#Dissertation maker

[frankensteincest]

JULIE ANN THILMANY, Draining Life Forces: Vampirism in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights

[jonquilandlace]

Someone should hire me for ideas on building a superior word processor specifically for dissertation writing I have so many good ideas

[jonathanbyersphd]

Yea uh this chapter is gonna be 7k words

[vintagesimstress]

Proto-tartan Patterns

Once my new colour palettes were ready, I could finally move to the thing which prompted their remake in the first place: meaning, a total overhaul of the tartan(-esque?) swatches I use for recolouring stuff.

Remember my old set of tartan patterns? I've been gradually getting less and less happy with them. Sure, they were pretty, no doubt - a little bit too pretty. Kind of complex. Kind of time-consuming to make. Kind of... not screaming 'iron age'. And not at all consistent with the colour palette I was using at the time. So I decided to remake them.

Completely. From scratch.

This time I wanted to be smarter. This time I had a vision. And a plan.

Hear me out.

(or just DOWNLOAD them from my Patreon - as always all free from day one - if you don't feel like reading this dissertation; why does it always get so long ffs...)

So the thing is - we don't know much about how pre-Roman Britons dressed. They left no written records and, as their textiles were, obviously, organic, they decomposed long ago, so archaeology is of little help as well. However, there's one thing we do know, as all ancient writers agree on it: namely, that their clothing was strikingly 'colourful'. Considering Romans themselves had better access to vibrant dyes and textiles, that probably wasn't it; and so it's a truth universally acknowledged (or at least believed) that said 'colourfulness' was a result of insular Celts using multi-coloured patterns, as opposed to Roman monochrome style. How exactly those patterns looked, we have no way of knowing. Some interpret it simply as stripes; others as some chequered patterns; and others dare to call it proto-tartan. I went with the last one.

Trying to come up with swatches which would make sense for those times was a tricky task - you know? Because on the one hand, I didn't want them to be obviously anachronistic; and imagining a life of a Brittonic commoner woman, I could see that she'd have no time and energy left to make literally any of my old tartan swatches. What would a farmer's wife wear? She'd be making her clothes herself, of course - so what would she go for? Something simple, not that time-consuming, not requiring too much concentration. Maybe two shades of natural wool; maybe dyeing some skeins of white wool some easily accessible colour; maaaybe two dyed colours, if she liked to dress up. But dyeing her wool ten different colours and then weaving them into beautiful, perfectly symmetrical patterns, like the ones from my old set? I think not.

Then again, we have that ugly tendency of assuming people in the past were somehow 'lower' then us, especially when it's about illiterate societies. Yet every now and then archaeologists find old textiles which miraculously survived millennia, and time and time again we're flabbergasted by how intricate they are, how well-made, how fine, how... Damn expensive. I have no reason to believe it was any different in case of ancient Britons. Whatever a Celtic chieftess wore, she surely wasn't running around in a potato sack; and considering Roman officials would probably interact mostly with the richer members of the society, it makes sense that their 'wooooow, so colourful' comments were inspired mostly by those upper-class garments.

And so I decided to invent and implement a kind of class-stratification system, i.e. different pattern rules for different social classes. Totally arbitrary, totally made up, totally not backed by any sources - just a simple product of the time I spent wondering 'what would've made sense'. Oh, and this time all the colours come from my new palette(s), so it's all consistent. I found an online tartan maker and got to work.

See? I told you I had a plan.

The free version of the tartan maker let me mix maximum of 5 colours and I happily agreed to this limit, basing the bulk of my rigid social classes' system exactly on this: the number of colours used. Their provenience also played a role. And of course I went for the holy number of 85 swatches - divided into five groups:

Group I - lower class casual dress. Five patterns only in undyed wool, 20 patterns in one shade of undyed wool + one dyed colour. Altogether 25 swatches;

Group II - lower class fancy dress & middle class casual dress. Two dyed colours, only from the northern palette. 20 swatches;

Group III - middle class fancy dress & upper class casual dress. Three colours, whichever, including the imported ones, with the exception of Roman luxury dyes (kermes, turmeric, saffron, Tyrian purple). Again 20 swatches;

Group IV - upper class fancy dress. Four colours, whichever, even the luxury ones. I guess not too many sims could land so high on top, so it's only 10 swatches;

Group V - aka 'when you're the chief of the most powerful tribe on the isle and you've conquered anything of value so you're basically a king'. Five colours, whichever, most swatches with heavy emphasis on the luxury dyes. Another 10 swatches.

Here you can see the difference visualised on a dress I'm currently working on (don't pay too close attention to alignment and such, it's still a wip). For example, a progression of different purple & yellow combos:

See the difference? We went all the way from birch mixed with elderberry to Tyrian purple mixed with saffron. (Which, btw... Can you get any posher than that???)

Or the progression of reds and yellows. The last swatch looks almost like the first one from the old set (yup, I took lots of inspiration from it when I was struggling to design those 4 or 5 colour combos):

And here another swatch from group V, just because I love it. Perfect for a sim who's rich and not afraid to show it:

That's woad, kermes, saffron and turmeric you're seeing here. In your face peasants.

So. That was a very long post about a very niche thing that probably not many people care about 😅 But if you, dear gentle reader, do care and think you might find those patterns useful, grab that 7z package and enjoy! (download link, in case you missed it, HERE).

PS. They're all 64x64, so you should be able to safely use them as swatches' thumbnails too!

PS2. And of course they're seamless. That felt too obvious to need mentioning ;)

[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

[rederiswrites]

Arden codex: 8, 14, 20, 23. the play one could be Very fun

Oooh, lots to work with!

8. A future historian’s analysis of Rook’s actions (Bonus: featuring a relevant primary source)

From the dissertation of Henry Darrow, University of Starkhaven.

Details as to how Arden Mercar, commonly known as Rook, became involved in the Blight of the Gods are often confused, with one source making a claim entirely contradicted by another. Some point to his involvement with the underground movement the Shadow Dragons as the point of connection, suggesting that he became involved due to Venatori alliance with the gods. Others propose that he was secretly an agent of the Tevinter military, serving under his father Charon Mercar, and his involvement with the Shadow Dragons merely a red herring.

I propose a rather radical revision of this timeline. I believe that Rook was in fact involved with a splinter faction of the Inquisition, and was in pursuit of the elven god Fen'harel before Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan broke free of their prison. In support of this bold claim, I offer a series of fragmentary letters between one Lace Harding and known agents of the Inquisition, kept in the archives of the Mortalitasi in Nevarra.

While portions of these letters are sadly rendered illegible, what is clear is that Rook was working with this Lace Harding, as well as author and known Inquisition agent Varric Tethras, as much as a year before the Blight of the Gods began, and that they were in pursuit of an unidentified powerful figure. As you will see in the following transcriptions, we can guess a great deal that was previously hidden from these correspondences.

14. A letter from a faction leader to a companion about Rook’s actions.

Davrin--

Out of respect for your services to the Wardens to date I will not have you arrested, should you return promptly, but if I see that insolent whelp "Rook" again, I assure you, he will spend time in Weisshaupt's cells.

--First Warden Glastrum

20. Something written about Rook on a historical plaque. Oh Hmm!

ARDEN MERCAR BRAVE SON OF TEVINTER LEAD OUR FORCES AGAINST THE BLIGHTED GODS AND RETURNED THE SUN

[A more cynical scholar once noted that this statue and plaque are notably revisionist, as Rook did not carry the heraldry of Tevinter, and while the phrasing permits the viewer to believe that it was the forces of Tevinter which Arden led, in fact the Tevinter military was in disarray following the disappearance of Archon Radonis, and many of those who led the fight against the Blighted gods were from outside Tevinter's borders.]

23. Excerpt from a play dramatizing Rook’s actions (Bonus: include a review of this play)

I apologize, but the first thing that popped into my mind was the Gaang watching that terrible play together and I couldn't get past it so I've gone off prompt a bit.

"Maker, that was agonizing," Arden said, eyes squeezed shut.

"Speak for yourself. I thought my actor was amazing," said Taash. "'Raargghhh! Woarrghhh! Die, darkspawn!' Plus I had my own little mage stage hand to do the fire."

"Mhm. And you said 'therefore' and 'most certainly' and 'charge, my fair warriors' a lot less than me. So, you know, appreciate your fortune." Arden rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the last hour and a half.

Lucanis laughed. "Come now. You were terribly dashing. The actor is not nearly so handsome, of course, but you can't fault his commitment to the role."

"And I'll bet you loved your actor's commitment to completely destroying an Antivan accent?" Arden said.

"Very much so, actually. It had the added benefit of rendering all 'my' lines completely incomprehensible."

"Look lively, people," Neve cut in. "Here comes the director, along with a couple of aldermen if I'm not mistaken."

"Fasta vass. I need a drink," Arden muttered, straightening up and plastering a smile on his face.

[pynkhues]

I have a question about your overall thesis on motherhood and Loustat. You said the line “a wolf congratulated for not killing her pups line” was “definitely about motherhood”. As for your take on the final scene of Louis looking at a painting of a mother and daughter in a scene that’s very much about him coming to terms with his loss, as his daughter’s dress hangs in the background: “The maternal side there I can see, but I don't think it's as absolute as others, just personally.” Am I correct in thinking you believe the show suggests Lestat is more closely aligned with the role of mother than Louis in their family dynamic?

I mean, I'd argue that I don't have a thesis, anon. This isn't Tumblr University, I'm not writing dissertations, and you're certainly not peer reviewing me when you send asks like this that are pretty blatantly trying to goad me into arguing a point you want to rebut.

But no, I'll answer in good faith, and say that I think Claudia's mother is dead and that she has two fathers, and the desire in this fandom to ask 'well, which one is the mother' is just another way of asking a gay couple 'well, which one's the woman?' Neither of them are, and the fact that they don't fit into a heteronormative understanding of what a family is is, I would argue, literally the point of the unholy family.

When I talked about Lestat's line about being a wolf as being about motherhood, that - to me - is about connecting him to his past, and relating him back to his own mother, and I also think from the show's writers perspective, it's about Anne.

Lestat's mother in TVL is the one who relates child birth to Lestat killing the wolves, and it was Lestat killing the wolves that lead to his own death, as it's a part of why Magnus picks him. He is sitting on that stage now watching the death of his child, in the city he died in, in the city his mother did too. It makes sense to me that he would be thinking of his mother, who birthed five dead children, who lost two more through mob execution in the French Revolution, as his own daughter is executed. It makes sense to me that that would relate back to Gabrielle's major, arguably character-defining monologue from TVL where she talks about child birth as an act both violent and entirely isolating, so as to be like killing wolves alone in the woods, and it makes sense to me in that moment that Lestat would relate for the first time not to being the killer, but to being the thing that he hunted. It's death, violence, isolation, loneliness, birth, all things Anne relates to motherhood in TVL.

Which is to say it's thematic, not literal, because Anne - a woman, and the author of this female gothic series - was clearly interested in exploring death and motherhood as a theme, which makes sense as she herself is a mother who experienced the loss of a child. It's not about literally saying that Lestat is 'more closely aligned with the role of mother', it's a scene that - again, to me - feels like it's in conversation with the female gothic components of the books, with Anne, and with a formative experience in Lestat's life as he's on the cusp of experiencing a new one.

Regardless of that though, Lestat is Claudia's maker, but he's also his mother's maker, Louis', Nicki's, Antoinette's - it's not always a parental act. In fact, it's usually not for him, and I don't think it is for Louis who made Madeleine either. There is a blood bond there though between Lestat and Claudia that does not exist between Louis and Claudia. Does that make him her mother? I don't think so, no, but it does add a layer to their specific dynamic that Louis doesn't have with her because, again, he did not make her.

The scene with Louis and the painting and Claudia's dress at the end is a loving act, absolutely, and it's a scene that I adore, but it's also intrinsically tied to the painting of Paul, and the apartment with Armand (which inherently calls upon their fractured dynamic in Paris where Louis existed as Claudia's brother too), which to me, shifts the meaning away from motherhood specifically. Again, I can appreciate that other people read it as being maternal, and obviously I think Louis' her parent, not her brother, but in terms of the visual language of that sequence, I think it's a lot wider than some acknowledge.

So no! You are not correct in your thinking, anon. :-)

[jeannereames]

Going through other classical fan’s blog on here, I saw one person put forward a theory that Hephaestion was erased from history due to his excessive cruelty, such as him torturing Philotas. Could there be any truth in that? Was Hepheastion uniquely cruel as he became more powerful in Alexander’s empire?

The Problem with Hephaistion’s Erasure

…is that he wasn’t erased. (Or not until later.) It’s perception more than a reality. He actually has quite a bit of mention in Curtius, Arrian, Diodoros, and Plutarch—as much (or more) than any of the other younger marshals during Alexander’s lifetime. This reflects what was present in the now-lost sources written during ATG’s career or in the generation after his death (Kallisthenes, Kleitarchos, Ptolemy, Aristobulos, Marsyas, Nearchos, Onesikritos, etc.).

Yet the notion that he was erased from the historical record is a common one. When I first arrived at Penn State and announced that I wanted to do my dissertation on Hephaistion, Gene Borza told me, “I don’t think there’s enough information in the ancient sources to support an entire dissertation on him, even as a court study.” Then, that very summer, Gene reread the ancient sources for a project of his own, and next fall, he admitted (with some surprise), “He’s in the sources more than I realized.”

(I bit my tongue on, “I told you.”)

So, what’s going on here?

First, Hephaistion didn’t outlive Alexander. Maintaining his memory was not particularly useful to any of the surviving marshals/Diadochi, except maybe Perdikkas, who inherited his position. Yet, like Leonnatos and Krateros, Perdikkas also died (relatively) early in the wars, and the Successors who outlived him (e.g., Ptolemy, Antipatros, Antigonos, Lysimachos, et al.) blackened Perdikkas’ memory.

Ergo, Hephaistion fades into the background until appropriated later by Hellenistic- and especially Roman-era rhetorical schools as part of popular anecdotes and topoi (conventional tales or themes) about Alexander.

Do you know HOW many times the “He is Alexander, too?” story appears? Sometimes positively, occasionally negatively. Same with Hephaistion reading (beside Alexander) a letter from Alexander’s mother. He also gets trotted out frequently as an example of Alexander’s lack of self-control, given the king’s “excessive” grief at his death (which seems to grow with each retelling).

Yet NONE of those has to do with his role as chiliarch or his military accomplishments. Also, in Plutarch—probably the most popular history of Alexander*—we find nothing about Hephaistion as a commander, and little about politics. Plutarch tells us the king sent Hephaistion a little dish of smelts (or sardines); that Hephaistion and Krateros got into it with swords; that Hephaistion blamed Kallisthenes for the failure of the proskynesis banquet; that he ate a whole boiled fowl and drank a pitcher of wine on the morning of his death; and that Alexander called him Philalexandros. But if Plutarch were all we had, you’d never know Hephaistion was named chiliarch!

It’s largely the personal that came down to later historians…and movie-makers like Oliver Stone (or Netflix, even when their Hephaistion historian tells them to give him more to do; at least he got to intrigue with Mazaeus). One must go to the original histories and start making lists to realize just how much Hephaistion appears, particularly post-Baktria.

The man did have a career apart from being the king’s bosom buddy. 😒

As for whether he was exceptionally cruel, three problems complicate determining that: 1) biases in the sources, 2) biases of the people who knew him, and last, 3) simple cultural differences.

Let’s start with the last, as it’s mentioned in the ask. Hephaistion was one of three marshals who interrogated Philotas. To modern readers, use of torture strikes as horrific (as well it should). But in the ancient world, torture during questioning was standard, for some. A slave’s testimony wasn’t even admissible in court unless given under torture. (Otherwise, they believed a slave would lie to save their master.) Torture of arrested (lower-ranking) soldiers in military camp was also the norm, especially by the Roman era.

It’s not the torture itself that’s shocking. It’s who it was performed on: a high-ranking member of the Hetairoi. Arrian glosses over the whole thing because Philotas (Parmenion’s son) was tortured, not because torture was employed.

Also, there were three of them: Krateros, Hephaistion, and Koenos, Philotas’s brother-in-law, who didn’t want to go down with the ship so needed to distance himself (emphatically). Plutarch has Philotas, during the torture, beg Hephaistion for pity, while Alexander listens behind a curtain. Yet Plutarch’s point is what Alexander says regarding Philotas’s lack of fortitude—not who Philotas appealed to. We absolutely cannot trust details like this in Plutarch’s anecdotes! He changes out players, and details, as it suits him. Philotas’s supposed appeal to Hephaistion quite probably didn’t happen.

But did Plutarch make Philotas beg Hephaistion in order to increase the reader’s impression of Hephaistion’s cruelty? Maybe. Yet in Plutarch’s version, it’s Krateros who’s the snake in the grass and out to get Philotas. So perhaps Plutarch is trying to imply Hephaistion was the soft-touch among the three. Despite Plutarch’s overall portrait of Hephaistion, I’m inclined to read it as the latter here. (For my article on the whole Philotas Affair.)

Still, it’s a good example of why just reading these stories and interpreting them with modern sentiments can (sometimes) result in serious misunderstandings.

The other two problems both concern bias, albeit among different groups.

As I just alluded to, our sources paint different portraits of Hephaistion. Plutarch probably has the most “negative” picture, and Curtius the most “positive.” Diodoros and Arrian are more neutral (but sometimes deceptively so, at least in Arrian). From positive to negative, I’d rank them: Curtius, Diodoros, Arrian, Plutarch. (Hephaistion’s barely in Justin, so I ignore him.)

Outside these histories, particularly in Roman rhetorical exercises, Hephaistion appears only in relation to Alexander. By then, he’d become a symbol, not an officer or even much of a person. Just Alexander’s echo: “Alexander too.”

Last, we have the biases of those who knew Hephaistion. I already noted that enshrining his memory was not particularly useful to the Diadochi, so they didn’t. Others may also have had reason to bad-mouth him. But not all, or we wouldn’t have the nicer assessments such as Curtius’s assertion that he was charming and didn’t push his place.

By the end of his life, he was Alexander’s righthand man with loads of power. That’s going to make enemies, and there were men at court afraid of him. Why isn’t clear. Was he fearsome because he was cruel and arrogant, or because he had the authority to break a man’s career (just as did the king)? It seems many of the people who were afraid of him (or disliked him) also feared Alexander. Except Krateros, who’s a special case.

Leaving him aside, we know Hephaistion also quarreled with Eumenes … but so did a lot of people, including rather infamously Antipatros. (Eumenes was also friends with Krateros.) Similarly, Arrian (7.18.1-5) relates that a certain Apollodoros told Alexander (in Babylon) about bad omens concerning him. But first, Apollodoros had asked his brother (a Seer) to sacrifice about Hephaistion, because he feared him. His brother said the omens were bad and sure enough, Hephaistion died shortly after. So Apollodoros asked his brother to sacrifice about Alexander, because he also feared him … bad again. Curiously, Apollodoros told Alexander, and got a pardon for his honesty.

Arrian recounts the story as part of his list of bad omens for Alexander in Babylon, so we’re not told why Apollodoros feared the two but may hazard a guess. Arrian sets the warning in Babylon, but most of the events predated that, going at least as far back as Ekbatana, and likely earlier.

Upon his return from India, Alexander had engaged in a lot of “house-cleaning.” Curtius (and Arrian, et al.) present him as exceptionally savage to some of those left behind to mind the store while he was away in the East. He removed them from their positions and even executed several—all based on negative accounts of their behavior in his absence, milking the populace and such. He supposedly didn’t give these noblemen a fair chance to defend themselves because he’d become easily swayed by flatterers and other courtiers with grudges (and—so Curtius—one of them was even, horrors!, a eunuch). There’s a LOT of Roman anxiety about imperial purges under this, as well as the standard template of growing tyrannical behavior that would (of course) result from Alexander’s Orientalizing.

So, we must interrogate the texts as to whether Alexander was unfairly harsh, or these men had earned their punishment. Even if Apollodoros told Alexander about the omens, it may have been to save his own neck by showing he’s really a “good guy after all.”

The negative press about Hephaistion all arises once he gained power and authority. Perhaps that’s because it went to his head, and he attacked his enemies. But it’s equally possible he went after wrong-doers in the name of the king, and they didn’t like it. After he was dead (and so was Alexander), those people got revenge with a poison pen, like Ephippos of Olynthos.

It might also be a bit of both the above. After all, in ancient Greece and Rome a moral man helped his friends and actively sought to hurt his enemies.

The upshot remains: we just don’t know what Hephaistion was like as a person. Curtius describes him as charming. Plutarch’s portrait is more hostile, but even that isn’t unmitigated. We’re reduced to “hints and allegations.” More specificity about him is what fiction is for. 😉

—————-

* Plutarch’s popularity owes to four things. His Life of Alexander is shorter than Arrian, Curtius, or Diodoros. It’s also heavily focused on personality and anecdotes, which are intrinsically more interesting to the average reader. Thid, it was more readily available than most others (even Arrian). Last, his Lives all lend themselves to reuse in sermons/etc. as moral lessons. A number of the stories that people know best about Alexander come from Plutarch.

[littlehoundthings]

@crosaidi: ❝ i didn’t mean to make you wait this long. ❞

"You hardly made me wait, vhenan. One moment- let me just.." Maker his desk was getting a mess. Ashe tossed a few books into a pile behind his chair, trying to clear some space off for the latest shipment of medicinal herbs from the veil jumpers.

Ashe's desk was starting to look less like an infirmary desk, and more like a stressed professor attempting to cobble together their dissertation. Piece of parchment and notes were scattered about, betraying a lot less organization than Ashe usually enjoys.

"Did Strife send me anythin' fun this time? And how is Lily? Is she makin' sure t'eat enough?" Asked the pot about the kettle.

[babydinosaur930]

A Little Weary

Instead of working on my dissertation chapter, I did a thing. I just have feelings about the Hawke family and their relationships.

Available on AO3 and under the cut.

A Little Weary (1781 words) by CaffeinatedMermaid Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Carver Hawke/Merrill, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Carver Hawke & Female Hawke Characters: Carver Hawke, Merrill (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age), Isabela (Dragon Age), Anders (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trauma, Healing, Protective Siblings, Mutual Pining, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Templar Carver Hawke, Suicidal Thoughts, Grief/Mourning, hawke has depression okay, she needs a heckin hug, carver starts to understand his sister

Summary: Just a couple of snippets that happen in the wake of the battle with the Arishok. Marian Hawke is severely wounded and fighting for her life while processing the weight of all the loss she has endured. Merrill rushes to find Carver, hoping that seeing her brother will bring Marian some peace and maybe even motivate her to stay alive. Meanwhile, Fenris is worried that the love of his life will die in his arms before he has a chance to tell her how he really feels.

-----

Carver felt his stomach drop. Without drawing attention he shook his head to wave off what was surely a heat induced hallucination of the dark haired woman beckoning to him from the shadowed corner of the Gallows. But on second glance the figure remained, still beckoning.

He scanned their surroundings, checking for any prying eyes before darting over with a curse on his lips.

“Maker’s breath, Merrill! Have you completely lost it! It isn’t safe!” Taking her arm he shoved them both further into the safety of the shadows.

Truthfully it was never safe for an apostate mage to enter the Gallows. Certainly his sister and her companions had done so on a number of times but there was a general agreement to keep the Dalish blood mage from doing so. Not to mention that with the Qunari invasion and death of the viscount tensions in Kirkwall were strangling the city alive and Meredith seemed determined to keep pulling the noose.

Why would she be here anyway? Merrill hated the Gallows. Always said it made her sad, too many walls and not enough grass. Yet here she stood before him, alone. Staring up at him unphased with her deep green eyes that always made him forget how to breath. In his frustration he did not even register her closeness, pressed up against him behind a few columns.

Before he could open his mouth to chastise her further Merrill placed her palm over his lips and he felt heat rise in his face at the contact.

Merrill spoke softly in that voice that sounded like the lullaby of a cool river, her words always winding their way around him, soothing his rough edges. The tension in his shoulders fell. Maker he’d missed her voice. Missed her.

“Don’t worry, Isabella is close by.”

Carver glanced around but found no sign of the other woman. Wherever she was she was well hidden.

“But why are you here—” he whispered through her fingers only for her to press them more firmly against his lips to hush him.

“We don’t have much time. And you haven’t responded to the other’s letters. Carver, you need to come home.”

He thought to the few letters sitting on his bedside table that he hadn’t yet bothered to open. He told himself he’d just been overwhelmed. But really he wasn’t keen on hearing about the escapades and honors of his sister, the new champion of Kirkwall, just yet. Still, he wasn’t so out of touch that he didn’t know what was going on. He’d read the reports. His sister was recovering fine and for now that was all he needed to know. But there was something stern in Merrill’s eyes that made him wary.

“Tell them that you need a few days to visit your uncle. He’s very ill. And you need to see him.”

Carver scoffed into her hand as he gently pulled it away from his mouth but still couldn’t help the roll of his eyes.

“You cannot be serious? Gamlen? The man’s a roach, he lives through everything.” He tossed his head, flicking the hair from his eyes. “He’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like he delights in company.”

Merrill didn’t seem to find it funny. Truthfully, it was odd for her to come all this way just for his uncle. He peered down at Merrill under a furrowed brow with a questioning gaze.

“It’s Hawke.”

He huffed a laugh and rolled his shoulders back to relax them. “I do read the reports Merrill. She’s fine! Is the great champion so wounded I haven’t written to congratulate her that she’d risk sending you all the way here?” She wouldn’t. He knew that. But what other reason could there be?

Merrill just stood there. Her eyes looked darker than usual and the purple tone that hung beneath them stood out against the pale of her skin. Her face twitched in irritation and that made him hesitate. It wasn’t an expression she wore often.

“The reports are wrong. We’ve been lying. Varric is worried people will panic. Or try something stupid if they knew.”

The edges of anxiety began to press into his chest and his breathing slowed.

“. . .Knew what?”

Merrill chewed the inside of her lip and glanced down. When she looked back up her eyes were wet. “She’s dying, Carver.”

Carver startled. He took a step back, forgetting where he was, just to put distance between himself and Merrill’s words but she jerked him forward to keep him within the confines of the shadows.

“What do you—”he stumbled for words and his balance as Merrill pulled him back toward her, “the reports all say—” they were lying. He shook his head in confused frustration, “then why come here? Go—go get Anders!”

Merrill kept a firm hold of him, voice still calm and even. “Anders hasn’t left her side in days. He’s doing everything he can. She’s just…” Merrill glanced down again, unsure of the right words. “Her body has healed, mostly. But the fever—” Her grasp of his arm tightened like she was trying to emphasize what came next. “It should have gone away but she’s just. . .” she took a deep breath. “Carver she isn’t fighting.”

He gave an exasperated shrug, “What does that even mean? She shouldn’t be fighting! She needs rest!”

His mind was starting to spin and he couldn’t think straight. Merrill reached up to cup his face with one hand, pulling his gaze down to her own. In any other scenario he would have jumped from anxiety at the intimacy but trying to think was like wading through a thick a fog. Merrill seemed to know, running soft circles against his cheek with her thumb. He tried to focus on the sensation, the coolness of her touch stark against the heat of his face like a beacon he might follow out of the haze in his brain.

“I mean,” Merrill spoke gently, “that she is trying to die.”

Carver stared at her, searching for the lie in her eyes but he couldn’t find one.

“She isn’t—she wouldn’t do that.” He stammered.

Merrill didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Not with the sad disagreement strung across her face like that. She just stroked a hair back behind his ear as she watched him take in her words. He thought of every reckless and stupidly heroic thing he’d seen his sister do over the years and wondered for the first time in his life if her willingness to get into the middle of everything was a guise for something else. Suddenly he felt hot all over. He swayed a little as if he might be sick. Old memories flashed through his mind.

How could you let her charge off like that!

Could have found my fortune if Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway.

They’d never discussed it. The things he and his mother said in the wake of Bethany’s death. Beth had always been his anchor, they moved in tandem and in one awful moment she stepped without him. Then never again. He’d been so distraught. Angry. How had she been so able, so ready to move on her own like that? He’d been trying to find out ever since. And he’d blamed Marian so he didn’t have to blame himself for not moving with her. Then he’d been angry every time Marian moved to carry their family forward. For all the glory he thought she had, Marian had never really been able to win. He and mother had made sure of that.

Carver hung his head as shame mixed with his growing anxiety. Merrill called his name softly, still stroking the side of his face. Strange that such a small woman could keep him centered when his whole world was shifting.

“I know your relationship is complicated.” She met his gaze intently, “but you need to see her.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to watch my sister die again.” He gasped the words softly.

It wasn’t a rejection. More like a plea. He didn’t know how to comprehend the idea of Marian’s absence. Didn’t want to. For all the distance he’d tried to put between them to build his own life, Marian was just a force that existed in the world. She was crazy and chaotic and insufferable but she was always there. A shadow at his back.

His lips started to tremble and he realized his cheeks were wet as Merrill brushed away a stray tear.

“I’ve been awful.” He confessed, “I don’t know how to help her.”

Merrill shook her head and kept hold of him. “You’ve been hurting. She knows that.”

“But I didn’t know.” His voice started to crack, “I didn’t know she was hurting.”

“You can help each other now.”

He tilted his head into her palm. “What do you mean?”

“She talks a good bit. Maybe it’s the fever or maybe there’s just things she wants to say before. . .” Merrill paused, not wanting to speak her death into the open. “But there are things you should hear from her. Things I think she’d like you to know. And she wants her family. She wants you.”

Carver simply bowed his head down into Merrill’s shoulder and she cradled him in her arms. Even with his height and the weight of his armor she stood firm. Carver registered the movement behind him but he was tired and afraid and Merrill was holding him. Merrill was holding him and he wasn’t ready to let go.

Merrill didn’t startle. Only inclined her head slightly to the person who stepped in behind Carver.

“Time’s up Kitten. The patrol is about to come back around.” Isabela’s voice sounded unusually sympathetic.

He felt Merrill nod and she gently lifted his face to meet her own once more. “Remember, you’re visiting your uncle.” She whispered.

Carver nodded. Merrill hesitated a moment, as if unsure before adding, “and I’ll—I’ll be there too.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief.

Say something , he thought as she began to move past him.

“Wait” He latched on to her arm and pivoted to face her as she moved toward Isabella. Merrill paused, looking back at him.

“You—um.” His mind blanked and he scrambled for words.“You grew out your hair. It—it looks good.”

Merrill just smiled. Isabella mercifully made no expression.

“I’ll see you soon Carver.”

Isabella took Merill’s hand and he watched the two women vanish around the corner. He heard the footfalls of the patrol as they neared and slipped away just before they rounded the corner.

He’d need to find the Knight Commander. Carver Hawke was going home.

[ronniezhou]

Is that BROWNYN 'RONNIE' ZHOU? I heard the THIRTY THREE year old belongs to the NIGHTSHADE as a BOMB MAKER. I’d stay away from them if I were you. I heard they were OVERCONFIDENT, but they can also be RESOURCEFUL, so proceed at your own risk.

S T A T S

FULL NAME: Bronwyn Lan Zhou NICKNAME(S): Ronnie OCCUPATION: Bomb maker, although she tells everyone she's in animation

GENDER: Cis Woman PRONOUNS: She her NATIONALITY: American ETHNICITY: Chinese + White HOMETOWN: San Francisco USA SOCIAL CLASS:  Grew up lower class, currently upper middle class EDUCATION LEVEL: BS in robotic engineering, unfinished doctorate FATHER:  Frank Zhou MOTHER: Nina DeTourneau SIBLING(S): TBD CHILDREN: NOPE PET(S): TBD

B I O G R A P H Y

Bronwyn Zhao—better known as “Ronnie” to friends and fixers alike—was never meant to survive the world she grew up in, let alone outsmart it. Raised in a shitty apartment on the edge of Chinatown, Ronnie clawed her way through life with sharp instincts and a sharper tongue. Poor but preternaturally gifted, she made a name for herself by acing other people’s exams, ghostwriting dissertations, and building machines in her bedroom that schools couldn’t afford in their labs. The system never rewarded her, so she stopped pretending she wanted its approval.

She tried the route everyone told her to take—college, a future, something safe. Ronnie enrolled in a robotic engineering program with dreams of becoming one of those stories they trot out on scholarship brochures: girl from nowhere, makes it big. But it didn’t stick. The lectures bored her. The structure stifled her. She didn’t want to build robots for clean energy initiatives—she wanted to see what happened if you overclocked them and wired them to tripwire sensors.

She was social, shameless, and just cynical enough to stay two steps ahead. Ronnie didn’t ask questions when strangers paid her online to build “experimental timers” or “hypothetical detonation chains.” She figured it was some weird reddit survivalists, they were always into shit like that. She liked the challenge. It never crossed her mind that the message board was a recruitment net—until Nightshade showed up with real money, real consequences, and an offer she didn’t have the sense (or desire) to refuse.

Now, as one of Nightshade’s most inventive bomb-makers, Ronnie thrives in the liminal space between brilliance and disaster. She tells herself she’s just an inventor—that what happens after her creations leave her hands is above her paygrade. But deep down, some part of her knows she’s helping build the most lethal empire the city’s ever seen.

She lives well now—modest apartment, full fridge, occasional sushi—but makes a point not to look too closely at who’s holding the gun she just designed the trigger for. Ronnie’s charm, deflection, and occasional delusion keep her functional in a world she helped arm. She may be the friendliest face in Nightshade’s roster, but behind the grin is a mind that could burn this whole city down and still be proud of the blueprint.

H E A D C A N N O N S:

Ronnie still keeps her first homemade detonator in a cigar box under her bed—not because it works, but because it almost did.

She has a rule about never dating anyone who asks too many questions about her job, which leaves her mostly single and totally unbothered.

If you give her a soldering iron, a busted microwave, and 45 minutes, she can probably make something illegal.

She once blew up a car in a crowded parking garage just to test a containment method she invented—then calmly walked away eating a popsicle.

For someone who builds weapons for a living, she’s weirdly sentimental—she still sends her family money every month, even though they haven’t spoken in years.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S H E R E

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Hello, I' ve been reading your blog for quite some time and its existence makes me feel better both in general and especially when I get really annoyed and frustrated by crazy zutara shippers (not the sane ones, of course).

I would like to add some observations I made and haven't seen here. I've read many pro-zutara metas, both mentioned here and the ones I accidentaly found myself, and I notice one thing. The shippers often (always?) claim that Katara and Zuko MUST be together, but almost never say that they actually WANT to be together. It's the shippers who want zutara to happen, but not the characters themselves. And these people complain that in kataang Katara has no voice!

Literally: Zutara shippers: In our ship Katara can finally voice her wants and needs and be heard, both by Zuko and us, since we all respect her so very much! Katara, voicing it: I am not Zuko's girlfriend! *seriously, that was the scene used as proof for this pro-zutara statement in one of the metas mentioned in the ask recently* Zutara shippers: Ignore that, she's in denial.

It became even better in the so-called "official dissertation" (gosh, there are so many lies and misinterpretations, I could talk about every single one of them, if you want) where the author wrote just that: "Sure, Zuko and Katara expressed no explicit romantic interest in one another in canon" just admitting: "I typed a six-part post explaining how this pairing, both participants of which don't want to be a romantic couple at all, should be canon".

Oh, yeah, that is a BIG thing with zutarians. It's exactly because they know that Zuko and Katara don't actually have feelings for each other, that they have to find other (often super convoluted) reasons for this "romance" to happen.

The Fire Nation HAS to be the "feminist" nation while everywhere else is a hellhole where women are nothing but property and baby-makers. The Fire Nation HAS to suddenly only be able to peacefully co-exist with the rest of the world if it suddenly stops being racist over night, being not only okay with the Fire Lord marrying the daughter of lider of a tribe they consider inferior and barbaric, but actually seeing her as the ONLY option for bride.

The Gaang, Katara's family and tribe, and basically every male ever, all NEED to see her as basically their maid and not actually care about who she is, so Zuko will be the only decent option for husband. Zuko NEEDS to be a billion times more traumatized by everything he went through while Katara is the only one that, by some miracle, can "fix" him just by existing so she'll be forced into the role of wife/caretaker/therapist, otherwise she'll psychologically destroy him.

Aang and Mai (as well as other characters like, say, Jet) NEED to be completely selfish, uncaring, abusive, evil tyrants that will inevitably become such unbelievable threats that they just HAVE to be killed so the possibility of Katara and Zuko so much as having ANY positive feelings towards them, let alone choose to be with them, is just no longer on the table.

Zutarians know they HAVE to make Zuko and Katara basically be forced into a relationship with each other, because it's very clear that they'd never pursue it willingly.

And somehow, that's "true love" instead of, at best (and this is me being VERY generous here) a mutually benefitial arranged marriage with no real feelings involved, or at worst just two people giving into despair and never, ever finding real happiness in this relationship they feel trapped in because said relationship was a big mistake.

[tritoncattery]

Update

I have 20 requests and a dissertation due in about a month, new requests can expect to wait a while but I'll still take them ^^

Existing requests: you all requested really nicely thank you so much! It means a lot to be listened to I feel good. Unfortunately degree. I like making templates it's how I relax but uni ends soon and I need to have a lot done including moving.

Stuff will be slow but on the bright side I'll have a batcholers to show off next to template maker in my credentials and we leave uni unemployed so plenty of template making time lol.

[anime-academia]

2024年五月二十七日(月)

Today's kanji practice featuring the kanji from my green tea packaging.

In other news, I ran 4.5km today in half an hour, and for every warning, there is someone who tried to do the thing. What I want to know is : who decided to crawl on a treadmill??

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Things accomplished today:

1k words for dissertation

Ran 4.5kms (I'm exhausted af)

Esperanto (1 lesson Duolingo)

Kanji practice

Cooked supper (partially, it was a group effort)

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

📺 Tian Guan Ci Fu ( imma watch this as a bed time treat)

🎧 -

🎶 History Maker (YOI)

📚 Kuroshitsuji (I've seen spoilers for Soma and I am devastated ngl. But 13 y/o me keeps winning with having picked Undertaker to be obsessed with)

[losercomputers]

Miku, Kikuo, My Childhood.

Not to sound lame or anything, but I hold a special place in my heart for Hatsune Miku, specifically her features in Kikuo's discog. Though, I def feel like this is a given, being that I raised myself here on this very internet, exposed to anything and everything vocaloid (and just a bunch of cringe weeb shit, in general, lol), and that I like the color blue, and miku has that long ass blue hair haha.

But I guess my point here, especially regarding this blog, is that Kikuo (aka Asian melancholic btw) was a major catalyst in encouraging my current ongoing love for electronic music, and while in the midst of listening to Miku 4 earlier today, I had the sudden urge to start writing about it.

Now now now, let me just say that Kikuo is a fucking MASTER track-maker. Their compositions are just soooooooo blissful to listen to and his tracks pay great respect and homage to their rightful sub-genres of orchestral, DnB, synthpop, ambient, glitch, etc while simultaneously portraying highly cryptic and evocative imagery via his lyricism.

I think if it weren't for the language barrier (I know a very super minimal amount of Japanese), I would have very different perspectives on life right this very moment had I even had a vague understanding of what any of Kikuo's lyrics meant, and another thing that I love about Kikuo is their attention to detail and clever use of Japanese colloquialisms.

"If I fall to hell, I'll be saved. If I rise to heaven, I'll meet you again. I love you, begging to be constricted in comfort. I love you, gasping in a childlike voice, "Strangle me, More, more"."

LIKE?!?!???!?

Love and companionship may be the very death of us and yet we struggle for it so badly. We fight tooth and nail for it, even if it suffocates us, even if at times we know it is the martyr of breaking us down and building us back up over and over again. As humans, we love that bullshit.

;

However, this is only one of the lighter themes that Kikuo explores...

A lot of the narratives they depict are typically quite grotesque and/or abstruse. From tracks that explore themes of abuse and suffering to tracks containing discourse on the concurrence between intimacy and cannibalism, they do not hold back.

So I'll keep this short and sweet and wrap this up here (or else I'd end up writing an entire dissertation on this).

What once stemmed from an innocent love for vocaloid music has now blossomed into me writing whatever the fuck this blog post is, and also experiencing a series of several mini existential crises after unpacking and developing my own interpretations of Kikuo's tracks.

Here's to Life, Death, Love, and Kikuo.

AND MIKU OFC

[ghnosis]

"Tis the Night of the Witch" Ghestie Interview FAQ

What are you looking for in a participant?

Someone who spends time on Ghost tumblr. Readers, writers, artists, meme makers, headcanon creators, people who send lovely asks to others. If you're worried you "don't count" or won't be helpful to my study, I promise, you will be. If you have something to say about Ghost, I want to hear it.

You also need to be over 18, so that you can legally consent.

Do I need to give you my legal name?

Nope! I need you to sign a consent form before we schedule a time to talk, but you can use whatever name you'd like on that, or just write an X.

Will the interviews be anonymous?

Yes. The only information I'm collecting about you is your email (so I can contact you). You will be labeled in all my files as "Nameless Ghoul" and a number.

When are the interviews?

Starting in January 2024! Dates & times are up to you. Each interview will be an hour long and take place over Tumblr chat. The interviews are open-ended - we'll be talking about your participation in Ghost fandom. My dissertation is based on my experience as a queer Ghost fan and I want to make sure I'm "getting it right" so to speak by hearing from other members of the community.

What do I need to do to sign up?

Let me know you're interested by emailing me at aj263780@falmouth.ac.uk or DMing me on tumblr, or else just return a signed consent form - you can find more information in this post. If you need the consent form in a different file format, please let me know.

I'll send you the consent forms you need to read and sign.

To sign the consent form, just copy and paste the bottom part in an email back to me.

After you sign the form, I'll send you a link to set up the interview.

I have another question.

Please respond to this post, DM me, or email me! I plan to update this list as I get asked more questions.