster support. The droids can keep the ship warm so we can get out of here as fast as we can.” He motioned to a volcano on the horizon, not yet erupted, but hot, heavy smoke billowing from its tower.

“I don’t like the look of that thing.” Lando murmured. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

“That makes two of us.” Leia agreed, staring at it.

“That’s why they’re doing it now. No one else is going to come out here while it’s erupting. It’s now or never.” Luke said, turning towards the boarding ramp. You followed after him, walking out the ship as the ramp lowered.

He activated his Saber, green light clashing heavily with the red hue bleeding down from the sky. It was almost swallowed up by it, by the chaos and darkness. You lit yours beside him. They looked so right together. The green and indigo. Contrasting with each other.

You spun your saber and followed him into the shadows.

From within the cave, you heard chanting. As you emerged from the entryway, you could make out hooded cloaks. Dozens of them. Chills ran down your spine as you took in the sight of it. At the center of all of it, an altar with two halves of a body on it and a woman holding a glowing red lightsaber, its blade unstable.

“Insidia…” You whispered, her name finding your tongue just before her eyes met yours. She smiled at the sight of you and Luke.

“Just in time. Our sacrifices.” She said, face splitting into a grin, eyes glowing yellow. “Care to join us?”

“What you’re doing here will not stand, Insidia.” Luke said, voice even and cold. “We won’t allow you to raise him from the dead.”

“And you can’t stop us either.” She laughed, the other hooded figures joining in. “In fact, you are the missing piece in all of this. Your energy will give Lord Palpatine new life. Through your death, he will rise.”

“Not without a fight.” You told her, readying your saber in your grip, analyzing the figures gathered before you and praying to the Maker for luck. Luke pressed his back to yours, meeting your eyes one last time.

She laughed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The three of you launched into battle. Insidia unsheathed a second saber, just as red as the first, attacking with fiery passion. With hatred in every move. You dodged, using the force to toss obstacles in her way. Scraps of ship parts scattered throughout the cave, rocks, anything you could.

Luke’s saber clashed against both of hers and she threw him towards the rocky wall with a clawed grip. You used the Force to stop him, gently lowering him before his head hit the cracked surface.

Blasters fired as Leia, Han, Chewie, and Lando followed, diverting the attention of the rest of the cult. They had smaller weapons. Swords and knives and daggers, their edges twisted with wicked intent.

Insidia’s blade swung just beside you, but you used your wings to lift away, legs swinging behind you. You thrust a hand forward in an attempt to throw her back, but she met you with equal energy, a stalemate of sizzling power hidden in the air between you.

She jolted as a blast made contact with her shoulder, glancing in the direction of the shooter for just long enough to buy you the opportunity to hit one of her sabers out of her hand, across the floor, and down, down into a deep crevice in the makeshift temple.

The volcano rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground beneath you.

Luke leaped through the air, his saber clashing against Insidia’s once more. She wasted no time, dueling both of you at once, alternating between the two of you with one hand. Up, down, over and over. You swung your saber with skill and precision, crossing in front of you, then behind. You used your wings to cut through the air, flipping over her head. And just before you could deliver the final blow, she reached out to catch not her second saber, but a dagger, thrown by one of her followers.

You swung, but missed the end of it, the weapon just short enough to slip through your range. She plunged the twisted blade into your flesh, just above your hip bone. You gasped, breath stolen from your lungs as blood began to seep from the wound. Insidia twisted, pulling a yell from your throat as pain blossomed from the blade.

“This is how the Jedi die.” She seethed, voice rasping as she swung her saber, its molten glow slicing through your wings, the severed remains fluttering uselessly to the cave floor.

White-hot pain tore through your vision, through your body.

And the last thing you heard was Luke Skywalker’s tortured scream echoing off of the cave walls.

There are No Healers

The soft rumble of the Mariposan healing pods was something you were familiar with. You had rushed several allies there during the war under cover of night. Friends with grave wounds that you knew wouldn’t survive otherwise.

You’d sat beside them so many times that the sound was almost comforting. It meant that whoever was inside it was healing, somewhere safe, and that you would be there when they woke up.

You stirred as the rumble came to a stop, the gentle lulling replaced first with silence, the sound of empty air and daylight, and then, voices.

They were quiet at first, their words scrambled murmurs to your tired ears, but eventually, you made out a “Do you think it worked?” followed by a “I swear I just saw her move.”

You took a deeper breath, stretching your aching limbs. You dared to open your eyes, facing the silhouettes standing beside you.

It became clear then that you were the one in the healing pod, based on the angle you were tilted, upright but leaned backwards.

Han was standing to your left, given away by his leather jacket. On the right was Leia and someone else. Another former Rebel, maybe.

You glanced at Han. His hair was darker. Curlier. Coming into sharper focus, but still blurred by your bleary, sleepy eyes. You let out a yawn and said, “Did you do something with your hair? It looks really good.”

Han looked at Leia and the other guy.

“A-are you alright?” Leia spoke but it wasn’t her voice. Wasn’t even her accent.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you laughed softly. “Leia, what is that accent you’re doing?”

They looked at each other again. Not a good sign. Your friends would be joking. Bickering, even. Not staring at you in silence. Maybe something had happened to Luke. Maybe…you’d lost the fight.

“Is Luke okay?” You asked quietly.

“Y-your Highness…” The other voice said, a deeper voice. “What do we tell her?”

“Wait, it’s getting better.” You told them, blinking until your vision sharpened enough to finally see their faces. Your eyes fell on Han first and you realized immediately that you were wrong. Very wrong. “Oh. You’re not Han Solo.”

His mouth fell open, making eye contact with you. His eyebrows furrowed with intrigue. “Honored by the comparison, though, your Highness.”

You studied him for a moment, chiseled jaw dusted in stubble. Thick, dark curls, tan skin. Dark brows, determined features. He was familiar in a way you couldn’t place. Something about his face…Definitely not as tall as Han Solo, though.

On your other side was a young woman in Jedi garb. Well, something close to that. She had a staff strapped over her shoulder, a lightsaber hooked to her belt.

Luke’s saber.

And then there was the third, a man with dark skin and kind eyes. He smiled when you looked at him, trying to dispel the concern you could feel bubbling up in your chest.

You looked up at the temple. Or, what was left of it. You let out a broken gasp at the sight of the shattered stained glass dome, daylight streaming into the room in bright rays. “W-what happened?” You pushed from the pod, wincing at the weight of it, but the woman was quick to support you, slinging your arm around her shoulders. The Not-Han-Solo reached out too, but stopped short of touching you once he saw his friend had it handled.

You stepped over a pile of things, foot brushing against them. Half-burned candles and…flowers, petals dried and scattered.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know how to explain but…you’ve been asleep, your Highness.” She explained, eyes meeting yours with sorrow and empathy. “You’ve been asleep for thirty years.”

You were stunned into silence, standing there for what felt like an eternity, staring up at that broken window. Never had you heard your home planet so quiet.

There are no healers. You finally noticed, taking stock of the empty room, completely abandoned aside from the four of you. There was no chatter from the palace halls, no roaming guards, nothing. You didn’t even hear any birds chirping.

You reached for the saber on your belt just to find it wasn’t there. Neither was your belt. Instead, you were wearing a silky robe, floor length, but thin, and some basic undergarments. Behind you, your wings, restored to their former glory, the only evidence they had ever been harmed in the first place being a thin golden line, right where the saber had sliced them off in a neat arch.

A droid beeping drew your attention as it rolled from behind another pod. Your eyes widened, looking at it. A ball-shaped droid. Orange and white. You’d never seen one like that before.

“Woah.”

“Yes, you can come out now, BB-8.” The man in the leather jacked chuckled. “That’s my droid. He’s curious about you. We…all are, your Highness.”

“I’ve never seen one like that before.” You murmured, looking at him. “Hello there.”

He beeped in greeting and you laughed softly. Technology had progressed. They weren’t lying. It had been…thirty years. You’d been asleep for…

You moved, finally taking a step away from the woman that was supporting you, testing out your legs. They worked, thankfully. “I…need to change out of this. There should be something more…suitable in my room…if this place hasn’t been completely ransacked.”

“Lead the way, your Highness. Take all the time you need,” said the guy in the leather jacket. The Not-Han-Solo.

You walked towards the entrance of the healers’ temple that led to the palace courtyard. Immediately, that was a mistake.

What should have been a giant, gorgeous, flowering tree with a thick trunk and sprawling branches was a husk. The Monarch Tree, the glowing crown jewel of the palace grounds, of the capitol, was gone. The branches had obviously been burned off, broken to splinters. The wreckage of a TIE fighter sat at its base.

Craters littered the lawn, deep dirt-filled holes that hadn’t filled. Beyond them, dozens of destroyed buildings. Hundreds, even.

A broken sob left your lips and your knees gave out from under you. You collapsed into the grass, a hand slapped over your mouth to stifle the yell that wanted to escape. Shaking, you wiped at the tears running down your cheeks.

“What happened?” You asked again, staring at the wreckage of what had once been your home.

“There was an attack. A few days after you went into your pod.” The woman explained, offering a hand that you gladly took as she knelt beside you in the grass. You laced your fingers through hers, her touch familiar despite the fact that you knew you had never met. She didn’t look much older than twenty. She hadn’t even been born when you’d gone to sleep.

“T-the Empire?” You asked, voice wobbling.

“What was left of it.” Leather Jacket Man explained, voice stable. “It was their last attack before going quiet.”

You nodded, listening but not really processing what he said. You blinked a few times, more tears falling.

“Are you going to be alright?” The woman asked, giving your hand another squeeze. Her voice was soft, eyes curious, but gentle.

“I need a minute. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The other man said, shaking his head. “I…I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

So you took some time. Minutes of quiet, of staring, of thinking before you finally heard a voice in the back of your mind.

Luke’s.

It’s time to get up now, Princess. You’ve got work to do.

Tears of the Princess

You stood again after what felt like a century, leading the others up the winding path and into the rest of the palace. Shards of glass were scattered across the colorful tile floors, furniture overturned, blaster fire immortalized by scorch marks on the wall.

You stepped over broken plates and bottles, making your way through the hallway. Just yesterday you had been there. Yesterday. And now, it was…no, you couldn’t. You didn’t dare think it.

Finally, you led the others to the doors to your room, double doors with golden handles, the wood carved and painted to match your wing coloration. A deep slash had splintered away part of the paint, but otherwise, it seemed untouched. You tried the handle, but it was locked.

“I’ll look for a key.” Leather Jacket Man volunteered, scanning the floor with his eyes.

“No need.” You said, raising a hand and focusing on the lock’s innerworkings. The gentle hum of the Force thrummed heavy on the air and the door came open with a click. “I never used one.”

All three of them stared at you and then at each other, wearing matching expressions. They were impressed. Hopeful, even. You walked inside, looking around to find it…more or less the same. Aside from a thick layer of dust, that was. Some cobwebs.

You made a beeline for the wardrobe, shuffling through your options until you found something more solid than the flimsy healing robe you were in. Beige tunic, brown pants, a magenta wrap, a brown leather belt. You turned towards your private chamber and got changed as quickly as you could, taking stock of yourself in the mirror.

The stab wound in your lower abdomen had healed perfectly, the skin still shimmering from the pod. Other than that, you looked…exactly the same. You hadn’t aged a day. It almost brought you to tears again, the thought of it, but you swallowed them down. There were bigger fish to fry.

Once you were dressed, you returned to the bedroom, where the others were curiously poking around. They all froze, watching as you reentered the room.

“Sorry.” Leather Jacket Man blurted. His eyes scanned your new outfit, looking you up and down. “We’re just curious.”

“That’s alright. You can look around, I don’t care.” You pulled a bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, quickly packing some basics into it. Sleep wear, casual wear, undergarments and undershirts. You pulled a belt with a blaster holster on it and put it in as well. Based on the way the others were armed, you sensed the galaxy was not necessarily in peace times anymore.

You took a few pairs of shoes and then turned to your dresser, where the jewelry was. Somehow, but some act of the Maker, the most important piece of your collection was still in tact. A kyber crystal on a leather cord. You pulled it off of its display and quickly did the clasp behind your neck. In lieu of finding your missing saber, you wanted to keep the door open for building another one at some point, given you could assemble the pieces. Speaking of which, those thick gold cuff bracelets sitting beside it would do nicely. You slipped them on as well.

There was a dainty golden circlet that you let your fingers hover over for a moment before slipping it on over your head. It didn’t feel right, though, so you put it in a box and slipped it in your bag for later. Maybe someday you’d feel like a princess again.

There was another box, one filled with Rebellion pins, cufflinks, and other trinkets. You put that in the bag, too, before turning back to the closet, where the woman was lingering, staring at the colorful fabrics there.

“Do you want some?” You offered, walking over to stand next to her.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly–”

“Yes you can. Otherwise, they’ll just sit here collecting dust.” You reasoned, flipping through them until finding one you thought would suit her. “You’re a Jedi?”

“I-I am. Training.” She said, meeting your eyes very tentatively. “Your Highness.”

“Then you need some robes.” You said with a soft smile, holding up a green one alongside a blue one. A yellow one, too. “They’re a little open-backed. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” She said with a chuckle, packing them in another bag.

“Boys, are you in need of anything?”

“Us?” Asked the man with the kind eyes. “No, I don’t think…”

“My brother’s room is down the hall if you want to take a look around. His fashion sense left something to be desired, but if there’s anything there, feel free. As far as I’m concerned, anything still here after thirty years is fair game…”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Leather Jacket Man said with a nod. He put a hand on the other one’s arm. “Come on, Finn. Let’s give ‘em a minute.”

Finn. You memorized, watching as they left. One name down, two to go.

You and the Jedi continued to browse the room, looking for…anything, really.

“What’s your name?” You finally asked her.

“Rey.” She provided, a kind smile on her face.

“I’m (Y/N).” You introduced.

“It’s an honor to meet you, (Y/N).” She replied, and something in you melted. You could tell already that you’d be friends.

You found a few other things laying around, a small tool kit, a sewing kit, things you felt would probably come in handy. You added them to the bag as well.

“Nothing in there.” Leather Jacket Man reported with a shake of his head. “Must not have been locked as securely as your room.”

“Yeah, that checks out.” You nodded. “We’re about done in here anyway.”

“Let me carry that, your Highness.” he offered, reaching for the bag you’d packed. “It’s kind of a hike out to the ship.”

“Thank you.” You said, handing it to him.

He wasn’t lying. They’d parked on the other side of the castle. You took them through a shortcut, which led down past the kitchens. A shelf of pots had collapsed, but that was quickly handled with a flourish of the wrists, using the Force to set everything right again, clearing the way.

“How did you find me?” you asked as you passed the library, nearing their ship, supposedly. “Did someone send you?”

“General Organa–Leia sent us.” Finn told you, solidifying to you two things: one, your best friend was alive, but two, that the galaxy was indeed at war again. “Things are…kind of desperate. We took some heavy losses recently. We need all the help we can get.”

“What was that pod you were in?” Rey asked. “I’ve never seen one that looks like that.”

“Mariposan healing pod. We’re famous for them. They can heal nearly any injury if you get to one in time. Problem is, they can only be opened by the High Healers, locked with their medallions. It’s to protect the vulnerable injured population in the case of an attack. I guess they never thought about someone getting locked inside…”

It struck you then that whoever had attacked had known what they were doing. They must have taken out the Healers before they could let you out. Surely, you would have been of more use to them even injured than asleep.

You pushed past the exterior doors, stepping out into the sunlight again. Beyond the walls, at the outskirts of the palace, was the Millenium Falcon. A wave of relief set in, seeing it, aged though it was. That ship had been home to you on more occasions than you could count.

The ramp lowered and out came Chewbacca, still leagues taller than the rest of the group, covered in fur, bowcaster ready to eliminate a threat, but not finding one. His eyes fell on you and he let out a throaty, emotional roar.

Your face lit up. It was a good thing you weren’t carrying your bag because you would have certainly dropped it with the speed you ran to him. “Chewie!”

He roared again, picking you up off of the ground in a bone-crushing hug.

“I missed you too!” You sobbed, head resting on his furry shoulder. The tears kept coming. You doubted they’d stop. The others very pointedly hadn’t mentioned Luke, Han, or Lando. You could only assume they were sparing you from getting too much bad news at once.

But Chewbacca being alive was nice. You would take the little victories, too.

He ran a paw down your head, setting you back on the ground and studying you. Another little roar.

You wiped your tears and chuckled. “You look great, Chewie. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“You ready to leave? Is there anything else you need?” Leather Jacket Man asked. He hesitated, but elaborated. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to come back.”

You glanced back at the ruined palace one last time, letting out a long sigh. “I think I’m ready. I could stay here forever picking through it all, but I’ve got everything I need.”

“Alright. Good.” He searched your face for a moment, words dying on his tongue before he turned towards the cockpit.

Finn followed after him, an amused smile on his face. “Never seen anyone do that to you.”

“Do what?”

“Steal the words right from that big mouth of yours.”

Leather jacket man let out a sheepish laugh. Chewie put a hand on your shoulder and let out a little roar.

“I know, buddy. I like them already.”

Legends and Fairytales

The entire camp stopped and stared when the Falcon landed at the resistance’s current base. Leia was right there, waiting, hoping, that the moment that ramp lowered, there would be a powerful new recruit on it.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, bracing yourself as the ship landed, the movement of it still familiar, even with a different pilot. That said, he was a rather good pilot, this man in the leather jacket, whoever he was.

The ramp lowered and you followed Rey off of the ship onto the lush planet, the rebel base spread through the trees. You let out a sigh at the sight. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, you supposed. There were mechanics and comms operatives, bustling to and fro, pilots in their bright orange jumpsuits, prepping for reconnaissance flights.

And in the middle of them was Leia. She stared at you with those knowing eyes, that heartbroken smile. You approached her, wordless, dropping your bag on the ground and surrendering to her arms.

“Leia…”

Her hand cradled your head as she rocked you back and forth. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

“I could say the same about you. Tell me…everything.”

She released you from her hold and slipped her hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. She turned to the pilot, as he and Finn finally came off the Falcon. “Thank you, you two. Will you take her things to her quarters for me? We have some catching up to do.”

“On it, General.” The pilot said, scooping up your bag from where you’d dropped it. He reached forward and touched your arm, his hand warm, calloused. “It was great to meet you, your Highness. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” You said with a smirk. “Thanks for the ride.”

Finn had that look on his face again and you could tell by the way he stood next to the pilot as they walked towards your quarters that he was once again on the verge of teasing him.

Leia led you somewhere private. An office. Her office, you realized, looking at the few scattered trinkets from your time in the war together. A holo on her shelf held a photo of your core group: You, her, Luke, Han, Chewie, and Lando, all together, smiling after the war. You sighed, staring at it. You wondered how many of you were left.

“I’m sorry about…everything.” She started. “I can’t imagine what’s going on in your head.”

“I’m still figuring that out myself.”

“Maker, you haven’t aged a single day.” She murmured, looking at you with those eyes, wizened, worried. The same could not be said for her. Streaks of gray ran through her braided bun, a few wrinkles crinkling her face.

She had lived. She had aged. But she was still your sister, you could feel that much. Nothing in the universe could change that.

“So…what’s it like out there? How bad is it this time?”

“Worse.” Leia sighed. “So much worse. They call themselves the First Order. The Empire but…bigger. Their weapons are more dangerous. And they’re led by my son. Ben. He calls himself Kylo Ren these days.”

“You have a son…” You murmured, arms wrapped around yourself. “With Han?”

“With Han.” She nodded, settling next to you. “He…he’s gone now. It was half a year ago now. And it was Kylo.”

“Luke?” You asked.

She shook her head, blinking away tears. “Gone, too. About a month ago.”

Something broke in you when she said it. You’d known it was coming, you could feel it the moment you woke up, that he wasn’t there anymore. Your space boy was gone, and some piece of your soul crumbled along with him. Still, you asked, “Lando?”

“Is out there. Not sure exactly where. He hasn’t been spotted in a few years. You know how he was. Good at disappearing. But I’m sure he’ll pop up when it matters.”

“He always did.” You stared at the floor, tears falling from your eyes as you mourned your fallen. “M-my family. Did they get out in time?”

“Your parents died in protection of their subjects, the few refugees that managed to escape. No one has seen your brother since the attack.” She took your hand. “But Laesynda has been one of my bravest Admirals. And her son is a budding warrior in his own right.”

“I have a nephew.” You said, joy bursting through the surmounting grief.

“Soren. He’s nineteen.” She said.

“Is he here? Is Laecy? I…I want to see them.”

“They’re offworld on a mission, but they should be back to base soon. Within the next few days. They knew I was sending Rey and the boys to get you today, but none of us knew if the medallion was any good. All we had was hope that you’d be on the Falcon with them when they got back.”

“And hope was all we ever needed, you know.” You grinned. “Where did you find it?”

“I sent Poe to get it, four systems out. Took him a week to track it down. It was a longshot. A friend of a friend of a friend got their hands on it after years of searching.” She pressed her lips together, eyes serious as her hand touched yours. “I never stopped looking, (Y/N). I’m only sorry I couldn’t find it sooner.”

“Thank you, Leia. Seriously, thank you.” You said, fingers curling around her hand. “Whatever you need, I’m here. We…well we did it once. We can do it again. And that Rey…I’ve already got a good feeling about her.”

“I was going to ask you about that, actually. I was hoping you’d train with her. Once you’re settled. She’s just starting her journey. Luke taught her some things but…”

“Of course.” You nodded. “I’m sure she and I can help each other.”

***

After one of the mechs gave you a quick tour, you settled in the canteen, eating a rice bowl with some seasoned meat and veggies, sipping some iced tea. And then you just kind of sat there, watching as people came and went. You heard their whispers, saw their not so subtle points. And then, eventually, people stopped coming, the sky outside dark, the lights around camp clicking on.

The thought of going back to your bunk and laying down to sleep made you sick. Mostly the sleeping part. You weren’t sure what was worse, the thought that all of this was a dream, or that you would drift off even further, to when the Empire–First Order, you supposed–got the upper hand and took over the galaxy.

So you sat, listening to the crickets chirp, the footsteps of the occasional crew member strolling by, first watch heading to their posts for the night. You scrolled through the holo you’d been given, catching up as best as you could.

“Did anyone show you where your quarters are? I can walk you there if you’d like.” It was the pilot from earlier, the one with the curly hair and the impossibly warm brown eyes. “They’re not far from mine.”

“They showed me.” You replied. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’ve had enough sleep, I think.” You said with a tired chuckle.

“In that case…” He pulled out a chair. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“By all means.” You motioned him forward. “I never caught your name, flyboy.”

He grinned, meeting your eyes and offering his hand, which you shook. “Poe. Poe Dameron.”

Your face lit in recognition. “So I have you to thank for waking me up. Leia told me you’re the one that tracked down that pendant. I can’t imagine what you had to do to find it.”

He smiled. “It was tricky, but…definitely worth it.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m (Y/N) by the way. (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, your Highness. Luke Skywalker was a legend, but…you were a fairytale.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, a smile tugging at the edge of your lip. “A fairytale, huh?”

“Right down to the tiara and magical powers.” He said, eyes soft as he admired you up close. You couldn’t imagine the stories he’d heard about you. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted this.” He reached into his pocket and set the pendant on the table in front of you, its pink and purple gem shimmering ever so faintly in the dim light.

Your hand glided across the table, fingers finding the metal token with ease. You lifted it closer so you could get a good look at it. One little metal trinket had made all the difference between whether you slept another thirty years or finally woke. Honestly, you wanted to chuck it deep into the woods, never think about it again, but mementos of your home planet were few and far between. Most of them had fit into one bag. So you accepted the gift, tucking it into one of the pouches on your belt.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’m really sorry we plopped you into another war, but…I’m really glad we have you. We need you. We need your help. If even half of what they said about you is true, you could make a real difference here.”

You mulled it over for a long time. Another war. You’d just begun to settle into the peace after the last one, and already it had been wrenched away from you. It felt impossible. The dread that ate at you every time you thought about it was nearly too much to stomach.

Regardless, you met his gaze, determination knitted in your brow. “That’s the plan.”

Kindle the Spark

You meditated instead of sleeping, sitting on a stump at the edge of the woods as the sun rose. You reached out for him. For Luke. You knew he had to be out there, his spirit, at the very least. And yet, there was no answer. Your space boy had all but abandoned you, leaving you to fend for yourself in this new galaxy you’d woken up in.

You tried not to be bitter about it.

As the sun warmed your face, you felt Rey standing tentatively at the treeline, eyes watching you.

“May I join you?”

“I was hoping you would.” You motioned her over to another stump, a few feet from yours.

She crossed her legs, perching herself on the surface. She had good balance, you noticed.

“So, where did Luke…leave off?” You asked, still not quite knowing how to talk about him. The image of him in your head, you were sure, was quite different from the Luke Skywalker she had known, the one she had trained with.

“We didn’t cover much ground, actually. He was…hesitant to train me. Or anyone, really.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that. It had been his dream. Your dream. Starting the Jedi again, training the next class. “Oh. Alright, well, then we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. We all start somewhere.”

“Something had happened with his class of Jedi. Kylo Ren was among them.” Her energy shifted the moment she brought him up. “It went very wrong. He blamed himself. Took that as a sign that it was time to end the Jedi.”

“Well it’s not. We both know that. I haven’t been here long, but I can tell. This Rebellion–sorry, Resistance needs us now more than ever.”

“It does.” She met your eyes. “So where do we start?”

Rey was a fast learner. Incredibly fast. You started with some basic drills. You didn’t have a saber, so you used a piece of a branch, playing a lethal game of keep-away through the treetops, where you kept the stick away from Rey’s saber as long as possible, encouraging her to not hit any of the other trees with it.

It was about intention, speed, aim, and of course, agility. And she was good at it.

After something like a ten minute chase, she finally sliced off the end of the branch, earning an impressed smile. You fluttered back down onto the grass, hands on your hips, breathing heavy.

“You’re good. Good reflexes.” You complimented. “You have a fighting background?”

She shook her head. “I grew up on Jakku. Desert planet. It was rough out there, but I don’t have any formal training.”

“We’ll take care of that.” You told her.

“Wow, that was…insane.” Finn complimented, accompanied by Poe, who met your eyes with a smile. “Think you could teach me next?”

You could tell he was joking, that he didn’t think there was any truth in it, but even just standing there, you could tell there was something about him, too. Some spark of potential. Your focus now was Rey, but maybe, in time, you could kindle his spark, too.

After all, you were barely in a position to have one Padawan, let alone two.

“Morning, ladies. Thinking about some breakfast, if you were interested.” Poe said, thumbs hooked through the loops of his trousers, button-up shirt unbuttoned just enough to get a good glimpse at his tanned chest, a silvery chain glimmering against his skin.

You forced your eyes away, meeting his instead. “Breakfast sounds good.”

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as the four of you started walking towards the canteen, where the breakfast trays had been rolled out. Eggs with diced peppers, ronto sausages, some assorted fruit.

“I didn’t.”

He sputtered. “I walked you to your quarters. I kind of assumed that meant you’d go to sleep.”

“Tried. Couldn’t do it. Meditated for a while.” You shrugged. “I’ll live.”

He didn’t look convinced.

You all walked through the breakfast line, taking your servings of food before walking over to an empty table to sit. Once again, the crew members surrounding you were full of whispers, eyes darting to and away from you. You wondered if your clothes were outdated, if you stood out that much, but in most spaces, the wings alone were enough to draw attention, even if you kept them folded down most of the time.

You dug in, the food flavors familiar. It was better than the rations you’d had in your Rebellion days, that was for sure.

“That necklace. What is it?” Rey eventually asked, eyes falling on the crystal hanging around your neck. Clear, and coming to a point.

“I was wondering if you’d notice it.” You chuckled. “This is a kyber crystal. It’s what gives a lightsaber its color and power. Luke didn’t know why I took an extra and…I didn’t either. But if we can’t solve the Mystery of the Missing Saber, I’ll have to try to make a new one. If I could find the parts, that is…”

“What was your saber like?”

“One of a kind.” You reminisced. “Gold hilt. It was made from my mother’s old bracelets. Cuffs like these that I welded into shape. Indigo blade. It was the coolest.”

“Sounds like it.” Poe said, eyes falling on you once again, searching you for something. You wondered if he was like that with everyone…

You spent the rest of your day wandering the base, reading through reports, familiarizing yourself with the war, with your enemies and allies.

Poe was a commander, apparently, according to his files. The best pilot in the Resistance, if not the galaxy. It suited him. And Finn had history with the First Order as a defected Storm Trooper. You were happy for him, finding himself. You wished more people in his position were able to do the same.

Prior to your arrival, there had been a battle on Crait. Heavy losses. The Resistance had reached out for help and…no one had come. You really did seem to be the last hope.

And that was the state of the Resistance. Supplies were running low, recruitment numbers were down…all of you had your work cut out for you.

You went to the hangar, where the pilots hung out. You looked around, introducing yourself to a handful of the other pilots. A guy named Temmin, who went by Snap, a girl named Tess. There was a mech hanging out, hair in long black braids, a pair of goggles strapped to her head. She introduced herself as Aspen. You could already tell she was trouble in the best way.

You met Rose, one of Finn’s friends, and some of her crewmates.

Everyone was nice, welcoming, grateful that you were there. You just hoped you’d live up to the expectations you could feel bubbling under their gazes.

You wandered for a long time, sleep calling to you now finally, the shock of the situation wearing off now that you were somewhat settled, but you ignored it. You still got nauseous at the thought of sleep.

A droid barreled towards you, full-speed. BB-8. Poe’s droid. He stopped at your feet, looking up at you.

“Oh. Hello again. Can I help you?”

He beeped a string of words and you laughed.

“You’re looking for me? Well, you found me.”

“Good work, Bee.” Poe chuckled, carrying a box under his arm, metal pieces clinking and sliding around. “There you are.”

“Whatcha got there?”

“Parts.” He replied, giving the box a noisy shake.

“Yeah, I see that. You building something?”

“No, you are.” He motioned towards the kyber crystal. “You built the first saber. I figured I’d see if it’s anything you can use, your Highness. Scraps, mostly, but…”

Your lip quirked up. “You don’t have to use titles with me, Commander. (Y/N) is fine.”

“(Y/N),” he repeated, voice soft. You liked the way it sounded when he said it. “You did some research, huh?”

“Of course I did. Had to get caught up. I had no idea the best pilot in the galaxy picked me up yesterday.”

He laughed, cheeks reddening. “Yeah, well, you should see me in an X-Wing.”

“I’d love to.” You took a step forward, looking into the box he’d brought you. “May I?”

“By all means. They are for you, after all.”

You poked around, looking through the pieces. With the kyber crystal and your bracelets thrown in the mix…there was definitely potential there. You looked up at him, impressed. “This is really sweet, Poe. Thank you.”

“Anything useful?”

“Definitely.” You nodded, continuing to did. Whoop, there it was. A power cell. Small and cylindrical. Looked like it would be about the right size. If it worked was another question entirely, but with that found, you had all you needed, more or less. “You ever built a lightsaber before?”

He laughed. “Can’t say I have. The only one I’ve ever seen is Rey’s.”

“Do you want to?” You met his eyes.

He laughed again before seeing the look on your face. “Oh, you’re serious. Look, I’m no Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be, but I could use an extra set of hands if you’ve got time. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

He pretended to think about it before saying, “Yeah, of course. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Is there a workshop around here?”

“This way.” He motioned, leading you through the base.

He pushed aside some curtains, leading to an empty workshop at the edge of camp. BB-8 rolled after the two of you, following at a steady pace. Poe set the box on a work table and you began taking out parts, organizing them, hands guided by what could only be the Force and your memories of building the first one.

You took off your bracelets, setting them on the table along with the kyber crystal, which you gently slid off of the leather cord you had been wearing it on.

Poe pulled up a stool for each of you and handed you a pair of goggles, which you gladly put on. He watched with eager eyes, curious to see what you’d do first.

You drilled holes in the corners of your cuffs so you could screw them into place later. The internal bits, you arranged mid-air, using the Force to line them up just so, following equal parts intuition and knowledge.

Poe stared at the floating pieces, watching as they fell into place. He offered his hands and you directed him where you needed him. He held the hilt in place while you wiggled wires, tightened components, nudging the kyber crystal just so, making sure it lined up with the power cell and the focusing crystals.

Your hands brushed against his, warm and calloused. He had a fighter’s hands. A pilot’s hands. They looked so right, cradling the beginnings of your saber.

You shivered.

“You still with me, (Y/N)?”

“Thinking.” You admitted. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think I’ve got whiplash from how fast everything’s changed.”

“I can’t imagine.” He said, voice brimming with empathy. “You’re okay, though, right? If you need anything, we’re all right here. It’s gotta be a tough adjustment.”

“I’m okay. Part of me is still convinced this is an elaborate dream.” You shrugged. “I think once we get this thing built, it’ll ground me. Convince me that this is real. That…I’m here to stay.”

“Some sleep might not hurt either.” He suggested with a teasing smirk.

“Back to the sleep again.” You chuckled. “Seriously, I’m okay. And after this, I think you might convince me to finally get some. It’s been a…long couple of days.”

He grinned. “Good. We need you at your best. It’s been a quiet few days, but the quiet never lasts long around here.”

Poe held the hilt while you screwed it all together, double-checking everything, racking your brain for anything you might have forgotten, any piece that might have been missing. By some miracle, it seemed everything you’d needed had been in that box.

Then, finally, came the moment of truth. All that was left was to turn it on.

“Alright, you go stand over there. I’ll power it on.”

“Stand over there?” Poe asked, looking over at the doorway, where you had pointed.

“Yeah, if this thing blows up, I will not be responsible for killing the Resistance’s best pilot.”

He chuckled, walking across the room. “Fair enough.”

Once he was far enough, you pressed the activator and a brilliant magenta hue emerged from the hilt. You stared at the ray of light, the familiar hum of a lightsaber filling the room. You’d done it. You’d built a lightsaber.

BB-8 beeped in awe, his words mirroring the look on Poe’s face as he stared at the weapon in your hand.

“I’ve never seen one that color before.”

“Me either.” You murmured, powering it down and strapping the hilt to your belt, a movement that was just about second nature to you. “Feels right, though.”

“I can’t believe we just did that with a box of scraps!” Poe laughed triumphantly, finally walking further into the room again, standing in front of you. His hands settled on your arms, excitement on those handsome features of his, his touch warm and electrifying. “You built a lightsaber.”

“We built a lightsaber.” You replied, warmth blossoming in your chest, his face so close to yours that you were convinced he was going to kiss you. You could feel that he wanted to. Maybe not wanted to. But he definitely thought about it, about what it would be like to kiss a Jedi.

Instead, he let go, the smile on his face not fading. “We built a lightsaber.” He repeated, letting the words sink in. “We should go show Leia. She’ll be thrilled.”

So the two of you walked straight to Leia’s office and showed her. She was thrilled.

“What do you think the color means, (Y/N)?” Leia asked, staring at the light. She knew more than anyone else there the process of making a saber, the relationship you shared with a kyber crystal.

“New beginnings.” You replied, the answer easy as breathing. It was true. This new life, this new place, these new people. This saber would help you protect them. All of them.

Leia layered her hand over yours. “I think so too. This is good news. I’ll let the team know. If you’re up for it, we could really use you in battle.”

“I’m there.” You told her. “That’s what I’m here for, after all.”

“Good. Well, get some sleep,” she met your eyes. “Both of you.”

“I’ll try.” You promised her. This time, you were sure it was a promise you could keep. You could feel it coming already.

“I’ll make sure she does, General.” Poe said, motioning towards the door, a guiding hand settling between your shoulder blades. “Come on, your Highness.”

You tilted your head, giving him an annoyed smile as he ushered you towards your quarters. “Alright, alright…”

The walk there wasn’t all that long. You opened the door with a flourish of fingers across your keypad, lingering in the doorway. You turned back to look at him, his eyes soft in the dim hallway. It was late. Most of the camp was asleep.

“Thank you, for everything. I…didn’t expect this place to feel so familiar yet, but…It’s like I never left.”

He tilted his head, something bittersweet tugging his lip into a pout. “I wish we’d gone to find you sooner.”

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time.” You said. “Kindle that spark again, make people believe, show them that they can fight for what they love. That…that it’s worth fighting for.”

He nodded. “Took the words right out of my mouth. Well, (Y/N), please get some sleep tonight.”

“I don’t think I could fight it if I tried, at this point.” You grinned, meeting his eyes. “Don’t let me sleep for thirty years this time, alright?”

“I’ll wake you up myself tomorrow morning, if it’d make you feel better.”

“It would, actually. I think that would help a lot.”

“Well then. Tomorrow morning it is. We’ll grab some breakfast. I’ll bring you some caf.”

You smiled softly, chest swirling and warm. “It’s a date, Dameron.”

Wake-Up Call

Sleep cradled you like a lover that night, encasing you in total darkness. You didn’t even dream, just rested. You’d needed it.

There were a few minutes of quiet, sunlight streaming through your narrow bedroom window, where you just laid there, reminisced. It was different than your quarters had been in the Rebellion, but constructed from the same materials, made of the same parts.

Outside, you could hear cadets on their morning jog, loud mechanical noises from the various workshops, people moving parts and packages.

You wondered what time it was.

There was a knock on the door. “Wake-up call! Rise and shine!”

Poe. You smiled. He was true to his word after all.

“Coming,” you replied, rolling out of bed and walking to the door, still in a tank top and a pair of Resistance-grade sweatpants. They slid open with a whir, the pilot standing in front of you with a steaming cup of caf in each hand.

“Morning, your Highness. I trust you actually slept last night?”

“I did indeed sleep last night, thank you for your concern, Commander.”

He grinned, handing you a cup of caf, which you took gladly. If there was anything to be said about a Rebellion, it was best fueled by caffeine. “Good, I’m glad.”

“How did you sleep?”

He shrugged. “I slept alright. My roommate snores, so…”

“I don’t snore half as loud as him, for the record.” Finn chimed, walking over with Rey. He lowered his voice, whispering excitedly. “We heard you two built a lightsaber last night?!”

“Almost forgot about that.” You chuckled, picking it up off of your nightstand. “Give me a second to change out of these sweatpants and I can show you outside.”

The boys and Rey stood out in the hall for a second while you changed into your robes, wrapping a few belts snug around your body, slotting the saber into its holster, where your other one used to sit. It was a little different, the shape of it, the feel, but you would get used to it.

You did a quick once-over of your hair and outfit before opening the door again and facing them.

“Alright, let’s go.” You motioned, taking a long sip of caf and leading them out into the open air, unclipping your saber from your belt, activating it for them to see.

“I’ve never seen one that color before!” Rey marveled. “The two of you built that?”

“I gave her a box of scraps and she built that with it.”

“It was exactly the right scraps, to be fair.” You shrugged, deactivating it and putting it back on your belt.

Finn and Rey started wandering towards the canteen for breakfast, but Poe put a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, there’s some guys I want to introduce you to.”

“Alright.” You nodded, following him towards the hangar, where a few pilots were milling around, chatting and working on ship repairs. BB-8 rolled over, brushing against your leg on his way to Poe.

“Morning, buddy. Staying out of trouble?”

He beeped in response, earning a laugh.

“Morning, Poe.” Snap said, looking up at the two of you as you walked in together. “Your Highness.”

“Hello again. Good to see you.”

“You already met Snap?” Poe asked.

“I did some rounds yesterday, trying to learn names.”

“Everyone here is talking about it.” He chuckled. “A real life Jedi of legend, walking among us.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You shook your head.

“(Y/N), this is Jessika and Karé. The other two members of Black Squadron. Ladies, this is (Y/N).”

“Honored to meet you.” Jessika shook your hand. “I hope our Commander has been accommodating while you’re adjusting.”

“More than.” You chuckled.

“If you ever run into any trouble, we’ve got your back. Glad to have you on board.” Karé said, shaking your hand next.

“Glad to be here, ladies. Thanks for all you do.”

“Alright. Great. Breakfast?” Poe asked.

“Breakfast.” You followed after him, stopped in your tracks by the sound of something breaching the atmosphere.

A ship, engulfed in flame, coming in hot for what was shaping up to be a really rough landing. People started shouting, trying to brace for impact, but it became clear to you that this was a Resistance ship and there was someone important on it.

You jumped into action, sprinting, hands out in front of you, using the Force to slow its momentum, bringing it down to the ground gently, where a team of mechs and emergency response was waiting to put out the flames.

You let out a breath, heart racing as you watched the ramp lower. A woman came out, dressed in Mariposan garb, golden cuff bracelets shining on her wrists. A pair of wings fluttered behind her like a cape, their coloring similar to your own. Time stopped when she met your eyes. Her look of concern, of fear, melted immediately and she ran straight to you, arms wrapping around you tightly.

For a long moment, you just stood there in her embrace, sobs caught in your throat. You held her, letting the familiarity sink in slowly.

This was your sister. Your baby sister, Laesynda. And she was older than you now.

“Laecy?” You asked, voice thick with tears.

“Leia told me they were trying to wake you.” She said, pulling away so she could cup your face with both hands, looking you over. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. They…they took Soren.”

“The First Order?” You asked.

She nodded. “They intercepted us. I tried to stop them, but…Kylo…”

“We’ll find him, your Majesty.” Poe promised. He put a hand on your arm. “Leia’s calling an emergency meeting. Come with me.”

The two of you followed Poe towards the conference room. There were chairs on risers, arranged in a circle, at the center of it, a console. The higher-ups assembled with haste, Laesynda putting a hand on your shoulder before joining Leia with the Admirals and Generals. Poe sat with the pilots and Rey took the seat beside you.

Once everyone was accounted for, Leia started.

“The First Order has taken Soren prisoner. I vote we stage a rescue mission as soon as possible. Small rescue team. In and out. No more than two ships.” Leia said, weaving the pieces together with ease and precision. Your best friend, the princess of Alderaan had become a General, and a good one, too. It was awe-inspiring to watch. Her eyes fell on you. “(Y/N), do you think you’re ready?”

“More than ready, General.” You replied, sitting up straighter. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

“She can take my X-Wing. They’ll never be expecting her. I doubt they even know she’s awake.” Poe said, determination in his brows. “We have the element of surprise, we should use it while we can.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t fly an X-Wing. I’m not a pilot.” You said.

Leia thought for a moment. “Well, there was that one time.”

You almost laughed. “Okay, I have ridden in an X-Wing, but uh…it was a tight fit. We were in a pinch.”

Poe’s eyes lit up, a shocked grin pulling at his lips. “You and Skywalker crammed into one of those things?”

“We didn’t have much choice.”

“Well, I’ll try anything once.” Poe looked to Leia. “She and I can break in, find Soren, open a gate. Finn and Rey can follow in the Falcon.”

Chewbacca roared, volunteering himself as well.

“Then that’s settled. Laesynda, give them the coordinates. You’re dismissed.”

“I gotta suit up. Meet me in the hangar in ten.” Poe said, touching your shoulder before jogging off.

Laesynda walked over, taking both of your hands. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You’d do the same for me.” You replied, giving her hands a squeeze. “Besides, it’s about time I met him, right?”

“May the Force be with you, always.” She said, voice strong and true.

“And with us all.” You replied, giving her one last, quick hug before taking off towards the hangar.

Poe was there, loading up BB-8 in the back of his X-Wing, dressed in the iconic orange jumpsuit so associated with the Rebel pilots you had fought alongside. It suited him. Really, really suited him.

“Ready, your Highness?” He asked, motioning to the X-Wing. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Ready.” You looked him up and down, unable to fight the smile on your face. “You look good.”

He smirked, cheeks flushing. “What, this old thing?”

“Brings back memories, what can I say?”

Poe climbed up the ladder first, settling into his seat, pushing it as far back as he could manage. He reached up, offering you his hand as you climbed inside. You sat in the smidge of space between Poe’s thighs, wings tucked away as neatly as possible. Ever the gentleman, Poe let you lead, hands hovering.

“Can you reach everything? Am I in your way?”

“No, I’m good. I just…are you comfortable?”

“As comfortable as I can be, squished between you and the dash.” You chuckled, adjusting carefully.

“Hey, this was your idea.”

“Technically, it was Leia’s idea.” You defended.

“Here, could you…” He hesitated. “permission to touch you, your Highness?”

“Permission granted.” You said.

Poe pulled your back flush against his chest, scooting the seat up the tiniest bit so he could reach better. He tilted you slightly so your face was out of his way and he could see out the windshield. “There, that’s better.” He turned, face suddenly inches from yours, breath warm across your cheek. His cologne was sharp. Sandalwood. He gazed at you though those stupidly thick eyelashes. It was almost unfair, the way he looked at you. “You still good?”

Oh yeah, it was definitely bringing back memories now. That look in his eyes, the tugging in your chest.

“Yep. Yeah. I’m good.” You nodded, nose nearly brushing against his helmet. That inch between you felt like a mile.

“Good. Rey, Finn, how are we doing on your end?”

“Ready when you are, Poe.”

“Great. Ball’s in your court, (Y/N). You ready?”

You took a moment, clearing your mind, reaching out, preparing yourself for the journey to come. You touched the hilt of your new saber, as if to remind yourself that it was there. “I’m ready. Let’s go bring him home.”

Something Old and Borrowed

Poe rolled his X-Wing out of the hangar and onto the landing strip. You were seated comfortably in his lap. Well, as comfortably as you could be with the limited space.

“Alright, I need you to hit that switch.” Poe pointed, flipping three others in the meantime.

You reached up and flipped the metal switch with a satisfying click. Something whirred to life. You weren’t sure what.

He reached around you, arm wrapped tight around your waist so he could take the control rod. “This still good?”

“Yep. Feel free to push me around as necessary.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” He smirked. “Alright, Bee, punch it.”

BB-8 let out a string of beeps and then you took off into the air. It was definitely faster than Luke’s X-Wing. New gen tech, you deduced. It only made sense that space ships would get better in the thirty years you’d been sleeping.

You took a long breath, the rush exhilarating, especially when you were out of orbit and Poe shifted it into hyperdrive, the Resistance base fading to a mere blip miles and miles behind you. You let out a thrilled little laugh, bracing against the impact of that initial thrust.

“So he really never taught you how to fly, huh?” Poe asked, still obviously hung up on it.

“We were busy.” You shrugged. “I knew some of the stuff in the Falcon cockpit, and my aim is pretty decent with a blaster, but they never had me up here in one of these. I was better suited on the ground. I was really good at drawing fire so everyone else could do the important stuff. Jedi are excellent distractions.”

“I would argue the stuff you were doing was important, too.” Poe said, shifting the control rod just so, arm digging into your side ever so slightly.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve read the reports. Seen some of the archive footage.” He confessed. “There’s a reason everyone on base looks at you like that.”

“Like what?” You asked, looking back at him, coy smirk on your face.

“Like this, I’d imagine.” He whispered, eyes full of warmth, even through his tinted visor.

Your breath hitched, heart caught in your throat. “Poe…”

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking back to the windshield. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shook your head, eyes scanning his features one last time before shifting forward again.

“What’s your ETA, Commander Dameron?” Leia asked over the comms.

“About an hour out from the coordinates, General. Any tips as to what we’re flying into here?”

“Star Destroyer. They’re out in the Shade system.”

Something in you sank, heart racing as you remembered the last time you had been there. How could you forget? After all, that was where you’d died thirty years ago.

“Do we know what they were doing out there, General?” You asked, voice strained.

“Retrieving something of utmost importance.” Leia replied. “We can discuss it when you return.”

“Alright.” You said, deflating.

“What’s up with the Shade system?” Poe asked, watching your expression. “What are we flying into?”

“It’s where I died. And it was where they were trying to…revive Palpatine.” You explained, your shimmering scar seeming to burn as you did, memories of Insidia’s words, the malice in her tone, her blade buried in your hip.

Poe muted himself with a press of a button on the wall, muted you with another, giving you a moment of privacy. “You okay with this? I didn’t realize that was where we were headed.”

You nodded. “We’re not turning around. They’ve got my nephew on that ship. Never met the kid, but…”

Poe nodded. “We’re gonna get him back, don’t you worry about that.”

“What’s he like?”

“Soren? He’s great. Been on base since he was seventeen. Your sister just started bringing him on missions recently. He’s got a great shot. Good at repairs and maintenance. The mechs started teaching him how to fix ships.” He grinned. “He’s a good kid. He’s got the spark like the rest of us, wants to make a real difference out here.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

“He couldn’t wait to meet you, either. Grew up on stories about you.” Poe said. He smiled softly. “We all did.”

There was some comfortable quiet between the two of you. BB-8 piped up every so often with status updates.

“So how do you…fly this thing?” You asked, earning a smirk, Poe’s arm adjusting around you, hand still wrapped around the control rod.

“Thought you’d never ask. So, this controls movement mostly, pitch and yaw, affects my–our trajectory. Speed is this lever over here. That one is hyperdrive. The buttons on the control rod are our blasters. This one to aim, trigger to fire. Different adjustments for stationary and moving targets.”

“And what’s the one you had me flip earlier?”

“The air conditioning.”

You laughed. “Ah, yes, important.”

“Well, you know, I figured it might get a little muggy in here, two of us and all. I’m not used to sharing this cockpit with such a beautiful copilot. Or any copilot, really.”

BB-8 chirped in annoyance.

“I said in the cockpit, Bee, you’ve got your own compartment.” Poe retorted, sharing a look with you. “Droids.”

“Droids.” You agreed with a laugh.

It was more comfortable after that, the two of you chatting a bit until Finn, Rey, and Chewie finally came over the headset. You were getting closer to the Star Destroyer. You’d arrive about seven minutes before the others, try to get them a way in as quickly as you could, as well as a speedy escape route.

“We’re gettin’ close. You ready for action?”

“Always.” You replied. “You got your blaster?”

“‘Course I do. It’s gonna get ugly out there. Always does where Stormtroopers are involved.”

“As long as their aim hasn’t improved too much, I should be all set.” You chuckled.

“It’s never been great, in my experience.”

“Oh, never. I think there’s something wrong with their helmets. They’re not custom-fitted so a lot of them genuinely can’t see.”

“She’s right about that.” Finn said with a laugh. He was speaking from experience. “Can’t believe they haven’t found a solution for that after thirty years.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You got a plan?” Poe asked, trying to plot out his approach.

“Get me in there, pop the lid of this thing, and I’ll handle the rest.” You assured him. “I’m good at making an entrance.”

“Alright, works for me.” Poe pulled up on the hyperdrive and the stream of stars came to a halt, the Star Destroyer seemingly appearing before you. “We’re here. See you three on the other side.”

“Roger that, Commander.” Finn said.

Chewbacca roared some encouragement and then Poe maneuvered expertly past blasts from the surface canons, shifting every which way, doing a barrel roll, his other arm wrapping tightly around you to prevent you from falling up into the dash. After all, you weren’t wearing a seatbelt.

His speed alone was remarkable, but his skill was unmatched. You’d never seen someone fly like that before.

He whipped into the hangar, landing the X-Wing and popping the cockpit open. You put a hand on your saber, using the Force and your wings to propel up and out of the X-Wing, deflecting incoming blaster fires in a flurry of light. You spun down to the ground, skilled movements dispatching Stormtroopers as they approached.

You slashed your saber in a figure-8, returning any enemy fire right back to the senders, knocking them on their asses with a chorus of groaning.

In moments, there was a pile of Stormtroopers at your feet, a very impressed pilot climbing out of the cockpit. He unloaded BB-8, who rolled ahead of you down one of the hallways, following some kind of signal from Soren.

You felt a similar pull, but this one, you could tell, was the Force. It came from your chest, like a tether stretched down the endless hallways, leading you towards him, your nephew. Your family.

Poe gripped his blaster, a hand on your arm. “Bee says he’s this way.”

“He’s right.” You nodded, lightsaber still aglow in your hand. “I can feel it.”

You ran down stark white and black corridors. Maker, did it bring back memories…They were still using all the same designs, color scheme unchanged.

“Landing in four minutes. How are we looking, Poe?” Rey asked.

“We are looking great. She took out twenty Stormtroopers before I even got out of the cockpit.” Poe relayed. “They know we’re here, but we’re on the way to Soren now. Shouldn’t be long before we find him.”

BB-8 stopped suddenly in front of a door, letting you know that this was the one.

You reached forward, focusing on the control panel. It was a biometric lock, only meant for very specific people to get through. They obviously knew who they had their hands on, that this captive was an important one. You felt the mechanical pieces inside, feeling for the one tiny chip, and used the Force to trigger it.

The light turned green, door sliding open. You powered down your saber and hooked it to your belt once you saw the room was empty aside from Soren, strapped onto what you could only assume was a torture rack.

There he was, your nephew. His youthful features were weighed down by exhaustion and pain, blood trailing down from his temple.

“Brings back…memories.” Poe said with a shiver.

“Same here.” You said, walking straight over to him and undoing the restraints with a flourish of your hand.

You stood over him, waiting for him to wake. “Soren?”

Poe gave his shoulder a shake, his other hand on his blaster, eyes locked on the door. “Come on, buddy, we’ve gotta go.”

He stirred, eyes meeting yours through a thick layer of exhaustion. “That was fast.”

“Not fast enough, apparently. Sorry, kid.”

“‘M alright.” He insisted, struggling from the hold of the table. You helped pull him out. “Who are…?”

“I’m (Y/N). Your…mother’s sister.”

“Aunt (Y/N)?” He asked, eyes shooting open. “They…they found you.”

“Did you ever doubt us?” Poe asked with a chuckle.

“Didn’t expect you to be so…young.” Soren noted.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to be so old.” You replied, the boy standing in front of you only younger than you by roughly five years. It was odd, to say the very least, given that he hadn’t existed as of a week ago. “Or to…exist at all, really…”

“Mum and I were on a mission, looking for your–”

There was sounds of struggle down the hall. You watched as a Stormtrooper flew past the open door, thrown, very obviously, by the Force. Rey and Finn ran past after.

“In here!” You called.

They turned and joined you in the interrogation room. Rey held out another saber, gold hilt. For a moment, you thought you had dropped yours, but no, it was a different saber. As soon as your hand touched the metal, you could tell it was yours, your old one. What had happened to it in the meantime was a mystery, but it still fit so well in your hand.

You pressed the switch, its indigo glow stretching outwards, familiar to you. You’d missed it. Somewhere in your soul, you could tell it had been a long time since you’d held it.

“Your saber.” Soren said, completing his sentiment from earlier. “We figured you’d need it if you were going to help us take down the First Order, but it seems like you got your hands on another one…”

You powered it down, offering it to him. “Are you trained?”

He stared at it, flabbergasted. “What?”

“Can you use this?”

“I’m not a Jedi.” Soren said, shaking his head.

You felt it in him, Force sensitivity. But maybe he’d been too preoccupied with his budding membership in the Resistance to notice it just yet.

BB-8 let out a string of agitated beeps.

“Company.” Poe announced, blaster poised at the ready.

“We’ll talk about this later, then.” You assured him, powering up both sabers, the pink and purple filling the cold room with a warm glow. It was like both of you were standing there, your old self and your new self. You’d fought the Empire for years, it was time to give the First Order a taste of what they’d been missing in your absence. “I’ve never dual-wielded before, but…there’s a first time for everything.”

Poe laughed, triumphant, face lit in an excited smile. “I like the sound of that!”

Rey and Finn led the charge back towards the Falcon, where Chewie was keeping it warm. The rest of you followed, Poe blasting, ducking for cover behind pillars you passed, Soren right behind him.

You covered them, deflecting most of the blaster fire sent their way.

The hangar was flooded with Storm troopers. Chewie tried to shake as many as he could, but there were a few on top of the hood, trying to crack into it with a variety of weapons.

Rey handled the ones on the ground, hundreds of troopers doing their damndest to prevent your escape. Bless their hearts.

Your wings fluttered and you spun up onto the top of the Falcon, the five Stormtroopers there stopping to stare at you before redirecting their fire. You spun both sabers with ease, deflecting their shots down onto the troopers on the ground, taking out two dozen or so before they got the hint and stopped shooting.

One came at you with a large, electrified melee weapon. He swung at your feet, but you jumped over it, slicing through the shaft of the weapon before turning and slicing through his armor on the backswing.

You threw a saber at another, using the Force to draw it back in an elongated spin through the air, and then finished off the other three in a few quick moments.

“We’re all inside, (Y/N), ready when you are.”

“Tell Chewie to open the sunroof.” You said, deactivating your sabers and clipping them to your belt. You ran, dropping into a slide just as said sunroof opened beneath you. You dropped into the ship, pressing the button on the wall to close it again.

You strode into the cockpit, where Poe was hovering over the controls, his jaw dropping open when he saw you standing there, already inside. He shook it off, refocusing on the task at hand: escape.

“What about the X-Wing?” You asked before noticing it in flames at the edge of the hangar. Figured. “Nevermind.”

“And with that, we are outta here.” Poe settled into the driver’s seat, Chewie as his copilot.

They sped out of the hangar, weaving through blaster fire until finally, you were all out of range.

“Wanna kick it into hyperdrive for me?” Poe asked, motioning to the lever.

You leaned over him, hand wrapping around the metal handle. “When, now?”

He wrapped his hand around yours, shifting it backwards. “Now.”

The pilot lingered for a moment before taking his hand off of yours, eyes searching your face, as if to make sure you were real, that you weren’t really just a fairytale, especially after watching you in action, leaping around like the famed warrior Leia had always claimed you to be.

He’d believed it before, but he’d just seen it with his own eyes. To say he was starstruck did not even begin to cover what he was feeling.

And somehow, despite it all, you were so normal with him, still bantering, flirting even. Maker, he was in it deep, now.

He pushed it down, that bubbling, boiling, burning feeling, focusing instead on the expanse of space in front of him. He looked at you, forcing a casual smile. Any more than that, and he felt his heart might explode. “You were great out there, Princess.”

“So were you, flyboy.” You complimented. You put a hand on his shoulder, sending his heart racing. “I’m gonna go talk to Soren.”

“Yeah, of course. We’ve got it handled up here, right Chewie?”

Chewie roared, reaching out for a hug that you granted him, all laughs and smiles. “It is, buddy. Just like old times.”

***

The Millenium Falcon pulled into the Resistance base to cheers and applause, the team rallying down on the ground at a rather successful mission. Soren had been rescued, and there had been no casualties, aside from Poe’s latest X-Wing, but that was nothing that couldn’t be replaced.

You walked out of the Falcon alongside your nephew. You had spent the hour back to base getting to know him. He was a bright young man, funny with a dazzling wit and a kind heart. Laesynda had raised him well.

And, of course, she was standing there just outside the ship, pulling both of you into her arms as soon as you reached her.

It was so strange. From an outsider’s perspective, you could have almost been her child, his older sister. Instead, your family tree had been twisted. But in that moment, it was just nice, the three of you all together. Your little family.

Your sister, cupped your cheek with her hand, staring at you for the first time, really taking in the sister that had come back to her after all this time, her older sister that had become her younger sister.

“Thank you, for bringing him back to me.”

“Of course, Laecy. I’d do anything for you.” It had always been the truth.

“I see you’ve met your aunt.”

“She really is something, Mum. Used two lightsabers at once, took out nearly four dozen stormtroopers in five minutes! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I don’t think it was four dozen.” You replied, chuckling.

“Damn near that many.” Poe said, approaching. He was fiddling with his gloves, still wearing his flight suit, the bright orange causing him to stand out. Not that he didn’t already. His mere existence was enough to turn your head. “Admiral, is there anything else you need before I go change out of this?”

“You’re all set, Commander. Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work.” He grinned, eyes lingering on you as he walked back towards the pilot locker rooms.

“Seems the Commander’s taken a liking to you.” Laecy said with a girlish grin.

“I would say so, yeah. Unexpected, but…I’m warming up to it.” Your hands rested on your belt, where both sabers were strapped. It reminded you of your thought earlier. “Soren, would you want to come to training with Rey and I from here on out? It’s okay if I’m wrong, but…I just have this feeling that you could benefit from some Force work. I feel like there’s something there.”

He looked at his mother, as though asking for permission. She nodded, that knowing sparkle in her eye.

“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. It’s always been hard for me to tell, since you left.” Laesynda admitted.

“You think I’m…a Jedi too?”

“I think you could be, if it’s something you want to work on. It runs in the family, after all.”

“Then I’ll be there. I’d like to try. Help the Resistance however I can.” He said, eyes sparkling with an impossible amount of hope. No wonder Leia had prioritized his rescue so highly. That, and you were sure she wanted to send you on a test run. Make sure you hadn’t lost your touch.

He walked off towards the canteen for dinner, where the rest of the crew was beginning to wander, murmurings of a victory party beginning to spread.

“So, (Y/N), you promised when you came back you’d let me braid your hair.” Laesynda proposed, a certain shyness in her voice, like she was afraid you’d say no. Or maybe she was afraid you’d forgotten her final proposition to you all those years ago.

You smiled, reaching for her hand, which she gladly gave you. “I’d love that.”

So Long, Space Boy

You sat in your sister’s quarters, in a hall with the rest of the Admirals. She had a full-sized bed, quite a few things from home. In a small cooling unit, she had several glass bottles of sweet drinks. She offered you one with a smile and you took it gladly, enjoying the warm buzz of it.

She plucked a brush from the dresser along with some clips and an elastic to tie your hair off and set to work, parting off pieces and carefully weaving them into intricate strands.

“I missed you.” She spoke, breaching the quiet that had settled.

“I missed you, too.” You told her, and it was true. Despite the fact that it had only been a few days since you’d seen her, it still made your heart ache to know that she was offworld, not only alive, but older.

Older than you.

She’d been ten when you’d left with Luke and the others. And you’d blinked and now she was a woman, a few strands of silver mixed into the gentle waves of her hair, wrinkles beside her eyes. She had a son. She’d had a life. It hurt indescribably that you hadn’t been there for any of it.

“Tell me everything. Tell me about your life.” You told her, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she gently worked through your hair.

“Well, I was raised by the few surviving elders of Mariposas on a small settlement of us on Yavin 4. Not a lot of us survived, but…there were enough. I lived there for several years, met a man, got married, and had Soren not long after. Everything was…perfect for a while. Then, things with the First Order started getting worse. Leia touched base. At first, I thought I could stay out of it, but…that just was not an option. The First Order tried to recruit Soren at every turn. I couldn’t keep him safe anymore, so we found Leia, joined up with the Resistance.”

“What happened to your husband?”

“He’s undercover. Doing work underground. Last I heard, he’s safe. We hear from him every few months.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

“He’d love to meet you.” She replied, tying off the braid at the end, laying it over your shoulder. “Leia told me her plan years ago, to track down the last Healers’ Pendant, to wake you. I thought it was too good to be true, but…then she put Poe Dameron on the case. That boy doesn’t know how to give up. He’s one of the best.”

“Seems like it.” You agreed, chest buzzing at the thought. Poe had saved you. You knew that much. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I was going to say the same.” She laughed. You turned to look at her, facing her on the bed, just like when you were girls. You’d always had quite the age gap, but you tried to involve yourself as much as you could while she was young, unlike your brother, who couldn’t be bothered with bonding with either of you.

“Now, it seems you’re ready for that party the mechs were buzzing about.”

“Party? I don’t know about all that. Was this your scheme from the beginning?”

“You’re still young.” She said with a soft, bittersweet laugh. “You should enjoy it. Besides, a certain pilot could very well be in attendance. You never know.”

“Is he usually at those things?”

“On several occasions, he has been known to make an appearance or two.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.” You lied.

“Banthashit. Let’s go.” She stood, ushering you towards your room.

You unlocked it and led her inside, where you went through the clothes you had brought. Admittedly, there was not a lot you were working with. You’d packed light. But she pulled one dress, a long, flowing thing that looked like it had been hand-dipped in a sunset.

“This one. You always looked so beautiful in it.”

“It’s not…outdated?”

“It may be a little old-fashioned, but…I think that’s what they need right now. A little old-fashioned Rebel moxie.”

You laughed, holding the dress up to your frame, thinking about it for a long few moments before committing and changing into it, abandoning your Jedi robes for the summery gown instead. It wasn’t all that long, had some off-the-shoulder sleeves, and of course, the open back for your wings. It had been custom-made for you, a birthday or something, before you’d left to join up with the Rebellion.

You were glad you’d brought it with you.

Laecy plucked your delicate golden circlet from your assorted jewelry and gently set it on your head, her hand lingering against your face. Her lips pressed into a pout and tears welled in her eyes as she looked at you. “This is how I remember you.”

You choked on a sob, pulling her into your arms, gently stroking through her hair like you had done when she was a child. You may have looked the way she remembered you, but the Laecy you remembered was gone now, living on only in your memory.

She had grown up and you would never see her again.

***

Laecy retired to her room to work on reports, giving you one last shove towards the party you were still thinking of avoiding.

You could hear it long before you could see it, talking and music and laughter echoing over the hill. Poe was standing outside the canteen, pacing, nursing a cup of what you could only assume was Jet Juice, if that was still something they made for parties on these Resistance bases.

You approached slowly, second-guessing every step until his eyes finally fell on you and that face broke out into that infamous smile that had the girls on comms giggling and kicking their feet. You couldn’t say you blamed them.

“Didn’t think you’d come down here, your Highness.” He said, eyes raking down your body from the circlet perched in your hair to the dress you were wearing. He bit his lip. “I was hoping you would, though.”

“I’ve never been known to shy from a party.” You said with a chuckle. “Had quite the reputation in my day.”

He smirked. “Oh, I know. Shall we?”

Poe offered his hand and you considered for a moment before taking it, arm tucked behind his as he led you into the canteen. Cadets bobbed along to music one of the droids was playing. One of the other pilots was bartending, mechs crowded around a table playing Space Pong.

Another round of introductions broke out. You sipped Jet Juice from a cup as Poe bragged about your mission, recounting your acts of bravery, the way you made lightsaber wielding look as easy as breathing.

“You’re one to talk, flyboy. I’ve never seen a pilot fly like you.” You told him, eyes meeting his.

“You mean that?”

“Every word.”

Rose held up a box of what appeared to be a drinking game of some kind. Finn stood beside her, Rey with them, all of them unwinding. “Want to play?”

“Yeah, deal us in.” You said, giving Poe a tug over towards them. They had two couches on either side of a small, illuminated coffee table. You sat on the end, Poe in the seat next to you, his leg touching yours and his arm settling on the couch behind you.

“So how was it?” Snap asked, sitting on a chair he’d pulled up. “Cramming another person into an X-Wing?”

“Cozy.” Poe replied, taking a sip of his drink, arm hovering dangerously close to your shoulders. “Didn’t expect it to work so well, honestly.”

“Could have used another seatbelt, though.” You added. “I almost got a face full of windshield when this guy did a barrel roll. Good thing he’s got quick reflexes.”

“Oh so you got cozy cozy.” Finn laughed, eyebrow quirking at the look on Poe’s face when he said it.

“Had to reach the control rod somehow.” He shrugged, glancing over at you. “(Y/N) didn’t seem to mind.”

“Wow, you’re on a first name basis with the Princess of Mariposas?” Snap teased. “Must be nice.”

“After today, I think he’d have to be.” You said with a grin, tucking your legs up against Poe’s thigh.

Poe’s arm finally drifted from the back of the chair, settling around your shoulders as soon as you made a move closer to him. It was like he couldn’t stop himself. And when you met his eyes, you could tell that was the case. His gaze softened, eyes scanning over your face, down the intricate braid that sat on your shoulder. Somehow, you felt closer than you had been earlier, despite the fact that you weren’t literally perched on his lap this time.

His eyes flicked down to your lips and you thought he might actually kiss you, in front of your budding friend group. Part of you wanted him to. Instead, his eyes drifted out the window and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ummm…”

“What?” You turned to look. Standing at the edge of the woods was a blue, glowing figure.

Luke. It had to be.

Your heart flickered with something between elation and rage. He finally decided to make an appearance. How convenient for him.

“Maker. Alright. Great. I’ll, uh, be right back.” You said, unfurling yourself and brushing yourself off, suddenly self-conscious.

“You want us to wait for you?” Rose asked as a few more stragglers joined their circle.

“You can start without me. Just save me a seat.” You replied, giving the others one final look before turning and walking towards the woods.

From a distance, he looked like Obi-Wan, in a way, shrouded in a phantom hood, his blue glow eerie and awe-inspiring. When you got closer, it was clear. This was Luke, under that beard and long grayed hair. Your space boy had grown into an old man.

“You don’t look thrilled to see me, Princess.” He said, voice echoing at the edges, another reminder of the plane of existence that stood between the two of you now.

“I reached out for you three days ago. Might have been more thrilled to talk to you then.”

He chuckled to himself, sounding bitter. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” You asked, heart racing, a searing rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I…I’ve had the time to do the math, you know. It took Poe Dameron a week to find that pendant. You had thirty years. Pardon me for feeling like maybe you didn’t want me to wake up.”

“Walk with me.” He reached out, offering his arm.

You stared at it for a long moment, anger still bubbling beneath the surface. But you relented, taking his arm as best you could, and walking deeper into the woods.

Fireflies floated from tree to tree, illuminating the darkened moon. You remembered the glowing butterflies of your home planet. You wondered if they’d survived the attack, if any of the fauna had. You hadn’t really stuck around there long enough to find out.

“I wanted to. You have to know I wanted to.” He said, face shifting from his wizened older form to your space boy, eyes clear when they met yours, features identical to the way he’d looked the day you’d left.

“No. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t use his face against me.” You said, staring straight at him. Your heart ached. You motioned to him vaguely. “This Luke loved me. He wouldn’t have let me rot in a healing pod for three decades.”

With a sigh, he aged himself again, long silver beard replacing his smooth, youthful face. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Tried to find it or tried to wake me?” You asked, jaw set on edge as you braced yourself against his words.

“Both, I…I searched the wreckage for days. Couldn’t even find one with the Force. I tracked down the elders after they’d scattered, I searched markets and spoke to smugglers and…every night, I dreamt of your life here. This was your destiny. This Resistance needed you and I knew I couldn’t stand in the way of it. So…I stopped looking.”

“It should have been my choice.” You said, words dripping with venom. “My whole life is gone! Don’t you realize that? You’re dead. Han’s dead. Lando is Maker knows where and Leia has been here alone, knee-deep in a Resistance that you were too stubborn to join! I could have been here! I could have helped train Rey so long ago. So many people died. So many.”

“I know…”

“I don’t think you do! You made one measly attempt to fulfill our dream and then hid in a cave for years!” You took a shaking breath. “My little sister is older than me now, Luke. She had to live her whole life without me. I should have been there for her. I should have been the one raising her. She should have had someone. Her whole family died and you left me there to sleep.”

He nodded, letting you vent for the first time since you’d awoken. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that about covers it.” Your wings flared behind you. You faced him, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “I wish things had been different is all.”

“I do too.” He agreed, eyes wandering back to camp. “And I’m sorry. Maybe someday, you’ll realize why it had to be like this. If I could have taken your place, I would have in a heartbeat, but…I knew you had to be here. They need you. They need you like this. It was always supposed to be you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “Maybe someday, I’ll understand.”

“You already do.” He said, tilting his head. “I loved you, (Y/N), with all my heart, but part of me always knew our destinies weren’t intertwined the way I wanted them to be. That you were supposed to be here…with them, with…”

“With who?”

He didn’t answer. “And I’ll always be here with you. Always. I’ll be here to guide you as best as I can. I lived my life. Now it’s time to live yours. Live our dream, bring up the next class of Jedi, just like we always wanted to.”

Another tear fell down your face. “I just wish I didn’t have to carry it alone. I was supposed to carry it with you.”

“I know, Princess. I…I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me. But I need you to be strong for them. For Leia. She needs you, they all do.”

You nodded, but didn’t say much else, your opinions on the matter still swirling before they settled. Maybe someday, you’d come to terms with it once the whiplash healed.

He walked you back to the edge of the woods, hand held in yours as best as it could be. You hugged him tightly, his phantom form manifesting physically for just a moment, just so you could say goodbye.

“Goodbye, Princess.”

You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek, and then he faded, leaving you alone at the edge of the woods to think over everything he’d said. Your destiny was here, with the Resistance. You wiped away the tear trickling down your cheek, and turned back to the party, more than ready to finish your drink and take your mind off things.

The group around the table was laughing and talking, shuffling through the metal cards in the box, different challenges etched on each. Poe was sitting, deep in thought, the spot beside him saved by BB-8, who looked so silly up on the couch. As soon as Poe saw you approach, his focus jumped to you, searching you like you were a ship’s console, reading the flashing signals to figure out what was wrong.

He left the group for a moment, walking over to you instead, to give you a moment of privacy if you needed it. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Good. I…” you chuckled in advance at how ridiculous it was going to sound, but said it anyway, “I think I just broke up with Luke Skywalker. Or…he broke up with me. Kind of…unclear, actually.”

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth opening and then closing as he tried to find his words. “Are you…okay?”

You nodded, managing a hopeful smile. “I am. Help take my mind off of it?”

“Oh, I’m good at that.” He offered his hand, palm up, fingers splayed.

You took it, his palm rough against yours. Warm. “I know you are.”

You walked back over the couch together, where instead of whatever game Rose had pulled out, the group was now playing a very intense game of Never Have I Ever.

“Oh, right. If you’ve ever pet a bantha, worn a Stormtrooper helmet, been drunk on Coruscant, or snuggled with a Wookie, you have to take a sip.” Poe filled you in.

You reached for your cup and took a long sip from it. “I have indeed snuggled with a Wookie. Chewie gives very good cuddles.”

“Snap, your turn.”

“Alright.” He eyed up Poe and said. “Never have I ever kissed a Jedi.”

Poe shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure, myself.”

“Okay that feels very targeted. There were only two of us. Three if you count Yoda.” You laughed, taking another sip. “And we kissed each other back then, so…very limited pool you’re pulling from here.”

“Oh!” Snap laughed. You could tell he had been fishing for something else. “You and Skywalker.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, finally letting the burden of it go. It didn’t need to be a secret anymore, especially now, since it was over. Since he was gone. “Me and Skywalker. Worst-kept secret in the galaxy.” You looked at Poe, testing the waters a little bit. “Besides, what happens in the X-Wing stays in the X-Wing.”

He let out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “What she said. My turn? Never have I ever wielded a lightsaber. There. That’s at least three of you.”

“Three?” You asked, taking yet another sip of your drink. “Who’s the third?”

“Finn has some lightsaber history.” Rose said, swirling the liquid around in her cup.

“Really, that is interesting. We’ll have to get you back on that.”

“You’ve spent like a week here and you’re converting us all to Jedi.” Finn chuckled, reaching for his drink.

“Well someone’s gotta.” You shrugged, curling up against Poe again. His arm rested on the back of the couch, but you could feel him thinking about wrapping it around you instead. You kind of wished he would. You leaned closer to him, face inches from his, liquid confidence finally kicking in.

His eyes found you, intrigued, watching your every move.

“You can hold mine if you want, you know. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”

His thick eyelashes brushed against his tan cheekbones. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hold what, your Highness?”

“My lightsaber.” You raised your eyebrows, heart racing under his intense brown gaze. “What did you think I was gonna say, Dameron?”

He smiled, tongue jutting over his bottom lip. You imagined them pressed to yours, and you weren’t sure if it was a vision or just a fantasy, the way they’d feel, the way he’d sound. You swore you could feel his stubble tickling across your skin, his fluffy curls threaded through your fingers, warm warm skin on yours.

You snapped out of it with a start. This was why the Force and alcohol didn’t mix.

He didn’t answer. “Your turn.”

“Right. Well, there’s a lot of things I have done.” You turned your attention to the rest of the group that was still sitting there, watching. “Never have I ever been inside a TIE fighter.”

A few people in the circle took sips, laughing and chatting amongst each other. You watched them all. This crew, this Resistance. Maybe Luke was right. Maybe this was where you belonged.

You glanced over at Poe, at the lovesick look that was already set deep in those warm brown eyes of his. You could feel it, stirring around in his heart. Had been since that first night in the canteen. Maybe even since the moment he saw you.

Yeah, maybe Luke was right about other things, too…

The Heirloom

You had something of a headache the next morning. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given the sheer amount of Jet Juice you’d consumed the night before. You got some breakfast before training, sliding familiarly into your seat between Poe and Rey.

He quirked up an eyebrow at your sheer exhaustion. “You feeling alright, your Highness? Looking a little worse for wear.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya, flyboy.” You groaned, reaching for the cup of caf he’d gotten for you and drinking, not bothering to let it cool. The heat definitely woke you up.

“Some party last night, huh?” Finn asked, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

“You should have seen the afterparty on Endor.” You chuckled. “I was hungover for four days after that.”

“I’ve heard.” Poe chuckled. “That party lives in infamy among former Rebels, you know.”

“Oh I’m sure it does.” You grinned into the mug nursed between your hands.

You tried to ignore the way he looked at you, that absolute warmth in his eyes, but you feared it wasn’t going away any time soon.

After breakfast, you and Rey walked out into the clearing, where Soren was waiting, trying to meditate on one of the stumps up there. He opened his eyes when you stepped on a twig.

“Aunt (Y/N). Good morning. I didn’t know when you wanted to start.”

“How long have you been out here?” You asked with a gentle laugh.

His cheeks flushed. “Probably too long, to be honest.”

“How’s the meditating going?” You asked.

“It’s hard to get my mind to be quiet.”

“It was hard for me at first, too. They used to tell me to just quiet my mind and listen, but sometimes it’s easier to just count.” You told him, sitting on the stump beside him, legs crossed, back straight. “Deep breaths. Close your eyes. Listen to the leaves rustle in the trees. You don’t have to feel anything right away. It’s not something you can push, anyway. All you can do is listen, and if your mind won’t be quiet, just count.”

“Count to what?”

“Up from zero. As high as you need.” You told him, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, listening to the rustling branches.

“What are we listening for today, Master?” Rey asked, voice smooth and even as she sat on the third stump.

“Just listening. Seeing what the Force has to say.” You replied, colors blossoming across the back of your eyelids. You listened, breaths long and even. Your focus was drawn to your heartbeat, steadfast in your chest.

You felt Rey and Soren beside you. You took another breath and felt your sister in her room, working on reports, Leia strategizing her next move in the war that had consumed her life.

You gently searched the others. The pilots, the mechs. Watched as Poe worked on a dilapidated X-Wing, sweat on his brow. BB-8 rolled past his feet. He glanced up the hill, where you were and suddenly, you disconnected, feeling like you were encroaching on his privacy. Some people didn’t take kindly to that kind of thing. You didn’t know the details, but you knew Poe had some experience with Force torture. Not that this was that, but you were sure he might feel a little weird about it, still.

You checked in on the rest of the camp, gently, and when you were done, you opened your eyes, the other two looking at you, ready and eager to learn.

You ran some basic drills, starting Soren with a stick and making him fence with you, also using a stick, both sabers still strapped to your belt. You did an agility course, testing his balance, his precision. He had a lot to learn, but it was clear you were right. He was meant to this. He was meant to follow your path.

***

A week passed. Then two.

Soren was progressing quickly, Rey even quicker. She was already moving bigger objects, but with Soren, you knew you’d have to start small.

You hauled a table out into the trees, along with a handful of trinkets, some rocks and other assorted parts no one would miss. You spread them on the surface of the table and encouraged Soren to stand at the end of it. You guided his hand to the surface of the table.

“Just what, move them?”

“Move one.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them will do.” You replied. “Don’t overthink it. This is the biggest hurdle. Once you can do this, you can do anything.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Then we keep working on the other stuff and come back to this later,” you encouraged, all positivity. Right now, you had the luxury of training him with gentleness. There was no pressure for you to have a third Jedi. Two was already double what the Resistance had a few weeks earlier.

Soren nodded, concentration furrowing his brows. He pushed and you could feel the effort behind his muscles.

Finn and Poe were standing at the edge of the field, watching somewhat curiously while you and Rey worked with your nephew.

There was a faint buzz on the air and then nothing. The rocks didn’t move an inch. Soren looked to you for help.

“You’re pushing.” You said, noting the discovery, not scolding him in the slightest. “And sometimes you do have to push, but…try pulling.”

“Pulling?”

You held out a hand, and instead of forcing the rock to move, you let it rise, gently pulling it up into the air, where it floated around a few times before you set it back down.

“Pulling.” Soren repeated, and you could tell he got it. He reached a hand out, movements more deliberate, less desperate. He took a breath, let it out, and then, slowly, the rock rose into the air, lifted only by his concentration.

He gasped and the rock fell back onto the table.

“Yes!” You pumped your fist, jumping, wings fluttering at the small victory. “Yes! You did it!”

“I did it.” He breathed, still in disbelief. “I’m a Jedi…”

“We’re getting you there.” You assured him, a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll need to get you fitted for some robes before you know it.”

“On that happy note, lunch?” Poe suggested, motioning back towards the canteen.

“Lunch.” You agreed. “They probably need this table back, huh?”

“I’ll take it back.” Rey assured, using the Force to lift it into the air.

“I was gonna do that.” Poe chuckled, hands on his hips.

“With the Force?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” He laughed, offering his hand, but you thought for a moment.

“I’ll be right down. Just need a second with my nephew.”

“Alright.” Poe nodded, taking a few steps away, but lingering not too far.

Soren was all smiles, still in disbelief at what he’d just done. You hugged him, beaming with pride not only in him, but in yourself. You had done it. You’d trained him. You’d helped get him to this point.

“I have something for you. I think you’re ready for it now.” You told him, stepping away and pulling one of your sabers off of your belt, the older one, forged from your mother’s bracelets and a whole lot of love.

His eyes fell on it and his jaw dropped. He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t possibly…we got that saber for you. It’s yours.”

“It was.” You agreed. “It’s made from your grandmother’s bracelets. This saber…it represents family, legacy. You are my family. And someday, you’ll be my legacy. ” You chuckled to yourself. “I think that statement would hold a lot more weight if I wasn’t literally five years older than you, but you get what I’m saying. This saber is meant for you. Someday, we’ll find you a crystal of your own and you can make your own saber like the Jedi of old, but for now, I would be honored if you’d wield this for me.”

You handed it to him, wrapping both of his hands around it to ensure he’d actually take it and he did, staring at the gift and taking a long, shaking breath. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, biting on the end of a sob.

You pulled him back into your arms, comforting him until he was well enough to join the rest of you for lunch. When you turned to walk back to the canteen, Poe was there, that soft, impressed smile on his face.

He touched your shoulder, eyes saying more than words ever could. His hand slid to the middle of your back, just above your wings, gently guiding you as you walked together towards the rest of your friends.

Stained Glass Silk

You shot up in the middle of the night, sweat beaded on your forehead, heart racing from a particularly bad nightmare, the kind that made your wings burn and the scar above your hip tingle.

Insidia.

All signs pointed to her being dead, but that sure didn’t stop you from dreaming about her.

You stared at the ceiling for a while before slipping out of bed, putting on some slippers and walking through the dim hallways to the canteen. There were a few people milling around, but that was it in the dead of night, just a few patrols and custodians, holding the place together while everyone else was fast asleep.

In the kitchens, there was a pile of clean dishes waiting to be put away. So, seeing as there was no one else around, you set to work, putting silverware in their allotted slots in the drawers, unbending a few fork prongs and scrubbing at particularly stubborn spots on spoons, putting them back in the washer to run again in the morning.

“Never thought I’d catch a princess doing the dishes, but stranger things have happened, I suppose.” Poe said, leaning in the doorway, a smirk on that handsome face. “Can’t sleep?”

“Never can, these days.” You shrugged, tucking a few more forks away in their drawer. “And I used to do the dishes a lot, for your information.”

“Why’s that?”

“Chores are chores. Everyone’s gotta do them at some point. Used to help me focus. I liked making sure all the little stuff was done so people could focus on the big stuff instead.”

“My mom used to say that.” He smiled softly, taking a few steps further into the room and reaching for some of the smaller dishes, making sure they were all dry before moving them to the overhead cupboard they belonged in.

The two of you worked in quiet, the sounds of clinking dishes accompanied by the occasional brush of his hands on yours when you reached for the same piece.

“Nightmares?” He asked. “Or is it still…hard for you to go to sleep?”

“Nightmares, mostly.” You confessed. “Sometimes Palpatine. His voice, his…laugh.” You shivered even thinking about it. “Most of the time, it’s Insidia. I know she’s dead. They both are, but…sometimes that doesn’t help all that much.”

He nodded. “What happened? Before you…you know. They say you got stabbed with a saber.”

“I would have died if that was the case.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “No wonder I was such a legend, with info like that going around. No, I…” You moved the fabric of your sleep tank, revealing the scar that still sparkled against your skin, just above your hip bone. “She stabbed me here. Twisted metal dagger. The sparkling is from the healing pod. It’ll go away eventually. And then she…cut off my wings with her saber. You can kind of see where, that shiny gold line there.” You pulled your wings under one arm, closer so he could see.

He stared at it, gaze hardening when he realized just what you’d been through. “Did it hurt?”

You nodded. “Worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Just absolutely…white-hot. I blacked out and…well, you were standing there when I woke up. I guess I’m lucky, more or less. Most Mariposans don’t ever grow theirs back after an injury like that. I think the sheer time I spent in that pod alone is what forced them to grow back.”

He reached a hand out, as if to touch one, but drew it back quickly, suppressing his curiosity for fear of stepping over one of those unspoken lines between you.

Surely, he didn’t know what a statement that was, what it would mean for him to touch them. It meant…something more to Mariposans.

Still, you took his hand, meeting his eyes before gently pulling his palm against the surface of your wings. You let him adjust to the feeling before guiding his hand across them, watching the emotions flicker across his face, tingles running down your spine at his featherlight touch.

“Maker, they’re so…they feel like silk. I thought…well, they look like glass, so…” He whispered. “Can you fly with them?”

“Short distances.” You nodded, gazing up at him through your lashes. “You’ve seen the extent of it by now, I’m sure. They’re not meant for travel, more like branch to branch. We used to live up in trees.”

Poe nodded, listening to every word. His free hand rose to your cheek, calloused thumb skimming across your cheekbone and causing your breath to hitch.

One hand on your wings, the other on your heart, or so the saying went.

“They’re beautiful.” He said finally, but he wasn’t looking at your wings anymore. He took a step closer, the hand on your wing floating down to your hip, pulling you closer, chest nearly flush with his. “Your Highness–”

“There you are, Princess. I was wondering where you had gone. BB-8 said he saw you wander down the hall, so I took it upon myself to make sure you were alright, especially being out and about at this time of night.” Threepio explained, his sudden appearance sending your heart racing. Sure enough, BB-8 was there, too, rolling into the doorframe. “Although, I do admit, I did not expect to find you here as well, Commander Dameron.”

His head swiveled from you, to Poe, and back. BB-8 beeped out an apology.

“Thanks, Threepio.” You chuckled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, buddy. I’m alright. Just getting some dishes put away. I’ll head back to bed soon. And I’ll make sure Poe here gets to his bunk, too.”

“Oh, it is my pleasure! Have a good rest of your night. I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

With him gone, you looked back up at Poe, whose thumb was still anchored to your cheek. He shook his head, chuckling before letting it hang down towards the floor, shame brewing in his chest.

You lifted his face with a gentle hand, your feelings unspoken, but hanging there in the air, in your eyes. You knew he felt it, too.

“You know…if the nightmares ever get too bad, my room is right down the hall. We could sit for a while. Talk about it.”

“I appreciate it.” You nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his stubble-covered cheek, just beneath the scar on his cheekbone. “Goodnight, Poe.”

He smiled, frozen by the simple gesture. His eyes sparkled in the dim kitchen as he watched you leave, your wings drifting like a cape behind you. “Night.”

Tags: @cap-lu20

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe #poe x reader #star wars #star wars sequels #sequel trilogy #jedi!reader

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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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Yo im so tired of people on here coming into writers inboxes and complaining about shit. THIS IS FUCKING FREE!!!! Were fucking lucky that they are responding to ANY messages about their work let alone fucking unconstructive and rude complaints. Because they literally don’t have to do any of this at all. NOTHING! They can post one chapter of a series and hype it up and then never post anything else about it again. They can write for one fandom for years, then switch on a dime and never write anything else for it again. They can say again and again that a fic is almost done then never release it. They don’t owe us shit. It’s a privilege to be able to read the drabbles, scenarios, and fucking novel and series-length stories with the themes, characters, and world-building that we love so much. And then to be complaining about some editing???? I’ve begun stories that I’ve been excited about the premise, and the grammar has been to the point that it’s completely pulled me out and I couldn’t finish it even though I loved where the story was going. I’ve only been reading works on this blog for like a month now, so I don’t know about old stuff. The last one i read I read (the jin gamer/roommate fic i think?) there were like maybe 2 or 3 times where i had to go back and reread and piece together what the intention was or where there seemed to be a missing word, but that’s so rare and like, didn’t pull me out of the story that much. And it’s fucking free! If i paid for a book, then i might be disappointed, but if i paid for a book, there probably would have had a whole publishing team that would have edited that out in the first place!!! Go read things you know are edited if you dont like it and don’t bother people who are providing free things that don’t hurt anyone because of dumb ass reasons.

I 100% get if you don’t post this if you don’t want all this yelling and negativity, but I hope you know that you are appreciated for what you give so freely. This is just one of many comments ive seen lately come to writers on here and while some of them have seemed to come from well-intentioned people, there’s like a sense if entitlement that’s completely unearned behind it that makes me fume! I try to stay out of other people’s business but this made me so mad!!!

Hi wow okay first of all - thank you for overall just getting it. Writing is a really hard thing to do and there are a lot of content creators on this website who are churning out content and trying to do their best to make it good enough for those who engage with them.

I agree with a lot of points on this - when we start to consider reader/writer relationships, a lot of people don't realize that there really isn't an obligation on the writer to do things the way that they're expected, whether it's updating at a certain frequency or editing a certain way or just... anything. While most of the CCs I know (including myself) rely really heavy on audience feedback for the way that we do things, there are certain perceptions, comments or expectations that are just super tiring.

While I totally understand how my minimal editing can seem lazy or like I don't care - that's certainly not it. It's just really the lesser of two evils for me - either I can use editing programs if I don't have someone to beta immediately, or I can delay posting for a few days while I get my bearings and edit.

Most of my writer friends will tell you that editing your own stuff is hard for some people. For some writers it's super easy to pump out a huge fic and turn around and edit. For others, it's not. It's really about what works best for each person, and this is currently what works best for me (I get really nervous delaying fics over and over again because I don't give myself enough grace and time to finish).

But overall - yes, agreed with a ton of things you said in this and I'm responding publically because I think there are a lot of really great points about the writer/reader relationship and expectations.

Editing more is something I definitely want to work on and I'll be better at asking for betas (I always feel very intimidated to do this) but yeah. Thank you!!

#replies

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brynwrites · 6 years ago

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I was just wondering if you had any advice for a new writer? More on how to approach writing a book or anything you wish someone had told you, thanks!

THE BASICS OF NOVEL WRITING

First off, you have to know these two things:

Your first draft of your first book will be terrible.

All your favorite authors of all time wrote a terrible first draft of their first book too. Probably a terrible second and third draft, maybe even a terrible second and third book.

This is okay. It can make writing hard sometimes, but the point of writing is not to whip out a masterpiece the first time you type: it’s to have fun exploring new settings, watching new characters grow, and being the first person to ever experience this story–your story–progress!

So, where do we begin?

Know thine story.(or ya know… to don’t.)

Before you tackle any kind of project that will take months, even years, of work you want to first decide what you’re actually doing. In the case of writing, we outline. (Or sometimes, we deliberately choose not to online, but only after we thought about outlining and maybe tried it out a little.)

There’s no wrong way to outline. Every writer does it differently, and therefore there’s about a million different methods. You can instantly find a ton of them using google, and these are a bunch of my own personal outlining tips.

The things you should know by the end of your outline include:

Setting. Where does your story take place? What does this place feel like? (If it were being filmed as a movie, what would the color palate look like?)

Worldbuilding. If you’re using a real place, how much research have you done? If you’re creating the setting from scratch, in which ways is it like our real world and in which ways is it not? (You don’t need to know everything about your world building going into a project, but it’s good to keep track of what you haven’t figured out yet, so you don’t get to the end of the rough draft and realize that everything you made up along the way contradicts itself.)

Main Characters. Who are they and what do they want? What beliefs or flaws are keeping them from getting what they want, or driving them to want something which hurts them? What’s the first trait someone notices about them? (Check out this nifty character creation sheet for some simple development questions!)

Plot. Now, plot sounds scary to a lot of writers, but a plot is just the accumulation of your other story aspects put at odds with each other. Your characters will make choices trying to get what they want, and those choices will effect the rest of the world, which in turn comes to bite the characters in the butt and force them to make more choices until eventually they get what they want, for better or worse. That’s the basis of a plot: it’s everything standing between your character and the rest of their life. (If you don’t have any semblance of a plot, check out these nifty tricks.)

Genre. Specifically, why are you telling this story in the genre you chose? How do the themes and tropes of the genre work with your story? What would the story look like in another genre?

Optional: The Beginning. If you come to the blank page of death without knowing exactly where you’re starting it can be incredibly daunting. Check out my tips on writing the first act for more help.

However you chose to outline, (and whether you chose to outline at all), the most important thing to know going into a story is what will produce the central conflicts?

Conflict drives a story.

Conflict between characters and other characters.

Conflict between characters and the obstacles to their desires.

Conflict between characters and their own flaws and beliefs.

Even if you have no idea where your story will go or how it will end, as long as you start out your story with a conflict that’s difficult to resolve, you’ll always be on the right track!

Now, to the writing.

For the first draft of your first book, I’m going to suggest this controversial tip: Ignore all the writing advice.

The learning stage of your writing journey (aka the first three books you write) will be a mess of picking up and throwing out advice, and you’ll have plenty of time to do that once you start revising your rough draft, but for now the most important thing is finishing your first novel.

Write your story exactly how you want to and damn the advice.

Some important things to do though:

Decide how many words or pages you want to write a week and try to continuously hit that. (But start out small! Your writing heroes might be churning out a novel in a month, but a thousand words a week can be an good and ambitious goal during your first novel!) The key is to build a habit.

Find someone to motivate you! This can be another writer friend but it can also be a non-writer friend you’re comfortable talking about your writing with. Tell this person what you’re doing and how much work you want to put in each week and let them be your cheerleader.

Don’t get feedback yet. If you do have a writer friend cheering you on, it might be temping to send them your work asking for their opinion, but negative feedback tends to demotivate and make you question yourself. If you’re letting people read your first rough drafts, ask them just to be motivational right now, and then save their critique for when you’re ready to edit!

Don’t even get feedback from yourself. It’s very tempting to stop every three paragraphs and wonder if you could have written them better a different way. And the truth is, you probably could, BUT imagine how much better future writer you (who has finished the whole manuscript and has far more skill than current you) will fix those paragraphs up?! Current you has barely any more skill than the you who wrote those paragraphs last week, so let your future far more skilled self handle it.

Don’t be afraid to change your story and process as you go. If you go into your story believing something specific about it, but you come up with something you like better as you write, you’re allowed to change it. You’re allowed to write it out of order. You’re also allowed to write another story beside (or instead of) the one you set out to write.

Above all: KEEP WRITING. Writing can be tough (even for the best and most skilled of writers) when you stop writing and start thinking, because thinking often leads to doubting and fearing. Just put one word after the next and let your future self worry about whether those words sound good together.

You can find more of my advice about the rough drafting stage here!

So, you have a novel... now what?

Now comes the revision stage. (And yes, you will have to revise. Some writers have to do more revisions than others, but nearly every author worth their salt will have at done at least three drafts of a story before sending it out into the world.)

Just like outlining, there are many ways of revising and each writer has to do what works best for them. Some people rewrite the entire book from scratch. Some take elaborate notes and then rework pieces at a time. Some just dive in and change whatever they don’t like as they read. Here’s an in-depth look at what I do when I edit my rough drafts.

For your first novel, I’d suggest one of two ways:

Rewrite it all. This is a good method if you either changed your story a lot while your wrote or you didn’t have a thorough outline so your resulting story ended up having huge holes. Rewriting is never a waste. Your pacing, dialog, even your prose, will all come out better when you rewrite the same story over.

Re-outline it all. This is a good method if you don’t think you need to rewrite but you don’t know where to begin editing. Read through the story and track everything that happens and then compare it to standard character arcs, three act structures, and so forth. The goal is to figure out how your story compares to the ideal simplistic stories in your genre and then tweak your story to make it closer to the ideal.*

*In no way do you have to stick with traditional or simplistic structures for all your writing, but if you don’t know how and why the traditions work, it’s very hard to produce a great story that defies them.

Once you’ve done some editing yourself, you want to find another writer (or three, or five) who’s of a similar skill set as you and get their feedback. They’ll be able to pick out issues you didn’t notice.

The final thing you’ll have to deal with in the editing process is your prose. Most writers have terrible prose for the first 50k to 100k words they write. Beginning writers who’ve already written short stories or role played or wrote a lot as youngsters tend to have an advantage in this. The thing to always keep in mind is that it’s okay if your first book’s prose is awful.

You’ll have improved your prose just by writing it, and you’ll have a better grasp on story as well. This book doesn’t define who you are as a writer. If you really love the story, you can chose to rework it further to clean it up, or you can use what you learned through it to write another book that’s cleaner from the get-go.

THINGS I WISH I’D KNOWN STARTING OUT

1. First books almost never get published.

A lot of us resist this, because our first books are good, dammit, we worked very hard to make them that way! But the quality of the book isn’t always the thing that holds it back; often the first book we write ends up pretty similar to the more poorly written published fiction, but it wasn’t written with knowledge of the publishing industry and the market.

And that’s okay! It’s okay to write a lovely book that you put aside so you can publish your second or third or fourth book instead. That first story is still wonderful and it still helped you immensely.

2. Not everyone will like even the best story you ever write. (And even if it’s a literary masterpiece some of them will quote literary flaws as the reason they don’t like it!)

It’s common knowledge that everyone has different tastes in literature and one person might dislike a story another person loves. What’s talked about less often, is that the people who dislike a story based on taste, will often pinpoint specific literary aspects they believe were done poorly. They’ll say the characters are bad, and the plot had too many holes, or the prose was clunky. And they’ll probably believe what they say, and find evidence to back it up.

And that’s okay! As long as the majority of your target audience isn’t finding these things a problem, then you’re in the clear as a writer. Not every reader’s critique is valid and not every piece of feedback is worth listening to, even if it has the lingo of a legit critique.

3. You have to be reading in order to write well. Or, more specifically: If you aren’t reading books, you won’t write as well as you can.

It’s easy to assume that just because we read a lot of books growing up and know how stories work that we can write good ones. And in some ways, that can be true. We can write good stories without reading good stories—but we can’t write great ones.

A writer who really wants to improve their craft should try to read a book a month, or more if possible. If you have limited time, you can read shorter books, listen to audiobooks, or quit any book that doesn’t immediately hold your interest. But do read. Read, read, read, read.

4. If you can’t write a blurb, the problem is in your story.

Maybe this is a little harsh; there’s a lot of skill required to writing blurbs and it does take practice! But whether you have a concise story with characters whose goals and resulting conflicts weave seamlessly into the setting and create an easily describable plot with specific, emotional stakes and hard character choices will be very clear when it comes time to write those down as a 200 word blurb.

It’s so essential to blurb writing to have a tense, well paced, nicely woven story, that writing the blurb while you work on the story’s rough draft can actually help you produce a better story!

5. Sometimes the best stories are not the epic masterpieces but the ones you’d want to whiz through despite its many flaws.

And these stories are worth writing. Don’t feel the least bit bad for choosing to write the book you’d want to read as a ‘guilty pleasure.’

And on that note, if you’re still reading this, go check out my guilty pleasure book Our Bloody Pearl to support my ability to answer asks (and also get a swell read about a sassy, disabled siren and a soft, freckly pirate.)

#writeblr #writing help #writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writers on tumblr #authors on tumblr #writers on writing #how to write #creative writing #thedaysidontremember #writing tag: method #method tag: writing #scheduled post

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willimannarai-new · 4 years ago

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Avatar tours#1-3: Zurich-Tokyo

«Am nächsten Tag ging die Sonne auf »

Helmhaus Museum, Zurich/CH

4. December 2020 - 24. January 2021. 20. December 2020 - 2. March 2021 - 5. April 2021

With: Ali Al-Fatlawi, The Bad Conscience (Veru Loremipsum & LS Grave), Seraina Dür & Jonas Gillmann (in collaboration with the Theater Neumarkt Zürich), Philip Matesic, Teresa Pereira, Silvia Popp – Insel Institut, Alicia Velázquez, Guido Vorburger, Wassili Widmer, Willimann/Arai, Mirjam Wirz, Druckatelier Thomi Wolfensberger – curated by Nadja Baldini, Vreni Spieser, Simon Maurer and Daniel Morgenthaler

https://www.stadt-zuerich.ch/kultur/de/index/institutionen/helmhaus/Presse/Presse_am_naechsten_tag.html

Next Day The Sun Came Up – that could be the opening sentence of a novel. The exhibition at Helmhaus is all about breaking out and starting afresh – with the rising sun. It is about the capacity for resistance and regeneration – having overcome sheer exhaustion. It is about the possibilities of renewal. A dozen or so collectives and individuals, idiosyncratic, unconventional and compelling artists from Zurich, are putting themselves and their work out there at Helmhaus.

We actually came up with this title Next Day The Sun Came Up back in 2019. With its interwoven allusions to past, present and future, it could easily be the title of a novel or even of a rom-com. Today, we are all aware that the whole world is like some penny-dreadful. There is no guarantee of a happy ending. The only thing we know for sure is that the sun will come up next day. No matter what happened last night. The relentlessness of time, passing as it does, even over masses of dead bodies, under radiant blue skies, is both a blessing and a curse. Time goes on. That is the only certainty there is. Not for everyone, but for those who remain. Its unpredictable, inexorable advance right across the entire world defines the present. No algorithm can fully help us to prepare for the future, through growth and depression, whether economic or healthwise. And so we stumble along, lightheaded and breathless. What we suppress comes back to haunt us.

Even before the virus began to circulate, we had already chosen circulation as our theme for 2020 and the participating artists had already been exploring concepts of circulation in their art. The participating artists keep on going, producing, creating, heading reflectively into each day. They take the light with them and make something of it. No matter what may come – next day. They weave a web of threads between continents and cultures, between past and present, between day and night, banality and dream. They exchange viewpoints, address their counterparts and opponents. They speak with pigeons.

Four examples: Next day the sun came up – but what was Zurich like the day before? Artist Philip Matesic always develops his works in collaboration with exhibition visitors and passers-by. In this instance, he wants to find out, as part of a collective, whether a city such as Zurich has a memory. In doing so, he uses techniques inspired by American author Joe Brainard’s I Remember, unleashing a veritable stream of memory that inexorably sweeps us along, churning memories of our own to the surface. Zurich? Now, that somehow reminds me…

Mayumi Arai is always eight hours ahead of us and far away, while Nina Willimann explores the area around the Helmhaus: time, space and body overlap on encountering the avatar willimannarai. A flesh-and-blood creature speaks to us, here in Zurich. And yet there is a nagging uncertainty about whether or not we are maybe talking to Tokyo after all. Visitors have the opportunity of accompanying the avatar live on walks through the Old Town, through Altstetten, and even through Tokyo’s Ueno district, near the main station, in Zurich.

Mirjam Wirz’s sound system reaches all the way to the ceiling of the exhibition space. The loudspeakers stacked one on top of another blare out fragments of music and voices from Mexico City, which is where the artist began her research project Sonidero City. Following the traces of cumbia music, Mirjam Wirz brings together people’s stories, music, everyday life, the world around us and the knowledge within us, and combines them to form a mosaic of image and text. Her work bears the title Ojos Suaves (Soft Eyes) and her gaze is correspondingly open, seeking some undefined moment in which everything seems possible. Making things possible is also the key to a project involving twenty Zurich artists. During the first wave of the coronavirus, Martin Senn got ten artists to produce a portfolio of ten lithographs in collaboration with Zurich printmaker Thomi Wolfensberger. We liked the idea so much that we would like to continue the project during the second wave with prints by another ten Zurich artists. Lithography is a new medium for all of them. But why not take advantage of these exceptional times by starting something new?

Events (for dates and details, see the enclosed invitation card, and for updates see www.helmhaus.org) Even the sun has a corona. And so, for Next Day The Sun Came Up, our focus is not so much on big events, but more along the lines of direct – and safe – encounters between visitors and artists. Almost all the artists are present from time to time during opening hours. Teresa Pereira will be continuously working on her wall sculpture to create a radiant body, while Ali Al-Fatlawi will be lending form to the memories of visitors. Alicia Velázquez will be reflecting their dreams in drawings and writings, merged with her own dreams, to create a collective dream. The pigeons are always there for Seraina Dür & Jonas Gillmann and the duo will join them now and again, perhaps singing or dancing. Islands expert Silvia Popp produces chairs in her workshop and reflects on transformation, Wassili Widmer lends rhythm to all these spaces – and all sorts of stuff can happen besides – while Guido Vorburger quietly works on his next painting in his studio.

Discussions will continue at the Helmhaus – we hope – beyond the turn of the year. Speakers will be there as ever, with masks of course, to engage with visitors in reflecting on what has been seen, heard or felt. And, as ever, we’ll be announcing three events that will take place at the Helmhaus sooner or later. The book launch relating to the Neu-Oerlikon Performance Series presents a new publication covering a decade of performances in the public space. Edited by Maricruz Peñaloza and published by Amsel-Verlag Zurich, the book not only documents the contributions made by 150 performers from all over the world, but also addresses wider social, political and cultural issues (Thursday, 10 December 2020). How Swiss museums handle Diversity is the question for our panel discussion on Thursday, 14 January 2021. Based on a research project at the Hochschule der Künste Bern, and moderated by cultural scientist Anke Hoffmann, this is an opportunity for the guest panellists and the public to discuss representation, dependency/dependencies and quality with regard to the topic of diversity. Finally, we welcome a guest who has seen the sun come up for nigh on a century: Fritz Senn, Director of the James Joyce Foundation in Zurich and internationally renowned authority on Joyce, will be speaking with Daniel Morgenthaler in our 5 O’Clock Theses series, this time under the Beckettian title The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new (Wednesday, 16 December 2020). And besides: we can all look forward to the curiosity in the eyes of children, and adults too, putting the everyday behind them for an hour or so at the Helmhaus, thanks to the expertly led and thought-provoking Guided Tours – as well as Studio Tables for children.

For further information and visual material, please contact Nathalie Killias, tel. +41 (0)44 415 56 77, email: [email protected] Information on the exhibition and visual materials are available for download on our website: helmhaus.org.

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cherryfi · 5 years ago

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Bedtime Stories

Word Count: 4424.

Plot: Siren!Doyoung x female reader. The only way to get your kids to sleep is with a bedtime story and this time you tell them about how you met their father.

A/N: It’s Halloween Hoes!!! I’m kicking off the series with some fluffy Doyoung goodness! I’ve been sitting on this one for like a week now :(. I’m a little disappointed with it but, tell me what you think.

Requests are open!! Let me know if you have any other idols/ pairings you want for the series!

“Can you put them to bed for me?” Your husband’s frustrated voice calls out from the top of the stairs down to the kitchen; where you sat working on your next book. The sound of socked feet padding down the stairs quickly followed. With your deadline fast approaching, you were working double time, trying to pull extra hours so that you could finish it on time.

Technically, it was finished but, following the success of your first book, there were obviously expectations set for you to write something bigger and better, the added pressure was stifling your creativity and making you question the directions you took your stories in. A lot of the added pressure came from within. You were a perfectionist by nature; and you wanted to prove to your fans that you could consistently produce incredible works but, you also wanted to silence your critics.

You weren’t a one hit wonder; you were here to stay.

“Y/N? Did you hear me? Can you put them to bed for me?” Now normally, your husband wasn’t this easily frustrated but, it was the holidays and both of your children: your 6-year-old daughter and 3-year-old son were at home all day because it was the holidays. Which meant their father (your husband) had been watching them all day while you worked on your novel.

“Just one more line and then I’ll take over, I promise.” Doyoung wraps his arms around you from behind, squeezing you tightly and rested his head on your shoulder. A small sigh leaves his mouth, his lips next to your ear.

“I’m sure it’s perfect already, you’re just a massive worrier so everything looks like crap to a perfectionist like you. Plus, you’ve been looking at that screen all day , you need a break before you go mad. Anyway, the kids want you to read them and I need to head out. You’ve got it covered yeah?” You kiss his cheek and quietly agree.

“What time is it anyway?”

“It’s 9, you’ve been on it all day. I’m only going to be gone for a few hours but if you’re not up when I get back; goodnight and I love you. Tell the kids I love them too.” He kisses you tenderly and heads out the door into the crisp night air. You watch him grab his car keys from the breakfast bar and the gold plate from its spot by the door.

You roll your shoulders and prepare to get your energetic kids to bed.

“Alright you two little monsters I’m coming to get you!” You hear shrills of laughter as you comically stomp up the stairs; making roaring noises as you go.

As you turn the corner into your son’s room, you see both children dive under the bed.

“I see you!” You drag them both from under the bed, all 3 of you in fits of giggles. You tickle them both until you’re all on the ground, tired from laughing .

“How about a bedtime story?” Quick to their feet both of your kids climb onto your little boy’s bed.

Wracking your mind for a good story to tell, you try to find one in the bookshelf when your daughter pipes up.

“No Mummy I don’t want a book, make one up please?” She bounces excitedly with a sweet smile and who are you to tell her no? Especially when your 3-year-old chants “No books, no books!”

“Alright, Have I ever told you about when I used to be a fisherwoman?” You give a pause and watch both kids dramatically shake their heads.

“No? All right then.”

Deadhorse was a small town, just south of nowhere, that lay along the coastline. It was a fishing town, with no discernible features and nothing interesting to do. There were no tourists here.

If you had the displeasure of being born in Deadhorse, you did everything you could to get the hell out of town.

It was that kind of town. The kind of town that wasn’t on any major map and didn’t connect to the freeway. With a population of 1000, it was relatively sleepy. Everybody went to the same schools and worked in the same places.

The biggest attraction was a beaten up, old pub: ‘The moon and mermaid.’

It was boring and filled with small minded and old people but, it was home and until you could escape, you would the make the most of your situation.

But, it also had it’s perks. Being a sea town there was never a shortage of sea shanties and fire-side tales.

In every small, rural town there are the legends.

Be it myths about harbingers of death in the form of old hags carrying brooms or rakes, or whistled songs from forest depths carried on the wind that lure people in; each town had its story.

For Deadhorse it was the sea.

The sea was a dark and beautiful mistress – calm on the surface but bustling with activity in its depth.

Many a fisherman came into the pub and shared stories of sea creatures who would protect their boats during heavy storms or, recount hearing eerie songs that wrapped around them like the briny air. Though they’d remember hearing the song, they could never recount what it sounded like.

But this wasn’t about them, this was about you.

It was the summer of your 18th birthday, and your life was finally beginning to take shape.

You were going to a big college in the city and you were so close to achieving your dreams you could almost taste them – the same way you could taste the sea brine on the air.

“Pass me the crab cage Y/N?” Your father’s voice breaks you out of your stupor and shake your head. Reaching down, you pick up and hand him the cage. Loose sand shakes itself from the cage and you dust it off your arm.

You loved your parents more than anything, they were kind, hard-working people. They’d worked hard to put food on the table and keep you safe. You weren’t ashamed of your humble beginnings, in the same way that you weren’t ashamed of Deadhorse; it just wasn’t what you wanted.

Fishing was never your dream (was it ever anyone’s?).

“We’re going to have to come in earlier than normal today, Pete called in last night and told us that there’s a storm brewing and the meteorology office just put in a warning to the rest of the guys – storm’s coming in at about 5 so we’ve got to be back by the latest 4. Plus, have you seen the sky? It’s fire red.” He shrugs, throwing the cage into the back of the boat and unties the rope from the harbour.

“Yeah. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor’s take warning.” He laughed as you rattled off the saying in a deadpan voice.

You and your dad were close in an odd way. You could spend hours together in silence, doing absolutely nothing or working on tasks together. You were always in sync and that’s what you had done the day everything changed.

You fished together, hauling nets and cages with the occasional remark until around 3pm.

The sky, that was previously a blazing red had gone black. As if the sun’s fire had been snuffed out.

If that wasn’t terrifying enough, the sea had gone eerily calm and there was stillness in the air that was choking.

It was the only time you’d seen your father scared. As an experienced fisher he’d seen his fair share of storms, so you knew this one would be huge.

“Let’s head in.”

“Yeah.”

You’d arrived home in the nick of time, as the waves had begun picking up as you headed back in.

It had gotten worse throughout the night, the thunder and waves beating a chaotic cacophony against the small town. Truly, it was the stuff of nightmares and had been one of the worst storms the town had seen in a long time.

But, in the morning, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Everything resumed as normal.

Except it wasn’t.

It started with the singing.

Every night, just as the sun was setting a mournful song carried itself across the island – seemingly from the depths of the sea.

In the pub local fishermen debated that it must have been the sea itself.

“It’s the storm, brewin’ up all sorts of trouble. You know the sea’s alive. She needs to settle.”

“Don’t be foolish Pete! The sea’s not alive but, what’s in it is. I bet that storm probably woke some long dormant creature.”

“Maybe it’s the whalien.” Everyone turned to look at the new voice; curious to hear about this newly mentioned sea creature that they’d never heard of before.

“It’s this whale that sings at a different frequency to every known whale in the world. Apparently, it’s always singing because it’s lonely. Scientists think it’s probably one of the biggest whales in the world.” Sean was a level-headed, young Marine-biologist – he knew what he was talking about so, they agreed it must have been an amalgamation of all those things.

The Whalien, disturbed by the churning waves must have become scared and was calling out, hoping to find another whale like itself. It was plausible except for the fact that the song sounded entirely too human to be from any animal.

They were all wrong.

You’d heard the song and it wasn’t a whale.

It had to be a siren or a mermaid and to be fair, those that didn’t believe it was a whale were in agreement that it must have been some kind of Siren.

You’d read about them in the library (the only place where there was anything fun to do), you knew about them from ‘Odyssey’.

But that wasn’t what bought you to that conclusion.

2 days after the storm, you were walking along the beach in an area that was seldom travelled.

You hadn’t been searching for anything in particular; just walking. But the glare from the sun, reflecting off something in the sand made you take notice.

It was a gold plate.

It was heavy when you picked it up and to the best of your knowledge it looked like real gold.

There were inscriptions on it but, you couldn’t decipher anything – it wasn’t in any language that you could recognise (not that you were a linguistics expert).

You took it home to look at it later but, for some reason, it didn’t feel right to tell anyone.

The singing started that night.

Describing a siren song was hard. In Greek mythology, the song was meant to be captivating.

Sirens would sing of the loneliness they felt – trapped on their island and of the betrayal of the Olympians and the Muses.

It would lure pirates and sailors alike, who, hearing of these foreign tongued songs, would lose all care and steer into the island. They would be stuck there because their ships were ruined and would eventually perish not because (as is commonly thought) the Sirens would eat them but, because the Sirens couldn’t feed them.

They were immortals trapped on an island that had no need for food but, their mortal companions did.

They would forgo all human needs to hear the Siren song and would die.

This song, however, sounded like a warning.

It was a threat.

You didn’t know how to explain how you knew this; because you couldn’t understand its song and no one else in your small community seemed to have the same experience as you.

One thing everyone agreed on, was that the song was getting louder and seemed to take on multiple voices.

It had something to do with the golden plate. You just knew it.

The louder the song grew, the closer you knew the Siren was to the island – it was hunting you.

By the 5th day, the town had no fish.

Nets were empty and any catches made were often dead before they entered the net. The fish were avoiding the town.

This pushed the fishers into deeper, often unchartered, waters that still yielded no results. Savings were running dry fast and to top it off, the song was so loud that no one got any sleep.

You had to do something.

It was 2am on what would be the 6th day and here you were on the beach, plate in your satchel.

You took it out of the bag.

“Is this a scary story mummy?” Your little girl interrupts your flow, you’d lost yourself for a moment, almost able to smell the brine of the sea; wafting in your face.

Her blanket was up to her eyes and her brother was hidden behind it completely.

You sat on the floor opposite the bed. You quickly got up and picked up your daughter, setting her in your lap and pulling your son beside you.

“It might sound a little scary now but, I promise it has a happy ending. Should I continue?”

“Finish it please.” Your son responds hugging your arm tightly and you turn to your daughter for confirmation.

She gives you a toothy, gap-filled smile and nods quickly.

“Alright, where was I?”

“The plate!” They shout unison.

Yes, the plate.

You tried to hold it up above your head but, it was far too heavy.

Somehow, it had increased in mass (to the point where you couldn’t even hold it up) and was getting warmer, to the point where it soon began to glow white-hot.

“I guess you know that it’s here because it’s never done that before.” The singing had grown quieter and the plate was no longer glowing.

You kept talking.

“I don’t want it. I didn’t mean to take something that’s obviously so important to you, I just found it on the island. I’m guessing you lost it in the storm? I would love to return it to you. It must be awfully important given how loud you’ve been singing. Please bring the fish back. I was the one that did something wrong, no one else and I take full responsibility. You can get it whenever you’d like. Please just bring the fish back.” Honestly, you feel dumb.

Talking to the air, to the sea but somehow, you knew that the Siren was listening.

“Also, you have a lovely voice.”

You left quickly after.

In the morning, or well, the evening, it had become clear that you did the right thing.

The fish and crabs were back, almost as if they’d never left.

“How was today’s catch?” Your mother had asked. She’d been worried for your father. Aware of how tense he’d been since the storm. But his answer immediately put her heart at ease.

“It was good. The sea was kind to all of us today. So, I’m thankful. I also apologise for making you so tense.” Just like that the balance was restored.

But, that night, there was no singing.

This should have meant that you could relax but, you were restless.

The plate was still in your possession.

After hours of tossing and turning, you finally fell asleep.

Only to wake with a jolt.

Your bed was soaking wet. The air heavy with the smell of, salt.

You couldn’t breathe. There was something lying on top of you.

In your alarm, you tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down and what felt like a hand reached around your neck, squeezing a little.

It was a warning.

Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the dark, couldn’t see what was on top of you but you knew.

It was the Siren.

“Y/N.” A hissed whisper next to your ear confirmed your suspicions. The voice that spoke to you was much deeper than the one that sang to you.

Fear shot through you like a jolt of electricity and you tried to scream but then it placed a hand on your mouth.

“Y/N, you have something of mine, I would like it back. If you cooperate, I will let you live.” The voice continued as the siren sat up, straddling your waist.

Please let this be sleep paralysis, please be sleep paralysis.

“I don’t know what creature causes this paralysis but, I am not he. I want what is mine and then I will leave.”

“I need to find it for you, can I get up?” The siren gets up and sits beside you on the bed.

“Do what you must but, if you deceive me, I will kill you and I will enjoy it.” You’re terrified and the Siren knows this, smelling the air around and laughing.

“Human fear, it’s so strange to me. Why are you scared when I’ve said I won’t harm you?” He laughs.

You’re certain this Siren is a man.

It’s only confirmed when you turn on your bedside lamp.

You look back at him and despite how wet he is; he’s beautiful. His large eyes watch your every move, waiting for any sign of deception.

“Stop staring and do your part, human. Do what you promised me. Where is my Aegis?” Despite his hissing and the threats – he sounds tired.

“Here.” You take it from your bag and give it to, he holds it protectively.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you, insulted that you would point out the obvious.

“Why is that your business?” You sigh as he looks at you, unsure. He curls in on himself defensively.

“Wait here.” Honestly, you don’t know what you’re doing. Maybe it’s because his aggression only came from the fact that he was injured or, maybe because you felt like you owed him (you did, after all, accidentally steal his property), you felt the need to take care of him.

Despite his obvious apprehension, he was still sitting on your bed when you got back. Your cat had taken up residence on his lap and was purring up a storm.

“I like your animal, this cat, he’s friendly.” You placed your first aid kit on the bed beside him and his large eyes immediately focused on it, his lips curled in warning.

“Yeah, that’s mouse, he’s a Maine coon. He loves everyone.” The cat meows in response, almost as if he knows he’s being spoken about and snuggles into the Siren’s lap. He shifts his stare back to you and juts his chin towards the kit, prompting you to explain.

“I’m going to clean your wounds, okay? It’s might sting a little but, I promise it’s going to help.”

“Are you an Apothecary? What is this cream? What is in it that will sting me? Is it venom?” He picks up the tube of antiseptic cream and sniffs it. You’re not sure if he’s a nervous talker or is just very curious but, it’s almost cute. As you watch him, curious yourself, you notice he’s a little green.

“It’s antiseptic cream. I’m going to clean your wounds with it and then dress them. You’re going to need to stay out of the water for a while; just until they close.” You clean the wounds, trying as hard as you can to be gentle.

It still hurts regardless, and he hisses at you when it touches his skin.

“How is this poison meant to help me when it burns this way? How do you know it won’t poison me? I am, after all, not of your kind.” That’s a good question actually – he’s clearly not human so how will it affect him?

You pointedly avoid his question.

“How did you find me? What are you anyway?” He smiles slowly; pointed teeth on full display. His dark eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light of your bedside lamp.

“You called out to me, with my Aegis, I followed your call.” He shrugs and goes back to playing with Mouse and you notice the webbing between his fingers.

Pointed teeth bare at you when you apply the liquid dressings a little too heavy-handed in your shock. Mouse only meows in confusion but, doesn’t move from his spot on the sea creature’s lap. You cringe.

“Sorry. What got you so banged up anyway?” He looks at you quizzically, eyebrows furrowed.

“What injured you?”

“It was the storm, I lost my Aegis; the plate you stole, when the waves became rough. It heals me of injuries. You seafaring people used to steal these from creatures like me, mainly because you think it will give you immortality. Or because you want to trap us.” He’s finally calm and you take this time to really take his features in. He’s very slight and shivers a little as the water on his body chills him.

You gasp when Mouse climbs out of his lap and curls up on your bedspread.

“You’re naked.” He looks at you, incredulously.

“I have no need for clothes, I am a sea dweller.”

“Well, you’re going to freeze because you’re wet, and this is land. I’ll get you some clothes and you can stay here tonight and heal up.” He smiles, his jagged teeth on display.

They still scare you a little.

You smile when you realise that both your kids are asleep.

Picking up your daughter, you quietly carry her to her room, hoping that she doesn’t wake up.

Gently placing her in the she snuggles into her pillow, turning on her side.

“I love you, Peanut. Your daddy loves you too.” You kiss your forehead and head back to your son’s room.

Tucking him in, you kiss his forehead as well. “Good night, Honey. We both love you so much.”

You laugh when you think about the first time you met Doyoung.

He had stayed the night, curled up on your bed with Mouse; while you took the sunbed under the window in your room.

He was gone in the morning, as was his ‘plate’.

You didn’t see him again until the summer was coming to an end.

The coastal winds were sending a chill across town and the days were getting shorter. It had been a month since Doyoung had ‘answered your call’; it didn’t feel real.

If it weren’t for the wet sheets and the briny smell in the air of your room, you would have been sure that it was a vivid dream.

In the weeks that followed, you’d spent every night at the beach’s edge calling out to him, the bitter night air whipping against your body and the moonlight casting an eerie glow against the crashing waves – he never responded, and eventually you gave up.

You walk to your balcony and take a seat overlooking the sea.

The waves looked much the same as they did, the night that Doyoung finally came back.

You were heading away to university, finally. You had bought a house, just off campus, with some of your friends and had all your things packed up.

As much as you’d always complained about your small, middle of nowhere, town; you were going to miss it and all the characters that lived there.

But you also wanted to see Doyoung, just to know that he was okay.

The night before you left you walked to the beach again.

It would be the last time for a while that you would get to see the water and be this close to the coast. It was probably the last chance you would ever have to see him.

So, you’d called out to the sea, one last time.

“It’s me again. I’m sure you probably don’t care to hear from me, to be fair, I don’t even know if you can hear me; but I just want to know if you’re okay. I won’t be home for a while because I’m leaving. So, I suppose this is goodbye, unless I see you again.”

The moon casting a white glow on the inky waves as it hung larger than normal in the sky looked the same as seas at home in Deadhorse. No matter where you went, the water always looked like home.

A ‘Super’ moon the meteorology dept. had called it. They’d issued a warning about the high tide to the local fishermen and coastal folk.

And like the tide to the moon, your husband was drawn once again to the water. That’s where he was now;

Somewhere out in the water, he was doing whatever it was that Sirens did. Was he looking at the moon too? Was he thinking of you?

When you and he first got together, you often worried that each time would be the last time you would see him. The call of the sea was powerful, and you feared that it would one day mean more to him than you. Maybe some day he would never come back. But, after 8 years and 2 beautiful children, your mind was at ease.

As selfish as it sounded, you always wanted him to be by your side; from the moment he walked into library and sat across from you, you were hooked.

“What are you thinking about?” You nearly jump out of your skin when wet, webbed hands place themselves on your shoulder.

It rattles your mind for a moment until Doyoung’s smiling face comes into your view, teeth pointed again.

He always turned when he went to the sea. You’d never seen what he looked like in the water but, you’d seen its after-effects.

“I told the kids about how I first met you and I was just reminiscing about everything.” You shrug, leaving out the part where you were worrying about him leaving you.

Doyoung sits beside you and rests his head on your shoulder, making you gasp.

“Ew, you’re wet Doyoung!” He laughs and shakes his head – splashing water droplets all over you.

“I just got out of the water, I’m still a little green but wait until I’m all dry, I’ll be back to normal. The water was great tonight, you should come with me on the next full moon.” He smiles and his jagged teeth show, slowly returning to a normal state. You smile in surprise.

Whenever Doyoung returned to the sea, it was his private time. This was the first time he’d opened the suggestion to you.

“Why now?” Doyoung dries his hair with a towel and wraps his arms around you.

“You’ve always been curious about that part of my life and I think it’s only fair that I share with you.”

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 imagines #doyoung #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #kpop halloween #kpop halloween imagines #halloween fic #nct 127 scenarios #nct u imagines #nct u scenarios #bedtime stories

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kyndaris · 4 years ago

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A Single Step and Then Another

Writing is no small feat. Ever since I was bitten by the writing bug, I’ve struggled with keeping projects afloat and maintaining interest in blog management. Before Tumblr, I tried to start a blog twice on Blogspot (now known as Blogger). Much of that came from my desire to track my days. Like keeping a diary or journal. But interesting things were far and few between. The days of my youth largely blurred together and I could hardly find the time to sit down and jot down my thoughts on school or university.

During primary school, when computers were still churlish machines that chugged along at a snail’s pace, I tried my first attempts at writing fanfiction. I didn’t know what it was called at the time, but my curiosity led me to tease out what happened after the Happily Ever After’s that were promised in certain Disney films such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. As ever, I proved an astute business woman, selling my perfectly printed books that were stapled on one side on the market for $2 a pop.

Alas, the only person that bought my works of genius was my mother.

High school was when I rediscovered my hobby. I was already an avid reader. Writing, while a more difficult challenge, once more sunk its claws into me. As always, I wrote to entertain - imagining daring mercenaries in a fantasy world or anthropomorphic animals clinging to a dying kingdom. Most were inspired by the stories I read and the video games I played. Many of the characters were named after my friends or were poor caricatures.

There were times, however, when I was writing that I wondered if perhaps I was stealing too many tropes from such classics as Eragon and the Fire Emblem franchise. As such, I often hewed and hawed over many of my works. By the end of high school, I deleted the one major story that I had sitting on my FictionPress. Mostly because I had no proper idea of where I wanted the narrative to go. And I was just filling it up with utter nonsense.

Yet the idea of a mercenary and a hidden princess persisted. I tried to use it again in my next writing project. Still, the land of Thlandaris never quite reached my lofty expectations. Changing everyday animals into weird fantasy creatures with fantastical names also didn’t help.

And so my writing stalled once again.

It was not until I began working, however, that I found my way back again to the world of writing. Though I hadn’t opened up a blank Word page in a while (at least for anything other than a university assignment or a job application), ideas aplenty danced and tossed around in my head. That, of course, was when I decided to restart my attempts at keeping a blog. Yes, I knew it would never really transpire into something majorly popular (though the hope remained that one of my many articles would become viral and a newspaper would decide to feature it), but I thought it would assist with my attempts at writing.

The going, however, was slow when I began work on Divided We Fall. The story itself went through three drafts. With the last one being the most complete. And while I would have sorely liked to have edited it, it had taken a good four years to arrive at what I had been hoping for. Even during those gruelling years of crafting the characters of Feryden, Elisander, Kiralt and Lathin (who were based on many of my earlier characters), I was also tempted by starting up a new project. Like many before me, it was easy to simply toss away an idea that was taking too long and do something different.

Despite that, I decided to keep a record of my many ideas for future stories. After all, if I could just finish one, then surely I had accomplished something.

Back to Divided We Fall, I went. And gosh darn it, I finished it in 2018. Along the way, of course, I had written several short stories. And, I had also managed to be consistent with my blog updates. Yes, many were just impressions and reviews of the games I played - but churning out one a week was also nothing to scoff at.

But I still had ideas aplenty filling my head. While I was quite taken with the idea of writing a reinterpretation of Snow White, my dear friend Hayatedragoon convinced me to stick with my first idea. The one that I hoped would be published as a short series of books. The Adventures of Lacet and Idana.

Throughout the writing of my stories, there were many times when I wanted to give up or delete everything that I had written. As with most creative types with a hint of perfectionism, I was my own worst critic. No-one would like my characters, I said! My dialogue is atrocious! The singular starting sentence was not enough to capture the attention of readers!

With time, however, I managed to silence those thoughts (mostly). There are times, still, when I have wondered if it has all been worth the blood and sweat. It isn’t as if I have publishers and agents beating down my door. Nor do I have a thousand followers on FictionPress leaving me with positive reviews of the things I have written.

I will be honest, a part of me yearns for the praise. And my genius to be recognised. But to do so, however, would go against the very reason why I began writing. The reason why I wanted to write was to weave my own tales. To explore the stories of characters that do not usually get the spotlight. While Lacet and Idana follow many tropes that are stereotypical to the fantasy genre, I like to think I’ve subverted a few expectations. Lacet is no wise wizard. Nor is he young (and incredibly hot) upstart mage. He is middle-aged. His hair is balding and he has a bit of a stomach.

Of course, as more chapters of Wild Child are uploaded to my FictionPress, I cannot help but worry if my writing will fall into the trap that so many others have done. Will I have ruined the characters by putting too much of myself into them? Will they all become Mary Sues by the end of it all? Will I overcompensate and so they all become terribly unlikeable?

In other news, I finished editing Monsters Beneath My Bed a couple of months ago as well. Yet I’ve delayed uploading it until I’ve the entirety of Wild Child is up. And before I could even think to rest on my laurels, I began another short story (which is still in progress at time of writing up the blog post) and committed myself to another novel length story. This time, however, the genre is a departure from my usual stomping grounds. Forget fantasy. Let’s try and commit to a modern adventure/ thriller!

Already I am regretting my decision. Nothing seems factually accurate and I fear that my attempt might just be deleted given another month or two.

But I will persist. The key to forging ahead, at least for myself, is to worry not about how perfect the quality of the writing is. That is what the editing process is about. Of course, even after editing, slip-ups can still occur. But by carving out the crude gem can one polish it. Such is the process of writing. And if you think I’m talking out of my arse, well, the first few seconds of Neil Gaiman’s ad for his masterclass in writing also provided the perfect analogy of driving with one headlamp and hoping the editing will make people THINK you knew where the plot was going from the very start.

Getting caught up in the nitty gritty of the perfect prologue (for almost two years) did not allow me to craft the entirety of the story. Nor did it allow me much exploration of the characters and other important facets of the world.

So, for those that are thinking of trying to write their own masterpiece, all I can say is start it as soon as the idea comes. And never waver. Sure, it might not be as good as you hoped, but all of that can be fixed later on. Also, never be afraid to look up synonyms on Google (or a thesaurus).

But what I found helpful as well was to learn by reading widely. I mean, authors were published for a reason, right? Let them inspire you on your own writing journey. And question what you can make better.

#personal blog #writing process

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jenildasjewelquest · 5 years ago

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for once, i’m not ranting.

I’m not waiting for the downfall either, when I say that things are actually turning out well.

part one: the org.

The warzone that used to be the college org that had pulled me in about a year ago, has become something like a congress or courthouse. It’s not yet a perfect democracy, but at least it’s no longer a one-man army. Maybe it’s just my war flashbacks - a term I’ve quite recently learned to call my officer initiatives as - talking, but I really am proud that it’s quickly coming to a close.

I authored 80% of a constitution, designed new branding schemes, appointed key bearers of the legacy, and hauled in the footholds for a well-connected and reputable college organization. In the end, I stumbled with the unfamiliarity of what I’ve achieved. I’ve grown so used to doing everything on my own that I almost forgot that I was leaving, that I should be training others to be as open to receiving new learnings as I had when I started out. For the younger ones, I’m the org mentor that I never had for myself.

It’s weird, it’s heart-expanding, it’s inspiring to see progress. And especially when you’ve been working for it all along.

But it hurts - just as much - to have to give it up, just as it teeters towards the peak of its greatness.

part two: the internship.

By luckiest stroke of fate, by some divine intervention, by some alignment of stars that still boggle me til now, I got into the best internship I think I could ever have signed up for.

I got into an IT consulting firm that specializes in UI/UX web and mobile development and design. Coding and UI, my unexplored specialties. My graphics design team are made up of UI/UX designers, and they allow me to learn their trade without being pressured to keep up with their standards. They were literally assisting me in coding my thesis website, but that wasn’t the best part.

The firm allowed for flexi-time, which meant I could clock in anytime in the work week as long as I got to finish at least eight hours. My supervisor always came around 10am-7pm, and I always arrived earlier and left later than him. I’m determined to do as much work as I can for the whole day; I can almost go 12 hours with minor breaks and coffee lmao.

The supervisor is an alumni of my course. He had taken his college life easier than me, and him being like that allowed me to think that hey, even if you don’t graduate this school at the top, you can still get by if you have the guts and the grit. And that’s what I’m developing right now. I occasionally ask for time off work to attend to org duties and thesis emergencies, but I still do deliver for the internship. Yep, while senior high taught me that I had a voice, college taught me how to use it and use it well.

part three: the thesis.

I know where to use my voice for: to talk about what no one does. My undergraduate thesis talks about civics education: the umbrella concept for how people are taught about politics, society, and democracy. It’s a personal advocacy that stemmed from questions about nationalism and patriotism, from reading about history surrounding Rizal, and being immersed in the novels themselves. Writer as I am, I simply can’t help the latter.

The multimedia thesis a print card game about Rizal’s civic activities, that aims to teach civics education to Grade 10 students. Paperwork and pre-production almost done, this iteration is down to the last few tweaks until we can squeak past proofreading, user testing, and market testing.

For the record, I myself stressed over the website for the last few weeks that not only had the UI/UX designers at the internship had stepped in and offered some tips, but that I seriously had to take days off work just to finish it. When I finally eked out half, my thesis adviser said that I should have focused on the game instead, since the website was only a marketing tool. Within that same day, I churned out all 63 cards (one still had its illustration underway) out of 2 ginormous PSD files, ready for proofreading and printing. The night burned me out quite bad, but at least that load quickly finished...

part four: the story.

Coupled within the week, a good friend had asked help for his animation thesis, which was an advocacy story he was to animate in VR. I’d promised my help long ago, and I delivered: a five-page draft script, complete with concrete visualizations and directions of how he’ll execute it in VR.

I couldn’t have been prouder of this collab. I’ve always wanted to be a story artist - someone who visualizes stories and writes them as well - the only thing holding me back is my lack of experience in drawing for animation aka my degree. I could be helping all his classmates with their animation stories, he says, with how much I’m able to use film techniques, symbolisms, dialogues, and colors to fully execute his VR animated story. My degree is siphoning me into the ad industry, but in this collab, I learned what it’s like to be the visual director, the story artist. Not only was it fun, it was actually really fulfilling to be able to write with animation!

The collab also demonstrated that two people - in all their differences and similarities - can still be on equal ground if they work together. This collab taught me what it truly means to be loyal, to have each other’s back not out of duty or responsibility but because you chose to learn when you chose to stay.

part five: the burnout.

The weekend after demanded at least 12 hours of sleep and mug of warm milk, and ton of chocolate. The burnout was real. My head was ringing from the online calls for the animation thesis, among other things; I was in no mood to do org work nor house chores, not even to draw, write a poem, or squeeze out a chapter. I was tired, physically, mentally.

But emotionally, I was satisfied.

For once, I was satisfied with my week.

Not only with my week, but everything that led up to that. The org. The internship. The thesis. My staying. Everything.

My college life is coming to a close. My time to understand everything, before twenty hits, is fast ending. For once I’m not regretting, for once, I’m not mad.

For once, I’m no longer ranting.

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1dffexchange · 6 years ago

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Uncomfortable Silences

To: Vicki @angstarella

From: Liv @midnightcities

Summary: It’s been 927 days since Rowie messily ended her two year relationship with Harry. 659 days since Harry Styles bared his soul and shared it for the world to hear in the form of a best-selling debut album. 173 days since his number had flashed across the screen of her phone. But finally, Rowie was starting to feel her sense of normalcy return.

It was any other Saturday morning. A half eaten piece of Marmite toast lay forgotten on the kitchen counter along with the dregs of my morning coffee. There was a haphazard pile of trousers at the foot of my bed that I had created when searching for my favourite black pair. My 10 minute snooze turned into almost 25 minutes and I was now on a time crunch to pull myself together for my Saturday shift. Despite promising myself that I would go to bed at an acceptable hour last night, I fell prey to my best friend’s masterful coercing and stayed out far longer than I originally intended. You think by now I would know better.

I was in my bathroom, scraping my hair back into a bun, when I heard the buzz of my phone. Jules, the aforementioned best friend I’m sure, checking in to either complain about her killer headache or to help fill in her hazy memory. This had become a bit of a ritual for us.

One last glance in the mirror and I deemed myself suitable enough to face the horde of Saturday shoppers. I flicked the bathroom light off and grabbed my phone that I had earlier tossed onto my unmade bed. The phone screen lit up as I brought it to eye level. I immediately dropped the phone back onto the bed when I saw the notification:

+44 7106 555555 iMessage

I had finally deleted that number almost a year ago; that’s the best way to move on according to all the break-up articles and books I have pored over the past 2 and a bit years. They don’t tell you how to delete a number from your memory though. I haven’t seen it grace my phone screen in quite some time, the longest stint yet actually. And still, it made my heart stutter erratically and my palms clammy.

What does he want now? Has something happened? Work. I haven’t seen much of him online lately. Who was that last girl he was linked to again? Work. Is this going to be some half-assed, drunk apology again? I need to go to work.

I broke myself out of my impending trainwreck of thoughts, forcing myself to throw all my effort into moving my body. I snatched up my bag and grabbed my phone once again. My eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see that damn number as I shoved it to the depths of my bag. Out of sight out of mind, right?

****

Waterstones was a staple part of my childhood London visits, so landing a job here in my first year of studying was a dream. I was lucky enough to take up residence at the Gower Street store. It always was my favourite, with its twisting shelves and hidden nooks, and it’s a bonus that it’s only a 5 minute walk from main campus for those days when I have class. As a child I always thought this would be the perfect place to play a game of hide-and-seek. And on days like today where I would rather do anything than enthusiastically suggest a middle-aged woman some egregious romance novel, the labyrinth nature of the store was appreciated.

I was tucked away on the third floor, shelving some second-hand Philosophy books. I studied each title intently, skimmed each books synopsis, and threw all my mental energy into deciphering what the philosophical knowledge each book was actually trying to impart. The upper levels of the store are the perfect study sanctuary; I have spent many hours holed up in here writing last minute essays. But today the comfortable silence was not good for my current mental state.

I had thrown my bag into the designated employee locker out the back, my phone remaining ignored in the depths. I’m sure I felt it vibrate again when I was on the tube but it stayed unopened and unchecked. I can’t do this again, I really can’t put myself through… that again.

“Um… Excuse me…” A quiet voice caught me off guard.

I turned, book still in hand, to see three girls standing awkwardly near the W-Z section of Social Sciences. They looked a little young to be browsing up here, but I reserved my judgements. “Yes, how may I help you today?” I flashed my customer service smile.

The girl in the middle opened her mouth before snapping it shut again. The one on the left nudged her, giving her a look of slight impatience. Odd.

“Are… are you…” She attempted again.

Now the one on the right shook her head and pushed herself forward. “Are you Rowena Porter?”

I felt my heart begin to stutter, my stomach clench. “Excuse me?”

“Rowie…” the girl in the middle whispered, “she likes to be called Rowie.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged, “are you Rowie Porter?”

“I’m sorry,” my cheeks felt hot and I could feel my hands starting to shake, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

The girl on the right took a couple steps toward me, clearly she was the most confident of the three. “Harry Styles has been seen coming here a lot lately. And then I remembered reading on Twitter that you work here. Has he been visiting you? Are you back together?”

My breath hitched. Harry was here? When? Why? Was it to see me? Surely out of all the Waterstones in London he wouldn’t choose this one for his bookish needs. It can’t be a mere coincidence.

The three girls stared at me expectantly, as if I was about to really about to reveal some intimate, albeit non-existent, love-life details. I placed the book in my hand on the shelf adjacent to me and took a steading breath. “I’m sorry girls, but Rowena quit working here a while back. I’m afraid I can’t help you any more than that.”

“Oh, so you just happen to look like her?” The girl challenged.

“Coincidence.”

“But--”

“Look,” my tone had become considerably more clipped, “if you have any book related questions I am happy to help you out. Otherwise I need to continue on with my job.” I picked up the half-empty box of Philosophy books that still needed unpacking and headed down the aisle and away from the girls. I prayed that they weren’t following me. It took every ounce of my self-control to not completely blow up at them and tell them, in the nicest way possible, to sod off. But now I was throwing all my focus into not breaking down in the middle of the Greek and Roman Classics section.

I pounded down the three flights of stairs, determined to hold myself together to at least the back storage area. My head was swimming, like I had just thrown back five consecutive shots of Jäger, and my face prickling with sweat.

Just as I was about the push past the registers, my unstable hands got the better of me and I dropped the box, the books tumbling out. “Shit.” I scrambled onto my knees to pile the books back up but tears began to blur my vision and I could feel the stares of customers. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

“Rowie, are you okay?”

A pair of hands shot out and began haphazardly throwing the books back into the box. The hands belonged to Will, one of my co-workers and probably one of the only people I considered an actual friend on staff. I sat back, letting him collect the last few books, and willed my hands to stop trembling and for my tears to not spill over. Will stood and lifted the box up and behind the counter before offering me his hand. I hoped he couldn’t feel the stickiness of perspiration on my palms. “Alright?”

I shook my head. “I need to go.”

His eyebrows furrowed in obvious concern. “Do you want me to call someone? You look shaken up… What happened?”

Again, I shook my head. “Who’s on today?”

“Mara.” One small win, she was the kindest of all the store managers. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my early departure.

“Can you please just tell her I had a family emergency or something. I really need to get out of here.” I pushed past Will, past the registers, and burst through the back storage area doors.

“Is this because of Harry?” I hadn’t realised Will had followed me.

I whirled back around meeting his worried gaze. “What?”

“He was here... A few days ago.” He spoke cautiously, he could clearly tell I was on the verge of breaking. “He asked for you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Rowie, why would I? Look at the state of you right now, I wasn’t about to do that to you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to 10, and forced myself to take some calming breaths. Anything to stop the rising panic. “You did the right thing,” I spoke finally. I could see Will let out a small breath in relief. “I still need to deal with this though, please tell Mara for me.”

“Row--”

“No,” I cut him off before he could go on his usual tirade of why my ex is not worth my time, something that I normally do appreciate. “Just… Let me deal with this. I’ll talk to you later.”

Will pursed his lips, I could tell that he was struggling to keep his opinions quiet. He merely turned and walked back out to the store front. I knew he wasn’t happy, but that was something I needed to push aside for now.

I turned and made my way to the staff locker and retrieved my bag. Time to face the music. I grabbed my phone. The screen lit as I brought it to view. Four messages. All from that same number. My thumb hovered over the notification, my stomach churning at the thought of what could be contained in those four messages. I unlocked my phone.

+44 7106 555555

(7:42 am): Rowie, I know you don’t want to hear from me but can you please give me a call. Harry.

(8:09 am): Please Row

(8:47 am): im desperate

(8:48 am): i need you.

I stared at the four little blue bubbles, unable to process them. A weird sense of calm had blanketed me. My previously hammering heart had slowed, my hands were still, my breath even. Almost robotically, I dropped my phone back into my bag and made a beeline straight out of Waterstones and into the chaos of Gower Street.

im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you. im desperate. i need you.

The words flashed over and over in my mind with my every footfall. My thoughts wandered to every possible scenario as to what he could need. A jostle from a stranger awoke me from my abstraction and I realised I was already on the Euston Square platform. A train had just pulled up, my train I confirmed when I glanced over at the schedule. I quickly slipped on just as the doors closed and found a free seat. I sat rigidly, the sway of the carriage slowly pulling me back into my spiralling thoughts.

****

It felt like time was moving funny. My usual 25 minute journey felt like it was over in less than 5. The encounter with those girls this morning felt like it happened hours ago when it has barely been over an hour. That weird sense of calm I felt earlier was ebbing away and I could feel the panic begin to nestle it’s way back in. And the crowded train platform wasn’t helping me to keep my impending panic attack at bay. I needed a voice of reason, someone to help guide me through. I needed Jules.

I moved with the commuters but reached into my bag for my phone, praying she would be awake. Just as I unlocked my phone though, it began vibrating. Jules’ name appeared on the screen; what are the chances. I answered immediately.

“Oh, Rowie. Thank god,” Jules’ breathless voice greeted me, “I thought you wouldn’t pick up because of work.”

“Yeah, I was there but I left. I was just about to ring you actually. Is everything alright with you?” I tapped my Oyster card against the scanner, keen to get away from the claustrophobic nature of the London Underground.

“Wait, where are you now?”

“Just got off the tube, heading home. There was… An incident at work.” I finally stepped out on the street, the fresh air felt good.

“Home?! Oh god. Listen Rowie, I’m so sorry but I didn’t know what to do.”

Jules sounded truly panicked now, enough for me to stop my brisk walking pace and throw all my attention into the call. “What do you mean you didn’t know what to do? What is going on?”

“It’s-- It’s Harry.”

My stomach dropped, for the umpteenth time today. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know! He rang me, I don’t even know how he has my number. He was asking for you, but he didn’t sound right. He had been to your flat, your old one though, didn’t even know you had moved.” Of course he doesn’t, he wouldn’t know anything that has happened to me in the past two years. “I wasn’t sure if it was an emergency, I didn’t know how to help.”

“It’s okay, you did the right thing by talking to him.”

“No, Rowie I-- Oh, I told him where you live now. Row, I think he’s waiting for you there.”

****

The last time I counted, it had been 643 days since I had seen Harry in person. That’s just over two years. And it has essentially taken me up until now to feel that sense of normalcy return which I craved back when I first ended our relationship. But seeing him sat on my flat’s front step, even from a distance, made me realise that no amount of time is going to stop that visceral, all-consuming feeling he has always given me.

He was hunched over, a beanie pulled down tight over his curls. It wasn’t even cold out yet, but I assume he’s wearing it to stay somewhat hidden. He fiddled with his phone and then tucked it away, tugged at the sleeves of the black sweater he was wearing, clasped and unclasped his hands. I could tell he was nervous. And judging from the twitches of my hands, so was I.

I crossed the street and approached him cautiously. He was so consumed with his thoughts he didn’t even hear me approach. I cleared my throat, crossing my arms in a way to steel myself.

Harry’s head jerked up, recognition immediately flooding his muted green eyes. “Rowie…” He stood. I forgot how tall he was.

“Hello, Harry.” I spoke quietly. I was surprised my tone hid my tumbling emotions so well.

“It’s…” he exhaled, “it’s so good to see you.”

I rolled my lips and nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Can I come up?”

No, no, no, no. My flat was one of my only Harry-free zones. No memories were attached. Everything had been removed that reminded me of him. Seeing him up there now would bring up a slew of problems. “I don’t think that would be best,” I spoke carefully. I was still trying to gauge where he was at mentally right now; he seemed off.

“You know I wouldn’t normally insist but I think it would be best. If someone spots me here you’re gonna be dealing with… Well you know the routine.”

He was right. And especially after what happened this morning, the last thing I need is more obsessive fans waiting outside my flat. “Fair enough.”

I unfolded my arms and grabbed my keys from my bag. Harry followed me up the few steps and watched as I unlocked the door. My hands visibly shook as I twisted the key. I know he noticed but he said nothing. In silence, we walked up the four flights of stairs and down the hall to flat 408. I let us in, promptly locking the door behind us.

My current flat was quite different from the one Harry had known. Paying my way through a Masters degree and some other unexpected financial problems at home had forced me to downsize, coupled with the fact that I was desperate to leave those walls which were filled to the brim with memories of us.

I watched as Harry’s eyes scanned the space - the cramped kitchen with the leaky tap, the speckled counter that doubled as a dining table, the IKEA sofa I had picked up on sale last winter. I knew my living space was a stark contrast to what Harry was likely used to and I couldn’t take his scrutinising gaze any longer. I knew my somewhat cool exterior was beginning to crack, the unwanted feelings of anxiety pushing to burst through and consume me. I needed some relief.

I left Harry standing awkwardly near the doorway and stepped into the kitchen. Dumping my bag on the counter, I began searching through the drawers for what I knew I needed. I was beginning to feel light-headed again, my whole body falling prey to the shakes. Tucked snuggly next to a half-used pack of Panadol and some Strepsils was the bottle I was searching for. The safety cap proved too difficult for my unsteady fingers though. I let out a small groan of frustration.

“You need a hand?” Harry carefully took the bottle from my hands, expertly twisting the top off. He handed it back, but not before peeking at the label, something I wish he didn’t do. “Alprazolam? Isn’t that--”

“Xanax, yes.” I tossed back two pills dry, desperate for their calming effect.

“Oh. Uh, you should be careful with those. They can be addictive and--”

“Yes, I know that Harry,” I snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business but they’ve been prescribed and I only take them when the situation calls for it.”

My abrupt tone took Harry by surprise, judging from the way he shifted away from me. I could see he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. I felt a twinge of guilt at my unwarranted outburst.

“It helps with my panic attacks,” I said quietly after a few moments. “I haven’t had a full blown attack in a while though. I’m good at knowing the signs now. Shaky hands, erratic heart rate, feeling faint.”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t know… How long have you been dealing with them?”

I sighed heavily. I knew Harry wasn’t going to like my answer. “I had my first one in 2015. They were at their worst in 2016 though. That’s when I got medical help.”

“2015… Wait…” I watched as Harry connected the dots. I moved out of the kitchen and towards the sofa, as if putting some distance between us would soften the blow of seeing his reaction. “That’s when we were together. You were having panic attacks and didn’t even tell me?!”

“They weren’t a big deal, I didn’t want to worry you.”

Harry ripped his beanie off and slammed it down on the kitchen counter. I jumped, both at the sound and Harry’s sudden, extreme mood change. “God, Rowie,” he spat bitterly, “I was your fucking boyfriend. I was supposed to worry about you. To help you!”

“It was almost 4 years ago Harry—“

“So?!” He cut me off. “I had some right to know what you were dealing with!”

I could feel my face heating up, not due to panic but because of anger this time. “What I was dealing with? What I was dealing with? You wouldn’t have been able to understand Harry.”

“Try me.”

“You were born for this life Harry, an entertainer at heart able to bounce through life without worrying about what millions of people around the world think of you. But not me. Seeing my name, my personal life, splashed across social media and in news articles. People commenting about me, online and in person. People saying I don’t deserve you. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Harry’s hands were clenched on the counter, frustration radiating off him. “For two years I have sat and analysed every facet of our relationship, wandering what I did wrong. Repeated that day you ended everything over and over. I wrote a whole fucking album for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I interjected harshly.

“And if you had just told me these things at the time I could’ve helped you through it. Together, like a couple is supposed to!”

I shook my head. “I did what had to be done. It was the right thing for us. And for you.”

“No, it wasn’t. You broke my heart, Rowena.” His voice broke and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I was rendered speechless. My full name hung in the air between us, an uncomfortable silence smothering the room. It seems silly to be caught off guard by my own name, but I’ve never heard him say it. I’ve always been Rowie, his Rowie.

As we both stood there, kitchen counter separating us, staring but remaining unmoving, I felt as though I was truly seeing Harry for the first time today. With the beanie off I could see his hair looked unusually unkempt, his curls limp as though they needed a good wash. His skin had broken out, which I knew only happened when he was stressed, and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed that suspicion. His hands which were always adorned with an assortment of rings were bare. Even his clothes looked disheveled. This wasn’t the Harry I knew standing before me.

“Harry…” I said softly, breaking the silence, “what’s really going on? Why did you need to see me?”

I watched as he hunched over the counter, resting his head in his hands. His fingers twined into his hair, gripping at the root. As he ran his hands through the flat curls, he brought his gaze up to meet mine. His eyes had filled with tears and I felt that immediate pang in my heart.

Without inhibition, I joined Harry back in the kitchen and gathered him up in my arms, bringing his head down to the crook of my neck. As I stroked the nape of his neck, I felt his arms twist around my waist and pull me tight. I knew he wasn’t crying, but I could feel every ounce of emotion through his embrace. And suddenly I felt at peace, and not because of the meds. I hated that it felt so right to be here in this moment, that the one thing that could stabilise me was the thing I drove away years ago.

Harry loosened his grip and I took it as a sign to pull away slightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “For what? I’m the one who should be apologising for being shitty and leaving without a proper explanation.”

“I should’ve seen it, the struggles you were having. You’re right, this life can be hard. And it was silly of me to just assume that you were coping with it fine. You say that I don’t worry about what people think of me, I don’t. But that’s after years of me being so caught up in it. I had to learn to ignore and move past the crap.”

“I should have told you though…” I said softly.

He drew his hands away from my waist, instead clasping my own hands in his and bringing them up to his chin. I felt the softest graze of his lips as he stared down at me, my heart skittered ever so slightly. “I really miss you, Row. Everyday.”

I nodded, unsure if I could trust myself to string together a coherent sentence.

He sighed heavily, dropping my hands and taking a step back to lean against my oven. I immediately missed the contact. “In 47 days I’m supposed to be announcing my upcoming album. Which means I have about 42 days to get the tracks laid. The first instance of them anyways.” I watched as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “And I am so fucking lost.”

I still stood quietly, unsure of what I could really say. Words of encouragement from me right now would surely feel superficial to him.

“God, last time I struggled to cut down the track list. I had such a backlog of material, it was mental.”

I knew I had some role to play with that. Breaking up with someone just as they were about to embark on launching a solo career would result in an abundance of inspiration.

“And this time I have nothing…” he continued on. “Everything I write is utter shite, and the pressure from the label isn’t helping.”

“Push back the announcement then,” I finally spoke.

He laughed, without humor though. “If only it was that easy Rowie. You remember what it was like when I was in the band, the label asking for a new record every bloody year. That was considered feasible as there were five of us. Now according to them, going beyond a 2 year break between records is ‘not recommended’.”

I snorted, and Harry looked at me questioningly. “Seriously? That’s crap. How many artists have been MIA for years and still come back with another best-selling album. Harry, you’re underestimating your talents a little I think. This isn’t like your early years of One Direction where you guys had to pump out content in order to stay relevant. You’ve put in the hard yards and made your mark, you are here to stay.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips. It gave me the confidence to continue on.

“You could literally release an album that consisted primarily of whale and dolphin calls and it would number one on release day.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Not sure if the label would like that though.”

I approached him slowly. “Well, I would love it. In fact, I’ve already got it pre-ordered on iTunes and saved on my Spotify.” I stood toe to toe with Harry, my fingers reaching out to the hem of his sweater. It was taking all of my self-restraint to not stretch up and trace his jawline, to comb back his hair with my fingers.

Instead, Harry seized the opportunity. Cautiously, he placed his hand to the side of my face. I melted into his touch. His lips parted ever so slightly before rolling them together, his telltale sign that he wanted to kiss me but was unsure.

“It’s okay,” I barely whispered out. I rolled up onto my toes, bringing my arms around his neck before pressing my lips against his. It felt as though no time had passed; we were in sync immediately, our mouths moving with familiarity. I raked my nails up through his hair and he mirrored by running his down my sides.

But as sudden as we had fallen back into routine, Harry pulled away. I couldn’t help a small sound of detest escape my mouth. “Shit,” he mumbled. He unlatched my arms from around his neck and pressed them back into my chest. “I shouldn’t… I know this isn’t what you want.” He sidestepped me and moved as far away from me as possible, which was only a few meters as that’s all my flat would allow.

“Who are you to say what I do and don’t want?” I challenged.

“You just told me the enormous toll our relationship had on you mentally. And I didn’t come here to try and win you back.”

I suddenly felt like I had been used. “So, what? You have no inspiration to write some songs so you come and see me, dredge up old problems, and then run off to the studio? Is that all I am to you now? A muse of emotional trauma?”

His eyes widened. “Jesus Rowie, of course not! I needed to see you because I knew you would be a voice of reason for me. Every person that I have spoken to about this album just doesn't get it. They’re all too… I don’t know. Too close to the project? They all just think I have a bit of writer’s block. My mum told me to clear my head by taking a walk in a bloody forest or something!”

I leant back, taking up the same position against my oven that Harry held minutes earlier. “How can my opinion even mean anything? I don’t know what’s gone on with you for the past 2 and a bit years.”

“And yet, I’ve felt more at ease here with you this past hour than I have for the past 6 months.”

“What, my 3 sentences of encouragement have instantly filled you with the creative juices you’ve been craving?”

“I wish,” Harry chuckled. “But your sense of assurance helps.”

I was about to respond when the buzz of a phone interrupted me. It sounded muffled, so I knew it was coming from my bag which lay forgotten at the end of the counter. It was most likely Jules, checking in to see if I’m alright.

“That’s probably a sign that I should go.” He collected his beanie that he had thrown down earlier and shoved it back on his head, paying no attention to the way it smushed some curls flat against his forehead. “Again, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I appreciate that you gave me the chance to talk though.” He jerked forward, unsure if we should hug goodbye or if he should just leave. I made the decision easier for him by crossing the kitchen and wrapping my arms around his waist. Pressing my ear to his chest I could hear the steady thump of his heart, a sound that I have fallen asleep to countless times. I felt Harry press his lips to the top of my head. This hug felt different, like a proper goodbye hug. Not ‘see you later’, but goodbye.

We pulled apart, locking eyes for one last time. “Good luck with everything,” I murmured.

“I’ll let you know when the Harry Styles featuring Whale and Dolphin album will be dropping.”

I let out a shaky laugh before moving around him to unlock the door. He stepped out, gave me one last smile, and turned to walk down the hall. I watched him walk until he disappeared from view, he didn’t turn back once.

That goodbye felt like it was the final closure we both needed, that now we could finally move on with our lives and be relatively happy. Maybe now I could hear and see his name and not feel a clench in my stomach. Or have those cluey fans find me and not dissolve into a puddle of panic.

But despite all these prospects, I knew it wasn’t the ending I wanted. Or the ending I really needed. My feet moved without warrant. I picked up speed, pounded down the stairs almost tripping over. I saw him, he had just stepped out of the building and down the steps. I burst through the door and he spun around, eyes wide with surprise.

“Stay.” I puffed out.

He blinked. Once, twice. “What?”

“I’m asking you to stay,” I descended the front steps and joined Harry on the footpath. “I just did the most cliché, rom-com thing and chased after you to ask you to stay. I mean, all that is missing right now is some rain and we would have the perfect scene.”

He laughed.

“Please, I’m serious.”

“Rowie, after what you said we can’t get back together. We--”

“After what I said we should be getting back together.”

Harry looked at me puzzled.

“I’m not going to be a prat now and try to shoulder all the pressure. I was stupid to not trust that you could help me in the first place. And I’ve gotten better at managing the anxiety.”

He was quiet for a while, staring down at me. I was desperate for something, even just a graze of his hand for reassurance. I was about to revoke the offer, feeling that maybe I had misread the situation, but he finally responded. “Are you sure? I don’t want you… I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“So sure that I ran down four flights of stairs and almost broke a leg for you.”

We both grinned before Harry pulled me in for a kiss. It was short and sweet but felt like home all the same.

“Let’s go up.” I said once we had broken apart.

“Oh… Uh... Actually,” Harry stammered. Oh god, have I suddenly been to forward or something? “I really need to swing by the studio. My phone has basically been in airplane mode all day and I was supposed to be there for a session at 10 am. I’ve been off the grid without even telling anyone.” He bit his lip, obviously unsure of how I would react.

“Go,” I said with a smile. Sure, the timing was crappy but I knew he would be back.

“I’ll be back,” he said as though he had just read my mind. “I’ll bring dinner tonight. Some thai food? Panang curry with fried rice?”

I smiled. He remembered my order. “Don’t forget--”

“Extra green beans in the curry.” He placed his hand on my cheek, bending down slightly to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he turned and began walking up the street, his phone pressed to his ear. No doubt he was finally responding to some very concerned people on his whereabouts. I watched him until turned the corner at the end of the block. I continued to stand there on the footpath outside my flat feeling calm, finally feeling at peace.

It almost seemed silly that this morning Harry Styles was the catalyst for a tumultuous amount of negative emotion, and yet my Harry was the one that was able to calm the storm and ground me.

I suppose I should thank him for that. I’ll do it when he comes home.

#1dff #exchanges

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allie1804-fan · 3 years ago

Text

Kerensa Part 2

This is a continuation of Kerensa Part 1 which you can find here

Kerensa (Part 1)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Kerensa (Part 2)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5

California Rocks

Once they were back in LA after the shoot, Kerry continued to work on her novel. Keanu’s film had moved to studio shoot stage and he was once again working long days. They tried to organise their time so they had time together but often Kerry would eat her evening meal alone, walk Scout and be almost ready for bed on his return.

With Keanu being busy, they weren’t doing much socially either so Kerry did start to feel a little isolated again. She decided to look into taking a writing class at UCLA. That way, she might make contacts and have more of a life of her own whilst in LA and not feel so reliant on Keanu. She hadn’t realised how important her independence was until it was gone. The course would last a couple of months and she hoped to get new impetus to the novel’s direction.

Keanu had a second shoot coming up and wanted to make plans for another joint trip.

“I don’t think I can come to this one hun”

His face fell instantly

“But we had such a great time in San Fran …”

“ I know sweetheart but I’ll still have 3 weeks more of the writing course left by then and I honestly think spring in Florida ..... it’s going to be too hot for Scout.”

“But we haven’t been apart for 6 months …”

“ I know but we’re grown ups right? And we’ll talk every day if you like and maybe once the course is done, I can fly down and visit, leave Scout with your mum for a few days like we did at Christmas.”

You said you could write anywhere, be anywhere….

“Oh, that’s not fair!”

“Why not? You did say that.”

“Yeah, yeah I did and it’s true but that was before. And I have written in all sorts of places on our travels for your meetings and location work so far. But I can’t complete my course remotely”

“Why not? Don’t we have the tech to do that these days?”

“Well, maybe but the course work and tuition, even if I could do it remotely, isn’t the only reason to do it. I’m building some friendships and connections of my own, you know that. They’re practically the only people I know here who aren’t your friends and family”

“And what’s wrong with my friends and family?”

“Oh stop being ridiculous! There’s nothing wrong with them, they’re lovely but they aren’t mine. Look people say all sorts of things at the beginning of a relationship. We were drunk on love but things change – and when I said that I could work anywhere I hadn’t realised how fucking hot and hostile to dogs this country can be!”

“Were drunk on love ?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I’m not sure I do.”

Keanu turned and grabbed his bike keys.

“Maybe some time apart would be good for us, to see where our priorities lie!”

Then he stormed to the garage. She heard the doors go up and, minutes later, the engine roared and he was pulling out and zooming away.

“Shit! What got into him?” she wondered, “I never said I could drop everything to follow him around like some lapdog bimbo” An awful thought crossed her mind that maybe, deep down, he’d been banking on having her at his beck and call precisely because she was away from all her own friends and family. But that didn’t really fit with how considerate he normally was, something else must have made him react like that.

A couple of hours later, to her relief, he was back and full of remorse at his outburst. They each apologised for their tetchiness, not wanting to go to bed on an argument. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, it clearly still rankled with Keanu that she wasn’t going to accompany him to Florida. Kerry worried that either there was something making him insecure or a problem with work that was making him unsettled or worst of all, that he’d got too used to having his own way over the years and didn’t know how to compromise. Maybe their honeymoon phase was over?

As the time approached for him to go, they’d still had no luck with a pregnancy and it seemed that their lovemaking got more intense and desperate as his leaving got closer – as if they thought they would never make love again. Keanu would frequently say how much he was going to miss her and Scout, and she him but she’d committed to the course and he seemed somewhat resigned to it, if still not entirely happy.

Once he’d gone, she was very glad in those first 3 weeks to have the course to keep her busy and give her human contact. The main friends of his she liked to see socially were out of town so she felt vindicated in insisting she needed her own friends. She skyped with him most days if filming allowed and they messaged if not, but she was glad she didn’t have to rely just on him and his contacts. And there was one such contact she really wished she didn’t know….. Autumn.

Seemingly oblivious to Kerry’s discomfort with her, Keanu had mentioned to Autumn that he was going away and that he’d appreciate it if she called in on Kerry. The day she called, Kerry was out of sorts. The course was finished and she hadn’t slept well for the past few days. She’d found herself just vegging about, unable to write, and that day she was in lounge pants and one of Keanu’s Arch T-shirts when she heard the doorbell. She looked at the security camera and groaned when she saw who it was but she had the car parked out front, so knew Autumn would know she was there. She also guessed she was coming at Keanu’s bidding so if she didn’t answer, Autumn would report back and he’d worry.

“Hey” she said after opening the door though she didn’t immediately invite her in.

“You know Keanu’s out of town right?”

“Yeah sure sure, let me in though, there’s one of those tour busses just coming by”

Kerry swiftly let her in, not wanting anyone to spy her in her lounge pants nor Autumn arriving.

“So how are you?”, Autumn enquired raising an eye-brow “you look kind of washed out”

“Gee thanks, err, just didn’t sleep well”

“awwww missing Kiki” she said pointedly dropping in Kerry’s pet name for him to show she knew the old nickname.

“Yeah I guess” Kerry agreed not wanting to provide any details.

Kerry offered Autumn a tea and they sat on the patio to enjoy the morning sun.

“So how are you handling the location stuff?”

“You mean him being away?”

“Well, yeah and you know the whole ‘what happens on location stays on location’ thing he has going on.”

“sorry?”

“Oh surely he’s told you that, you know, ‘I can’t be without a woman that long so what happens …..”

“Errm , no we never”

“Oh, well maybe he’s not like that anymore but, well a leopard doesn’t change its spots” she said, smirking and taking another sip of tea.”

Kerry didn’t know where to put herself. Was that why he’d wanted her there. For sex and to stop himself from playing away?” Her stomach suddenly heaved at the thought and she ran for the bathroom.

She was still retching over the toilet bowl when she heard Autumn call in to her.

“Sorry hun but I gotta run. Don’t worry, maybe he’s changed now he’s older”

When Keanu called later on, she didn’t want to reveal anything about her talk with Autumn or her churning emotions but she’d made one decision: she needed to get out of LA. So she listened to his update about the shoot and when he said they were having to do some very long days to catch up after some weather-based delays, she took her chance and told him that while he was working those long days, she’d take the opportunity to go back to the UK for a while with Scout, just while he was at peak busyness on location. He was disappointed she wouldn’t be joining him but he knew he wouldn’t have much free time to spend with her so it made sense.

@fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @omg-imagine @keanureevesisbae @penwieldingdreamer @paperplanesandwallflowers @witty-wallflower @karlee1225 @bitchyslut99 @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @kissmyromanticquote @tacticalchics @utterlynuts @kylosbitch @thebigbubowski @thelightnessofthebeing @gatsbynouvel @keanuficfiles @fanficsrusz @jardaniswife @cheezbort @mazzylana97 @maggiemoo1892 @girlfriday007 @siriussnape07 @yomnaislame @soarocks @fadingkideclipseempath @franny-banks-world @keanulowe @babylovejongin @lucky134ever @jasmindaughteroftheworld @tomorrowsanotherday @fokinqueen @littlefreya @leftyreea @wheretheriversrunintothesea @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @fickenstein @popacherryvisitalibrary @aah8903 @thethirstyarchive @cynic-spirit @australianpsychos @meetmeinthematinee

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu fanfiction #keanu #keanu reeves #keanu reeves ofc

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whatifexo · 7 years ago

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Goodbye - Scenario Dump

Hello, everyone~ This is quite possibly the last thing I’m going to post on this blog. It’s a dump of three unfinished scenarios I wasn’t able to finish in the past 2 years. As you all probably saw coming, I can no longer find the motivation to continue updating this blog and writing on a daily basis. I could write a whole novel on why I’ve decided to leave, but I’ll keep it short: Life changes and so do we. These last 3-4 years with you all have been almost surreal. From your kind messages to our crazy drabble games, I really felt welcomed as a writer and contributor to the fandom. Thank you so much for sharing this creative space with me. I will miss you all dearly. For those who are willing to stick around with me a little longer, I’m actually way more active on this blog! I’m also working on writing a little fic there, and after it’s posted, we’ll see if I do more. But for now, that’s where you can find me.

And now, for the word vomit you’ve all been waiting for under the cut. These are unedited and unfinished so pls forgive me if you find errors, lol. Thank you, everyone! See you on the flip!

Red Carpet - Jaebum

New Year ’s Eve.

You’ve grown used to spending it with the familiar waft of cookies and hot chocolate, the crinkle of wrapping paper, and carols softly playing on the radio. This year, you spend the last night of the year alone, ironically so amidst the energetic chaos flying about backstage. At some point, you’d escaped the insistent hands of your stylists and bowed past several of your seniors, never lifting your head to make eye contact. Utmost respect meant quick greetings. No questions asked. No suspicions. No one took notice when you slipped out the back exit and ascended up the flight of stairs leading into the rooftop.

Nausea hits you as soon as you peer over the edge and spot the red carpet below, still bustling with activity. The flashes from the paparazzi are blinding even from far away. Around them, fans crowd behind the barricades, holding up signs and gifts. A wall of security stands guard at the sidelines. Sleek, black vans with tinted windows roll slowly down the street, dropping off the stars of the night. Just hours ago, you were one of the many idols who walked down that glamorous path.

Your stomach flips at the memory of the event.

There was an overwhelming response to your arrival, even more so when your name made headlines after your iconic debut stage.

______,The Rising Star. Korea’s Next BoA. The Nation’s Pride.

Crippling pressure weighed on you as soon as you first touched limelight. Your fans rapidly accumulated. Your albums sold out in mere days. You received offers for commercials and acting roles, you were invited to guest on entertainment shows. Your company’s sales soared, and in turn, they prioritized your promotions over your label mates’. After all of this, tonight, on the red carpet, they had asked you how you felt.

You now chuckle sadistically to yourself, grabbing onto the metal railing and hardly feeling the cold there.

They think you’re ecstatic. Absolutely thrilled and honored to be here amongst the leading celebrities of the country, ending the year with trophies and explosive performances. Tonight, the world expects you to live up to their expectations.

How can you possibly fulfill these demands when your stomach is in knots and your throat is chocked with anxiety?

Dropping your hands from the railing, you step back with wobbling knees. Your dress suddenly feels tight around your body, locking you in a wicked grip. The worst of your fears race through your head.

What if you don’t deserve all of this attention after all? What if you break on stage? What if your voice falters and cracks in the middle of your performance? What if your fans are disgusted by your self-composed songs?

If they hate it…

The shock of this thought shoots through your bones like lightning, and you stumble back, your heel snagging in your long dress. You yelp in surprise as your body loses balance and falls backward, colliding with a broad and solid chest.

A pair of gentle hands catches you by the shoulders.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

The voice is deep and quiet. There’s familiarity in the man’s tone, as if you’d heard it before in a passing conversation. Your guard raises, and you pull away to face the stranger who you assume to be a passing senior or staff member.

“I’m sorry. I’ll head back in-“

“I don’t think taking a few breaths calls for an apology.”

Im Jaebum, leader of Got7, stares back at you inquisitively with a raised brow.

Your heart stutters in your chest. The last time you’d seen him, it had been in the dressing room hours ago, when he’d been sitting in front of the mirror having his hair styled. You were passing by in the hall and your eyes met briefly through your reflection on the glass. He looked startled, smiling politely before blushing by the tips of his ears. The staff had abruptly the door to his dressing room before you could react.

In contrast to then, the Jaebum in front of you now no longer seems so shy. Dark eyeliner accentuates his eyes, adding a heavy undertone to his gaze that warms your insides. You panic slightly under the weight of his undivided attention, eyes unnervingly focused and…concerned?

Surely, you must be wrong.

“If you’re questioning my motives, then yes, I actually did follow you up here,” Jaebum’s lips curve into a smile. Your face warms in response. “You looked sick and pale, and I know that look all too well.”

“You do?” you blurt out, eyes widening at yourself. You never do this. Never respond to your elders informally or entertain colleagues who made their advances. In revealing something more than your stage persona, you were afraid of exposing your vulnerabilities. So you became a shell. Bathed in the spotlight, but never letting anyone touch your core.

Jaebum has thrown all of your practice out the window.

“I remember when I felt that way,” Jaebum nods, as if confirming something in your eyes. He’s reading you as easily as an instruction manual, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I felt something like it after Jinyoung and I stopped promoting as JJ Project.”

Jaebum’s gaze softens. He slides past you to look over the railing where the activities of the red carpet event have begun to dwindle. You watch his back and taut shoulders for a moment, hesitating. He could be up to something. Leading you to let down your guard so he can tease and torture you about it later.

You’ve heard stories during your training period. How seniors sometimes pressured rookie artists, manipulating the rules of seniority in order to bully the ones on the lowest of tiers. The end goal was to drive the rookies to quit, weeding out the competition so the ones at the top may stay there. It was a sick, twisted game played by a select few, but still a possibility in this line of business.

But to be played by Im Jaebum?

You shake your head.

He’s better than this. You know it with certainty. Those eyes that met with yours in the mirror held the truth, and somehow, you know you can trust him.

Joining him to stand by the railing, you watch Jaebum examine his hands, calloused and stretched on the back of his palms. With a start, you remember watching an interview of Got7 weeks ago while you were on standby in the waiting room. Jaebum recounted a story of his stray cats in the dorm, each who had bizarre, yet strangely endearing personalities.

You find yourself smiling before he even begins to speak.

“I think my whole world fell apart and rebuilt itself when I re-debuted with the boys.” he folds his hands, toying with his fingers in awkward movements. “I hated them for a time just because they were new and inexperienced. But God, did they grow on me fast. I wanted to show off as their senior, but who was I kidding? I was still shitting my pants before our debut stage.”

You laugh out loud at this, and Jaebum turns to you, mirth in his eyes despite his unfortunate story.

“You know why they call me out for being so hyperactive out there?” he jerks his head to the side, referring to an imaginary audience.

You shake your head, and he sighs softly.

“Because I don’t think I’ll ever forget the energy of my first stage. As in, my first genuine stage. I was happy. I didn’t care about what others might think of me in that moment or afterwards. I was out there losing myself in my craft, and that’s the only thing I hold on to when I perform. That should be your only concern tonight too.”

His eyes dart over to the red carpet briefly, and you shiver, both from the chill of the night and the implication of his words.

“How did you know?” you stare up at him, wondering. In a matter of minutes, he’d figured you out. Related with your emotions and churning thoughts. Though all he did was talk about himself, you don’t think this is really about him. Not completely. Otherwise, he would have approached this conversation with much more arrogance.

No, that’s not it.

He’s comforting you.

The realization has your pulse quickening.

“You can say I know from experience.” Jaebum grins with a degree of shyness, as if reading into your thoughts.

You hold his gaze for a few beats. The familiar flush on his ears has returned, but his eyes are unwavering. For the first time tonight, you let out an unlabored breath. Your heart is still running a marathon, but this time, in a good way. Jaebum is still watching you as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“Thank you.”

“For what? The pleasure is mine.”

There’s mischief laced in Jaebum’s voice.

You crack an eye open.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” Jaebum says incredulously, lips quirking into a smile. “I’m actually one of your biggest fans.”

The world freezes for a second.

The distant camera flashes halt to a stop, the sound of screaming fans dim to an acute noise, and the cold air lifts from your skin, warming your body from inside out. Your vision blurs from the intoxication of Jaebum’s confession. His timid smile is all you can see.

“Why me?” you ask more to yourself than to Jaebum, recalling all the times you’ve quietly watched him with awe from behind the scenes, the charismatic leader of his team. Someone as occupied and charming as he wouldn’t have time to admire a rookie idol like you.

“Why not you?” Jaebum challenges, raising a brow.

“Because…” you struggle to reason with him. You’re not up to par with him. He’s several years your senior. You have not yet shown your full potential. “…because I’m me.”

“You’re being unfair, _______.” Jaebum chuckles, though his tone is bitter. “I didn’t come up here to get rejected.”

Your eyes shoot up to his in alarm.

“I wasn’t-“

“Rejecting me? I know, it’s hard not to.”

You barely manage to keep yourself from cringing.

Jaebum, on the other hand, completely fails to hide his horror. Even in the dark, the dim glow of the moon is enough to expose his flushed cheeks.

Vicissitude - Part 3 (Chanyeol)

“Care to tell me why you haven’t been to work for the past three days?”

Kyungsoo is scary.

He entered the kitchen twenty minutes ago without saying a word, silently tiptoeing around you and your laptop at the table to brew some coffee. You’d almost forgotten he was there until he cleared his throat, paused for a solid few seconds, then dropped the big question.

You were hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But his low profile tendencies have a reason behind it, which is being highly aware of his surroundings and noticing changes. Which you’ve clearly made.

You’re actually doing your homework.

A lot of it.

Along with other things.

“Oh, you know,” you say over the whirring of the coffee machine. “Places to be. People to meet.”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

You never knew Kyungsoo had so much sass in him. The quiet, deadly kind of sass that catches you off guard because he’s being so painfully casual for someone who’s about to pry for information.

And his back is still turned on you.

“I still haven’t gotten my paycheck, by the way.” you’re stalling, which is painfully obvious. “I’m going on strike.”

Kyungsoo finally shows his face after pressing a button on the coffee machine, the whirring immediately subsiding after he lifts the mug from the base of the machine. He studies you quietly without an ounce of emotion on his face, and you try to mimic the same neutral expression but you know you just probably look like you’re constipated.

“Paychecks come out every two weeks. And considering that you’ve also skipped out on the past few days…..” he doesn’t finish knowing that you understand the deal here.

No work, no pay.

You sigh, acknowledging defeat and turning back to your laptop to finish up that government paper you’re only halfway finished with because you didn’t actually start writing it until three days ago. Somewhere along the line, you’ve turned writing papers into a form of distraction.

In actuality, you hate writing. But it gives you something to do and think about other than the lingering touch of Yixing’s lips and the thin layer of guilt there that you’re still trying to figure out.

As usual, forgetting things isn’t as easy as it seems.

“Please tell me you’re going to go away soon.” you say without looking up from your laptop, because you know very well that Kyungsoo is still standing there with his coffee and he hasn’t shown any sign of movement.

He’s also making you think of things again which is bad. Very bad.

“I’m waiting.”

He wants answers.

He’s been hanging out with Baekhyun too much. He’s slowly getting just as annoying. And by annoying you mean being able to read right through you even with the façade you’re showing.

Are you really that readable?

“Then keep waiting.” you pull down your laptop screen and grab for your coat behind your chair, and only now does Kyungsoo set down his coffee in mild surprise.

“Where are you going?”

He sounds like your mom whenever you ask her if you can hang with some friends she doesn’t recognize the names of at any time past nine in the evening.

Mind you, it’s only three in the afternoon right now. Therefore, Kyungsoo can’t call you out on this.

“On a walk.” you offer him a salute, which he doesn’t take very well as he scrunches his brows in thought back at you.

Amazing how much character development he can show within only a week or so after meeting him for the first time. There’s also the fact that you’ve somewhat taken a liking to him during your time at the lounge whenever you’d exchange random pleasantries in between working breaks.

Or how he randomly takes care of the people around him without much thought through simple things. Such as waking Baekhyun up every morning without yelling at him about his alarm that wakes just about everyone in the cabin except for him. And how he’ll diligently listen to Chanyeol’s guitar playing and actually give feedback unlike Jongin who merely offers a nod of approval whenever Chanyeol asks for his opinion.

The way he’d wash Yixing’s favorite purple hoodie every night and run it through the dryer because that’s how often that boy wears it.

Now he’s trying to ease off some of the burden from you too.

Except this isn’t his fight.

And he must realize it too with the way he’s fallen silent again.

That is, until you reach the front door and he calls out for you right before you slip outside into the freezing temperatures. You can’t help but stop and wait for his word of advice.

“If you can’t tell me, tell someone who deserves to hear it.”

~~~

Your little ‘walk’ lasts about ten minutes tops until you decide to turn right around and come back to the comfort of the fireplace indoors. It must be below zero degrees today, with the fog making it nearly impossible to spot anything more than a foot away from you.

You’d only gone out about half a mile or so, but twenty minutes later you’re still walking and slowly beginning to panic as time continues to stretch and you fail to spot the cabin or the others that should be nearby.

Your vicinity isn’t exactly at its best given the circumstances.

To add on to the already dangerous situation, you hadn’t brought your cell phone with you either.

Brilliant, _________, just brilliant.

You wanted to drift far away from your problems but you didn’t actually want to be this far away.

Not even a sign of civilization.

You’ve never hated yourself more than you do now.

Another set of time passes, you have no idea how much, but by then your nose is frozen and you’re certain you’re only minutes away from getting frostbite on your toes. Along with that, you’re also left with some thinking time, and said thinking time encompasses just about everything odd and dramatic that has occurred throughout the course of this trip and what exactly you need to do to survive this and finally untangle the tangled affairs of your heart.

And just when you think you might die without clearing up your ongoing issues, salvation comes.

There’s a guy wearing a bright orange jacket walking in the opposite direction as you, and at first you think it’s Taemin because you’re very familiar with that jacket.

Though when you yell out and frantically flail your hands to catch his attention, you realize two things.

One, the guy is certainly not Taemin. His shoulders are too broad to be Taemin and he’s also a few inches taller than Taemin.

Two, Kyungsoo’s words of wisdom just slapped you in the face.

“_______? Are you okay? What are you doing out here? God, you’re freezing.”

There are hands on your cheeks. Warm ones. Warm hands in the middle of Arctic weather. And if you close your eyes long enough, you can almost picture home.

“Chanyeol, I’m cold.”

His hands slip from your cheeks and you hear the unzipping of his jacket, crunching of the snow, and then there’s fabric being wrapped around your neck.

You open your eyes, instantly regretting it after finding Chanyeol standing closer than before. While he’s focused on burrowing you underneath his scarf, you take in the bits of snow nestled in his bright hair and the urgency in his movements.

The deep line of worry across his forehead.

You don’t know what to make of this. You don’t know what to make of anything.

All you know is that you have to tell him something.

Anything.

“Let’s get you back inside.”

He’s tugging at your arm, and when you don’t respond, his hold slips to your wrist and he forces you to stumble after him.

He’s not asking any questions.

Which worries you more than the cold piercing into your skin.

“Chanyeol.”

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before you start developing frost bite, but I don’t think we’re too far from the cabin. We’ll make it.”

That all sounds great and relieving but it’s not exactly why you called him in the first place.

“Chanyeol.”

“We should really pick up the pace, though. Just in case I’m wrong about where we are and we both end up-“

“Yeol.”

That seems to quiet him.

He slows his pace but doesn’t stop. You still consider it a small victory as his ears flare a hint of pink at his newly birthed nickname, and you feel yourself flush too. You aren’t concerned with that because your whole face is too frozen to show a hint of color anymore.

It’s just the embarrassed feeling that lingers.

That’s not stopping you.

You need to say this before you get back to the cabin and the magic of being alone and somewhat courageous out here begins to wear off.

“In sophomore year, my favorite instrument was the guitar.” you feel his grip on your wrist loosen which means he’s finally listening. You sniff and breathe out, watching your breathe puff out in a white cloud before disappearing into the fog surrounding the two of you like a heavy cloak. “And then I went out with Yixing.”

Chanyeol stops so suddenly you nearly walk straight into him.

He turns to face you, and as soon as he does you launch into an unpracticed narration of a story you haven’t told in a while and count down the minutes you have left before you really need to book it back indoors and possibly hide forever.

“I was ignorant to music until I heard him one day in the practice room, strumming some random song I wasn’t familiar with, and I don’t know why I stayed but I did until the very end of my lunch period and he looked up past the glass on the door straight into my eyes after the song ended. I knew I loved him the moment he sang to me that same song in front of the whole student council.”

Chanyeol’s eyes have gotten so wide his whole pupils are showing.

“People said things, of course. We broke the sacrilegious rule of seniors exclusively dating seniors. But that didn’t matter. I didn’t care as long as we were together. What really mattered was that he scored a scholarship in Europe and he was bound to leave the day after his graduation.”

You’ve started shaking and it isn’t from the cold.

Chanyeol reaches out towards your shivering fingers, hesitates, then stuffs his awkward hands in his pockets as a final resolution, and you mirror his position as you bite back tears.

“He gave me a note through his music player. Some sort of voice note on why he didn’t want to leave. But you see, I knew he had to. I wasn’t worth a promising future music career. There was so much waiting for him over there, but with me, he’d forever be stuck over here. I wanted to be selfish and that thought scared me.”

You’re almost done here. It’s obvious the ending sounds near and Chanyeol knows it too. He’s looking at you as if the world is falling. You’re glad the crisp, cruel air dries your eyes and snatches any chances of tears trickling down.

“The last thing I heard from him was that he loved me. And the last thing I told him was goodbye.”

There’s a hole in this story.

Not a fairytale ending or a solution, but an important puzzle piece that you’ve missed. One that’s been there all along, hidden, unknown until you heard the gentle strings of the guitar again two years later.

And that single piece throws you off kilter. Rearranging everything else in a whole different picture.

What terrifies you the most is that it’s standing right in front of you.

“Was it, though?” Chanyeol’s voice has gone quiet in a way that you recognize because that’s what people sound like when they’re shattered. “Was it really a goodbye?”

Yixing and Chanyeol are friends.

You weren’t aware of this and from the looks of it, neither was he, which means that Yixing has kept more secrets than you realize and maybe Chanyeol knows more than what you give him credit for.

You want to call it unfair that one day, you’re still stuck trying to get over the image of your first love and then in the next, he’s tugging at your heart again but it’s refusing to follow. Not anymore. There’s a new reason behind the pounding in your chest and you hadn’t expected to identify its source in the middle of nowhere.

Where it’s just you and the boy who’s asking if you’re willing to give the past a second chance.

“I don’t know.”

Chanyeol nods in slow motion, like he’s confirmed something scientifically. His feet are heavy when he turns, his boots driving deep into the snow, and you want to follow him and ask why he’s trying to solve a mystery that you feel is only a misunderstanding.

That would’ve been easier to do if you hadn’t seen him bite his lower lip before shutting you out.

He’s not the only one who’s made a breakthrough.

It doesn’t hit you suddenly, but it settles in as slowly as Chanyeol is trudging away. The image of Yixing trapping you that day against the shelves flashes through your memory, and you faintly remember closing your eyes, feeling tender lips that are certainly not Yixing’s.

You know how his mouth fits against yours already. You’ve always known.

The moment you closed your eyes and imagined someone else was a different story. Nowadays, you wish you never have to close them because there’s only one thing that enters your mind and it has nothing to do with Yixing.

Instead, it has everything to do with his friend, and what it would be like to melt against him.

Today - Jaebum

September 22, 2017

Contrary to what they say in trashy teen magazines, first love doesn’t always begin with a heart fluttering, innocent and graceful encounter. You feel obligated to correct that misleading piece of information. You almost mark it out with your pen, correcting the writer’s mistake, but then you remember that you’re not supposed to be the critic here.

You’re supposed to be searching for inspiration. Finding a subject for your next article. You’ve sat in this God-knows-where cafe for an hour, pouring over a pile of publications, desperate to find something. Blindly reaching for an unborn idea.

“Your stories have become bland.” Mark, your editor and usually kind companion, had delivered an uppercut punch before he even finished reading your last feature article. His blatant criticism shocked you. Not once has he ever complained about your writing. It quickly became a quest to please him again.

“This writing no longer sounds like you. Are you even enjoying this anymore?”

It’s not that you’ve lost interest. It’s just that sometimes, you find yourself holding back.

“Write me something compelling and don’t even think of that promotion until you win me over.”

You didn’t think he was cruel enough to hang the managing editor title over your head. Additionally, he had struck a chord by sneaking in several romance pieces in your resources pile.

You get the hint.

In fairness, there used to be a time when you would eagerly compose romantic writings and hold on to love stories as if they were your own. Your former self embraced romance and took any risk that came your way. That was before he taught you to think twice. He taught you the reality to false beliefs. He taught you everything you know today.

These days, you’ve learned to choose your battles. Today, you find yourself surrendering to the nearly forgotten memories. As you read further down the advice column on first loves, clearly written by a young and inexperienced writer, you’re brought back to the first time you ever gave your heart away.

The very first meeting. When it was nowhere near how the fairytales described it, or how you imagined the love of your life would come to you.

Because the weather is fair, because Mark is telling you to, because you don’t have much choice, you allow yourself to remember.

Just one last time.

~~~

September 21, 2013

The crash happens while you’re attempting to merge lanes.

You swear you made sure to look, not once but thrice, gauging the blurred lights on your side mirror and passing in front of the car that had seemed far away enough. You could say it was because of the rain. You could say that the pressure overcame you, that you were racing against the passing time that refused to wait for you.

A minute ago, you’d been accelerating without fear of the wet roads, pleading that you make it in time for your first internship. A minute later, you’re hearing the screech of metal and your body is being jolted forward. You don’t realize your car has lost control until you feel the wheels under you skidding sideways to a stop, just missing the guard rail, your life quite literally flashing before your eyes in an instant.

You find your hands shaking when you glance up at yourself through the crooked rearview mirror.

Except for your flushed cheeks, there are no signs of injury. No blood. All limbs intact.

The storm of honking behind you brings you back to your senses.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

The driver of the other car is knocking on your window.

Drenched in rain, he has his phone pressed against his ear, probably calling for the police. Instead of worry, anger lines his face like the crack of thunderbolt.

His rude shouting somehow dissolves your fear and aggravates you, while a part of you admits that you’re mostly at fault. But your swelled up pride wins out over admitting your faults. The idea of losing even such a trivial and obvious battle as this one is utterly humiliating and embarrassing for you.

Especially since you just made a rookie mistake by trying to rush to work.

At least you’re willing to admit that you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.

Instead of rolling down the window and apologizing profusely or trading insurance information like what you’re generally supposed to do after a crash, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the rain.

The guy is in mid sentence on his phone--something about giving directions and reporting a crash caused by ‘a dumb bitch’--when you slam your door closed and look up at him with blazing eyes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the idea of courtesy died with the beginning of your very existence.” you shout over the roar of the storm, the cars whizzing by, and the driver’s angry conversation over the line.

He stops yelling into his phone for a moment, jaw dropping open at your brazenness. You can see that he’s pissed, absolutely insulted, and you can already tell what kind of response he has in store for you.

“What did you just say to me?”

He steps forward with a threatening glare, puncturing your personal bubble until your back hits the side of your car. From up close, you can tell that he’s young, maybe around the same age as you. The sharp angles on his face create an illusion of older age. You know better than to be fooled, because a proper adult wouldn’t choose to wear ripped jeans on a rainy day or drive at sixty miles in a forty zone. A proper adult wouldn’t stand in the rain long enough just to fight a reckless girl and get their clothes soaked.

You’re aware of all this, yet you’re still fanning the flames.

“It’s shitty enough that I’m late for my internship. But to get hit by a self absorbed asshole? I must’ve murdered a whole town in my past life.”

“Are you kidding?” the guy scoffs, pounding his hand against your car. “I think you’re forgetting who fucking swerved into my lane without even thinking about it!”

“If you care to know, I checked three full times and saw a clear road!”

“Well damn then, let me call an eye doctor for your blind ass while I’m at it!”

“My ‘blind ass’ happened to keep your speeding ass in check!”

“Fuck me, you’re one to talk!”

“I may have lost a very important job opportunity because of you!”

“And because of you, my boss is going to slit my throat once he finds out that I wrecked his company’s car!”

You’re close to throwing fists by the time the police and ambulance arrive. You only break apart when an officer threatens to arrest the both of you if you don’t stop disturbing the peace. This makes no sense to you as the thunderous sky and building traffic are nowhere close to peaceful, but you step back and allow yourself to get examined by the paramedics.

On the other hand, the driver that had hit you is preoccupied with inspecting his car, running his fingers over the dent on his hood somberly as if he’d just lost a precious member of his family. Obviously, he has more concern for his vehicle than an actual person.

“Insolent prick.” you mutter under your breath when he later joins you in the back of the towing truck.

“I heard that.” he hisses back, the driver next to you shifting uncomfortably at your exchange of hostilities.

It takes hours to settle your dispute and walk away as calmly as you can with your car totaled and many dollars to spend. You contact the internship (Mark)

You hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.

#honestly i feel so relieved #bye #exo scenario #got7 scenario

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