#i am still putting off my dissertation writing

[themfatales]

This is actually really interesting to me (especially as someone who has used SEO data involving Google searches as pertaining to user personalization factors involving personalized data (including geographical region) versus contextualized data (trending analytics, for instance), keyword data, etc. in some of my political discourse research). I am curious as to the wider contexts of these searches because I know that as much as those of us on the left want to believe that people who vote third party ideologically for reasons such as Palestine are a more influential force than they actually are, they are a fairly small minority even in swing states. So those people are not likely to be enough of a population to radically ask "change my vote" when they expected Harris to win and be self-righteous versus Trump winning and panicking like many of them (though not all) did in 2016 and I think more than are willing to admit are doing right now. I would imagine people who abstained entirely for some of the same reasons might be reconsidering, but why use those keywords? Sure, not everyone is used to how to use keywords in the most optimal way, especially based on generation, in a way those of us who grew up with search engines often take for granted. But I am interested in the wording here and the reasons behind it.

My guess without further context -- with the caveat people's knee-jerk reactions are often wrong and that is why data and fact-checking is so important -- is that without knowing the scale of how many people are Googling "change my vote" that it is a minority because the fact is if 5 people Googled that search query on October 5th and a 100 people Googled on November 7th, that graph reads the exact same way as if 5000 people Googled on October 5th and 100,000 people Googled on November 7th so an exponential increase in queries is not that useful when tracing trends in search engine queries without accounting for scale. One possible way that to bridge the discrepancy between what I talked about in the last paragraph and the possibility the graph does reflect a large scale change in searches in a way that is not being visualized in the screenshot is the the possibility undecided voters who abstained and changed their mind (again) are using keywords liked "changed" instead of "vote late" which would give them accurate results (namely, that they can't). But yeah, without more context, I don't know and that's interesting to think about but also something that might be really hard to study.

I'm going to McFucking Lose It

[abby-the-druid]

Technicolor 6

In which Sasuke discovers tongues and Sakura is met with a supernova.

read on ao3 and ff.net.

prev. chapter

Preview:

Then.

Sakura, Sasuke found as the days blended into weeks, did indeed share smiles with strangers as if it was as easy for her as breathing. Small talk came to her as though it were second nature, effortlessly offering feedback to their fellow classmates about their art, providing analysis linking past and current events in their history class, and asking clarifying questions during calculus. It made Sasuke’s head spin, thinking about how many words she shared with people she didn’t know, how often she slipped into a smile and offered support to someone she only recognized as an acquaintance.

He understood that he fell into this latter category, though reflecting on that fact made his stomach twist uncomfortably and a bleak pit to bloom under his navel.

He found himself sitting in front of her in their history class, contained in another musty room with subpar lighting. But with the way the professor valued active learning, their desks were often pushed together and he sat across from her radiation green eyes as she smiled and shared her ideas with the other two members of their four-person squad. He refused to admit that a flicker of jealousy licked at his gut every time she blessed their idiot classmates with a smile or her attention. The boy who was partial to wearing green jumpsuits with a severe bowl cut and thick eyebrows had the ability to make her laugh, a sharp yet pleasant sound that bubbled from her chest, and Sasuke felt himself drowning in the noise, desperately wishing he had the ability to share that part of himself so freely or the skill to draw such mirth from the elf girl.

Their calculus class was bursting at the seams with students, so many were crammed into the small space that as Sasuke sat beside Sakura, their shoulders brushed, which seemed to regularly catch the quiet attention of their silver haired, navy masked professor. The first forty-five-minute period she apologized softly every time she bumped into him, a light pink color dusting her cheeks as her green eyes fluttered between Dr. Hatake, Sasuke, and her notebook. The second-class period she lost some of this embarrassment, simply sent him a lopsided smile as an apology. By the third class, she nudged closer to his side to avoid the sharp elbows of the student to her right.

Sasuke did not take this as a small victory.

He assumed Sakura just didn’t want to be constantly jostled by her other seat mate.

Telling himself this did not stifle the warmth that tinged his ears when she pressed softly against his side, smelling like daisies and coffee.

[thelibraryiscool]

in theory i fully support the whole 'between christmas and new year's do nothing at all'

in practice i have been grading all this time and will be doing other work every single day, probably

[cuubism]

I missed my boys. New chapter of bookstore cryptid Dream and coffeeshop owner Hob. E.

-

Dream is reading some bodice ripper again.

Actually he’s on his third romance novel that day, because he reads very fast when he’s into something, sprawled across the couch in the cafe, tongue poking past his lips as he reads. The other books are stacked by the couch, carefully bookmarked and annotated. What the hell is he doing, writing a dissertation on the regency romance genre?

“Want me to get you a few more?” Hob asks, gesturing to the stack of books. “Three wasn’t enough?” They look functionally identical to Hob. Gallant men and elegant swooning women. Some more dressed than others.

Dream takes the chocolate truffles Hob offers him—a new cafe selection—and pops one in his mouth, licking the sugar coating off his thumb. Hob swallows, throat clicking, as he watches. “I need comprehensive notes,” he says.

“For what?”

Dream’s eyes sparkle. “If you wish, you can come with me to get more.”

Hob follows him, still confused, as Dream eats the other truffle in one bite, then stands fluidly and heads for the door.

Across the street, they enter the Library, its cool dusty interior a relief from the summer heat. Sweat prickles on the back of Hob’s neck, but he thinks it’s less the heat outside and more the determined way Dream stalks in front of him. Something is clearly on his mind.

He leads Hob on a winding route back through the stacks, past Dessert Histories and its sister shelf Desert Histories, through Husbandry, through a tiny section on the inside of a doorframe called “thresholds,” and into—

Ah. Erotica.

Frankly Hob’s surprised the Library doesn’t have multiple erotica sections, broken down into its sub—

Dream spins and pushes him up against a shelf.

Hob’s too surprised to do anything but let him, and besides, when Dream looks at him like that, eyes going dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips, Hob is hardly inclined to question it.

“Something on your mind?” he breathes, as Dream’s hands splay over his chest.

“Something,” Dream agrees. “I don’t think I want to pick out another book.”

Hob thinks back to the swooning heroines of Dream’s romance novels. Okay. He gets it. He can play.

He takes Dream by the arms and pushes him up against the shelves in turn. Dream squeaks, but before he can speak Hob’s mouth is on his, claiming. Tipping Dream’s head back. Dream moans, caving back against the shelves. Yes, that’s what he wanted, and he didn’t want to ask for it because he wanted it to be spontaneous and passionate like in his novels. He’s such a silly thing. Hob loves him so.

“Apologies,” Hob breathes, lips brushing Dream’s, as Dream grasps at him with weak fingers. He tries to put on the persona of a character from Dream’s novels. He’s no actor, but he’ll try, for Dream. “I simply couldn’t stop myself. You’re too tempting.”

Dream stares up at him with huge eyes, totally enraptured.

Hob feigns hesitance, stepping back. “I should not—it’s unbecoming, I should protect your virtue—”

Dream grabs his shirt and hauls him back in until their noses are touching. “Perhaps I don’t want you to. Perhaps I want you to take it.”

God he’s hot when he’s hungry like this.

Hob pushes in close to him again, chest to chest, edging in between Dream’s knees. Rolls his hips so Dream can feel that he’s already hard.

“Don’t open that door,” he warns. “I won’t have you let me in and then regret it after.”

“That door has been open to you for a long time,” Dream says. His hands find Hob’s shoulders, his chest heaving. “Were we not to be married?”

Hob fumbles for the thread of the story. “You ended that.”

“I was afraid. Afraid of how much I feel for you.”

“Nothing to fear.” He noses under Dream’s jaw, nips, kisses his neck. Dream shudders. “Am I obliged to marry you, then?”

“No. No obligation. I’m afraid I must have you either way.” He meets Hob’s eyes, lip trembling. “I need you. Even if you walk away from me forever.”

Hob wouldn’t do that. The Hob of this tale wouldn’t either. “Once you let me in I’m never walking away from you.”

He kisses Dream, on the lips this time, plumbing deep in his mouth, just tasting him. Dream moans, and then gasps as Hob gets his hands under his thighs and lifts him, pushing him up against the bookshelf.

Dream wraps his legs around Hob’s waist, skirt rucking up— is that why he’s wearing a bloody skirt today? Was he plotting this all along?

“You clever, naughty thing,” Hob breathes, and Dream smirks, a look that breaks into a gasp as Hob sucks a mark into his throat, fingers bruising on his thighs.

His loose shirt slips over his shoulder as Hob lavishes attention there, kissing his way down his collarbone and to his sternum. Dream’s hips thrust, searching for friction, and Hob rolls up against him, making him cry out.

“Why does something tell me you prepared yourself too?” he breathes, voice going rough just at the thought.

Dream only smiles craftily.

With Dream clinging onto him with arms and legs, Hob manages to reach a hand around and under him, where Dream’s not wearing underwear, pressing lightly. Dream’s tight entrance gives to his fingers, his hole already wet and open. A moan’s wrenched from Hob’s throat. When and where did he even sneak away to do this? In Hob's bathroom at the cafe?

“You’ll be my actual death,” he says.

“Not until after you make love to me.”

Make love. He really is leaning into the romance. It’s sweet when he gets like that. Dream can be so lovely when he’s not too busy being mysterious. (Though Hob can’t kid himself that he doesn’t love the mysteriousness).

“I live to serve you, my love,” Hob says.

Still holding Dream up precariously with one arm, Hob undoes the button and zipper on his jeans and takes himself out. It’s difficult balancing like this, so he only gives himself a few strokes before lining Dream up and, carefully, letting him sink down onto his cock.

“Hob!” Dream cries, throwing his head back, as Hob buries his face in his neck, trying to breathe. It’s so overwhelming to be in him, every time.

“Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?” Hob says once he’s gotten his breath back. “Me inside you?”

“Yes. Yes,” Dream whines. “I need it. I can’t. I can’t live without it.”

Hob’s lost track of whether they’re still doing the story, but it hardly matters. He gets his hands firmly around Dream’s ass and starts bouncing him on his cock. Dream wails, fingers twisting in Hob’s shirt. Hob curses at the feeling of him.

“Feel so good, darling,” he pants. “So good. Perfect.”

Dream whimpers, meeting him halfway as Hob thrusts into him. He pushes deeper, holding on tight to Hob’s shoulders. His back must be absolutely digging into the bookshelves, but he doesn’t complain.

“You really needed this today, huh?” Hob says.

“I wanted it,” Dream says. “So many tempting scenarios in fiction… why not see if I could pull some into fact?”

“No concern about whether it’s possible, huh?” He likes being involved in Dream’s fantasies, though, being in the stories that go on in Dream’s head.

“You’ve made it possible.” Dream smirks, lips dragging over Hob’s cheek.

Yeah, Hob’s really glad now for all the times he’s carried huge pallets of books up and down the stairs for Dream. It’s the only thing granting him the arm strength to do this. Even so, his shoulders will be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it for Dream’s happiness.

Dream tugs his skirt up further so his cock can rub against Hob’s belly, smearing pre over his shirt. His fingers dig into Hob’s shoulders. “Hob,” he pants, as Hob bounces him on a particularly hard thrust, nailing his prostate. “Hob. Hob!”

Hob’s arms shake, more from the fire of being inside him than holding up Dream’s weight. Dream clutching at him, wrapped around him, at Hob’s mercy in this position, blazes warmth through him, sets arousal alight on his skin. He buries his nose in Dream’s throat, inhaling the scent of him, paper and coffee, and it does nothing to ground him. He won’t last much longer.

“Hob, I’m—” Dream cries, and then he comes over Hob’s belly, biting down on Hob’s ear, the closest body part he can reach.

Dream’s body clenching around him sends Hob over the edge, and he groans into Dream’s throat as he spills inside him.

He can feel Dream’s heart hammering under his ribcage, the heaving of his lungs, and loses himself in the rhythm of his body for a few moments.

Dream recovers first, combing his hands through Hob’s hair, nuzzling over his temple. “You will have to marry me now, lover,” he says, in that alluring voice he’d used to tempt Hob into this game. “Else my reputation will be in tatters.”

Hob laughs. Back to the story, is it? “If you stay with me, I’ll give you anything,” he promises.

He carefully disentangles them, helping Dream down. Dream winces as he stretches out his legs, gone stiff from holding his position, and Hob rolls his shoulders, hearing them pop. Yeah, he’ll be feeling that tomorrow, but he doesn’t expect he’ll regret it.

He gets Dream situated by the fireplace--of the Erotica section has a fucking fireplace, though Hob had been way too distracted to clock it before--where there is a scattering of pillows and blankets they could definitely have used instead of the wall. He stretches out with Dream settled between his legs, lying against his chest, massages Dream’s sore hips with his thumbs, while privately aroused at the thought of him being sore, of him feeling it.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs at length, face still mashed into Hob’s chest. “For indulging me.”

“Don’t thank me. I love being able to fulfill your fantasies.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head, burying his nose in his hair. “I love you.”

Dream taps his fingers over Hob’s heart. “I love you.”

They sit quietly, listening to the crackle of the flames. Finally, Hob says, “So. Does the Erotica section enhance the experience for you? You can feel the resonances or something?”

Dream sighs. “I do not have a psychic connection to the books, Hob.”

“You sure?”

Dream pokes him in the side, but immediately undermines his admonishment by slipping his hand under Hob’s shirt to lay against his side.

“Could put an actual bedroom in the Library,” Hob suggests.

“That would be absurd. It is a bookstore.”

Hob’s never going to win this debate. He’s tried.

“Fine, then,” he concedes. “We’ll just have to keep using mine.”

“And the wall,” Dream says, and then giggles. Hob accepts his fate of lifting more weights. And sore shoulders.

And, of course, a happy Dream, curled up with him by the fire, making it all worth it.

[johnslittlespoon]

morning reblog + snippet <3 need to get in the habit of doing this but somehow once the chapter is actually posted i get nervous despite sharing bits and pieces the whole time i'm writing lol?? silly!

sappy but waking up to the ao3 comment emails had me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair this morning, i rly do tear up reading them, i'm so so thankful for every interaction on this fic and ik i repeat myself every time i post a new chapter but i just. appreciate the love so much and i'm so grateful for the patience i've been shown as i navigate a proper long fic for the first time!! wowie

idk what i did to deserve stumbling into a fandom so kind and sweet and supportive and INSANELY creative and talented (simultaneously thanking barry and hating him for getting me attached to that precious little lieutenant and then ripping him away just as fast fml), i genuinely feel so lucky to have something to be excited about every day and as much as i love writing this fic, i can't wait to be done so i can lock in and pour over all my friends' fics and give back so much love :')))

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

[bedlamsbard]

Ok I am genuinely and independently curious about your opinions on the fall of Rome, but I do understand it not being the time, so answer this how you best see fit to not cause fuckshit

see, the thing is that I am immune to discourse about the fall of Rome because 99% of online comparisons to ~the fall of the Roman Empire just have a very culturally osmosed idea of Edward Gibbon's decline and fall and no idea what actually happened in the late 5th/early 6th centuries, and the thing I do professionally is The End of the Western Roman Empire. that is not an exaggeration. that's what my doctoral dissertation is on. (actually, technically it's about failures of Roman identity in specific regions of the (former) Western Roman Empire, but basically the End of the Western Roman Empire.) I have spent the bulk of the past ten years thinking extensively about the End of the Western Roman Empire. It is a safe bet that I know every major argument of scholarly discourse on the End of the Western Roman Empire. I have also read the original sources in the original languages. this is just to say that like. I have a lot of opinions about the end of the Western Roman Empire, and they digress pretty significantly even from common scholarly view, let alone popular opinion. (but I can back them up! I'm not sourcing stuff here, but I can.)

the traditional end date for the end of the Western Roman Empire is 476 CE, the year the emperor Romulus Augustulus was removed from the throne by a so-called barbarian usurper named Odoacer. after that, there were no other Western Roman Emperors and Italy was ruled by barbarian kings until the foundation of the Exarchate as a result of the Eastern Roman Emperor Justinian's invasion. Odoacer was, by the way, a Roman military officer and a citizen. Romulus Augustulus was fourteen years old and had been on the throne the year previously but his father and uncle, both of whom Odoacer killed. oh, by the way, the preceding emperor? yeah, Romulus Augustulus's dad didn't actually kill him. his name was Julius Nepos, and he did get chased out of Italy. he went to his native Dalmatia (modern Croatia) and wrote angry but pleading letters to his relative by marriage, the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Emperor Zeno, who was a little busy at the time because he had just been chased out of Constantinople by a usurper named Basiliscus. By the time Zeno succeeded in retaking Constantinople and knocking Basiliscus off, Odoacer was safely seated in Ravenna (the city of Rome had ceased to be the imperial capital some time earlier) and had 14-year-old Romulus Augustulus and the Roman Senate (still in the city of Rome) writing letters to Zeno on his behalf. Romulus and the Senate both said, essentially, hey, why don't YOU (Zeno) be the first emperor to control both halves of the empire for the first time in centuries and Odoacer can just be king in Italy, basically a governor, but it's YOUR empire.

(by the way, Romulus Augustulus was fine. he was quietly retired to a villa in Campania with his mother, we actually have letters to him from years later.)

the Italian legation seems to have arrived in Constantinople at the same time as the Julius Nepos's Dalmatian legation, which said, "hey, cousin, congrats on getting the throne back, funny story! I have the same problem. could you maybe help me out here?"

the problem is that Zeno, having just finished fighting a major civil war that almost succeeded, did not have any resources to help Nepos, and also everyone in the Eastern Roman Empire hated him (Zeno) a lot. so much. what he ends up doing is writing a strongly-worded letter to Odoacer thanking him for the offer but reminding him that he HAS a Western Roman Emperor already! right now! don't forget!

so true, bestie, Odoacer says to Zeno, and then proceeds to ignore Nepos for the next four years -- except. he continues to put Nepos on his coins. he continues to put Zeno on his coins. as far as the Roman senate and the population of Italy is concerned, they are still part of the Roman res publica. they are very clear on this fact. so are our Eastern Roman writers, interestingly, though the situation with the West is kind of tense, but Zeno is busy with like. six other civil wars. (because everyone hates him). so he can't actually do anything about the Odoacer and Nepos situation. Nepos dies in 480 (assassinated by his own nobles) and even though Odoacer springs up all "I WILL AVENGE YOUR DEATH, MY BELOVED EMPEROR" and conquers Dalmatia, this actually just makes the situation with the East worse because now there's not even the illusion of a Western Roman Emperor, but Zeno is busy having his five hundredth civil war so he can't do anything about it. (it's actually not his fault, there were numerous factors going on in the East, only some of which were that everyone hated Zeno for being essentially an outsider. his mother-in-law and his wife also hated him.)

eventually, however, Zeno manages to kill all of his problem noblemen and attempted usurpers except one guy and goes, huh, you know what. I would like you to get out of the Eastern Roman Empire but you're actually very competent so I can't beat you militarily. also would you please stop marching on Constantinople, that would be great.

that one guy is Theoderic the Great, King of the Ostrogoths. he was also a Roman citizen (Flavius Theodericus), a patrician, Zeno's son-in-arms (we're not actually sure what this entails), and a former consul, THE most prestigious office in both sides of the empire, with a host of Roman civil and military honors. he'd been raised in the court at Constantinople as a political hostage, which meant he knew the imperial system inside and out, and upon being released immediately went back to the Ostrogoths, raised an army, and started conquering things, both for and against the Eastern Romans. he had been on Zeno's side, he had been fighting Zeno, he had been on Zeno's side again, he had been fighting Zeno again, he was NOT responsible for the death of the other Gothic Theoderic, Theoderic Strabo (who once called him out for being too Roman), who died accidentally, but he was probably responsible for the death of Strabo's heir, which resulted in all of Strabo's Goths joining Theoderic's Goths. he marched on the walls of Constantinople. peak frienemy.

it's unclear if sending Theoderic and the Ostrogoths to Italy was Zeno's idea or Theoderic's, since sources differ, but one way or another Theoderic gathered up all of the Ostrogoths (men, women, and children) and set out on an overland trek to Italy, picking up various other barbarian peoples along the way, and arrived in Italy in 489, where he immediately set about making Odoacer's life a nightmare by conquering everything in Italy except Ravenna, where Odoacer holes up with his family. in 493 the bishop of Ravenna negotiates a truce between Theoderic and Odoacer, the two of them agreeing to rule Italy between them, and then Theoderic personally kills Odoacer and also has the rest of his family killed, leaving him as king of Italy -- rex Italiae.

or...what? we do know for sure that Theoderic used the title rex Italiae. he also used the titles princeps, imperator, and dominus. we even have one stone inscription, set up by a Roman senator (who ought to know) calling him augustus (emperor). what we don't know -- and scholarly ideas differ here -- is what Theoderic's actual legal relationship vis a vis the Eastern Roman Empire was because to all intents and purposes, for the next thirty years, Theoderic acted like, was treated like, and performed as the Western Roman Emperor, without ever explicitly claiming that title. but everything about his reign was centered around performing Romanness perfectly and about restoring territory to the WRE that had been lost decades earlier. which he did. he brought portions of Gaul and Spain and the Balkans under Italian rule again. he bragged about seating Gallic senators in the Roman senate for the first time in decades. every letter to he sent to the East was "okay, you're emperor, but I'm as good as you and don't you forget it, we're still the other republic (utraeque res publicae)." he went on what was essentially a triumph in Rome itself. he did the whole bread and circuses shindig. (literally, he reinstituted the annona, the grain dole, and held gladiatorial games even though he personally didn't like them.) most of the popes liked him and were happy to work with him (because they hated the patriarch in Constantinople and the various Eastern Roman Emperors). (I say most of because he definitely interfered with a couple of papal elections and may have had one pope killed.)

now, he wasn't a perfect Roman, because he was still a barbarian (non-Roman) king. there were legal distinctions between Romans and Ostrogoths in Italy. Theoderic made marriage alliances with most of his surrounding barbarian neighbors (who also all ruled former Roman territory); he wasn't a Nicene (Catholic) Christian, he was an Arian (Homoian) Christian. but he acted as a Roman emperor and seems to have been perceived as one by the bulk of the inhabitants of Italy. (yes, of course he had political enemies, yes I know about Boethius and Symmachus). also sometimes he did fight the Eastern Roman Empire but considering how many civil wars Rome had had that's basically one of the most Roman things he could do.

he dies in 525, without an adult male heir, and his grandson Athalaric becomes king under the regency of his mother, Theoderic's daughter Amalasuintha, who was essentially too Roman for most of the Ostrogothic nobility but made the Roman senate really happy. she was apparently pretty close to being a political genius, she was just unfortunately a woman. an unmarried woman. (Athalaric's father had died at some indeterminate point before Theoderic's death, we don't know when.) when Athalaric died before gaining his majority, Amalasuintha briefly reigned as sole ruler, then realized that that wasn't going to work with the Ostrogoths, and named her cousin Theodahad her co-ruler. (she did not marry him, anyone who tells you she married him is wrong. Theodahad was already married.) this backfired very badly. Theodahad had her arrested, imprisoned, and murdered.

this was a huge mistake, because Theodahad was actually incredibly incompetent, and the Eastern Roman Empire was out the lookout for blood since the Emperor Justinian was on his high horse about ~reconquering the Roman West.

and this is when the "the Roman Empire fell in 476" narrative enters the picture. it comes from an Eastern Roman Latin writer names Marcellinus comes, writing during Justinian's reign, and he is the very first person who points to that date, to the usurpation of Romulus Augustulus (who was never acknowledged by Zeno), and to Odoacer as a big, BIG change in the Roman world. previously there is no evidence that anyone in either West or East looked at 476 and thought "something fundamental has changed here." (I mean, maybe they did, but they didn't write it down or if they did it didn't survive.) in fact, Odoacer's and Theoderic's reigns were the most stable period Italy had had in decades; they'd gone through five emperors in ten years. Procopius, writing the Wars, also identifies Romulus Augustulus as the last emperor and Odoacer and Theoderic as illegitimate rulers, but the man is very much writing propaganda. (just because the Secret History hates women and also Justinian does not mean the Wars is not propaganda.) the East has a vested reason for identifying 476 and Romulus as a sea change: they want a legitimate reason to invade the West, and "avenging Amalasuintha" and "reclaiming Rome from the barbarians" are good excuses.

(Procopius really struggles with how to identify Theoderic, because he has to identify Theoderic as a usurper and a tyrant (in the technical ancient sense, not the modern one) for his propaganda to work, but even to him Theoderic is a good ruler, who could have been an emperor but never claimed the title, who held all these Roman honors, etc. there's even a big debate about Theoderic's legal status vis a vis the Eastern Roman Empire in the Wars, so it's clear that it was unclear.)

Theodahad fucks everything up, is murdered by the Goths, and the Goths name a man called Witigis as king. to legitimize this, Witigis (apparently forcibly) marries Amalasuintha's daughter (Theoderic's granddaughter) Matasuintha. too late, the Eastern Roman Empire has already invaded and they aren't stopping for shit. in 535, Ravenna falls, and the remains of the Ostrogothic court (which include a lot of Italo-Roman civil officials) are transported to Constantinople.

THAT'S the end of the Western Roman Empire, the fall of the Ostrogothic Amal dynasty.

the Gothic Wars continue for another twenty years, the Eastern Romans fuck up Italy almost irreparably (there are arguments that the repercussions were still echoing in the 20th century), and then the Lombards invade and make everything worse, but at that point there's no more Western Roman Empire, even if the Roman Senate's still around (and they are until what seems to be the early 7th century).

so basically, I feel very strongly that if anyone says they know anything about the fall of Rome, they almost certainly do not. it's not actually an equivalent situation to the modern U.S. or tbh anyone else. the 476 year is nice, it's convenient, you get the romance of Romulus Augustulus's name ("little augustus," named after the legendary founder of Rome Romulus), but it was not for more than fifty years that anyone actually decided that year was important. the situation was way, way more complicated.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

I Know the End | Vol. 2

I Know the End

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!

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.

Charms in Trees

A few small battles came and went. It was pilot stuff, mostly. They’d go, blow up a First Order transport, and be back in time for dinner. You always offered your help, but it was never needed. Still, you’d take any excuse to go see Poe, especially in that orange jumpsuit. You weren’t sure what it was about it, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

Sometimes you thought about taking it off of him.

It was a growing problem, your little unspoken thing. You’d forgotten just how all-encompassing a crush could be, especially when it was as attainable as the one sitting in front of you right now. You shared a base, lived just down the hall from him. Maker, you could feel that he felt the same way about you, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to shatter the normalcy.

Part of you wanted him to do it, finally take that leap of faith. You were patient. You could wait.

So you did.

Supplies began to dwindle, so you put on a utility uniform and went with some of the others to get more, lifting boxes with your arms instead of your mind. You helped Aspen and some of the other mechs with repairs. You spent time with Soren, both training and not. He was fun to hang out with, a funny guy. Had your sense of humor.

He told you that Laesynda had taken him out to Mariposas a few times when he was growing up. They’d leave flowers outside your pod, light a candle for a while and tell stories. It was haunting, almost, the funerals people held for you despite the fact that you weren’t dead.

Poe had been refurbishing an old X-Wing in his free time, which wasn’t very much to begin with. Leia had been upping his responsibilities, clearly bracing for something. Whether it was an attack or a defensive move, you couldn’t tell, but it had him stressed out.

On a beautiful afternoon, you looked for him in the hangar, armed with some baked goods. BB-8 chirped to welcome you and Poe kicked a shelf in shock, a toolbox teetering for a moment before it started its descent straight on top of him. You caught it in mid-air. The tools floated out of the box, your arm outstretched, heart racing. You set them all down gently, safely away from that pretty face of his.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Dameron. Came here with a peace offering.”

“Peace offering?” He asked, rolling himself out from under the X-Wing. He peeled his work gloves off, dusting himself off as best as he could.

It looked pretty close to finished, you noted, looking it over. It would need a paint job, of course, but all of the major parts seemed to be accounted for.

“Finn said you’ve been in a mood lately…” You admitted. “Figured I’d bring you something to take your mind off it.”

He grinned, looking at the gift and then up at you. There it was, that infamous flyboy grin of his. “Sunshine, you’re all I need to take my mind off of it. But these are appreciated, too.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, handing him the container of sweets. “How’s it going in here? It looks good.”

“Thanks. Should be done soon.” He reported, busting into the box and biting into the sweet, berry-filled tart. “And then we’ll really be in business.”

“I’m sorry about your other one, by the way. I feel partially responsible for that.”

“It wasn’t my first. I knew it wouldn’t be my last.” He chuckled. “At least it got to go out with a bang.”

“And some flames, as well. It was on fire, last I saw it.”

“I am glad I got to take you for a spin in it, though. Think I could get you into this new one sometime?”

“I’m always down for a joyride.” You told him, eyes sparkling, words sincere. “Let me know when it’s done and I can try to fit you into my busy Jedi princess schedule.”

“You’re serious.”

“Always.” You nodded. “I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

He pouted, gazing at you through those dark lashes, a little bit of fruit filling stuck to the corner of his stupidly pink lips. His tongue poked out to get it, but failed. “Wish I’d known that a week ago, I would have carved out more time.”

“Don’t worry about it, Commander.” You said, resting a hand against his chest. You reached up with the other hand, gently wiping corner of his lips. “I know you’re busy, too.”

He held your hand against his cheek, meeting your eyes. “Not too busy for you, your Highness.”

“Good.” You replied, thumb gently stroking his stubble.

He turned his face, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb. He met your eyes, gaze all innocent despite the way your cheeks were flushing. “Did you get it?”

“I did.” You nodded, making a speedy recovery. “Couldn’t let the best pilot in the Resistance walk around with jam on his face, could I?”

“Well, thank you, for the treats, for sparing my reputation, all of it.” His eyes scanned down your face as you finally removed your hand from the side of his. “You got anything going on today, (Y/N)?”

“Training.”

“Mmm. What time?”

“Soon.” You said, glancing at the watch around your wrist. It had been Luke’s, Leia had given it to you. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Could you move that panel for me real quick?” He asked, pointing up at the wing of his X-Wing, where a patch of machinery was exposed, a heavy piece of sheet metal leaning up against it.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

He set his box of tarts on the workbench and rolled a ladder over to the X-Wing while you lifted the wing cover into place, arms out in front of you, the heavy piece floating in mid-air. He stopped and watched for a second, chuckling to himself.

“What?”

“Still getting used to it, is all.” He confessed, gently pushing the piece into place, where you held it until he started bolting it into place. “This thing weighs like two hundred pounds, and you just…You’re amazing. You know that?”

“You think that’s cool, you should see what I can do with some pretty hefty rocks.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, the whir of his wrench stopping. “Oh I’m sure it’s phenomenal.”

“Anything else you need while I’m here?”

He shook his head. “I’m all set. Good luck with training. I hope you…you know, move things good.”

“I’ll certainly try.” You chuckled, turning and leaving the hangar.

Over and over in your head, you watched him turn his face and press the gentlest kiss to your thumb. You may have been the one with wings, but he was always the one that gave you butterflies.

***

Your final bits of training that day just so happened to be wing-centric. That morning, you’d flitted from tree to tree, hanging metal charms in the branches with lengths of twine. Rey had been given some other independent activities to work on, but it was clear you and Soren had some ground to cover, or…not cover, flight being the main objective here.

The two of you stared up at them. He looked at you for instructions, but you simply repeated what you’d already said.

“Go get them.”

“What, with the Force?”

“Nope. We’ve been using the Force for hours. Time to stretch those wings, little prince.”

He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up that high before.”

“That’s why I need you to be comfortable with it. If you go about it the right way, you can get some serious height. More, if you strengthen your wings with practice and exercise, and more yet if you use the Force for a little boost.”

“Could you…show me?”

You chuckled, hands on your hips, looking up, up, up at the charms. Yeah, that would definitely be a bit daunting if it was your first time flying. “Sure. I’m not gonna cut them down, though, because I’ll have to go up there and hang them all again.”

You spread your wings, shaking the accumulated dust and humidity collected on them from Ajan Kloss’ temperate ecosystem. And then you took off, running at a stump on the ground and using it as a springboard, wings carrying you to the first branch, where you hit the hanging charm sending it swinging.

You flipped from the first branch to the next, a few feet higher, touching that charm before heading to the next, and the next. You were like a dancer, graceful, fluid, gliding from branch to branch, using your limited flight to climb until you were near the top of the highest tree in your training grounds. You took a moment to look out at the camp, admire the Resistance crew bustling from building to building, doing their daily tasks to keep your movement up and running.

And then, doing one last somersault, you dove down, catching yourself with your wings and a burst of air, kicking up the leaves scattered on the forest floor.

Soren stared with wide eyes, Rey having joined him on the ground.

“And you expect me to do…that?”

“Not all of it.” You assured him. “That last jump is definitely something you’ll have to build towards. It’s a leap of faith. But that’s why I’m here, to catch you if the landing isn’t going so smooth.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “I can try.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.” You said, the words familiar, even if they weren’t yours. Sometimes the Force spoke through you; you could feel that this was one of those times. “Aim for five charms today. Any more than that and I’ll be impressed.”

Soren looked up at the first charm, on a low, sturdy branch, deceptively close to the ground. Like you did, he took off at a run, using his wings to get some height and land–somewhat shakily–on the branch, but he did it, youthful face breaking into a grin.

“There you go!” You encouraged, Rey smiling as she watched.

“It’s really great, what you’re doing with him.” Rey said, voice sincere. She reached for your hand and you gave it to her, just as you had that very first day you met. Long ago, you and Leia had shared a sisterhood, and now you shared that with Rey.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“I hope so. He’s…well, he’s my first Padawan. After you, of course, but you had a head start.”

“I wish you had been here when all of this started,” she confessed, squeezing your hand. “It would have been…nice to know I wasn’t alone in this.”

“You’re not alone.” You told her. “A long time ago…I was meditating, trying to find other Jedi out there. Luke and I thought we were alone, too. I found someone, another Jedi, a young woman. The Force works in mysterious ways, of course, because…it was you. You wouldn’t be born for another, what, eleven years? But I know it was you. We were meant to be here. I was meant to help you and…I plan on doing that. No matter what.”

Rey smiled, words failing her. She pulled you into her arms instead, resting her head against yours. You hugged her back, rubbing comforting circles in her shoulders.

“You know, I’ve always wanted a sister.” She admitted with a laugh, tears in her eyes.

“Well now you’ve got one.”

“I got seven charms, Aunt (Y/N).” Soren said, dangling them from their strings when you turned to look.

“How was the landing?”

“A little shaky, but…” He shrugged and then looked back up at the next charm, even higher than the last. “I think I could get another one.”

“Go ahead. Round two.” You encouraged, motioning him up into the tree.

Finn and Poe walked over not long after, chatting animatedly about something, BB-8 rolling alongside them. It was clear, even from that distance, that Finn was teasing him.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She getting you up there next, Rey?” Finn asked, pointing up at the trees, where Soren had very clearly already gotten the hang of it, throwing a few flips and flourishes into his movements. You grinned, proud.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Rey shook her head. “I will after you do.”

“Fair enough.” Finn chuckled. “How’s it going, ladies?”

“Good. Really good. Good, productive day today.” You said.

“Good view up there?” Poe asked, shielding his eyes as he glanced up at the highest branch, a glittering charm still hanging from a thread.

“Great view.” You said.

“I thought you said you could only cover short distances, that looks like quite a height.”

“You have to build up to it.” You told him, pointing to all the shorter branches on the way up to that point. “I can’t just fly straight up there. Maybe with some strength training, but these things aren’t what they used to be.” You gave them a flutter, noting the way his eyes caught on them yet again.

“Well, it looked great, from what I could see.”

“That’s high praise coming from you, flyboy.”

“Well, from one flyer to another…you’re a natural. Literally. You were born to be up there, doing that.”

You smiled, voice soft and sincere when you said, “So were you.”

“That means a lot, (Y/N).” He said, head turning downwards for a moment while he thought. “Anyway, uh, Finn and I were wondering if the two of you would join us at the cantina later? Rose’ll be there, too. Things have been so tense lately, we thought we could all blow off some steam.”

“I’d love to.”

Rey nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

“Just let me get changed into something more casual.” You said, flourishing the skirts of your Jedi robes.

“What, the robes aren’t fit for a night on the town?”

“The robes aren’t fit for…much other than looking solemn and kicking ass.” You said with a chuckle. “Unlike your flight suit, which is fit for any occasion.”

“Back to that, huh?” Poe grinned, letting out a laugh. “If you really like that thing so much, maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You smirked. “I wouldn’t complain.”

“I would.” Finn chuckled. “It needs a good wash, buddy.”

“Alright, alright.”

You watched as Soren landed once again, wings powerful, stance strong. You gave him a nod, pride blossoming in your chest. He was getting there after all. Your training was working. You just hoped that, when danger came, he’d be ready for it.

You hoped you all would be.

Cards on the Table

You sat in your quarters with Rose and Rey, getting ready for your night out with the boys. You braided a few strands of your hair, tying them off with small gold rings at the end.

“This one?” Rey asked, holding the dress up against her frame, a sage green color. It was one of the ones you’d given her.

You nodded. “That color suits you. Brings out your eyes.”

Rey considered your words for a moment before beginning to change. Rose sat at your desk, looking through the accessories you’d pulled out. You plucked a pair of earrings from the collection, setting them in her palm.

“Are you sure? I’ve never worn a princess’ earrings before.” Rose said, staring at them. They were a pair of gold, dangling leaves. They’d go with the blouse she was wearing, a natural pattern on them.

“First time for everything.” You said with a shrug, turning your attention to your own outfit. A wine-colored top with a corset front, the back swooping just low enough for your wings. With it, you’d paired some dark brown pants with flared legs, a decorative gold belt made of metal hoops. You tucked your lightsaber into your bag, instead of displaying it at your hip.

“Oh this…” Rey struggled with the back of her dress. “I can’t get it to stay closed.”

“Here, let me.” You walked over and pulled ribbons from the sides of the dress, tying it closed above the large divot for where your wings went when you had worn it. “I sewed these in for Leia. She and I shared a closet during the Rebellion, more or less.”

Rey’s eyes scanned down her reflection, hands smoothing out the green fabric. “Thank you.”

“You look great.” You told her, words warm and reassuring. “You both do.”

“So do you!” Rose complimented.

A few minutes later, you decided you were ready, not that there was any pressure to be. This was just Finn and Poe you were talking about after all. But you had a feeling quite a few other members of the Resistance crew would be there.

The three of you arrived and it felt like time stopped. Poe and Finn were in a round booth in the corner and they both looked up, faces lit with anticipation at the sight of you. It felt good to be wearing something other than your robes or your standard Resistance gear, a luxury you did not take lightly.

They stood up and crossed the room, meeting you somewhere in the middle. Poe was wearing that leather jacket of his, the one you’d mistaken him for Han Solo in. Beneath it, a button-up that seemed to be missing a few buttons. You swore he was doing it on purpose.

“Hey, Princess.” He grinned. “Glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Several Resistance folks milled about, dancing, playing games. A few droids manned the bar, where there were paper lanterns strung from the support beams, casting the room in warm, ambient light.

The five of you shimmied back into the booth, Poe going almost out of his way to make sure he got the seat next to yours, right on the end. His arm settled on the seat behind you, that strong sandalwood scent drifting from his pulse point. Maker, you could get lost in it.

When the droid taking drink orders came around, you each requested something, settling in for a nice, casual night.

A song you recognized came over the speakers in the corners of the room and you smiled. It was familiar. A place like this, people like these.

The more things changed…

“I requested some oldies for you.” Poe confessed, just about causing your heart to melt. “Thought it’d remind you of the good old days.”

“He put ten whole credits in the jukebox.” Finn tattled, earning a pointed look from the pilot. “Stood there forever picking out songs.”

“Well that was very sweet.” You said, leaning a little closer to him subconsciously. “Not to sound incredibly old, but the new music is still…growing on me, we’ll say.”

“How old were you?” Finn asked. “I’m sorry if that’s rude. I don’t think we’ve ever asked.”

“I’m twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-five in…well, I don’t know when my birthday falls now. Four months? Three months? Something like that. Give or take thirty years, of course.”

“You’re younger than me.” Poe murmured, almost in shock of the fact.

He’d taken it for granted, he guessed, just how young you were when they’d put you in that pod. But you’d existed his entire life, etched into legends and stories told by anyone who remembered the war. To him, you’d existed forever. But he was older than you, by eight years.

“Were you…alive when I was?” You asked, running the numbers in your mind.

“I’m thirty-two.” He said, meeting your eyes. There was an odd look in them, like he was asking permission for something. He chuckled, covering the flash of insecurity with a smirk and a quip. “I know I hardly look it.”

“You would have been really young, then.” You bit your lip, letting out a little laugh at the new information. The whole situation was ridiculous. You doubted your paths had ever crossed, so it didn’t matter, ultimately, but still. “That is a little weird.”

“It is.” Poe agreed, eyes still ever-searching yours for some sign that it was still okay, the feelings floating around his heart.

“That means you really are the Han of the group.” You said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension that had blossomed in his chest. It worked. You could feel it instantly. “He was like thirty and the rest of us were in our twenties.”

“Does that make you Leia this time?” Rey asked, catching your eyes, a spark of mischief in her gaze. She knew exactly what she was implying.

“I think it does. Which means you get to be me this time. Congratulations, you are now a princess. Use the title well.” You joked, sitting back against the cushioned bench, also, coincidentally, against Poe’s arm, which was still there, perched on the leather. Warmth emanated from him, both literally and figuratively.

Eventually, the drinks came and you took a few sips of yours, loosening up. You all chatted and joked and laughed. Eventually, Rey and Rose got up to dance with the mechs over on the dance floor. Finn followed behind them.

Jessika spotted you and motioned you over, a broad grin on her face. Beside her was Aspen. Snap was there, too. They were hanging out near the holodart board mounted to the wall.

“Wanna play some darts?” Poe smirked, following your eyeline.

“If you’re ready to get your ass kicked, sure.” You teased, getting out of the booth after him and walking over to where his friends were waiting.

“You look great, girl!” Jessika said. “Give us a spin.”

You did a little twirl, showing off the top, the pants, the accessories. Your wings fluttered behind you like a cape, folded down and out of the way, as they always were.

“Dameron said he was gonna try to get you out here tonight.” Snap said, jostling his buddy’s shoulder. “Glad you joined us.”

“Do you guys do this often?”

“Not often enough.” Aspen said with a laugh, perched criss-cross on a barstool. “But our schedules have us all wound up tighter than a drum. I think we all needed to let off some steam.”

“How have things been for you guys? Missions running smoothly?”

“As ever.” Jessika said. “Thanks, of course, to our fearless commander.”

“Stop, stop, you’re too kind.” Poe said, playfully brushing off his shoulder. “It helps that I have the best team in the galaxy at my disposal.”

Snap motioned you closer, handing you a glowing dart. “Alright, enough chitchat. I want the Jedi on my team.”

“That is not fair.” Poe protested immediately. “It’s only fair if she’s on my team.”

“Sorry, Poe, I’ve been spoken for.” You shrugged, throwing the dart and landing in the outer ring of the bullseye.

Snap’s face lit up and he high-fived you.

“That’s gotta be cheating.” Jessika said, looking to Aspen, who was serving, apparently, as the referee. Pilots took their holodarts very seriously, after all. “Ref, tell her she’s cheating.”

“No, if I was cheating, it would look like this.” You took a second dart from Snap, covered your eyes with one hand, and threw the dart, using the Force to pull it through an exaggerated loop-de-loop on its way to the board, where it hit dead on in the center. You lowered your hand and shrugged innocently. “I just genuinely have pretty decent aim, as hard as it is to believe.”

“She’s pretty and she’s got a sense of humor. You’re a goner, Dameron.” Snap said, elbowing him while you were distracted, laughing with Aspen and Jessika.

Poe chuckled, crossing his arms, eyes teeming with tenderness. “Believe me, pal, I know.”

***

The night went on. You had a few more drinks, toeing the line between tipsy and drunk, but not quite getting all the way there. You and Poe continued to dance around each other, but he didn’t make a move. Well, any further than he already had. But after watching him interact with some of his friends, you’d come to realize that he was a touchy guy. It was definitely his love language.

You sang some songs at the karaoke machine in the corner of the room, sharing the stage with Rose, who had a really good voice, as it turned out.

At the end of the evening, when the crowd began to dwindle, Poe walked you back to your quarters. You, somewhat clumsily, punched in your code, the doors sliding open smoothly. You lingered in the doorway, turning to look at him.

“Thanks for taking me out, Dameron.” You said, breaking the warm silence that threatened to swallow your moment. “I had a great time.”

“Thanks for coming. I, uh…” He reached for your hand and you gave it to him, letting him fiddle with your fingers. It was comforting, his touch. You doubted you’d ever tire of the feeling of those calloused palms against yours. “If you were serious about that joyride…I’m taking it up tomorrow. Little test-drive, checking perimeters. Two porgs, one stone, you know. It’ll still be a tight fit, if that’s alright.”

“Well we both know I have no problem with getting close to you, Dameron.” You teased, giving his hand a squeeze. “What time are you picking me up?”

“After breakfast? Or…well, whenever works. I know you’re busy.”

You nodded, eyes glimmering. “After breakfast works.”

You could feel it again, that warmth sweltering in Poe’s chest. That desire laced deep in his eyes. He was thinking about kissing you. The fantasy playing out in your mind, you weren’t sure if it was yours or his, at this point.

Him, grabbing you by the hip, burying a hand in your hair, kissing you fiercely, passionately, lips exploring every inch of your own. Hungrily. Like he’d been waiting for it. You heard the way his breath hitched, felt his large, warm hand wander further up your back, towards the base of your wings as he kissed you. Cards on the table, heart on his sleeve.

But he didn’t. Didn’t move, aside from giving your hand another squeeze.

You smiled at him, still reeling from the images that had just flashed through your mind, but doing your best to hide the way your heart was racing. “It’s a date.”

These Haunted Wounds

You woke with a start not long after you drifted off. An hour or two at most. Nightmares. Figured.

This time, it was about a different saber. A red one, two little offshoots on the side of the hilt. It looked dangerous. Poorly constructed, if you were honest. One wrong move and the wielder would slice their own hand off by mistake.

No, the scary part was the guy wielding it. Long, foreboding figure, black cloak that drifted in the wind. He wore a mask over his face, voice deepened by a modulator of some kind. It brought back memories in all the wrong ways.

Despite the fact that you hadn’t seen him yet, didn’t know what he looked like, you could just tell. This was Kylo Ren. Had to be. That type of energy could only come from someone who was trying his damndest to stand in the shadow of Darth Vader, an entity you were still all too familiar with.

Luke had made his peace with the guy. You had never gotten that opportunity.

Kylo swished his cape and from his shadow came Insidia, still haunting you after all these years. She plunged her saber into your heart, the pain scorching and real, a scream tearing itself from your throat, and that was when you woke in a cold sweat.

You sat there, hands shaking, heart racing, collecting yourself before trying to lay down to sleep again. Just as you were about to lay back down, there was a knock on your door. Eyebrows furrowing, you swung your legs out of the bed, crossing the room and opening the door with a click of a button on the wall panel.

Poe was standing there in his sweatpants, panting, armed with a piece of a pipe. It was clear he’d run there. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Huh?” You asked, rubbing at your bleary eyes. You stopped, staring at his bare, toned chest for maybe too long before meeting his gaze. “I’m fine.”

He lowered the pipe. “Oh. I heard screaming.”

Had you screamed out loud? Maybe you had. Maybe you’d projected it on accident, through the Force.

“It was just a nightmare.” You reassured him. You chuckled when you looked at the pipe hanging from his grip. “Nice.”

“Hey, I could do some real damage with this thing.” He defended, giving it a test swing to demonstrate.

“Oh I bet.” You gave a tired smile, let out a sigh, that spot in your chest burning, where Insidia had stabbed you in this dream.

She’s dead. You reminded yourself. She can’t hurt me anymore because she’s dead.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Same old.” You shrugged. “Stabbed with a lightsaber this time. Right through the chest.”

He frowned, nodding. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll be okay.” You promised him. “But thank you for rushing to my rescue. Very daring of you, Commander.”

“Any time.” 

You could feel that he wanted to stay. But you could tell he wasn’t going to ask. Ever the gentleman in the presence of a princess. It was kind of refreshing. You smiled at him. “Get some sleep, flyboy. See you in the morning.”

“You too. Goodnight.” He smiled. He held up the pipe in his hand. “I better go put this back.”

You laughed, watching as he walked back down the hallway. He glanced back at you, meeting your eyes before returning to the room he shared with Finn.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you lingered in the hallway for a moment before closing your door and walking back to your bunk. You sat there, wondering what it would have been like if you asked him to stay. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to, but…maybe there was a reason he was waiting.

Maybe he was waiting until after the war to get attached. That would be smart. You knew so many during the Rebellion who did just that. 

Some hashed everything out in the heat of the war, sure. It was hard to get comfortable. It was hard to know which base would be your last, which fight would end it all. Some people chased comfort, wanting to get close to each other while they had the chance.

But others wanted to wait, to make sure they were going to make it to see the peace after the war, and whatever relationship, whatever life awaited them after.

You rolled onto your side, staring at the wall. You wonder if he knew the way he had his hand wrapped around your heart, a little X-Wing orbiting it around and around.

Tomorrow, you promised yourself. Tomorrow you’d say something, up in the X-Wing with him. Arms around you, chest pressed against your back, legs tangled in the cockpit. And one way or the other, you’d finally have your answer.

This time, when you fell asleep, the only thing you dreamt of were his lips.

The Crash

The next morning, Poe met you and the others for breakfast, already dressed in his orange jumpsuit, the collar flipped open. You could not keep the smile off your face at the sight.

“I can’t believe this is really what does it for you.” He laughed, drunk off the look in your eyes.

“It suits you.” You said, eyes lingering on the collar, fighting the urge to reach out and fix it. You rummaged around your mind for some quip to fire back, but came up empty. He’d stolen the words right from your mouth.

The group of you finished eating and Poe cleared your plate, leading you towards the hangar. 

“I don’t have it painted yet, but the mechs checked over it yesterday and gave me the okay.” Poe explained.

“So we’re not going to crash, is what you’re saying.”

“Not with a Jedi on board.” He said, eyes meeting yours. “I still think about that transport you caught. I didn’t know you could just…do that.”

“Took a while to get to that point. Ships are heavy. It helps if I’m not fighting the trajectory. Laesynda’s ship was on its way down, I just…cushioned the fall.” You explained.

“You’re real humble for a Jedi, you know.”

“You think so?”

“More humble than I would be if I could lift spacecrafts with my mind.”

“Oh I’m aware, flyboy. If you were out here with a lightsaber, none of us would ever hear the end of it.” You teased, looking over his flightsuit, still enamored. “You’re already an ace pilot, you can’t possibly have all the skills.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by the harsh blare of a distress signal. The two of you looked at each other before booking it to the strategy table, where Leia was, hand still over the button.

“It’s one of our settlements. First Order troops on the ground, TIE fighters.” She made eye contact with you, Rey running into the room right after. “Kylo is with them.”

She dispatched groups of fighters, sent you and Rey and sent out the Black Squadron. Poe marched through the hangar, yelling orders, getting his team ready for battle. You forced your eyes away from him as he loaded BB-8 into his X-Wing, strapped your saber to your belt, and loaded onto a transport with Rey and Finn.

Soren walked over, saber at the ready. You stopped him with a shake of your head, something akin to a maternal look in your eye. “I need you here. It’s just Kylo. Rey and I can handle him.”

“I’m ready.”

“I know you are.” You said, hands on his shoulders. “That’s why I need you here. Someone’s gotta protect the base.”

He nodded, understanding. He took a few steps back, standing with the others as they saw you all off.

You made eye contact with Poe, one last lingering glance before he climbed into the cockpit and took off into the sky, blasting off at lightspeed with the rest of his squadron to clear way for your transport.

The ramp of the transport closed and Finn looked at you. “He’s like you. Soren.”

“Reckless?” You asked.

He shook his head, eyes serious and warm. “Brave.”

You smiled at the thought and put a hand on Finn’s arm. “So are you.”

The ride was short, but shaky. You didn’t like turbulence, especially in a craft that only had thin, tiny windows. It left you uneasy. But eventually, you touched down, saber in hand, leading the charge with Rey.

There were dozens of Stormtroopers, opening fire on not only the scattered Resistance members, but any civilians they could get their hands on. You put yourself between them, deflecting their shots with a few swings of the saber. The fighters that had come with you ran out of the ship, assessing the situation and adjusting as quickly as possible.

In the air, a battle had broken out as well, X-Wings and TIE fighters firing at each other, as well as the ground below them. You tried to identify which ship was Poe’s. You could feel him up there, but it was hard to get a lock. All you knew was that it was a black ship, an orange stripe painted down the side. Black Squadron.

Another trooper shot at you you and you shifted into battle mode. You used the Force to mow over a row of troopers, pushing them onto their backs in the dirt and leaving them scrambling to get back to their feet. One came at you with a melee weapon, electrified, but you did away with it quickly, using the Force to throw him at a tank, the force of it taking out the canon with a loud explosion.

More troopers focused their aim on you and quickly met the same fate.

Overhead, an X-Wing twirled around, almost drifting through the air and taking out one, two, three TIE fighters in quick succession, firing at a cluster of troopers on the ground immediately after. That had to be Poe.

Another turret fired near the civilians and you ran towards it, using your wings to get some height and jumping up the length of it, burying your saber in the metal paneling on the side and riding it back down to the ground as it was destroyed in a cloud of fire and smoke.

Finn ushered civilians to safety, taking out any troopers that got close with a well-placed blast. Rey worked with you to take out the remaining turrets, keeping the troopers at bay as more of them unloaded from landing transports.

You heard a boom overhead and looked, hoping to see a TIE fighter on its way down, but instead catching sight of an X-Wing, black and orange, one of its engines engulfed in flames.

You reached up and caught it with the Force, directing it away from the thick trees it was aimed towards and turning the nose, bringing it down gently in a clearing of grass and dirt, away from the immediate violence on the sprawling battlefield. You didn’t have time to worry if it might be Poe climbing out of it. Didn’t even have time to think before you saw him.

Kylo Ren.

His saber glowed red, contrasting against the lush green of the planet you were standing on, his kyber crystal obviously damaged, the way its blade was flared. He’d forced it too hard, been too rough with it. Maybe that was why the offshoots were there, to redirect the excess energy.

He was dressed like a shadow, long and sleek, all in black, face covered up by that helmet. It was better that way. You were afraid of finding too much of your friends in his broken gaze. Leia. Han. In another life, you may have been something like an aunt to him. Now he stood in front of you, a monster. 

And he was headed right towards you, strides long and elegant.

“Mothim said you were awake, your Highness. It’s time to see if you really are the thing of legends.” He twirled his saber, voice distorted beyond anything human. An intimidation tactic, no doubt, in addition to the obvious imitation of one Darth Vader.

“Ah yes, my best friend’s biggest disappointment. I keep hearing about you, and I have to admit. You’re a lot taller than I expected.”

He raised his hand attempting to use the Force to…you weren’t sure. Grab you, choke you, but you had your shields up, always did, blocking out his attempt. “You’re good.”

“I have to be.” You replied, readying your saber, stretching out your neck.

He swung at you and you deflected, angling carefully to avoid the reach of the flares near the hilt of his saber. So that’s what they were for. One wrong move and it would be your hand he was slicing off. You countered, using your wings to spin into position, leveraging an attack that he dodged, his saber clashing loudly with your own.

“Tell me, did you really face Vader by yourself, or did you have Skywalker to help you?” He locked his saber with your own, mask uncomfortably close to your face. “Skywalker is dead now. I saw to that myself. I finished the work that Vader could not.”

You let out a cold laugh at that. “You’re not Vader. You’re not even close.”

That definitely pissed him off. He let out a strangled yell, running at you with full force. You dodged with a leap, spinning out of the way. He took the opportunity to take a swing at your wings, which flared in reply, flattening themselves out of his reach. Your foot swept through the dirt as you landed, breaking your somewhat clumsy fall.

That had been a targeted attack. Straight for the wings. Not your arm. Not your saber. Your wings.

Rey came over next, putting herself between the two of you, battling him with a rage you knew had to be personal. You could feel that they were connected. Always had been. There were layers here that you did not quite understand yet. But she still fought him, moves quick and deliberate and instinctual.

You jumped back in alongside her, red clashing against blue and pink, sparks flying. Some of the brush caught fire, but never fully ignited, instead filling the ground between you with smoke, partially obstructing the rest of the fight.

You landed a hit on his leg, slashing into the skin. Rey got him on the opposite arm and he let out a burst of Force energy that sent you both flying. You used your wings to recover, repositioning mid-air, an outstretched hand slowing Rey’s trajectory as well, just before the back of her head hit a tree.

“RETREAT!” Kylo screeched, his voice echoing through the trees, birds scattering at the loud, distorted cry.

You’d hurt him. Bad. You could see the blood pooling in the dirt as he stalked away.

The Stormtroopers and other forces retreated into the transports that hadn’t already been blown up. The remaining TIE fighters, few though there were, hopped to lightspeed. One of the X-Wings shot a few transports on their way into the atmosphere, but other than that, the fight was over.

You found Finn among the crowd, making sure he was uninjured. He was fine. There had been some injuries, but no casualties, even among the civilians, who were cheering and embracing, celebrating their safety for the moment.

You looked over at the crashed X-Wing, smoking at the edge of the field and ran over to it, wings carrying you farther and faster than you’d flown in years, just a handful of feet above the grass. You landed on one of the wings and used the Force to pop open the cockpit, the windshield cracked, the pilot still inside.

She tugged off her helmet, long brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Jessika. Not Poe.

You offered her a hand, helping her out. She looked up at you, awe in her eyes, her hand wrapping around yours. You used your wings to lower the both of you gently to the ground.

“Are you alright?”

“I swore I was going to crash. You…you saved my life.” She rushed into your arms and you held her, rocking her comfortingly. “How do I even begin to repay you for that?”

“You don’t. We’re all in this together.” You assured her, wiping some of the soot from her face with a gentle hand. “Now let’s get you back to base. I’m sure there’s lots of room for you on the transport.”

One of the Resistance members from the planet rushed over, putting out her smoking X-Wing engine with a fire extinguisher. “We’ll take care of this. Get it repaired as soon as possible.”

Jessika exchanged some words with the mech, arranging something of a plan to come get it before following you and the others back onto the transport.

“Are you alright?” You asked Rey, checking all your bases, counting faces and heads.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“I’m good. He…I don’t know what he knows about Mariposans, but he was locked in on my wings.” You said, shivering at the thought. “Someone must have told him to aim there.”

“You think the First Order has a Mariposan?”

“Maybe.” You said. “He…he mentioned someone named Mothim. That’s…vaguely Mariposan-sounding.”

You watched the sky, the X-Wings rounding up. Jessika had her helmet tucked under her arm, which started talking, Poe’s voice coming through the headset. You could have cried with relief that he was alright.

“Pava, come in. Are you alive out there? We don’t have eyes on your X-Wing.”

“I’m alive, Black Leader. Boarding one of the transports on the ground. They hit me in the right wing, but one of the Jedi caught me on the way down.”

He chuckled and you could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “That is great news. We’ll see you back at base.”

You watched as the X-Wings took off, hitting lightspeed in rapid succession. Your own transport followed suit not long after, once everyone was accounted for and all the systems had been checked for damage. You breathed, focusing on the quiet until finally, the ship landed and the ramp lowered.

You walked out, surveying the crowd of celebrating rebels when you spotted BB-8 whirring at you at full speed, beeping a mile a minute. He looked you up and down and then sped away, straight to Poe, who looked down at him. His little head swivelled to you and back.

“(Y/N)!”

Poe sprinted over, pulling you into his arms the second he was close enough. He let out a long breath, his gloved hand cradling the back of your head as he held you. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his shoulder, wings twitching before relaxing completely.

“You…you’re alright? I saw him go after you. I wanted to shoot, but I couldn’t get a clean shot.” He said, regret in his voice, guilt on his brow.

“I’m okay, Poe. Really.” You told him, pulling away for a moment to get a glimpse at his face, check him over for injuries. There was sweat dotted on his forehead, wetting the curls at the edge of his hairline. “I thought it was your ship coming down. I was so scared.”

He shook his head, taking a moment to peel off his gloves so he could touch your cheek with his hand, skin impossibly warm. He rested his forehead against yours, the movement familiar and comfortable. “You saved one of my pilots. I…just when I think you can’t possibly impress me more…”

You wanted to kiss him so badly. So, so badly. Just surge forward and collect his lips as he uttered his sweet, flattering words. You could tell he wanted it, too. That victory kiss.

“Poe…” You murmured, mouth impossibly close.

“I’m right here, baby.” He whispered in response, voice gentle, eyes soft. Sparkling with anticipation. “We’re okay.”

Your breath hitched at the petname, heart racing faster than his X-Wing. You repeated his words. “We’re okay.”

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. He took a long breath and then hooked an arm around your waist again, pulling you close as he pressed a long kiss to your cheek. He buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling what was left of your perfume, diluted, you were sure, by the smoke from the battle.

Mood lightening considerably once he’d processed that you were actually okay, that you’d won, that you and Rey had fought off Kylo Ren, he chuckled to himself, remembering your original  plans for the day.

“Sorry about our date, but…she’s probably gonna need some repairs before I take her up again.” He looked back at his X-Wing, untangling himself from you, but keeping an arm anchored around your waist, just beneath the base of your wings. It tickled, where his orange sleeve touched the soft tissue, but you didn’t dare move him.

BB-8 beeped up at him, agitated.

“I was careful, Bee, why do you think we’re standing here?”

He beeped something complimentary of your performance out in the battle.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He grinned, proud. “Really, you were awesome out there.”

“So were you, flyboy. I lost count of how many TIE fighters you took down. Are you sure you’re not Force sensitive?”

He smiled that prettyboy smile, reaching over to wipe some soot from your face, thumb moving deliberately, focused on one spot. “Pretty sure. I’ve just had a lot of practice.”

You saw Soren, ready to approach you, but giving you a minute with your pilot. You nodded at him, a promise that you’d be over there soon.

“I better check on my team. Make sure everyone’s in one piece.” Poe said, looking back towards the hangar where the pilots and mechs were conversing, figure out what all needed to be fixed after the skirmish. “Will, uh…would you grab dinner with me later? You know, since our date got rained out and all…”

You nodded, smiled at him. You put a hand on his cheek and guided him closer, pressing a kiss just beneath his scar. “Dinner sounds great. But when that ship is fixed, I better be first in line for that joyride you promised me.”

He laughed, nodding. “Absolutely, your Highness.”

You went your separate ways, his hand lingering on yours until the last possible second until you were finally pulled apart. And yet, as you met with the other members of the Resistance, talking over the battle, taking stock of everything, he was the only thing you could think of, the feeling of his lips still lingering against your cheek.

Vintage Diplomacy

After the battle, you spent the coming days doing strength training for your wings. Your flight across the ground had opened your eyes. If you could cover ground like that regularly, it could be lifesaving.

You’d spend mornings up in the clearing on the hill. Artoo found you up there once and asked what you were doing as you hovered, wings fluttering impossibly fast. You started with five second bursts, then ten, then twenty.

Artoo timed you, let you know when to stop. And that was how Poe found you one morning before a strategy meeting with the General, as well as her Admirals and Commanders. You’d been hovering for nearly a full minute, kicking up a small breeze in your wake.

You touched down when you saw him approaching, wings folding down with record speed as Artoo gave you the breakdown. Your longest yet. With more training, who knew? Maybe you could be the first Mariposan to rediscover the power of true flight. You could certainly hope.

You stretched out your back, hands on your hips stretching both ways. You hoped the soreness meant you were building muscle, if that was how that worked.

“Hey, Princess. Thought I might find you up here. You eat breakfast yet?”

“Yeah, I had something before I came out here.” You replied.

“Good. Meeting starts soon.”

“Thought so.” You glanced at your watch. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.” He motioned. He was wearing a leather jacket you hadn’t seen on him yet. It was brown, a rebel patch on the shoulder. Definitely vintage.

“Cool jacket.”

“You like it?” He asked with a smirk.

“Yeah. Is it vintage?”

“It is, actually. Good eye.” He rested his hands on his belt buckle. “Not as vintage as you, of course, your Highness.”

“Hey!” You elbowed him and he elbowed you back, both of you laughing as you strode into the meeting together.

A few eyes caught you, knowing looks exchanged between the other assembled people. You said some hellos, exchanged the necessary pleasantries. You greeted your sister, who smiled warmly when she saw you and Poe walk in together.

You were sure after your little, uh, victory celebration out in the middle of the base, that everyone there must have thought you were dating behind closed doors.

You wished they were right.

Poe sat with the pilots, but you could feel his eyes on you as you mingled with the folks filing into the seats around you. Rey, as always, took the seat next to yours. On your other side, Soren. There was always a certain energy to the room when the Jedi were all together. People paid attention.

Before long, General Organa started the meeting. The main topic of interest: Resistance allies, or the lack thereof.

Since the battle at Crait, Leia had been trying to get in contact with anyone she could think of, friends new and old, anyone the Resistance had helped, but responses were few and far between. The First Order had done their best to silence or…eliminate anyone who wasn’t loyal to them.

“What we’re running low on is hope.” Leia said. “The people don’t think we stand a chance against the First Order. They’d rather hide in fear than stand up and fight. And if we don’t find some allies soon…it’s a matter of time before they take us out. We’re already running on scraps here.”

Chewbacca roared out his support.

“More outreach.” Another Admiral suggested. “The people saw what we did for them in the Endor system, that we stand up for them when it matters. Hell, we got twenty new recruits from that battle alone. When people see the difference we make, they want to fight with us.”

“I think our next move needs to be diplomacy, General. It’s been a while since we’ve had representatives at any events raising awareness.” Your sister reasoned. “How are they supposed to know we’re still here if they never see us?”

“But who would go?” Leia asked, scanning the room. “Diplomatic training hasn’t been very high on our regimen, I’m afraid.”

“I can go.” You volunteered. The eyes in the room fell on you quickly, like they’d been expecting you to say it. “The First Order already knows I’m alive, our allies should, too. They think we have one Jedi, we have three. I think that would spark quite a bit of hope, General. Besides, I have the diplomatic training and I never get to use it.”

She smiled, eyes sparkling. “I was hoping you’d say that. I did catch wind of a gala. It’s…mostly safe. Former Rebel sympathizers, a formal event. It would be as good a place as ever to make a debut. You’ll need a pilot of course, to–”

“I’ll go, General.” Poe volunteered before anyone else even had the chance. “I’ll escort the princess. It would be my honor.”

Leia gave a small, professional smile that you could tell she was all she could do to keep from laughing at the sheer speed with which he offered himself up for the mission. She thought about making him fight for it, and she knew he would. Poe Dameron was nothing if not stubborn, ambitious. It was why she respected him so much.

And at the same time, she knew exactly what would happen if she sent the two of you there, together. Alone.

Maybe it was about time.

“Great. Get packed. It’s tonight, three systems out. Take the Falcon.”

***

After the meeting, you went straight to your quarters, shuffling through your closet for anything…formal. You had a lot of Jedi robes, that was for sure, which might have suited an event like this in the olden days, before even your time, but now…all it would ensure was that you would stick out more than you already did.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Laesynda said, standing in the doorway. “I might have something that’ll work.”

You followed her to her quarters. She opened her wardrobe and pushed aside some clothes, reaching for something specific. She pulled it out with a flourish. A long, midnight blue gown. Off the shoulder. It glittered like stars and truly did look fit for a princess to wear. With it, she had a silver circlet, some silver Mariposan cuff bracelets.

“Mom’s…” You remembered, a hand drifting down the sparkling fabric.

Laesynda nodded. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Maybe I knew you’d need it someday.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, let’s get you dressed. Sounds like you have a flight to catch.”

Laesynda helped you into the gown, adjusting the flowing fabric so it sat just so, helping to slip your wings through the slot sewn in specifically for them. It was nice, wearing Mariposan garb again, something you didn’t have to adjust in order to wear comfortably.

She put your hair in a simple style, braiding the front pieces back, setting the circlet on your head. You put on the cuffs, put on a silver belt and strapped your saber to it, the final piece of the puzzle. The metal tones clashed, but maybe that was okay. It would stand out, at the very least.

“How do I look?”

“Like a princess.” She replied, a hand reaching out to touch your face. “And like Mom.”

You couldn’t help but tear up a little bit when she said it. She carefully tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, giving a final nod. You were ready.

You stopped back into your room, packed a bag with some essentials. Among your things, you found your wooden box of Rebel memorabilia. Pins, cuff links, a pair of dangling silver earrings. You tucked it into the bag as well, along with another change of clothes for after the party. As gorgeous as the gown was, you doubted you’d want to be in it all night. You knew how these kinds of parties went. They were long and socially exhausting. You’d be longing for those Resistance standard sweatpants at the end of it.

There was a knock on the doorframe, your door still open. You expected it to be Laesyndra, having forgotten something. Instead, it was Poe, holding a garment bag that you assumed contained his formal wear.

“Tried to get the General let me take my flight suit out for ya, but she wasn’t having it. You ready for–” He stared, voice dropping off once he spotted you, dressed in a dazzling, midnight gown. “Oh. Wow…”

“Ready for…?” You raised an eyebrow, walking closer with slow strides.

“For takeoff?” He asked, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes half-lidded. “Chewie warmed up the Falcon for us.”

You smiled warmly, nodding. “All packed, Commander. Ready when you are.”

“Perfect. Right. Well, let’s…” He offered his arm and you took it, slipping your arm through his, your bag slung over the other shoulder.

You gave his bicep a playful squeeze, laughter bubbling out of your painted lips. “Loth-cat got your tongue, Dameron? It’s just me.”

He let out a chuckle, meeting your eyes. “That’s the problem, your Highness.”

This Changes Everything

Your friends saw you off, complimenting you endlessly. Rey and Rose demanded you twirl around, showing off the look, which you gladly did.

“You look dazzling, Princess.” Threepio complimented, giving a little bow, arms poised at their odd angles.

“Thank you, Threepio. It was my mother’s.” You said, a sad, proud glimmer in your eye. Poe caught it immediately.

Artoo came with, but otherwise, it was just you and Poe in that big ship. He put in the coordinates, lifted off the planet, and put it into hyperdrive, with you in the passenger seat. Once it was on autopilot, you were free to move around the cabin.

Poe took his garment bag from one of the other seats and moved towards one of the Falcon’s tiny bed cabins to change. In the meantime, you found a mirror and put in a pair of earrings from your box of Rebel trinkets. They were the Rebellion’s symbol, silver and dangling from tiny chains. They completed the look.

Poe emerged a few minutes later, wearing a dark blue formal tunic, dramatic diagonal trim highlighting his shoulders. It was paired with matching navy pants, some black loafers with silver buckles.

“There was a hat, too, but I thought it would be too much.” He said, standing stiff while you looked him over, eyes roving his figure.

“Covering hair like that would be a crime, I think.” You told him, earning a chuckle and that dashing smile.

Your eyes lingered on the ends of his sleeves and you dug around in your box until you found a pair of cufflinks. You walked over to him, grabbing his hand and inserting one of the cufflinks into the end of his sleeve.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” He asked, watching your careful movements as you switched sleeves, putting the other one in as well.

“I’ve had it. Held onto it after the war. Figured we’d wear them to…charity events or something.” You shrugged. You rummaged around the box for a lapel pin, focused as you pinned it to one side of his tunic, straightening it with a quick movement. “Never thought we’d need them for war fundraising, but here we are…”

“My parents were Rebels, you know.” He confessed, voice soft, eyes softer. He’d been holding onto it, unsure why he’d never found the opportunity to tell you until now. Maybe he was afraid the information would shift your already teetering dynamic.

“Hence the jacket.” You noted, meeting his gaze, fingers still lingering on the pin. The wheels turned in your head and your jaw dropped, finally seeing it in his face. Those brows. That nose. Those eyes. “You’re…you’re Kes Dameron’s kid.”

He chuckled and nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. I am. You knew him?”

“I did know him.” You laughed to yourself shaking your head. “Maker, I can’t believe I didn’t put those pieces together. He worked with Han and the pathfinders. I worked with Leia. It was kind of inevitable that our paths crossed. He was a great guy.”

“Is a great guy.” He said. “He still lives on Yavin. That’s where I grew up.”

You hummed, nodding. “That’s really good news, Poe. I’d…I’d love to see him sometime.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see you when all of this is over.” He said, eyes softening when he spoke of home, of family. “Mom was a pilot. Maybe you knew her. Her name was Shara.”

You gasped softly. “You’re…you’re Shara’s son? Shara Bey?”

Poe nodded, smiling. “I am.”

“Poe…I…” You teared up, studying him, dividing his features in your head, which had come from Shara, from Kes. You touched his face, laughed sadly, happy memories bubbling to the surface. “Shara was…so special. She was my bunkmate on Hoth. She and I kept watch together twice a week. We ate lunch together almost every day. We shared wine bottles at parties. I…I always thought there was something going on between her and Kes, but they kept it very professional. Didn’t know they were engaged until after the war.”

Poe got a little misty, nostalgia swirled in his warm brown eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry…”

He shook his head, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “You were there. I always forget you were there. I can’t believe you knew them…”

“Maker, I could tell you so many stories…”

“I want you to. I want to hear all about them when we get home.”

“Okay.” You nodded, shedding a single tear that he was quick to wipe away, pulling you into a hug instead.

He pressed a long kiss to the crown of your head, arms tight around your shoulders, yours wrapped around his middle. You listened to his heart, hammering away beneath his tunic. You felt his lips on your forehead again, lingering for longer this time before he rested his head against yours, swaying slightly with you in his hold.

Eventually, Artoo rolled into the room, beeping to let you know you were getting close.

“Thank you, Artoo.”

He complimented Poe’s pin with a series of beeps and Poe grinned and thanked him.

“Here, I’ve probably got a magnet in here you can wear.” You said, rummaging through your box until you found one. You knelt down and he rolled forward, letting you stick it to one of his panels.

He beeped and whirred in approval, asking how he looked.

“You look very sharp.” You assured him. “You fit right in, now.”

Poe wandered into the cockpit, standing between the back row of seats, watching as the stars flew by at lightspeed. You stepped in after him and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders without a second thought.

He was your pilot, you were his princess. That was all that mattered. You rested your head against him, watching the stars.

***

The gala was being held at a nice hotel, chandeliers glimmering above, painted portraits hanging on the wall and abstract sculptures sitting on pedestals. It reminded you of home, in a way, if Mariposas had been colorless and stiff. There was soft music playing, a band tucked into the corner of the room. Poe took your arm, escorting you through the room of senators and leaders, former Rebellion members.

It was clear that this gala was pretending to be something it was not. On the outside, it had been bolstered as an academy class reunion, probably to drive off any First Order loyalists, keep them off the trail, inside was a completely different story.

You knew these people. A lot of them, wrinkled and graying though they were. Pathfinders, pilots, ground fighters, comm techs…these had been your brothers and sisters on base, and a decent amount of them, seemingly, had bloomed into important people in their own right.

What was holding them back from helping, you wondered, scanning the room. Maybe it was just the fear of the First Order, of making themselves vulnerable just to be eliminated without a second thought. But as the eyes in the room found you, the whispers picked up, speculating how it was you were there, standing there, living and breathing after all this time.

“How’s that for a first impression…” Poe murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, watching the way these legends reacted to seeing you.

“Time to finally use these stares and whispers to our advantage.” You said, leading him over to a corner where some former fighters were standing. You picked one from the crowd, calling his name to your mind. After all, it had only been two years since you’d seen him.

“Y-your Highness?” He asked, looking you up and down. He glanced at the others, as if to make sure you weren’t some Force Ghost standing there in front of him, that they were seeing it too. “I thought you were…”

“Dead? Lots of folks seem to think so.” You replied, offering your hand, which he shook vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Lieutenant. How’s Marsha?”

That was how it started. You navigated through the room, a walking myth.

Once you made your rounds, Poe at your side, chatting with the people gathered there, you felt a tap on your arm and turned to find him. Lando Calrissian in the flesh.

“I was wondering if I might steal a dance, Princess. If you’re not too busy with the Commander here.” Lando motioned to Poe, whose mouth fell open at his sudden appearance.

“Lando!” You all but jumped into his arms, captured quickly in a tight hug. He swayed back and forth, laughing.

“Maker, Leia was right. You really haven’t aged a day.” He said, taking a moment to look at you. He spun you around. “Can’t say the same for the rest of us.”

“You look great Lando. I was wondering when I’d finally get to see you. How have you been?”

“Oh, same old. Leia tipped me off about this…reunion. Thought I could help finally win these stuffy old guys over.”

“No such luck, I’m guessing.” Poe said, scanning the room.

“Not yet.” Lando winked at you. “That’s why she sent her secret weapon.”

“Not so secret anymore.” You said, trying to ignore all the eyes in your peripheral vision.

Lando introduced and reintroduced you to a handful of old colleagues. One of them, a senator now, stiffened at the sight of you, looking you up and down.

“Leia…dressed you up just like her. It would be convincing, if not for the fake wings.” He said with a sneer. “Almost had me there for a second.”

You chuckled softly, malice creeping into your eyes. “Fake wings?” You repeated, raising them slightly.

“I’ve seen them in action, Senator. I assure you, these things are the real deal.” Poe said, expression guarded, tone painfully casual.

Artoo beeped something at him, agitated, but the senator batted a hand. “I don’t speak droid.”

“I can’t translate what he said anyway, it’s hardly appropriate for an event like this.” You said with a laugh. “Do you need another drink?”

“That’s not–” He started to argue, but you held out a hand, using the Force to pull a champagne flute from across the room. It glided smoothly through the air and hovered in front of him. He stared at it, dropping the empty glass in his own hand. He looked up at you in horror as Poe laughed. “You’re her.”

“Obviously.” You replied, plucking the drink from the air and handing it to him. “I know it’s hard to believe. It’s a long story, but I was saved by one very daring pilot, a Jedi, and a fighter after a long time asleep. Imagine my surprise at waking up to another war.”

He shook his head, brows furrowed. “What war?”

“The First Order. The Resistance. Are you unaware of the conflicts, or just too callous to care this time, elevated position and all?” You asked.

“The need for fighting is over.” He said, shaking his head. “I had my war, I’m sure we can all just live in peace.”

“Senator, I don’t know if you’ve been out there, but it’s bad.” Poe said, eyes serious. “What they did to the New Republic…”

“Was a horrible incident, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean we can all just…hop in an X-Wing and blow things up.”

You laughed at that. “You didn’t even do that the first time. You failed your flight test, if I remember correctly, Senator. Was it two times, or three?”

He scoffed, clearly offended. “Well, I–”

Poe’s eyes lit up, watching as you warmed up to take your shot.

“Don’t you remember what things were like? Under the Empire? Maybe it’s been too long for you. I know thirty years is a long time to hold onto memories, but…it’s only been two years for me. Two years since the Battle of Endor. Two years of quiet after. I remember how bad it was and this is worse. The weapons they have, the forces, the numbers. They have a Sith trying to outshine Darth Vader and Maker knows what else hidden on those Star Destroyers. They are taking children and ruining lives. One of our best friends is a former trooper. I wish he was here to tell you himself the horrors he’s seen aboard those vessels. They can destroy planets with a few button presses. Maybe you feel safe right now. Maybe you’re playing into their pocket, who knows, but someday, they’ll turn on you, too, and there will be no one left to protect you because you didn’t help the Resistance fight back.”

The room fell silent, every ear tuning into your fiery words. Lando let out a proud little laugh.

Someone across the room stepped forward, meeting your eyes. Wedge. Wedge Antilles. One of the best Rebel pilots there was. He’d been great friends with Luke, so you’d known him pretty well. It was good to see he was still around.

“Well, your Highness, where do we sign up?”

***

After a few more hours of networking, of Poe handing out tokens for further communication, taking pledges and handing out contact information for any people they knew who’d like to enlist in the Rebellion, the three of you–you, Poe and Artoo, that is–said your goodbyes and headed back to the ship.

As soon as the ramp was closed, Poe’s face broke into a victorious smile and he took you in his arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. Laughter bubbled from your lips.

“That was insane!” A triumphant laugh escaped him. “You flipped that whole room in less than a minute! I…I…” He set you down, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “I can’t believe that just happened. This changes…everything. We’re gonna have so many new recruits. We’re gonna be able to get so many supplies…”

“New pilots?” You asked.

“New X-Wings. New ships. New blasters. Kriff, new uniforms, even.” He smiled, grabbing onto your arms, just above the flowing, off-the-shoulder sleeves. “Wow, I dunno, I had my doubts when Leia sent me four systems out for a shiny rock, but…I don’t know what we’d do without you here.” He met your eyes, took a step closer, dipped his head down. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here…”

You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t dance around him and pretend your heart wasn’t on fire just looking at him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, lips capturing his easily, as you had in your fantasies so many times. He gasped into your mouth, arms winding around your waist and pulling you against him, lips passionate and experienced. Poe held you there with one arm, the other traveling up into your hair.

Your nose brushed against his as he twisted, getting an even better angle, teeth nipping at your lip. You reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing through the stubble accumulated there.

He pulled back, forehead against yours, breaths ragged as his eyes searched your face, looking for some evidence that that had happened, that it was real this time.

“Say something,” you whispered, hand still anchored against his cheek, eyes sparkling with insecurity. “Please.”

“Give me a second. I’ve never kissed a princess before.” He murmured, kissing your forehead, then your cheeks, pressing another long one to your lips. Soft, but filled with so much passion. He let out a breathy chuckle, meeting your eyes. “Maker, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of doing that.”

You bit your lip, a guilty little smile twisting your mouth. “Actually, about that…”

Poe’s eyes widened, jaw dropping before the shock melted into an embarrassed grin. “You…you could feel it, huh? The whole time?”

“More or less.” You confessed. You pulled him back into you and he didn’t resist, nose brushing yours as you whispered, “I couldn’t tell if they were your fantasies or mine, to be honest.”

He stepped forward, cupping your cheek as he captured your lips again, hungrier this time, lit up by your words, by your confession, that you had felt this way about him for just as long as he’d been drawn to you.

Another step forward and your exposed back touched the cold metal of a wall panel, one of Poe’s hands taking yours, fingers interlacing as he held it up against the wall. His other hand tugged your waist closer, closer, closer, like he was trying to fuse the two of you into one person.

You crooned, hooking your arm around his neck, keeping him there.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, lips trailing down your neck before crushing against yours again. “Use one of your Jedi Mind Tricks or something.”

“I can’t.” You laughed against him. “They wouldn’t work on you anyway and…I don’t want you to stop.”

“Well good, because I don’t think I can…” He said with a chuckle, nose smushed against yours. He kissed you again, movements tender and slow, smiling against you when he heard your breath hitch. “I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to fall in love. I would have done this so much sooner…”

You laughed. “That’s what was stopping you? I thought you weren’t afraid of bending the rules, Commander.”

Poe let out a breath, smirking. “Well yeah, but…you’re a princess. I thought you might not be so keen on rulebreaking.”

“Well the good news is, there aren’t any rules against Jedi falling in love anymore.” You murmured, resting your forehead against his, hands tugging on the trim of his tunic. “But if there were…I would break them for you, Poe Dameron.”

He grinned that flyboy grin, going in for one last kiss, then another, then one final, lingering kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs, the butterflies in your stomach flying loop-de-loops that rivaled any maneuver he could pull off with his X-Wing.

Soon, you knew you’d have to fly back to base, update Leia on the progress you’d made, return to your schedules and duties.

But now, you shared your breaths with him, heart racing as he cupped your cheeks, whispering sweet words against your lips, promises to steal away more time together as soon as the Maker would allow.

A Little Rebel Spirit

Poe slept in your bed that night.

Your mattress was hardly big enough for one of you let alone both of you, but he didn’t mind, changing out of his formal tunic, carefully returning your Rebellion trinkets to their special little box, and laying in your bed, watching you, hands folded on his toned tan chest, the chain around his neck glimmering against his skin.

You’d changed into some sleep shorts and a tanktop you’d modified for your wings. When you turned to face him again in the dim bedroom, he gasped, eyes falling on your thigh. More specifically, the large tattoo piece stretched across your skin.

“You have a tattoo?” He asked, almost scandalized. “Princess, I knew you were a Rebel, but I didn’t know you were so rebellious.”

“You wanna know what’s rebellious…Leia did this.” You said, fingers skimming over the artwork.

His jaw dropped. “No fucking way.”

“Yes way.” You nodded, walking over to the bed and sat beside him, propping your leg atop his so he could see better.

He ran a large hand over the tattoo, the sheer warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. “When?”

“Three years ago.” You answered, before correcting “Thirty-three years ago. We were on some planet, there was a market and she got a tattoo gun for like…twelve credits, which should have been the first red flag.”

“And you let her do that?” He asked, laughing.

“Well yeah. She’s my best friend. I knew it would drive my parents nuts, their second in line for the throne defiling her skin, but…I didn’t really expect to survive the war, to be honest. Besides, I was the spare, what were they gonna do about it? I knew I was never going to be queen.” You said with a shrug. “It’s not half bad anyways. She’s a talented artist.”

“This is…that tree, isn’t it. The one on Mariposas.” He said, studying the lines, the shading. It was a large, sprawling tree, branches thick, covered in flowers. Roots twisted down your thigh, headed towards your knee, and in the roots, were a few stray butterflies. Above it, three moons, their shaded crescents in various stages of their cycles.

You nodded. “The Monarch Tree. From which, all life on Mariposas bloomed, or so the legends go.” You guided his hand further down the art, to where the roots curled into a subtle version of the symbol of the Rebellion. “This was by special request.”

His features glowed with recognition and he met your eyes, reaching up to smooth the hair out of your face. “Wow, that’s…that’s really hot, I’ll be honest.”

You giggled, shifting your body towards him. “Yeah? A little Rebel spirit is what does it for you?”

“You’re one to talk. You’re into that silly orange jumpsuit of mine.” He teased, hand hooking your knee and tugging your leg to the other side of his hips, so you were straddling him, hovering inches from his face.

Your wings twitched behind you as you cupped his face with both hands, nose pressed to his. Tenderly, slowly, you inched in, grinning when he got impatient and chased your lips, hands wandering up to your waist to tug you closer.

“You know, honestly Poe, it’s not so much the jumpsuit as it is the thought of…taking it off of you. How easy it would be to just…reach out and unzip it a little.” Mischief glimmered in your eyes. “With the Force.”

He let out a broken groan at that, throwing his head back towards the wall. “You can’t just say that when I’m not wearing it.”

You smiled, coy. “Next time, perhaps.”

“Oh, there’s no question about that, sweetheart.” He had fire in his eyes when he pulled you towards him, crushing his lips to yours, tongue teasing at the seam between your mouths. You let him in, the taste of him rolling across your tongue, minty fresh from his toothpaste.

You threaded your fingers through his curls, letting out a whine when his lips left yours and started trailing down your neck, stubble rough against the sensitive skin. His hand ghosted up your back, finding the base of your wings, calloused fingertips brushing against the spot between them.

Tingles shot through your limbs like firecrackers and you crumbled against him.

He froze, the panic setting in. “Woahhh, sorry, sorry, is that not an okay spot?”

You took a deep breath, reaching up to cup his cheek, turning his face towards you as best you could from your spot tucked into his shoulder. You laughed sheepishly, cheeks flushed. “S’fine, Poe. I’m okay.”

“No, if it’s not fine, you need to tell me. Baby, I’ve never…touched a Mariposan before, I don’t know what I’m doing.” He confessed.

“It’s…that spot is the most sensitive spot on my whole body.” You said through laughs, pulling his face down to meet yours. “So we just went zero to a thousand all at once.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “So it’s a no-go zone.”

“It’s a ‘we have to work up to that’ zone.” You amended, pressing a kiss to his lips, adjusting yourself so you were a little more upright. “You can touch it, but…it has to be featherlight. Unless we’ve gotten there.”

“Okay.” He nodded, nose brushing against yours. “So, do they…have feeling in them?” He asked, hand hovering just above the crest of one of your wings, still a little afraid to outright touch them, despite the fact that he already had, that night in the kitchens.

“Mmhmm.” You spread one out for him, an invitation. “You can touch them. Just be gentle. Like before.”

Poe reached out, running the palm of his hand down the length of one wing, tingles running down your back as he did.

You let out a contented sigh, lulling against his chest as your muscles relaxed.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” You kissed his cheek, then the corner of his lips, hand resting against his chest. “It’s like…having your hair played with.”

He smiled at that, continuing the gentle movements while you were curled up in his arms. He kissed you again, lips impossibly soft, like silk, the fine royal satins your sheets on Mariposas had been made of.

“You’re the only one allowed to touch them, though.” You told him.

“Just me?” He asked, absolutely enamored.

“Just you.” You punctuated it with a kiss that he readily reciprocated. “It’s…seen as a romantic thing, on Mariposas. Wing-touching is…very personal.”

“So when you let me touch them that night…”

“I was making a move, more or less. I knew you wouldn’t take it that way, though. It doesn’t mean much to outsiders.”

“It meant everything to me, Princess.” He whispered, kissing your forehead. He basked in the proximity, of the feeling of you in his arms, the way you slotted perfectly against him, like you were made for him. “Should have done my research. Would have saved us both some time.”

You laughed. “I doubt Laesynda would have told you that.”

“True.” He went quiet for a while, thinking over something before asking, “Do you…miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Just…the way things were, before you went to sleep.” He asked. 

You could tell it had been weighing on him. If you missed people from before. If you missed the relationships you’d had. If you missed Luke.

“Sometimes. I miss Mariposas a lot. I miss my family. I didn’t even get the privilege of losing them, really, I just woke up and…they were gone. Had been gone for decades. I miss Han. I miss Luke…but…He left me there. He just…left me there to sleep for thirty years, so…” You let out a breath. “I try not to miss him more than he missed me.”

He nodded, listening quietly, hand still gently passing over your wing, the sensation soothing in indescribable ways. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. If he kept at it, he would lull you right to sleep.

“But I like this life, too. I like training with Rey and Soren. I like making a difference again, fighting for something important. And someday, when the war is over, I’ll get to figure out what that peace looks like for me again.” You reached up, thumb gently grazing the skin beneath that tiny scar on his cheekbone. You pulled him to you, locking in a slow, sensual kiss. “I like you most of all, Poe Dameron.”

He smirked. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” You shook your head, eyes earnest. “You saved my life. You found that pendant. You woke me up. And every day since then, you’ve been finding little pieces of my heart I thought I’d lost decades ago.”

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, relishing in the burn of his stubble against your skin.

“Maker, I’m so glad we found you…”

He whispered against the sensitive spot he’d found on your neck, the words echoing off the caverns of your mind. That voice. Those words.

It was him. Obviously it was, but the realization still struck you to your core. You’d dreamed of this, dreamed of him for years, and now he was finally yours.

Your pilot. Your Poe.

Can’t Change the Past, Starlight

You and Poe walked down to breakfast separately the next morning. He slipped out of your room carefully, watching for any techs that might be walking by, and hurrying from your room to his to change into some real clothes, as all he had in your room was the formal tunic Leia had loaned him. 

You timed your exit about fifteen minutes after, and ran into Rey and Finn in the hallway.

“How did it go?” Finn asked. “I was kind of worried. I never heard Poe come into the room last night.”

“Oh it was great. I’m sure we’ll hash it all out in the meeting later. Lots of new pledges, hopefully lots of new recruits, too. Ran into Lando Calrissian. He’s…an old friend.”

Rey’s jaw dropped. “The Lando Calrissian. Is he joining the Resistance?”

“He’s thinking about it.” You said with a smirk. “He’s always been hard to pin down, but I have a good feeling he’ll come around. Maker knows we could use his help.”

The canteen was bustling with folks, starting their day. Poe was sitting at the usual table with Rose. You grabbed some breakfast and slid into the seat across from him. A calculated move. He slid you a cup of caf, just the way you liked it.

“There you are. I was worried you’d gotten lost on the way to our room.” Finn said, searching Poe’s face. “Where’d you end up last night?”

“I…slept on the couch down in the lounge. Didn’t wanna wake you, we got back really late.” Poe lied.

Alright, you were officially doing this. You were officially hiding your relationship. It was kind of thrilling, you had to admit.

“Mmm.” Finn nodded, not buying it in the slightest. “Well, how’d it go?”

“Fantastic. (Y/N) has a real way with words.” Poe said, eyes sparkling. “Flipped the whole room, had everyone all fired up. We got so many new pledges and allies. It’s gonna take the droids forever to get all the files sorted.”

“Like I said, diplomatic training I never use.” You said with a shrug, taking a sip of caf.

“How’d you sleep?” Poe asked, meeting your eyes.

“Slept alright. Like you said, we got back late, so I didn’t get much of it.”

“Mmm. Sorry to hear that.” He said through a grin that he hid behind his mug. “I slept great.”

You kicked his leg under the table.

After breakfast, the group of you filed into the meeting, where you were somewhat surprised to see Lando, chatting with Leia. Once she spotted you, she motioned you over, hugging you tightly.

“I never doubted you, (Y/N), but I have to admit, I didn’t expect results like these. This changes everything.”

“I’m glad I could do my part, General.” You said, eyes glimmering. You turned to Lando. “Didn’t expect you to head here so fast.”

“How could I not? You need help. I should have been here a long time ago.” He said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Just like old times. “I’m here for whatever you need, ladies. Just say the word.”

“Well right now, I need someone wrangling the new recruits. They need to be rounded up from outposts in the Outer Rim.” Leia said.

Lando saluted. “Just give me coordinates and a ship. I can make it happen.”

You left the two of them, turning to sit in your usual seat with the other Jedi. This meeting was a little more broad, more of the operatives from the middle ranks present in addition to the higher-ups.

Laesynda walked past, letting her hand brush on yours as she passed, a knowing smile on her face.

You avoided Poe’s gaze purposefully, but you could feel it on you from across the table. Business as usual, you supposed. He was always giving you those lovesick looks, but now there was something more in those warm brown eyes of his. You loved the feeling.

Leia started the meeting, opening with words of congratulations, the numbers from the previous night broken down in the projection on the holo in the middle of the room. The team burst into applause, several congratulative whoops and hollers sounding. Snap jostled Poe’s shoulder and he finally met your eyes, giving you that charming flyboy wink, handsome features illuminated in the teal light.

Leia moved to the next order of business, the intel Lando had been hard at work gathering. About Mariposas.

“The attack on Mariposas…I believe it was an inside job.” Lando said.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, ears ringing. You looked at Laesynda and she shared the same grim expression you were sure was on your face. You felt Poe’s eyes on you, watching as the rug was torn from beneath your feet.

“I don’t mean to impede on our celebration, I just…With three prominent Mariposans among our ranks, I think it’s a logical conclusion that…two of them were the targets of the original attack. So whoever tipped off the Empire splinter cells, if they’re still alive, could be interested in…”

“Finishing the job.” You said, suddenly exhausted.

“Yeah.” Lando nodded.

He brought up some diagnostics, a map of the planet, a breakdown of the attack. He talked those who were unfamiliar with it through what had happened. You watched as red bloomed across the Healer’s Temple, right where you were, blaster fire taking out the Refuge, where the Healers had retreated. A light attack up front to scare them, a heavy attack on their hiding spot to finish them off.

Immediately, you knew Lando was right. It was an inside job. Only someone who knew the innerworkings of the palace would have known the Healers retreated there in the case of an emergency. Someone who had grown up there, perhaps.

You bristled, watching as the attack continued, further details selling his point further. This was an attack that had been planned and executed by someone intimately familiar with your home. And someone who wanted you dead. Or at the very least, didn’t want you to wake up.

“Maddox.” The name left your mouth coated in venom. “My brother. Had to have been. Only the royal family would have known all of this, to exploit every weak spot in order.”

“Why would your brother…” Poe started, finally daring to speak up.

“He was jealous.” Laesynda said, the memories of him weighing her down, too. “Always jealous. He was the oldest, the heir to the throne. It still wasn’t enough for him. He was jealous (Y/N) was the Jedi of the family. Wanted it to be him.”

“Couldn’t have been our parents. I was asleep, Laesynda was ten. It had to have been Maddox.” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Maker, if he wanted me dead so bad, I don’t know why he didn’t just destroy my pod and kill me himself.”

“Because we were there.” Leia said, voice soft. “We were too late to stop the initial attack, but…Han and Lando got the shields up. I guarded your pod. Luke handled the cultists.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding. “Thank you.”

“By the time the fight was over, all of the Healers’ Pendants had been destroyed or…lost. We tried to use the Force to open your pod, but they were designed with that in mind. Only a healer could open it and they were…all gone.”

You took a long breath, nodding as she explained.

Lando looked at you, features apologetic. “And if he is indeed in the First Order, alive after all this time, it stands to reason that…he wouldn’t be happy that you’re awake again, your Highness.”

“Right. Do we have any…intel that he is? On either account, alive or currently working with the First Order?” You asked, adjusting your posture. Your wings twitched. Rey reached for your hand and you gave it to her, the touch comforting, albeit simple.

“Not yet, your Highness, but…We’re working to figure that out. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.” Lando said, turning the holo off with a click. “Wanted to make sure we all kept our guards up.”

Leia ran the team through a few other things, mostly preparation for new Resistance members she was anticipating. New quarters would have to be prepared, they’d have to arrange supplies and prepare to train dozens, maybe hundreds, of rookies.

After the meeting, you met Poe’s eyes for a moment. And then, you walked back to your quarters, paces brisk. Uncharacteristic of you to just leave one so early with no discussion of meal plans, no chatter with your peers, to just…disappear. Anyone who knew you would know there was something wrong. And Poe knew you.

The door slid shut behind you and you sat on the mattress, letting out a strangled yell, head in your hands, knees tucked up into your chest and wings flaring out behind you.

Your heart raced in the silence after the scream. The force of it, the Force of you had rattled the trinkets sitting on your dressers. You took a few breaths, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling panel, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The door slid open again and Poe slipped inside, closing it behind him. He melted when he saw you there, looking utterly pathetic, you were sure.

“Hey, baby. You okay? That was some heavy stuff.” He crossed the room, sitting on the bed.

You shook your head and reached for him. He pulled you into his arms immediately, a large hand cradling your head, the other wrapped tight around you, legs draped over his. You buried your face in his shoulder, sobs muffled by his warmth.

He started tracing comforting patterns in your back, letting you get it all out before attempting to talk you through it.

“I feel so stupid, crying about it. It happened so long ago…” You confessed, voice soft and broken.

“Not for you.” Poe reasoned, pressing a kiss to your hairline. One gentle hand found your cheek and he used his thumb to gently wipe your tears away. “Everyone here knows it’s still fresh for you. Of course you’re torn up about it, I would be, too.”

You nodded, sniffling. “I always knew he hated me, but…I guess I just never knew how much. I thought after Endor, everything would cool off. But it doesn’t sound like that’s the case. It was quiet for a while, sure, but…I wasn’t here when things started getting bad. I wasn’t here to help when things got worse…”

He listened, empathy rooted deep in his warm brown eyes. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What happened, happened. We can’t change the past, starlight.” He said, readjusting his hold, one arm cradling you while the other nestled against your cheek, still gently dabbing at your tears as they fell. “I’m just glad you’re here now. For selfish and unselfish reasons. Rey needs you. I need you. You’ve got a lot of good to do here, and you’ve already done so much.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. He was right. He always seemed to be. “What do you have going on today? Is there somewhere you need to be?”

“It can wait. I’m needed here.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your nose, gentle smile turning mischievous with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Besides, they’ll never find me in here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Poe never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you were feeling like this.

“It’ll be alright, baby.” He reassured. The name still made your heart do flips in your chest. You much preferred it to your stuffy royal titles.

You sat further upright, kissing his soft pink lips. He kissed back, hand tilting your face just so with passionate precision. “I know it will. We’ll make sure of it this time.”

Rise of the Resistance

It wasn’t long before the new recruits started showing up. Lando ran what was akin to a shuttle service for a few weeks, running back and forth in a tiny transport, trying to avoid as much attention as possible. So far, it had worked.

The new folks were a bright bunch. Among them, Wedge Antilles, who had left behind his flight school, taking most of his pupils with him to help the cause.

“You know, as weird as this sounds, I missed it, Princess.” He admitted, hands on his hips, looking around the base, where soldiers ran in neat columns for their morning workout.

“Missed that Rebel air?”

He grinned. “Exactly that.”

Snap walked over, hugging him tightly and that was how you found out Wedge was Snap’s step-dad. Maker, it was a small galaxy after all. You and the other Jedi took a break from training, trying to help everyone get acclimated. You helped with giving tours, showed rookies where to get their breakfast and sleep, teaching them emergency protocol.

You set up a meditation room in an empty storage shed. It left something to be desired, but it was dimly lit, had some soft music playing, various toys and activities for Force training, cushions on the floor for those who could not float in the air while they meditated.

Aspen led some of the new recruits through while you were organizing your books.

“And this is Princess (Y/N) (L/N) of Mariposas, one of three Jedi we have on base.” She motioned to you. “If any of you think you might be Force-Sensitive, this is who you want to come to with questions.”

“We are always looking for new Jedi.” You said. “But this room is for everybody. If you need to get away for a bit, feel free to come here, do some meditation, read. It’s here for you. It gets rough out there, you need to take care of yourselves.”

Hours later, you had a tour group of your own, leading them through the comms center, then the mech workshop, droid repair, where BB-8 was getting a fresh paint job and beeped and whirred at you excitedly.

You led them past the hangar, where there were pilots milling around, about to head out on a perimeter check. Poe was there, stretching in that orange jumpsuit of his. You couldn’t fight the grin that formed when he spotted you, lighting up. He walked over, introducing himself to the group.

“Any pilots?” He asked, scanning your recruits, standing right next to you, hands on his hips, but his elbow brushing your side.

Professional. So, painfully professional.

“Reggie there.” You pointed him out and Reggie volunteered himself with a proud hand in the air.

“That’s the spirit. Welcome to the team, Reg.” He looked at you, glancing at your holo to take a peek at your schedule. “They’re not giving you too much trouble, I hope.”

“Nope, I’m all set with these guys. Bright bunch.” You replied, meeting those warm brown eyes, where mischief always seemed to sparkle.

“Right. Good. So, you don’t have anything penciled in after lunch?”

“I do not.” You confirmed.

“Alright. Well, uh, I’ve gotta hop in that X-Wing for perimeter checks. See you around, your Highness.” He promised, eyebrow quirked. He turned to Reggie. “Nice to meet you, Reggie. I’ll make sure you get acclimated.”

“Thank you, sir.” Reggie replied, starstruck.

You gave Poe a parting smile. Once the group had turned away, you glanced back. He motioned to the zipper of his jumpsuit, then looked at you with over-exaggerated expectation. Your jaw dropped and you rolled your eyes, laughing. Here in front of all of these people was not where you intended to use the Force to unzip his jumpsuit.

Still, you pinched your fingers together, focusing for a moment as you tugged it down the tiniest bit, just enough to tease him. He gasped, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. The way his eyes lit up, though, you could tell he was into it. Perhaps too into it.

The group didn’t notice, too busy buzzing about their future roles. Some of them were buzzing about other topics, like how hot your boyfriend was.

You moved them along to the next spot on the tour, but one of them pushed.

“Who was that?”

“Who, Commander Dameron?”

“He’s a Commander.” She giggled with the girl beside her. They couldn’t have been older than nineteen. It was kind of cute, admittedly. Harmless.

“Wow, he is something.” The other one agreed.

“Best pilot in the galaxy, in fact.” You chimed, heart surging with pride at your overly casual words. “I do think he’s seeing someone though, ladies.”

They both let out dramatic sighs. “Well, whoever they are, I hope they know how lucky they are.”

You chuckled, watching as his X-Wing pulled off into the air, doing a barrel roll right above the group. Now he was showing off. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you. “Oh she does.”

***

You ate lunch with Rey and Soren, welcoming a few of the new recruits to your table. Finn was busy with tours, too, training people to do various upkeep tasks around the base, keeping everything running smoothly. Poe was standing in the doorway and Rey looked up at him, then glanced at you, then back at him again.

“I think he’s trying to get your attention.” She chuckled, stabbing at the remains of her salad with a fork.

“Oh, is he?” You replied through a smile, still trying to keep up the act.

“I think he’s into you, you know. Finn and I talk about it sometimes.” She said, tone encouraging. “And he is his roommate. And his best friend.”

“Are you implying Finn has some information I should know?” You asked.

She laughed. “I very well may be. Honestly though, you should just go for it. I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. May as well give it a shot.”

“Yeah.” You smiled at that. “Maybe I’ll go see what his deal is.”

“Good luck.” Rey said, watching as you crossed the room to where he was waiting in the doorway.

You met him with a cordial, professional smile. “Commander Dameron, is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes, there is, Your Royal Highness.”

“Woah, busting out the big title? What’s the special occasion?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk down the hall with me.”

“Down the hall.” You said with a chuckle, pushing past him and leading him in that direction. Once you were out of earshot of the canteen, you muttered, “How romantic.”

“Oh I’ll show you romantic, Princess.” He replied, tugging open a closet door and grabbing your arm, pulling you inside. He locked the door with a careful click and then he was on you, calloused hands on your cheeks, lips fluid and hungry.

“Poe,” you mumbled into his lips, taken aback, heart revving like an engine.

“You wanna unzip it the rest of the way?” He asked, the rasp in his voice alone telling you he had been thinking about it all morning.

“That did something to you, huh?” You giggled into his mouth as he latched back on, his steps pushing until you hit the wall behind you.

“Sure did.” He agreed, releasing you and holding his arms open, orange jumpsuit there and ready for you, zipped nearly to the top. “Do it.”

“You sure?” You asked, raising a hand, wiggling your fingers with a coy smile on your face.

“Quit teasin’ me, baby.” He warned.

You bit back a laugh, focusing the zipper. You pinched your fingers together and pulled downwards, the zipper falling at your will without either of you touching it. He stared at it for a long moment, that  dangerous spark in his eyes again before he surged forward.

“That is…wow.” He murmured, fire behind his words. One hand cupped your cheek, the other holding your waist as he stepped closer, closer, closer, slotting himself between your legs.

You grabbed the sides of the jumpsuit, pulling it open, working it down his broad shoulders to reveal the thin white undershirt beneath. On top of it, the silver chain he always wore, a simple silver ring threaded through it. A ring you recognized as Shara’s.

“Rey and I had a…conversation…at lunch.” You said between kisses.

“Mmhmm, ‘bout what?” He asked, tilting your head and kissing down your neck. His other hand roamed lower, brushing across one of your wings, sending tingles up your arms.

You let out a shuttered breath, head tilting back against the wall. “She thinks…” another sigh escaped you as he continued to kiss the spot, jaw movements clouding your vision with stars, “you might be into me.”

His lips curled, poised over the vein on your neck. He paused for a moment. “Oh she does, does she?”

“Yeah, she has it on pretty good authority, apparently.” You said, daring to look down at him, at those dark, sultry eyes.

“Yeah, well, she’s not far off.” He breathed, going back in for your neck, determined to leave a mark in the short window of time you had before you and Soren were doing your ground perimeters. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, starlight.”

You moaned at his passioned ministrations on your neck, fingers threading through those lucious curls and giving a gentle tug. His hands hooked under your thighs and he hoisted you onto his hips, your back pressed against the wall of the tiny closet.

You met his eyes, breathless, wings fanned out behind you. “I can’t believe I get to have you, Poe Dameron.”

“Believe it.” He asserted, nose brushing against yours on the way to your lips. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, kissing all over his face before returning. “Kriff, I still wake up every day in disbelief that I get to do this in a closet with a Jedi Princess.”

“We won’t be in closets forever.” You whispered, eyes locking on his. It was a promise. Someday, everyone would know. It wouldn’t have to be a secret anymore.

He nodded, grinned. “Yeah, but…it is kinda thrilling, right?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

His eyes drifted down to your neck and he pulled a plush pink lip between his teeth, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Hey, uhhh…you have a turtleneck you can wear, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “You did not.”

“I might’ve.”

“You might’ve?” You shook your head. “Poe Dameron, what am I going to do with you?”

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips ghosting across yours as he whispered, “More of this, I hope.”

***

Another week came and went. More recruits arrived, but things had hit something of a plateau. Still, your numbers were excellent, a far cry from the shell of a Resistance that had been left after Crait.

Poe was giving the new pilots a walk around the base, all of them suited up in their bright orange jumpsuits, having been fitted for them for the first time. You and Soren were out and about, dressed in your Jedi robes, lightsabers clipped to your belts. You must have just finished some training, he rationalized.

He noticed how some of the pilots in his group stared, watching the two of you with interest. He figured many of them had probably never seen a Jedi before. Hell, he hadn’t until Rey had moved those rocks from the mouth of the tunnel they’d all been trapped inside on that blasted salt planet.

“Is that one the Jedi Princess or the other Jedi?” one of the new pilots asked, voice hushed, as though you could hear his very thoughts at that distance.

“That one is the princess. You can tell by the wings.” Snap explained. “Poe’s good friends with her.”

Good friends. He thought to himself with a chuckle. Just like you and Karé are “good friends.”

“Is she single? Could you put in the good word?” another asked, earning elbows and enthusiastic hollers from his teammates.

Snap laughed out loud, glancing over at Poe, who could feel his ears burn. Cheeks, too.

“Oh, uhhh, Jedi actually aren’t allowed to fall in love.” He lied through a charming smile. “Believe me, I asked her myself. Breaks some ancient Jedi code or something. Sorry, fellas.”

The rookie pilots let out noises of disappointment and Poe couldn’t help but laugh to himself. There. That’d keep them off of you.

“They’re not, huh?” Snap asked, voice quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear. He motioned to you with his head. “Might want to tell her that.”

Snap was right. Poe glanced over and you were looking at him with that starry-eyed gaze. So lovesick he lost track of his footing, tripping right over BB-8, who had been rolling in front of him.

“Poe!”

Bee let out a series of disgruntled beeps and buzzes and he chuckled, embarrassed. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Bee. You okay, buddy?”

Bee beeped up at you, seemingly unharmed. He was a sturdy little guy, after all.

“I agree, he needs to watch where he’s going.” You said, hands on your hips. You offered one, helping him to his feet. “You hear that, Dameron?”

“Loud and clear, your Highness.” He chuckled, brushing himself off.

“No serious damage?”

“Not that I can find.” Poe blew the hair from his eyes.

You reached up and plucked a single leaf from his curls, handing it to him. “There. For your collection.”

“Thanks, I’ll put it with the rest of ‘em.” He said with a smirk. Poe turned to the assembled rookies, who were murmuring amongst themselves. “Pilots, Princess (Y/N), Princess (Y/N), our new crop of pilots. Get acquainted with her. If you crash in the middle of a fight, she’s the one that’s gonna catch your X-Wing.”

“If it doesn’t blow up before that.” Snap added, earning a few unsettled laughs from the group.

It was a dangerous job. You’d always known that. You liked to think that you helped protect them when you could. When it was possible to. But Poe was always taking a risk when he climbed into that cockpit, even for something as simple as checking perimeters. He knew it, too, which is what made him so damn brave.

“Right. That.” Poe agreed with a bitter chuckle. “How was training?”

“Good. Making progress.” You said, shrugging. You and Soren hadn’t done anything groundbreaking, just sparring. But still, it felt good, like you were both making habits, challenging each other and learning little quirks of battle.

“Good. Good. Well, see ya around.” He gave your arm an awkward little touch.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you returned to Soren, who had a knowing look on his face. You knew then that he knew. That that Jedi intuition had finally clocked what was going on. But he didn’t say anything. Saved you the trouble of explaining yourself, why you were hiding it. 

The Resistance had enough going on. They didn’t need the drama of one of the Jedi entangled with their ace pilot. Especially if something went wrong.

Tags: @cap-lu20

[ankhegs-in-my-salad]

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this, but I felt like I needed to get it off my chest.

My wonderful friend @tavyliasin made a lovely addition to this post about how important giving your friends positive feedback can be to people, specifically former gifted kids, and I wanted to chime in with my own addition but it got super long and wasn't even the original point of the post lmao so here I am.

Anyway, we got some awesome insight about how leaving your lovely feedback is especially beneficial to former gifted kids in the previous post. Under the cut - me rambling about why positive feedback means so much to me, the Chronically Mediocre Kid.

Growing up, I was always painfully mid. I worked my absolute ass off to get my passing grades, and I got them for the most part. I wasn't good enough to be told I was doing well and I wasn't bad enough to actually get any help. Got into uni by the skin of my teeth and my degree the same way. I was stuck in middle-of-the-road land and pretty much always have been, with the exception of one notable outlier in my late 20's.

Now, as the name would suggest, us Mediocre Kids are very easy to forget about. We're just kinda there, and there's a lot of us. The NPCs or the studio extras, filling out space in the background of the class.

So how does this tie into writing or art or fandom in general?

For myself, and probably a lot of other people like me, writing in fandom has been the first real time to get that positive validation beyond "congrats you passed! You achieved the bare minimum!" I didn't get it at school (the place where, upon telling my chemistry teacher that I wanted to study chemistry at uni, was told verbatim "but you have to be smart to study chemistry") and it certainly wasn't at uni (where I had to resit a year and where the defence of my dissertation started with the words "the first thing we hated about it was[...]").

God, looking back I wish I had started posting fan fic so much earlier. Yes, comments are few and far between but when you get them? Oh my god.

Now I want to preface this by saying - Yes, I know that "you shouldn't write for validation" and I absolutely don't. I've been writing since I could hold a pen and only started posting stuff for actual humans to read in October. Does my background sound like that of someone who expected to get validation from strangers online? You can bet your arse that isn't why I'm here. It was just an absolutely massive unexpected bonus.

Fan fiction sent me from "congrats on the bare minimum" to someone telling me my silly AO3 story was their favourite thing they'd ever read on that whole website.

Do you have any idea what that does to someone who has spent their whole life being "good enough"? "Fine"? "Passed"? I was never good or bad enough to receive attention. My performance always "unnoteworthy". And that was fine, I always told myself. Because, as mentioned above, I've always been doing stuff for me and me alone. I learned early there wasn't any point in doing it for anyone else. Do you know how it felt to have a complete stranger reach out to me through the Internet and tell me that something that I had done, something that I had created, had a profound effect upon them?

Folks, I fucking cried.

For someone like me, every single comment, kudos, tag, all of it, is incredibly special. Even a comment as simple as an emoji or "loved this". It puts a little piece into a void in me that I didn't even know was there. It makes me feel as though maybe, if I can make one person happy with my writing, bring someone that kind of joy, there is more to me than just "passing grade".

And let me tell you, I'm still not used to it. It's one of the most wonderful feelings. And if you feel it too, don't ever let anyone make you feel bad for "seeking validation" or whatever. We know that's not why we're here, but my goodness if it doesn't make a difference when we get it.

So, to anyone who has ever given kudos, made a comment, left a tag on a post, any of it - thank you. It means more than I think a lot of people could ever know.

[whinlatter]

Any hint on when the next chapter is coming? cause IM SO EXCITED AND THIS NEEDS A COUNTDOWN !!! 🫶🏻

ok so! chapter 11! thank you sm for being excited! i'm excited, too!

i have had a few Qs in the inbox about when it's coming, so will give you the lay of the land here. basically i've got good news and bad news (depending on your perspective)...

the good news is - the plan is to share it next week at the latest, and possibly earlier, if i get the stuff done tomorrow that i'm hoping to. if the last chapter was the party, this chapter is the hangover, and it's all blowing up, babyyy. this chapter has some of my favourite scenes i've written in it, including some that have been written for absolutely ages, and it was an absolute treat to write it. the only reason it isn't out already is that i got cold feet about how well it worked as a standalone chapter having cut the original chapter ten in two and posting part one as chapter ten. i felt the part of the original chapter that became chapter 10 worked much better as a standalone chapter (including with a crescendo to a cliffhanger), but the remaining part needed a bit more shaping and restructuring if it was to work as a proper chapter in its own right. so since posting chapter 10 i've been rewriting and reshaping what was the second half of chapter 10/now chapter 11 so that it works better on its own. i think it's much better for it, and also has given me more space and breathing room to add some new scenes and develop others.

the bad news is - after i've posted chapter 11 i'm probably not going to be able to guarantee an update for chapter 12 until january. i've been updating with long chapters pretty regularly once a month since march, and i don't want to hang onto chapter 11 arbitrarily when it's basically done/just to post it mid-december to stick to schedule. but this does mean i won't be sharing another chapter (chapter 12) in december, in all likelihood. this is mostly because i've got a big real life phd dissertation full draft deadline at the end of the year (still amusing to me that in both my job and in my hobby i am just scrabbling to put together overdue chapters i misguidedly promised people), so want to make sure i can make that deadline while still keeping the beasts train moving. it does also mean that in the timeline of the fic, we'll be at new year as actual new year happens, which is sort of satisfying to me in its own way. i hope this is a good enough deal - chapter 11 early (and it's a meaty one too) as a trade-off for having to wait a little bit longer for chapter 12? that's the plan in my mind at the moment, anyway.

thank you for asking anon & thank you for being all aboard the beasts train. can't wait to share chapter 11 with you very soon! 🫶

[penandpaper-love]

Hi, do you ever get negative feedback or suggestions for big(ger) changes on your dissertation? How do you handle that kind of feedback emotionally? (i.e., exhaustion, discouragement, sadness, etc.)

Hi, I'm very close to finishing the whole process so right now it's minor changes. Still a lot of work though. My supervisor also adds optional suggestions of things I could add but I already told him that I probably won't. My final grade isn't that important for me as I don't "need" the dissertation for anything. It was mostly out of interest in the topic. I have so many things on my plate right now, I just want to finish.

However, in the beginning there was a subchapter which I showed my supervisor twice and I always got the feedback that it was not very convincing yet. In the end I simply decided to delete it and it was the best decision ever. I think I could have turned it around but it would have been so much work. It wasn't necessary and I just held onto it for quite some time because I had already put in the work. So yeah, that was frustrating at some point. I took some weeks off of writing and afterwards I could do it haha

My tip is to distract yourself when you get too frustrated. Take a longer break and do things you enjoy. When you get too irritated and emotional it's so much harder to be productive. I am convinced that often taking a break is the best thing you can do to increase your productivity. Still, I think overcoming or managing your internal struggles/frustration and keeping up the motivation over such a long period is part of the process.

Hope this helped! Good luck with your project (I suppose you are also writing something?)!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Remember how I said I wanted to write a post about Mild!Miguel....

It's been sitting in my drafts for almost a month. It's there.

It's just...reallly...reallly. really...long.

I just put it into Google Docs for the first time.

It's 27 pages. TWENTY-SEVEN PAGES.

Six THOUSAND WORDS. DO you know how sad that is? I typed that in one sitting. That's despicable

It's still not edited. How the fuck am I gonna edit a 27 page dissertation about MIGUEL.

I really love the material in it but

Unimaginable torture. Seventh circle of hell.

I might make it a video ....if I can. Because it's so hard to describe the parallel between Hobie and Miguel's arc and like.. The intentional deception Miguel puts on just like Hobie does. In order to will himself into the 'Stern boss' he thinks is necessary.

Like UGH NOT BEING ABLE TO EXPLAIN IN CONCISELY IS KILLING ME

[Very short rant below]

It's like Hobie very specially follows a formula of Humor - Deception - Moment of Action - Underlying Support

That Miguel WILL go through.

We're shown Miguel Humor (first scene), Miguel deception (lair scene), Him chasing Miles being his NEGATIVE moment of action that will LEAD to him reconsidering and offering underlying to support from Miles in the next movie.

Him in the liar is him acting mean on purpose. And the same way Hobie contradicts himself in his intro scene 'I don't believe in x'. The movie places Hobies in a humorous light to let us know of this upcoming deception

Which is the same for Miguel.

Why else does he have that high ass platform??? That's so uncharacteristic of him. Why does he let Peter interrupt him like that.

Because we're meant to see that Miguel's act as boss is just that - an act. We're supposed to think he's ridiculous- because.., its not real he can turn it on and off on a seconds notice

So when he returns to that rational place in his redemption in the next movie it won't be a 180 because like

GODDAMN DO YOU GET IT IM GONNA START KICKING A WALL

HOW DO I EXPLAIN THAT EASILY THERE'S SO MUCH IM ANGRY

Hobie... hobie. Miguel. Deception.... Gabriella.. Miles.. parallel.. Miguel's meddling with children's suffering being his downfall... Empanadas cheering him up

It's all connected in a matrix of nodes - each one a strand- in the infinite web of the multiverse-

[abby-the-druid]

Technicolor Ch. 4

In which a stranger becomes an ally.

Read on ao3 and ff.net

prev. chapter | next chapter

Preview:

Then.

“Sasuke,” the boy glanced over at his mother, Mikoto, who was crouched on the cracked tile floor, picking through a cardboard box he had yet to empty. Her slender hands were wiping at her dark eyes, and he realized, with an uncomfortable quiver, that there was water dripping down her face. “I – I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to come over and help you.”

“No, mom, you’re fine.” He hesitated in grabbing the next clean bathroom towel to fold.

“With your father and his…” she winced and sighed, biting at her mouth. “I never know when you’re here. You’ve had… I don’t - ” she tossed the object back into the box, which gave a loud clatter in the small room. She jumped at the sound and frowned in an apology, quickly pulling the object back out and inspecting it for damage.

“I know you need space from us… me, that’s why you…” she folded into herself for a moment, arms crossing between her chest and legs, face pressed into her knees and Sasuke listened helplessly as her breath rushed in and out of her lungs. “I didn’t mean to drive you away.” She sobbed; voice garbled as she spoke weakly into her body.

Sasuke shrank, a layer of icy dread rested around his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He shuffled closer to her, feeling completely out of place with her small breakdown, in the apartment he had been relegated to because of his big breakdown.

He kneeled beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Her head shot up, nearly identical sets of eyes meeting, and Sasuke realized for the first time how tired his mother looked. She had matching navy bruises decorating the soft skin under her eyes and elegant stress lines ran along her cheeks.

“Mom, you didn’t,” he shook his head, palms damp and heart racing. “You didn’t push me away. It was…” his voice died as his brain worked to explain what he couldn’t describe to himself. A frustrated hand ran through his hair, and he offered her a hollow smile. “It wasn’t you; I can promise you that.”

Mikoto slowly unfolded, coming to rest on her haunches, a slender hand reaching up and wrapping her fingers around her son’s. “He’s said that before too.” She breathed softly; sniffling, black eyes blank as she stared at the faux wooden grains in the cupboards.

“Who?” Sasuke asked, a black brow raising, but she simply blinked and shook her head, squeezed his hand before dropping it.

“No one,” she said, “excuse me.” She stepped away from him and into the bathroom. He was left kneeling on the cracked flooring, still slightly sticky even after he had deep cleaned the entire space, and he frowned as he stood and turned back to the living room. He was in the process of folding a shirt, mulling over the uncomfortable show of emotion, when she came back in, the redness of her cheeks was gone now, any blemish of streaked mascara had been removed, and she was holding herself as though everything were normal.

They were back to business now.

The small glance through a crack in the wall of his ever put together mother had snapped shut in the short moments she had left the room. And like a distasteful book, she had put the moment back on the shelf to gather dust.

[toastofthetrashfire]

Current ask game

Tagged by the dazzling @thewayofsubtext! Thanks so much :D

Current time: 8:30-ish in the morning. A rare morning for this hypersomniac. I see a nap in my future!*

*There was indeed a nap, and now it's 2 pm

Current activity: Catching up on things I've been tagged in, I've gotten very behind with low spoons. But the real question is what am I procrastinating doing, which is cleaning my house so chairs can be delivered.

Currently thinking about: Wondering how long it'll be before I crash and need a nap.* But also planning what I'm going to do with my few days off and how to catch up on all the smaller things on my to do list I've been putting off

*It was 30 minutes give or take

Current favorite song: Gosh favorite songs are hard, ummm let's go with Nauseous by the Rose. I got to see them perform recently so it seems appropriate to pick something by them!

Currently Reading: I was going to say nothing. I don't get much reading done for fun these days (dissertation...sigh). But about an hour ago I ran into a gem which I'm planning to use for my next meta post on Shadow. It's Ghostly Desires: Queer Sexuality & Vernacular Buddhism in Contemporary Thai Cinema by Arnika Fuhrmann

Currently Watching:

Too much and I'm probably going to drop some, so I'll just list what I'm currently enjoying and definitely plan to keep watching

Shadow-It's great! I usually only write meta once in a blue moon but it's got me in a meta frenzy. Plus Singto, Fluke, and Fiat--sign me up! Highly recommend!

One Room Angel-Really enjoying this one so far. It's dealing with heavy emotions and topics in a very Japanese style which I love. We'll see how it sticks the landing this week. I don't mind sad endings if their done well and meaningfully. But I also hope for a happy ending (and that desire is where they really get me as a viewer)

Last Twilight-Like a lot of folks, my disabled ass was wary but held out hope that P'Aof would do this justice a la Moonlight Chicken. The first few episodes showed me that he is at the very least aware of the conversation and ready to handle this with nuanced characters. I can't say I don't have a few quibbles and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far I'm pleased!

My Dear Gangster Oppa-It's really sweet and fun, flaws and all. Hard not to relate to two awkward dudes who never had a lot of friends bonding. Throw in gangsters and gamers and it's a nice watch each week!

Bake Me Please-I really enjoyed the first episode. The characters feel lived in. Plus it's nice to see Guide in a lead role after I Feel You Linger in the Air and alongside Ohm at that. I can't put my finger on it, but something about how they're building out the cast reminds me of Taiwan's style which is interesting to see.

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble-Doing a re-watch with my partner. An absolute favorite! It tackles grief and loss with depth, a strong sense of storytelling, and a quirky sense of humor. Throw in the supernatural and fantastic characters, and I fell in love.

Current Favorite Character: This is too hard! Fine, I'll choose! Pu YiYong from Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

Current wip: Currently working my way to a meta on technology in Shadow

Play away: @thepancakelady @petalsandeverythingnice @ablazenqueen @justanothertraveller42 @thepondstogether @shining-oranges86 @outofthewoods-tv @not-a-real-colour @writerwithoutsound @imminentinertia @kudaai @buffvsummers @chickenstrangers @mirabella96 @superrex319 @broidkwhatibedoinganymore @lady-pascal @synxailla @waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @jemmo

[dolphin1812]

Thanks to Courfeyrac, we're starting off on a fun note:

“I have just met Marius’ new hat and new coat, with Marius inside them. He was going to pass an examination, no doubt. He looked utterly stupid.”

Poor Marius. He's trying! But apparently he's not great at fashion.

A brief political note:

"Near the basin there was a bourgeois forty years of age, with a prominent stomach, who was holding by the hand a little urchin of five, and saying to him: “Shun excess, my son, keep at an equal distance from despotism and from anarchy.” Marius listened to this bourgeois."

From this man's status (he's bourgeois, and the mention of his stomach may imply that he's well off because he's well-fed), we could make some assumptions about his politics. If he's well under this order, he may be in favor of some kind of constitutional monarchy (like that of Louis Philippe, which was popular with the wealthy segments of the bourgeoisie). "Despotism," then, could refer to absolute monarchy, while "anarchy" could be a more democratic order. That being said, it's notable that this language is so vague. We could speculate about what he means, but it would be just that: speculation. Given that Marius' own political leanings have become "sympathies," it's significant that he's listening; his beliefs are vague, too, and that can make this context-less statement sound a lot more acceptable than what it might mean. Marius himself approves of Louis Philippe, but that doesn't mean he might disagree with this man if they discuss what "despotism" means. This moment of vague politics suggests that many bourgeois Parisians were more interested in stability at the time than drastic change (hence the emphasis on moderation), but it also reminds us that Marius had a similar mindset, partly because he had come to accept vague principles rather than specific policies.

In terms of how Marius approaches "Mlle Lanoire," I normally think comparisons between romance and conquest are hit-or-miss (if the relationship is supposed to be nice, conquest isn't a great metaphor, but it can be great for deconstructing ideals about relationships), but I think it works well here because of Marius' past. He may not be a committed Bonapartist right now, but a lot of his self-discovery is tied to Napoleon and his father's military history, so using a military metaphor for another defining character moment fits into a larger pattern of how Marius understands himself and the world around him. It also adds an image of stiffness to his movements (enhanced by the reference to how he looks "mechanical"), which reminds us of his awkwardness.

His academic thoughts are also so funny:

"At that moment, he was thinking that the Manuel du Baccalauréat was a stupid book, and that it must have been drawn up by rare idiots, to allow of three tragedies of Racine and only one comedy of Molière being analyzed therein as masterpieces of the human mind."

I've heard that Molière became more popular during the Restoration, so that might explain his opinion (although I would love to learn more!). Judging curriculum choices like this is certainly part of being a student, though, so it's nice to see how Marius relates to his studies (and how he still has other stuff going on even now that he's in love! This is just one new aspect of his life, but he's dealing with everything else as well).

And this!:

“She could not, however,” he thought, “help feeling esteem and consideration for me, if she only knew that I am the veritable author of the dissertation on Marcos Obrégon de la Ronde, which M. François de Neufchâteau put, as though it were his own, at the head of his edition of Gil Blas.”

Some of Hugo's writing was in that edition and he wasn't credited for it, so this is both a moment of pettiness from the author and an attempt to show Marius' academic achievements (which is also funny, because who knows if this dissertation would really impress a random person? And he has no way of proving that he wrote it, either).

[huntershowl]

——— BASICS ! ♡

NICKNAME : raine

PRONOUNS : she/her

ZODIAC SIGN : gemini

TAKEN OR SINGLE : taken!

——— THREE FACTS ! ♡

went to college for game design, with a focus on writing/narrative and 2D art!

i love cooking and baking — currently work as a chef and i arrange a mean charcuterie board :) fav recipe of mine is probably either banana bread or white chocolate lemon scones.

very into tabletop games, but cursed to hate playing over call. in person, i am known to make detailed irl props, animatics, cover songs and shit like that because immersion is my favorite thing to foster in any sort of roleplaying experience!

——— EXPERIENCE ! ♡

too much. too much. tumblr since 2012, but online rp in general forrrrr. 15?? yrs? since i was in third grade and rped with my bff via emails. kjdshfjkshf ive been through the shit. ask me about horror stories and i'll have a fuckin Tale for you (FROM THE LAST FEW MONTHS EVEN. but also earlier. ive seen things. to the extent that i've been actually considering writing an unofficial dissertation on rp from a queer anthropology lens )

——— MUSE PREFERENCE ! ♡

for muses i prefer to write? ALWAYS sad characters. always. if a bitch isnt a little bit sad i lose interest fast. dsjfhkjshdf more specifically, angry femmes, hard-edged bitchy men with hearts of gold. usually has endured some sort of abuse. a bit unlikable, has a long way to go before they're comfortable with vulnerability. occasionally i have an off-type muse pick though (a couple of love-embodiment rays of sunshine, or get.o jj.k for example, but they're still ALWAYS SAD)

for muses i write against? for seph, i prefer characters with some sort of mean streak/bitchiness/hard edge to them. she doesn't do super well with outwardly soft and gentle characters — her muse avoids them and i tend to lose insp fast, even if i love the character ooc.

in a general sense, i'm drawn to characters who are also angsty in some way, but more than that, i'm drawn to conflict. if a dynamic isn't rough in some way, if there's no conflict between them, then it's less my vibe personally! no shade to those who like harmonious/fluffy character relationships of course — i just. yk. my brain likes to cause problems.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT ! ♡

FLUFF : small doses, short threads! i like fluff a lot, but only occasionally

ANGST : honestly like 90% of my content. eve my fluff threads turn sad. i love putting characters through the meat grinder — not only seph either, just say the word and i will HAPPILY inflict my villains on your blorbo! ask any of my writing partners and they will be able to confirm how much angst is on this fuckin blog JKSDKJDSH

SMUT : on discord yes! on dash, i'll ride the line and get a little spicy, but nothing like super explicit. ALTHOUGH this is a wiggly rule — i might try to explore it with trusted partners at some point if i get less shy

PLOT / MEMES : BOTH. plotting is very very helpful for me because i'm a chatterbox and tend to enjoy dynamics where we can also yell about em ooc. also having spicy plot points and conflicts to work towards makes it easier for me to write multiple threads haha <3 but memes are amazing ways to start interacting, as long as i have some sort of direction going in. so both!

tagged by: stoled from @tewwor

tagging: YOU!

[alianoralacanta]

Coulthard, Sato and Pit Stop Misadventures: Spanish GP (14-05-2007)

Context: The blog plugin for the forum received an upgrade, including shiny new mood and activity indicators! I mostly used it to state what I was reading at the time, because I was and still am a bookworm. (In case you are wondering, my current reading is:

Travel reading: The Time Traveller's Guide to Restoration Britain by Ian Mortimer

Home reading: "No Offence But…" by Gina Martin

e-Reading: A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

"Light reading": GP Racing, August 2024)

I'd spent most of the weekend trying to persuade my undergraduate dissertation to print off the computer (I'm not sure if my alma mater has an online copy - it probably does - but since I didn't write it under my psuedonym, I hope you will forgive me for not linking to it). Thus, I'd been on an adrenaline high when I finally succeeded. "Most" of the weekend, because I'd also watched the Spanish Grand Prix, where the accidental comedy had leavened things nicely…

Coulthard, Sato and Pit Stop Misadventures: Spanish GP

Sleep

Reading The Age of Spiritual Machines by Ray Kurzweil

No Category

Firstly, I apologise if I doze off in the middle of this entry - I've spent a lot of today convincing an unreliable computer system to print off a 2800-word essay (I managed it and handed it in with one minute to spare - don't ask!)

The "Oh no it's all falling to pieces" feeling must have struck David Coulthard at some point during the race, as his Red Bull once again attempted to thwart his efforts to finish a race for once. I was very impressed by his ability to almost maintain the same speed minus third gear as he had with it - and fifth is a great way to finish the first race his midfield car has finished with him in it.

I particularly loved James Allen's comment just before the gearbox issue manifested himself; "This is the best performance we've seen from David since… [pause] …er, the last time we saw a good performance from him a few weeks ago." This proves three things:

1) Walkerisms still sound funny, even when Murray Walker isn't the one saying them 2) four weeks is too long to wait between races 3) David Coulthard is going through one of the best phases of his career - not that the points scoreboard shows that right now

Speaking of good performances from rarely-rewarded people, Takuma Sato put in a lovely race from 13th to 8th. With all the attention ITV lavished upon Anthony Davidson and Jenson Button, you could have been fooled into thinking the guy who'd outqualified both of them didn't exist.

At least, until Sato took Giancarlo Fisichella's 8th place off him and scored Super Aguri's first point ever. Even I, a Fisi supporter who thought that it was unfair that a malfunctioning pitlane device should have put him in that position, could not begrudge Takuma his just reward for a great drive. It seems that Takuma is currently having more success with his self-orientated team than Jacques Villnueve did at BAR. That is a credit to the staff at Leafield as well as to Takuma.

Returning to the pitlane, I was rather miffed at the stuff that was happening in the pitlane - and not just because the Renault rigs forced both Giancarlo and his team-mate Heikki Kovalainen to switch to the slower three-stop strategy mid-race. No, the incident that really got my blood boiling was Massa's portable barbecue.

It is rare for a fuel hose to do that sort of thing, and it was dangerous for both the Ferrari and the McLaren mechanics (the fire had nearly burnt itself out by the time Felipe went alongside the McLaren staffers, but it could have so easily been a considerable amount worse. Intertechnik are not in my good books right now, and I'm sure they're not in Ferrari or Reanult's good books either.

BMW could not blame Intertechnik for their Carry On moment - they caused that one by themselves. How Nick managed to miss the front-right jack man not raising his hand is a minor mystery (not that it was really his fault, but…). How he got away with getting it around the track minus the front right wheel nut without being a hazard to anyone or damaging his car is a major one. (On the upside, the shot of the Toyota mechanic holding the nut aloft, in his best "Has anyone lost something?" posture, was priceless).

It has to be said though that the Spanish GP has been the most interesting race for me all season. I'm not sure what that says about the three flyaways, except that I am now looking forward to Monaco with renewed vigour.

On the blog front, you may have noticed that I have recently added a menu on the right-hand side of the blog screen. With access to a blogroll and the site policy, it should help make things that little bit more enjoyable. Please tell me if there's any other changes you would like to see.

Oh, and I broke the 2000-visit boundary today. I think my involvement in the wider blogosphere may have a lot to do with it, but I am pleased to see so many enjoy my site. Please come as many times as you like, and I hope you'll be here when I celebrate the next milestone (and for the more serious entries in between).

Wow! I managed to stay awake for all that. I'll just go and have a lie-down now…

La Canta Magnifica Blog - After the very interesting Spanish GP, Alianora La Canta looks at two of the stand out drives of the race (David Coulthard and Takuma Sato), as well as the unintentional action down the pitlane.