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downbadf0rficppl · 4 months

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i didn't mean to love you so much

Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: You don't know what you have until it's gone. Or is it?

Word Count: 6.0K

Repost

It took 3 days to arrive on D'Qar.

The Naboo N-1 Starfighter that you stole from the junkyard on Bracca was one wrong move away from falling out of the sky. Even with your constant mid-flight repairs, only prayers to the Maker were keeping her together. The BB unit you found kept you posted with constant, and frankly worrying, updates on how the ship was holding. Let's just say the plane was soon to be out of use.

When you entered the atmosphere in D'Qar, the landing gear erupted into flames, eliciting a series of explicit beeps from the BB unit. If not for the life-or-death in front of you, you would have burst into a fit of giggles.

Instead, you just grit your teeth: "Happy beeps, bud."

You and the BB unit left the carnage that used to be a starfighter flaming in the trees, bickering the whole time, and heading towards the Resistance Base. Towards new beginnings. Towards freedom.

Bracca was a junkyard, where scavengers and smugglers looked for parts to sell to the highest bidder. It was dark and dangerous at the best of times, and work was never-ending. It wasn't the kind of place you would want to grow up, but it was better than Kessel. Anything was better than Kessel.

It took a week to get to the Rebel base. Your head throbbed painfully with each passing day, with hardly any food in your system and little water to quench your thirst, the journey to salvation seemed almost unattainable. You had thanked the Maker for rain when it first came, but after 4 days of non-stop rain, you had cursed the skies for it. It only seemed to fall harder.

By day 5, the BB unit was running out of power, its movements slower than before. It was far too heavy for you to carry and without it, you would never reach the Resistance base. There were no sarcastic quips or complaints for its master anymore. No, the two of you traveled in silence, aside from the odd groan from either one of you. Its tiredness mimicked your own. You could only pray that the base would come into view soon. You weren't sure how much longer you would last.

When the planes came into view, you almost cried with joy. With newfound energy, you and the BB unit near-ran the way to the tarmac runway that signaled life on this dratted planet.

And while the BB unit was welcomed with cheers and open arms, you weren't so lucky.

You were marched to the medical bay by two men almost twice your size, flanked on the left and the right so you couldn't run if you tried. Your heartbeat in your throat. Of course, the resistance had to be careful, but surely this was excessive.

After you received treatment for your assortment of cuts and burns, you were delivered to a small room, adorned with only a bed and curtains to block out the light. Before you could say anything, let alone protest, the doors shut, leaving you alone in a small cell deep in the heart of the Resistance base.

As terrifying as the whole situation was, when you laid your head to rest on the bed in the dingy room, sleep came. It beat thorns and nettles on the forest floor of D'Qar. It beat sitting upright for 3 days, trying to avoid meteors and Tie Fighters. It beat restless nights on Bracca, hoping to gather enough for a meal. Sleep came to you better than it ever had before, and you reveled in it.

You woke up to familiar beeping outside the large metal door.

"BB-3?" Your voice came out as a hoarse whisper. The beeping got louder, almost unbearably loud, "Calm down, bud. I don't know how to open the door."

"Step back." A male voice came from behind the door, startling you. You stumbled backward, falling on the floor as the whooshed open. A tall man stood there, and if he were surprised you were on the floor, he didn't show it.

You scrambled to your feet, brushing the dust off your clothes as BB-3 rolled in, circling around you like a vulture would his prey. The man stood there observing you and the droid got reacquainted, before clearing his throat.

"Vice Admiral Holdo would like to speak with you." His tone was authoritative. You didn't want to be on his bad side. He led you toward an office on the opposite side of the building, your legs shaking as you walked. He shot you a pitying glance as BB-3 followed at your heels, before returning his face to its emotionless expression. You hated it.

It must have been early, as only a few people were up, and those who were seemed to want to rather be asleep. But no one batted an eye your way, despite the grime you still felt clinging to your face, and the ripped clothes you were wearing. You wondered if this was normal to them. People coming home grimy, hurt, and disgusting.

Only one man seemed to notice you on your journey.

"Snap!" A voice called out to you. The man in front of you - presumably Snap - broke into a huge grin. "Long time, no see, buddy!" Snap clapped the other man on the back, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

You stood there as the other man regaled the story of whatever mission he'd been on to Snap, and for a moment, you thought you were forgotten.

Until he turned. His eyes seemed to scorch your soul with their searching gaze. It was heavy, but you felt safe under it. Almost as if you knew that he would do nothing to hurt you.

"Heard all about how this one came in yesterday." He stretched out his hand, "Captain Poe Dameron. Pleasure to meet you."

You shook his hand and returned the favour, telling you his name. He tested it on his tongue, repeating a few times. Once he seemed satisfied, Poe turned back to Snap.

"How come you got stuck on babysitting duty?" He asked, mirth dancing in his eyes. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes or butt in - you wanted these people to like you. Sarcasm could be saved for later.

"Kid brought back my droid."

"BB-8 told me the story. Something about running from a resistance fighter, blowing up a depot train," you kick BB-3 gently, "and exploding an N-1. It was impossible. Maybe you should get your droid checked for gossiping?" Snap punched him in the arm, "Hey, it was just a suggestion." Poe grinned widely, "Oh, and the shootout. How could I forget the shootout?"

"It wasn't a shootout." You slapped your hand to your mouth. You hadn't meant to say that out loud. So much for saving the sarcasm for later.

Poe turns to look at you. "Oh?" his grin infuriatingly wide. "That's not what the droid said."

"It wasn't a shootout, we were shot at." Your confidence floods back into you. "And the depot train wasn't us. Wrong place, wrong time. Am I right, bud?" You glare down at the BB-unit.

He mumbles something about ruining a good story before whirring off to stop behind Snap. Stupid BB-unit.

"Guess you're more interesting than I gave you credit for kid." Snap stepped towards you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "The name's Temmin, Temmin Wexley. But everyone calls me Snap."

"Pleasure to meet you Snap," you echo Poe's words from earlier.

Your meeting with the Vice Admiral went well. She believed your story, well corroborated by both BB-3 and the bounty on your head placed by a well-meaning neighbour. She cleared you to start training with the resistance, though you surprised both her and Snap when you asked to be a mechanic.

Though when you started working on ships, it was clear to see why. It was almost like there was a secret language that ships spoke that only you seemed to understand. You scoffed at that. Beginner's luck you called it. Still, there was no denying that you loved working on the ships and that you were good at it too.

Months went by and you settled into the routines of the Resistance. You were given a room closer to the other mechanics, who, despite the constant tension of competition, seemed to like you well enough. You often sat with them for meals, although passing up on opportunities to spend more time with them. They seemed content with that. You got used to the early morning wake-up calls when the sun streamed through the window and urgent repairs needed to be made. You learned to enjoy the quiet evenings when everyone else had closed up shop and you could finetune repairs for those who needed it. You finally felt like you had a purpose. It was freeing.

Snap kept you up-to-date on the comings and goings of the First Order - never in much detail of course, but enough to satiate your desire to know more. In return you smuggled him extra jogan fruitcake when it was served while he was away. Sometimes, in thanks for saving your life, you made extra updates and repairs to his X-Wing when he came back from long missions - more often than not to save his those extra hours of tedious work.

Black Squadron had come home after a week long mission the night before. You had worked late into the night the day before, and you were now regretting it. Blue squadron had come into contact with a few Tie Fighters on night patrol, and the damage was hair-pullingly extensive. You were in for a long day. It didn't help that you could barely keep your eyes open, hands glued to a cup of Caf that was doing little for the tiredness clouding your brain. You didn't even notice Snap come storming in.

"WHO WORKED ON MY SHIP LAST NIGHT?" He yelled over all the mechanics. Shit.

You had done some basic repairs for him the evening before last and had spent the better part of last night finishing up repairs and repainting his ship. You knew how pilots were with ship paint. Maker, you were screwed.

After a few moments of silence, you decided it was better to own up than let everyone suffer. "I did, Wexley."

He slowly turned towards you, before grabbing you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, lifting your feet off the ground. You were shocked. He was happy - no, elated. The rest of the mechanics, equally as confused as you, turned back to their work, ignoring the scene in front of them.

He still had you gripped tightly when Poe walked in. "Easy tiger, you'll kill the greenie. What did she do to deserve your wrath?"

"My wrath?! No, no, no, Poe. This kid is my new favorite person on base."

"I'll try not to take offense to that," Poe grumbled jokingly, "What did she do to deserve such high praise then?"

"Have you seen my ship? She's beautiful, more beautiful than Jess that one time." He started, about to regale a story, you did not need to know. You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"My sentiment exactly," Poe said to you, giving you a fist bump before walking over to Snap's X-Wing, closely followed by Snap himself. You trailed behind them, still unsure of what was going on. Poe dragged his finger across the paintwork, "He has a point though. I've never seen Snap's X-Wing look this good." Poe turned towards you, his warm brown eyes sparkling with pride. "Good job, Greenie."

You smiled gently, before turning away. It was high praise from Captain Poe Dameron, flyboy of the resistance.

"Maybe I'll snap her up, you know, give her a real ship to work on?" Poe said, his flirting tone making an odd double entendre that made your face light up in flames.

"Not a chance. Kid, you're my new mechanic. Officially."

"What if I don't want to be?" You countered, your sarcastic tone making both Snap and Poe burst into laughter.

You accepted the role though. There was no world in which you didn't. You enjoyed the perks of being Snap's favored Mechanic - you could sleep in more often, you were privy to more information than the average mechanic. He would tell you if he was to leave the base soon, you were often told just how bad a situation was. Snap trusted you. And if Snap did, so did the others.

'The others' being the other pilots on Black Squadron: Jessika Pava, Karé Kun, L'ulo L'ampar. And of course, Poe Dameron. It was almost like you couldn't escape him. His infectious laugh, his boyish grin, his boisterous personality. His ability to make even the most mundane task into a story for the ages.

No wonder he was so popular.

You began to sit with them in the cantina and you frequently ended up leading the repairs on Black Squadron, no one else being as trusted as you. You opened up to them slowly, telling them about growing up on Kessel and being brought to the Scrapper’s guild on Kessel. You told them the truth about your escape - Poe ended up on the floor laughing, saying “the real story’s so much better, BB-3”. They found out about your impeccable aim after a fun night in the cantina that ended in a tense game of holodarts. They became your family - more of a family you had ever had in your life.

And while, you saw Snap, L’ulo and Karé as your brothers, you could not say the same for Poe. Poe was a flirt, everyone knew that. But as you got closer and closer, it was harder to ignore the way you're heart sped up when he looked at you. How you're palms grew clammy when he smiled in your direction. How his praises and compliments made your knees weak. God you were in love with him.

You knew that half the women on the base had either slept with him or wanted to, and yet not one of them got even a second of his time. None of them except you. Poe would walk you to your room in the evening, and to the cantina in the morning, regaling stories of his adventures before he knew you. He’d bring you caf when you were working late, and sit under the stars with you at the end of a long day. He’d tell you stories of Yavin 4 and his mother. He showed you the ring that hung on the end of his necklace.

“I want to give it to the one, you know?”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Captain.”

He groaned, “Don’t rank me.” You just smiled.

“So, no lucky lady in your life, Dameron?”

“No lucky man in yours, greenie?”

You scoffed, “If there was ever a chance, they’ve all been scared away by you.”

“Good.”

You laughed it off, but inside your guts twisted at the idea that Poe was happy you were single. Your insides warmed at the idea that he might just feel the same.

The next morning, you walked out of your room to the sight of Poe sneaking out of the room opposite yours. Half-naked. His eyes widened at the sight of you, and your hand quickly hid your eyes from the view. Your heart dropped. He lied to you.

Poe sought you out later on in the day. He came up behind you on the landing deck, with a cool glass of jogan juice in hand. You had stripped out of your mechanics jumsuit, the arms tied loosely around your waist. Your tank top was almost a shade darker with the sweat of exertion and ridiculous heat. And yet you declined it, your face barely concealing your childlike annoyance. You knew it was stupid. You and Poe were barely friends, let alone anything that would justify your anger.

“I’m sorry.” Poe huffed, still standing underneath you in the beating sunshine. You were surprised: Poe Dameron never apologises.

“For what?” You said, your back still facing him. He sighed - he didn’t like it when anyone was annoyed at him. Least of all you.

“For this morning.”

“Why does it matter, Poe? You can sleep with who you want to.” You said, anger colouring your voice.

“It matters,” he yells, “because it upset you. Because, for whatever reason, the idea of me sleeping with other people, made you mad at me.”

His obliviousness tugged at your heartstrings, as if to say ‘he doesn’t feel the same’.“I’m not mad that you’re sleeping with other people.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“Because you lied to me, Poe.” You say, dropping down from the ladder, sweat dripping down your back.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said there was no one special in your life.”

“There isn’t.” You raise a brow, before grabbing the glass of jogan juice from his hand. “Just because we had fun for a night, doesn’t mean I’m getting down on one knee.”

“I think you’ve done it enough times for that to be proven, Poe.”

His cheeky smile returned, “Glad we’re back on first name terms.”

You shook your head at him, “For the record, if I ever catch you sneaking out of a room in my wing again, I’ll skin you myself.”

“If you catch me you say? Well, I like myself a challenge.” You slap him on the head, before climbing back up the ladder.

“Leave me alone, Poe. I don’t need your love troubles plaguing my every hour.”

“There’s no place for things like love in the middle of a war, greenie. First thing you learn in a place like this.”

If he hadn’t been walking away, he would have heard your heart burst into a thousand tiny pieces. Maybe it was for the best if you didn't love him.

Instead of wallowing in undeserving heartache like an idiot, you forced yourself to forget all about the way Poe made your heart feel. He became just another friend, pushed so far into the friendzone that was no conceivable way out. To his credit, you didn’t hear of another escapade of his again. He probably just got good at hiding them.

That always got difficult when he was sent on week-long missions. Your heart would migrate into your throat and even swallowing became difficult. Your mind would swim with worry, all for him to come back completely fine, his ship always seemed to come home the least scathed. A fact for which your heart was grateful.

"Hey, flyboy," you called, as you walked into the cantina. There were less than 10 people in the whole room - probably due to the ungodly hour of the day.

Poe was sat in the corner, the light of his datapad shining on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was unusually disheveled, which could only mean one thing. He was nervous.

You walked up to him. Evidently, he hadn't heard you from across the room, because when you came up to him and rested your hand on his shoulder, he flinched and grabbed your hand. You winced at his tight grip as he turned to face you.

Poe released your hand when he saw it was you. He leaned back into your chest, eyes fluttering shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered, gently.

You grabbed the datapad from his hands, and placed it face down on the table, "It's ok. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

You absent-mindedly run your hands through his hair as his head remained leaned against your chest. "It's not nothing. Is it a mission? You're leaving again soon?"

He hummed in agreement.

"You're leaving today, aren't you? That's why you're up early."

"Why do you think Snap got you to wake up early? You're not just a sight for sore eyes, you know."

His words made you blush. Never have you been more glad that he isn't staring right at you - it would give your heart’s deepest darkest desires away.

He left that afternoon. After you completed routine checks for him, he was off on a top-secret adventure. Sometimes, it was easy to hate his rank, because it made it so hard to find out where he was, or what he was doing. But as always, you let him go and, as always, you prayed he'd come home safe. To you. You always pray he comes home safe to you.

Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks. And while it wasn't unheard of for Poe to be gone this long, your heart could barely take him being gone for a day. That's the price of being in love. You'd never thought of yourself as still being in love with Poe until he left on that mission. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still raced when he talked to you. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still ached when he left for missions. You'd never thought much of the way your heart still burst when he smiled at you. But without him there, it's like your heart could not find a reason for beating.

You continued on with your job, trudging through daily repairs and meals, trying to keep your mind away from Poe. You forced a smile when you talked to Snap - missing Poe hit him just as hard as it hit you. You forced a smile when you taught new recruits - you couldn't afford to have them hate you just because the Captain was missing. You forced a smile when you came down for dinner - there was no use in moping around in the middle of a war. But when you were in the comfort of your own room, you let the smile fall and the tears drip down your face. You cried almost every night for the first week that he was gone, trying to reconcile your newly found feelings and your newly lost friend.

It was a surprise to everyone when Poe crash-landed back on D'Qar with burns and cuts littering his body. You were up at an extremely early hour as working on Snap's ship when he landed, and you were immediately filled with concern. A tight knot wound its way around your throat, as you watched the scene unfold. BB-8 was nowhere to be seen. The ship is smoking dangerously, and parts of it are falling off, but most worrying of all, Poe was struggling to get out of the cockpit. You quickly threw yourself onto the X-Wing, hitting the emergency ejection latch with the spanner in your hand. The cockpit lid flew open and Poe climbed out, coughing heavily and clutching his side. Snap came running out of the base, and grabbed Poe's arm. You ran up and grabbed the other, and the two of you dragged him towards the med wing.

Two nurses snapped him up, cleaning his wounds and applying bacta spray where necessary. Snap turned away, mumbling something about an early morning briefing, but you stayed rooted to the spot. You couldn't take your eyes off his broken state, and tears slipped out of your eyes before you could control them. After a beat, you spun around on your heel and sprinted to your room.

When the door clanged shut, you slumped onto the floor and burst into tears. You couldn't bear to see Poe in pain. You hated yourself for not being strong enough to fight through your tears to be with him. And you hated yourself for still being in love with him, when you promised you would be. When your datapad lit up with tasks for the day, you made the rash decision to call in sick. In the time you had been on the base, you had never called in sick. This job was your lifeline, your passion, and nothing, not even illness, would affect that. At least, that's what you had thought. You spent the majority of the week in that same spot, tears subsiding when you became so dehydrated that your body refused to let you cry.

On the fifth day of your hibernation, you finally left your room, having showered and gotten ready. Few people were on the base, apart from the mechanics and medics, and the injured - which included Poe. Given the lack of a real threat in the vicinity, General Leia had given the day off. You didn’t want to relax. You couldn’t relax.

You snuck over to where Poe’s beat up X-Wing was parked, and the sight of it almost made you tear up. The memories hit you like a brick. Poe barely limping towards the med wing. BB-8 being carried to the droid repair room. Fire extinguishers coating the X-Wing with hopes that it may be able to fly again. You got to work.

You were finally satisfied as the sun set over the vast treescape of D'Qar, covered head to toe in oil and grease. After some gentle coaxing by Paige - the only one aware of your all-consuming feelings for Poe - you agreed to grab something small to eat with her.

What you didn't sign up for was to see a broken and battered Poe sitting at the table, laughing at some stupid joke that Snap had probably made. He looked up as you walked in, almost as if he was expecting you. His eyes met yours, and you felt the tight knot in your throat begin to form again - just as it had the morning Poe crash-landed on the base.

Poe tried to lift his arm up to wave but winced at the action, the stitches keeping his wounds bound together stretching at the extreme action. You pressed your lips into a tight smile, willing the Maker to take your tears away. Paige handed you a bottle of water, before leading you toward the table. She left you standing in front of the table, where you awkwardly shifted your feet.

"Gonna sit down?" Snap asked, mirth dancing behind his eyes, "Or are you planning to put on a show? Wouldn't put it past you to have hidden another talent."

You smiled weakly, sitting down next to Jess and unscrewing the cap on the water bottle you had been given. Jess leaned over and whispered gently, "Feeling ok? Paige came up to ask if you were ok when you didn't show up at drills this morning."

"Yeah, felt a bit under the weather after morning rounds."

"Probably the shitty sleep you've been getting worrying about this guy." Karé said, pointing his knife at Poe.

Poe looked at you, his eyes wide, but you tried to brush off Karé's words, sarcastically replying, "Oh please Karé, the only thing you're worried about is whether or not they have that drink that you like from Sorgan, which is disgusting by the way - I don't know how you can drink it."

Everyone laughs as Karé splutters about how delicious spotchka is, the anxiousness wracking your body easing its reins slightly. Under the table, you feel Poe's foot nudge yours gently. You smile lightly at him, careful not to let him have a good look at your red-rimmed eyes and splotchy face. As much as it shouldn't matter, you don't want him to know how much you care.

"You don't have to pretend you don't care for the captain, kid. You should have seen how she leaped to open the hatch Poe, something from a Naboo holodrama. Or one of those superhero films." Snap laughed, as your face burned red.

Poe raised his eyebrow, "Now that's something I would like to see. Maybe I'll get myself stuck in a cockpit again, just to see you in action." He laughs, but you don't laugh with him. You feel your chest tighten, and the knot in your throat return. Your vision clouds with tears, and you quickly got up, excusing yourself on the notion that your headache has returned, and that you should probably get some rest before drills the next day. You stumbled out of the cantina, breaking into a sprint as soon as you were out of sight.

Poe’s eyes followed you as you left, worrying tinting his gaze. The group had fallen almost silent at your abrupt exit, looking at where you’d run, before turning back to Poe. Snap slapped the back of his head.

“Why, in the Maker’s name, would you say that?”

“What?” Poe said, rubbing the back of his head. Jess gave him a pointed look, “What did I say?”

“You joked about getting hurt, Poe! Why would you do that?”

“He didn’t just joke about getting hurt, Wex! He joked about almost dying!”

"Oh please, it's not that big of a deal. Everyone knew it was a joke. Right?" No one looks at him. "Right?!"

Jess waves at Paige, whose eyes were trained at the door. She meekly walks over, leaning down to talk to Jess.

"Is she ok?" Paige asked, her eyes brushing over the group until they landed on Poe, "What did he do?"

Poe's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm so confused," he muttered under his breath.

"He made a joke.”

Snap butt in, “About almost dying."

Paige’s eyes widened, "You're not serious."

"Look, I don't know what's up with her today, but something tells me that that was the last thing she needed right now."

Paige turned towards Poe, "If you weren't injured right now, Captain, I would beat you up."

"Hold up. I don't even know what I did." He said, standing up. "I get that the joke was a little misplaced, but it was a joke. I didn't put myself in this situation willingly."

"We get it, Poe. But you haven't been here. She's literally been destroyed - she's barely sleeping, I barely see her come down to eat, she spends all her time working on different ships, drowning herself in work. Today was the first day in the year she's been here that she's called in sick." Paige said, her eyes flitting between Poe and the door. She was in a half-mind to run after you, to console you.

Poe beat her to it. He got up, ignoring the protest from his teammates, and headed towards your room. He knocked lightly on your door, hearing the gentle sobbing from your room.

His heart broke. He knocked again.

“I’m fine Paige, I just need sleep.”

“Nice to know you’d lie to Paige.” Poe said, his voice steady and gentle. You open the door to you room, the door whooshing up to reveal Poe in all his glory, “Would you lie to your Captain?”

“Don’t pull rank with me, Poe.” You joked as he bent to meet your eyes.

He reached out to caress his fingers against your cheek and wipe away the stray tears. You leaned your head into his hands, the callouses on his hands like comfort against your cheek. He touches his forehead to your eyes, his eyes closed as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here. That this was happening.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. Poe’s eyes met yours, softly searching for something. Answers, probably.

“Why are you sorry, darling?” The pet name gripped your heart, so familiar and yet so foreign. The tears begin to flow freely again. He soothed you, mindlessly carding his fingers through your hair, “Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

You look into his eyes, and can’t help but to sob harder. Why did you have to fall in love with him?

Your head curled into his chest, seeking the comfort only he could give. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He asked, whispering into your hair.

“I didn’t mean to.” You said through tears. Poe looked at you.

“You didn’t mean to what, love?” He asked. You repeated it over and over, your tears soaking through his shirt. He lets you cry until your weak, pulling you further into his arms.

He asks you again.

“I didn’t mean to love you so much.” You confessed through whispers. It was so quiet that you thought that Poe didn’t catch what you said.

His widened eyes told you otherwise.

“You…?”

“I love you.” You whispered.

“You-you love me?”

“I love you so much that whenever I see you my heart quickens until it’s uncomfortable.”

“Love -”

“I love you so much that my hands become so sweaty that I can barely keep a hold of my datapad.” You showed him your hands that were covered in a sheen. He gives you a watery laugh, before wiping your hands on his already soaked shirt.

“I love you so much that when you leave, I can’t bear to survive.”

“Love-” You interrupt him again.

“There’s no life without you, Poe.” Your voice broke as you dissolved into another bout of tears.

“Love, please.” Poe sighed, kissing your forehead, “Please, just-”

“I know. It’s a war. I shouldn’t have, but I did and I can’t help it. Please don’t hate me, please-”

Poe grabbed your face, pulling you into him. He grazed his lips over yours, before pulling away way to fast.

“I could never hate you, love.”

You pull him back towards you, smashing your lips onto his. He pulls you into his lap deepening the kiss further. You run your fingers through his hair, and over where the bandages cover his fresh wounds. Poe winced, and you pulled back.

“You should rest. And heal up.”

He looked at you with such adoration, that for a moment you thought you’d melt away. “I have the rest of forever to heal up. I want this now.”

“You have me for the rest of forever. I think you should heal up now.” He rested his forehead against yours, sighing and closing his eyes. You kissed his nose gently.

“The rest of forever is too far away.” He whispered.

“You made me wait for this long. I think you could wait for a little longer.”

“Only a little bit, love. Only for you.”

He stood up, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed it, and he pulled you to your feet. The sudden motion had you dizzy, head pounding due to the dehydration. He caught you gently, lifting you into his arms, before gently depositing you on the bed. He left light kisses on your forehead, and left with the promise of coming back with water and a little food.

He walked out of the mechanics wing and back towards the cantina, intent on his mission to get a little food and water into you.

The whole of black squadron watched him walk in. Poe nodded to them lightly, not knowing exactly what they had been expecting. Apparently it was enough for them, as they turned back towards each other.

He grabbed a small muffin and a bottle of water, before heading back to your room. He walked into see you asleep on the bed, and he couldn’t help but smile. God, she’s beautiful.

Poe sat down on the bed, rubbing your arm gently. You opened a bleary eye to see Poe crouched next to you, blocking the moonlight streaming in from the window. He pulled off his shirt, and lifted your head up to get you drink some water, before settling down next to you. You rested your head on his chest before falling back to sleep.

Poe moved under you, pulling his necklace from around his neck and placing it around yours. Your hand immediately migrated to the metal ring strung on the end. Poe froze. What if it’s too soon. He relaxed almost immediately, as your fist closes around his rings.

He relaxed, pushing his nose into your hair. You smiled as he whispered something that he probably only said because he thought you were asleep.

“I love you too."

fin.

buy me a coffee

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disease · 1 month

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LIST: iOS SHORTCUTS

• Spotify to MP3 | "Download Spotify tracks to MP3." • All Media Downloader | "This shortcut helps you download content from social media apps." • Web Services | "Customise the internet for you." • Better GIF Maker | "Convert videos and live photos to GIFs at highest quality using ffmpeg" • Water Eject | "Powerful water ejection system." • Paywall and Cookie Bypass | "Bypass website paywalls and cookies." • iUtilities | "The only shortcut you’ll need" • Reverse Image Search | "Search by image instead of keywords" • Google Translate | "Quickly translate using the Google Translate API" • iTweak Final Version | "A Jailbreak Alternative With Multiple Features!"

...WHAT ARE SHORTCUTS?

for those unaware: the pre-installed Shortcuts app on iOS/macOS/iPadOS can potentially be a life-changing application in regards to digital productivity.

it's utilized as a hub for your collection of shortcuts and automations. shortcuts allow for just a single click—which many times is conveniently incorporated onto your "share" sheet option panel—to execute one or multiple actions; automations are chosen commands that run at specific/relative times of day without prompt.

people tend to overlook the Shortcuts app due to its available "gallery" of shortcuts being rather limited... with the only other option provided being to build these desired actions yourself, which requires the skill of digital coding. however! that's where RoutineHub comes in: it's a website allowing users to share their own complex shortcuts, free of charge, and has a large selection to choose from.

RoutineHub: Shortcuts {by Popularity}

#smart technology #digital productivity #life hacks #productivity #shortcuts #smart living #automations #iOS #macOS #iPadOS #technology #routinehub #g #link #text #ref

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rashfordxbruno · 10 months

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"Today, we female fans of Manchester United are demanding that the club to abide by their duty of care towards their female fans and employees and demonstrate a zero tolerance approach towards acts of violence against women by refusing to bring Mason Greenwood back into the squad."

"The situation is clear - taking Greenwood back legitimises and normalises sexual assault and domestic abuse. It tells other players, and the men and boys that look up to them, that abusing women is acceptable, without consequence, and won't affect you or derail your career."

"It also tells us, as women, that we don't matter. It tells female MUFC employees that their employer is happy to make them work alongside an abuser, and tells hundreds of thousands of female fans that supporting the team we love involves supporting men who abuse women like us."

"It tells us that our safety doesn't matter, our experiences don't matter; that the 1 in 4 women who experience domestic abuse and/or sexual assault in the UK don't matter. It tells us that men who make the club money matter; not us, our fellow fans, mothers, sisters or daughters"

"The club has launched all sorts of initiatives in recent years to allegedly promote inclusivity and diversity at the match, but "All Red All Equal" means nothing if the rights of those who have perpetrated gender-based violence are more equal than those who have lived through it"

"We know there are currently multi million pound PR firms spinning narratives to go along with his potential return. "Repentant father who has turned his life around and just wants to support his partner and child." "Young genius who made a mistake but deserves a second chance.""

"Threatening your partner with sexual violence isn't "a mistake", it's deliberate, targeted abuse. The lockdown parties and police warnings were apparently "a mistake", getting dropped by England and sent home from camp for breaking the rules was also apparently "a mistake"."

"The problem here isn't a player who has "made a mistake", it's a player who has consistently demonstrated an attitude of extreme arrogance, entitlement and exceptionalism; and who has shown nothing but disregard and contempt for what it means to represent this great club."

"Everyone makes mistakes, but not everyone does so while in the position of power and privilege Greenwood is. If you want to play at the highest level at the biggest club in the world, your behaviour will be held up to the highest level of scrutiny, accountability and expectation."

"The decision of senior management at MUFC regarding Greenwood's return will tell us fans everything we need to know about their ability to run this club, and about whether they have any genuine willingness to listen to, engage with, and support fans on issues that matter to us."

"Is this club for them just a vehicle for commercial success, trophies, sponsorships and revenue? Or do they genuinely share our vision of Manchester United as a great institution that exists as a place of belonging and community for those who care about its values and traditions?"

"We are calling on the club to do the right thing. For their fans, for their employees, for the millions of young boys and girls across the world who look up to our players as heroes and role models, and the millions of women whose lives have been blighted by violence and abuse."

"To the decision makers at the club, remember; this goes beyond football. This decision is a reflection of you, your morals; of who you are as individuals, and as humans. Will you stand with abusers, or with the abused? History will judge your choices. Make sure you choose well."

#manchester united #mufc

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madametrashbin · 1 year

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Brainrot? Brainrot... or Drabble. Idk

I’m alive! Sort of? Honkai: Star Rail has viciously grabbed my brain the second I saw it and now I have thoughts... and this is also because I got yanked in by the throat from both the silly content and beautiful artwork.

And if it wasn’t enough to nail a coffin to my grave, Tumblr dropped a post from @channelinglament (which is this post right here) and now my brain’s keeping me up with thoughts.

Not sure if I’ll have enough energy to spare for actual posts, but maybe with enough food for thought, I might actually make a piece or two... might. Due to HSR’s brand of silliness, it might just be Shenanigans the Fic.

The thing that gets to me the most is the highest of Aeons part, like... the Aeon of Aeons and you know, while I still know almost nothing about how Aeons come to be, what if there’s that one Entity that just exists and gives power that basically ascends whatever is sentient.

Of course the term “Aeon” would not be applied until numerous of the ascended beings are present and people are suddenly aware that there are these powerful beings in the universe now that can literally affect everything and bring about a permanent change to their livelihood. One moment the universe is all calm and normal and then here comes the Aeons. People do not know how to feel about them at first.

Naturally, there will always be the curious type of people who would try to search for the cause of it.

Pop in lil old You, just trying to help everyone you come across who look to be in desperate need power to be able to change their unfortunate circumstances. Too pure of heart, harmless mischief maker, just overall the sweetest entity with the power to turn anything into gods... yes, this is how beings like Qlipoth and Nous are born.

Now this gets me thinking that the Paths existed as one big, singular Path with you as the origin point and the ending point. When you gift a part of your power to someone/something, a piece of the path branches out of the main path but still remains connected to you... whether out of devotion or because it cannot exist without you is up in the air (your choice tbh).

The people/Aeons would just feel so grateful to be chosen, to be given so much power to do what they wished to change/do most... this was before they discovered there were others like them, doing things different from them that may clash with their ideals and suddenly there’s an all out war because each of the Aeons believed that the others were sullying your name by abusing your gifts.

(While the Dusk Wars are happening, you remain in ignorance to the wars because there are mortals that are calling for help and you just can’t look away from them.)

Eventually most of the Aeons are either killed off by each other (i.e, Tayzzyronth the Propagation) or assimilated into another Aeon (i.e Ena the Order), leaving a great many Paths masterless and fraying in shards, which suddenly starts to affect you badly and the poor Aeons who were just trying to do your name justice are panicking.

No one knows what happened, or what was happening to you, and when Akivili disappears/died, you disappear as well. Everyone is grieving, and there are no more new Aeons appearing anymore.

Thus you are assumed dead by the universe (this part came from another post that I can’t quite find ;-;) and later become forgotten just because... idk. Haven’t thought much past this.

Plot twist for the universe (not really a plot twist because there would be no story without the star of the show), you are not. You just got a bit (super) sleepy because the Paths that are masterless are without an ending point and therefore drains you because there is no one there to receive the power from the separated Path. You spent a lot of your energy mending the masterless Paths back to you which made you fall asleep by the time you were done.

When you wake back up is when the game starts, and being so out of touch with the timeline of the universe, you’re just one curious bean trying to figure out what’s going on.

No one can see you now though, which is just sad for you, but you realized they can sense you so you’re just doing your best to help them now. Kafka and Silver Wolf do not understand what’s going on except the strange warm and homely feeling that makes them feel invincible is suddenly there.

Also a mischief maker if the randomly destroyed property by the subtle urging is anything to go by... yeah, there’s something there.

Kafka and Silver Wolf feel oddly disappointed when the sensation leaves, but returns to Elio and mentions it to him. He then tells them that he may or may not have withheld information from them that an Aeon (the OG of Aeons) was going to be helping them. However they react is up to your thoughts... I haven’t thought of something for that part yet.

When MC (could be either) wakes up, the first thing they actually see is You... which makes you delighted because Yay, a friend to communicate with!. Neither March 7th nor Dan Heng could understand why the MC is talking to nothing, until they felt the warm and fuzzy presence nestled into them that they are suddenly aware that MC might be interacting with a higher existence that might be an Aeon.

They are naturally wary of you at first, but upon seeing the way MC interacts with you, doing some silly stuff by your apparent urging... they realized you’re pretty harmless and also very nice (in what way, also up in the air).

[Going back to the subject of other Aeons who are essentially your Emanators by all but name, they do not know you are alive until Nanook catches sight of you/felt your very real presence with the MC when the Doomsday Beast battle happens. They are very happy you’re back, but they’re very upset because why didn’t you tell them you were back? For what reason, you guys can think about it.

Anyways, you’ve got an Aeon stalking you and MC now, keeping a close eye on you especially because they nearly lost you once and would like it if you didn’t actually die this time. When MC starts getting acknowledged by more of the Aeons, more of them are also going to notice you too and then join Nanook with the stalking thing.

Eventually if they do find you in reality... well, that’s up to your imagination. It can also be a race between them and the mortals who start to see you physically too since you’re the sweetest existence to ever come into the universe and it’s a must to protect that innocence of yours (or for some other reason).

Also highly debating if Aeon!You would be either Aeon of Origin (the beginning of the Paths/the Origin of the Paths if going by this type of story) or Aeon of Guidance because of the in-game thing that we all do.]

Uhh... that’s all my brain can come up with here... so I shall see myself out now! ;D

#sahsr x reader #self aware au #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #I apologize to everyone who followed me for not doing anything here for a long time #lots of stuff happened #but also burned out #still burnt out to a crisp rn #especially with summer approaching over here #I don't do well being melted alive by the heat ;w;

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lwh-writing · 1 year

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I've been rewatching the Hunger Games movies with some friends, and I have many, many thoughts. I seriously need to reread these books because it's been years and Suzanne Collins is a literary genius, but I digress.

Anyway, there's a quote in Catching Fire where President Snow says "If head game maker Seneca Crane had any brains at all, he would've blown you to bits then and there." This is in reference to Katniss and Peeta almost eating the poison berries and getting out of the arena as co-Victors rather than them turning on each other, thus giving the rebels hope that they can stick it to the Capitol. It is Snow's belief that killing one and/or both of them would have solved the problem before it BECAME a problem.

But the thing is.... it really wouldn't have. If anything, it would have made the rebel problem worse.

Let's say Crane killed both Peeta and Katniss. For the first time in decades, the Hunger Games would have had no Victor. There would be no victory tour, no new kid to pimp out to the Capitol's highest bidders, and no new distraction until the next games roll around. And on top of that, it would have shown the entire world how little the Capitol actually cares about them. The game makers changed the rules halfway through to allow for two Victors, and then they took that away at the last second because two Victors emerging from the arena would have destroyed the very foundation of the Hunger Games. If Crane had truly shot down Katniss and Peeta, the fallout of the 74th Hunger Games would have been a wake-up call to both the Districts and the Capitol that Haymitch was 100% correct in saying that there are no winners of the Hunger Games, only survivors. The bright-eyed Capitols would have been forced to face the reality that the games were fundamentally unfair, and the Districts would have been shown that if even the Victors, the people guaranteed wealth and luxury weren't safe, that if their small beacons of hope could still be killed off without those in power batting an eye... then why even bother playing to the Capitol's tune in the first place? And the Rebels? They've got two new martyrs for their cause, and a newly discontent populous ready to fight for them.

Now, alternatively, let's say Crane did nothing. Let's say he let Katniss and Peeta eat the berries and they both die in the arena by suicide. Well, that won't be as drastic as Crane shooting them down, but the results are still mostly the same. The 74th Hunger Games still has no Victor. There's no one left to play distraction and convince the people of Panem not to look behind the curtain and catch a whiff of its political rot. And it's still the two-Victor rule change and the immediate retraction of such that doomed their favorite star-crossed lovers. It's still a wake-up call to the Capitols and the Districts that the Hunger Games are unfair, and that those in charge are willing to change the rules at their discretion no matter how it affects the general public. The people are still pissed, and the rebels still have their two martyrs.

Well, okay, what if Crane only killed ONE of them. Let's say Crane sees what's happening and decides to shoot only Peeta or only Katniss, it doesn't matter which. The 74th Hunger Games has a clear Victor, but that doesn't help a thing. Once again, it's still the rule change and retraction that got one half of Panem's OTP killed. It's still a clear signal to the people that those pulling the strings don't care. There's still discontent in the Capitol and the Districts because the Capitols lament their failed romance, and the Districts just saw an almost-should-have-been Victor get shot down on live TV. Not to mention it shows that the games are rigged beyond belief when the game makers, quite literally, chose the Victor. The Rebellion still gets a martyr. And on top of that, they get a mouthpiece stirring up shit.

You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that if Peeta or Katniss walked out of that arena without the other, the one that survived would have taken that lying down, consequences be damned. You cannot tell me that Peeta "If it wasn't for the baby" Mellark wouldn't have been playing the press and the political scene like a fiddle and knocking down Snow's regime like a line of dominos. You cannot tell me that Katniss "Girl on Fire" Everdeen wouldn't have been itching to take a quiver of arrows and massacre all occupants of the Presidential Palace. A Peeta without Katniss or a Katniss without Peeta would have Snow's worst political nightmare, and if he killed them after the fact, then the riots in the streets would have only gotten worse.

Seneca Crane's fatal mistake wasn't letting Katniss and Peeta live; it was allowing the two Victor rule change to happen. The SECOND that happened, the foundation of the games-- the image of the sole Victor shining above the rest --was shattered. Nothing could have fixed that, not even the hasty second rule change later on. There was absolutely no situation where Snow and company walked away the winners. Absolutely none. And Crane choosing to let Katniss and Peeta live was honestly the best choice in a string of horrible choices that could have been made. And the fact that Snow doesn't see that highlights exactly how out of touch he is with the human element that drives people to do the things they do.

Note: edited to fix "Capital" into "Capitol"

#the hunger games #meta #media analysis #i am having Thoughts about media again #somebody send me rambling textposts i want to vent and feel validated #i seriously need to reread these books i was too young to truly appreciate them and their messages #but i know they would hit so hard now

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toomanythoughts4myhead · 6 months

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Where my sorrows went to die

Summary: The prologue to my story: Ballads never end happily and neither do we.(based on my prompt).What if Coriolanus hadn’t managed to kill his lover back in district 12? What if the face haunting his life for the past three years comes back in flesh and bone? Will things be different this time or will he repeat the same mistakes? Giving you the gist of what Coriolanus has been up to since his return in the Capitol and how the story starts.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow (the walking red flag), mentions of death, mentions of grief and pain, the usual egomaniacal inner monologue Corio has (tell me if I missed anything)

Pairings: young!Coriolaus Snow x reader

A/N: Gave this man too much backstory out of nowhere, next chapters will have more action I swear. I just HAD to explain some of what was running through my head as basis of the plot. Hope you enjoy!

[Masterlis] [Next chapter ->]

Word count: 2.8K (around)

The oak trees in the fireplace were burning up, turning black and runny. The pleasant barely heard cracking from burning bark was long gone. The fire was dying, its life extinguished.

It felt familiar.

Coriolanus barely noticed the change in light or temperature, too engrossed in the paperwork that came along with his new working position. It wasn’t the boring cushiony job that he had envisioned back in his academy days, but it was better. The scribbling of pen on paper came to a halt, as the smell of burning wood turned to coals. Coriolanus didn’t much favor the smell of coals, or the cinder they left behind everywhere.

With an almost frustrated squelch of the expensive chair, he had for his study desk, he stood up and called for someone to clean up the fireplace.

He had won his way back to the Capitol, back to wealth and power, back to his true highest form. He didn’t need to breath in the cinder in the air anymore.

He didn’t need to return back to her.

In his upright position he opens one of the windows of his study, the one that overlooks the Capitols center. The cool December air hits him just right, the smell of snow heavy in early morning. The freshness clears his mind and sooths his newfound tenseness which he makes sure to correct as an avox scurries into the room. He doesn’t have to tolerate their filth anymore.

A lot of things have happened in the past 3 years. After his return from duty in district 12, he went on to university and finished his studying under Dr Gaul’s keen eye. Most of his time had truly been spend hauled up in her laboratories, discussing and going over ideas for the games before he was officially made into a part of the game makers. Youngest of them all he had acted on the same manners and sweet-talking he had used for his teachers in the Academy. Old people’s need for respect and admiration made them easy to flatter, it was almost funny.

Back in the days where he had to fear of the upcoming day, he had worked with whatever limited resources he had, running himself dry to hide his families fall from prosperity. Now that he had the Plinths grief-stricken minds, open hearts and fat wallets he could allow his mind to focus solely on whatever web he was spinning this time around. It felt good not to worry for money. Even if it was tarnished by the fact, he had resorted to taking it from districts. But who better take the money of people not belonging in this world than the future president of Panem? It was in everyone’s best interest.

For his 20th birthday the Plinths had bought him his own penthouse. He remembers it well, it wasn’t exactly a surprise, or a well-hidden one at that. Ma Plinth had been looking at him all teary eyed and smitten at the annual Friday dinner he had to sit through, blabbering on and on how he was becoming a fine young man and needed to settle in his own nest, to spread his wings and fly to a new horizon. What was with district people and their birds?

Granma ‘am always looked disdained at best by Mrs. Plinths company, but that night in particular seemed truly to be a new high. Seeing Mrs. Plinth rave about her Corio as if she had been the one who raised him must have rubbed her the wrong way, judging by the poisonous glances. She would never truly be able to stomach knowing that their way of life was supported by lucky district bumpkins, but at her old age she couldn’t complain too much. Her hair was thinning and her eyes were losing their focus, not to mention her aching knees. Thankfully with some of Plinth’s money the elevator was fixed and she could actually go out, rather than sing the hymn all day and water her roses. She was getting older, it always stuck out to Coriolanus, and he always almost immediately focus on the smiling figure of Tigris next to her.

She was able to quit her dead-end job as a seamstress, or more like the cleaner of the cloth shop. She could take life easier, even if her good heart and hardworking soul didn’t let her indulge too much in the luxuries their new life brought along. She never wanted to bother the Plinths, she didn’t like that they were leeching off of them, despite knowing it’s the best thing to do.

She had mentioned it to Coriolanus once, over a glass of some fancy alcohol Strabo Plinth had brought over after the main dinner had ended. The Plinths had returned to the apartment above them and grandma ‘am had retired to her room. With a creased brow and wine-stained lips she had mentioned it didn’t feel right to suck so much money out of the grieving minds of the Plinth’s, that it just didn’t sit right with her to see the poor family crumble so much so that they would turn Coriolanus into their pseudo son and project all their ruined dreams on him. Coriolanus had thrown her a glance over the rim of his glass, expression plane and unbothered, even if faint disdain could be read in his eyes. Not feeling like going in detail over the matter he had simply asked what should they do instead. They continued to drink in silence into the late hours of the night.

Despite this she now worked in a respectable position at Strabo’s Ammunition enterprise. She made a decent paycheck, way better than the scraps she was offered before. The weight of the family’s survival had been lifted off of her frail, still too young shoulders and it seemed that her youth had returned. Coriolanus always knew that their age gap was small, but he also knew how much Tigris had sacrificed: her education, wellbeing, personal life all to provide for him and Granma ‘am. Now her face shone with delight and beauty, lighting every room she entered. She has formed friendships at work, most of which Coriolanus approved, she was even seeing some girl, it made her happy. Coriolanus was glad to see her live the life she was always meant to have, despite everything. She was always the most deserving one, the kindest, the most compassionate, untainted by the same hate that seemed to be rooted in the family line. The one he seemed to be burdened to carry. Some days he envied her, most days he pitied her.

The gifted penthouse was luxurious and spacious, no surprises there. Most of the walls were bare except for a recent portrait the Snows had gotten as a gift from Ma Plinth, actually almost everything was bare, Coriolanus supposed that it was part of the “wing spreading” process for him to design his living space. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor for a few days until his furniture came, brought back some memories certainty, but in the end, he was able to decorate as he pleased rather than deal with the sentimental cluttered nonsense he had witnessed on many occasions at the Plinths. It screamed of people who weren’t used to having money and that’s the last thing Coriolanus needed.

Now he had it all, lavish furniture, a private study, a grand bedroom, personal avoxes to take care of it for him. All colours, items on the walls, tables, shelfs and their clearly expensive prices, it all created the image of the person Coriolanus wanted to be perceived as, all people should know of him. It made him fit in enough with the rich snobs, but shine apart from everyone else with his own personal taste. He would take pride in inviting possible work partners and sponsors for the games over.

Between balancing his position as a game maker, his shares in the Plinth business, he would no doubt inherit in a few years, and his personal relations with family and possible allies, he was spread thin in the best way possible. He was busy building his empire, his legacy, he knew he would achieve what he wanted in the end.

Not because he was blatantly arrogant, not only at least, not because he was charismatic and silver-tongued, not because of how the population of Panem seemed to swoon for the charm and looks he presented himself with. It was all because there wasn’t a price, he wasn’t willing to pay to achieve what he desired. That was the truest form of power, to have the control over your own attachments, the things that rendered everything and anything important. When you have none of that, what will stop you?

He has learned his lesson, he had felt the sting of powerlessness because of his stupidly naive love. Coriolanus Snow will never love again, he would be the one sinking his poison and manipulating this time, pulling the strings of other people’s attachment, but he would never hand over the reins of his heart again.

The angular clean shapes created by the Capitols buildings were smudged by the fast pace of his personal car and the falling snow. Dr Gaul had managed to haul him out of his warm home and call on him to personally visit her.

Coriolanus must admit that he did not miss this side of his new obligations. As he had begun to climb ranks in the social rings Dr Gaul had also stopped breathing down his neck as much, seemingly satisfied by his choices. Back at University when he was basically her apprentice he would have to see and act on her whims every single day. He respects her and her realistic views on humanity and society, but her unpredictability has always made him uncomfortable. He could feel safe knowing he was needed in her future plans but he could never be fully sure what they are exactly. Her mind seemed far too outlandish and out of the box, possibly mad even, for him to decipher and it always put him on edge when he got a call out of the blue.

The car rolls to a stop and his expensive boots leave marks in the snow as he climbs the stairs to the Citadel. The building had always been rather extraordinary and over the top in the way the Capitol seemed to love, so it had faced no renovations or changes in the past years. The same couldn’t be said for most structures in the Capitol. It seems that people have grown tired of seeing all the damage done by the war on the streets and buildings. Especially as the success of the past few hunger games had got the population of the Capitol more hyped, the nationalism seems to have grown.

Most simply enjoyed the games as a really bloody reality TV show at this point, but the older people who still felt the burning hatred for the districts were left satisfied and made big donations, satisfied by the cruel blood baths. Donations were made for rebuilding too, people wanted to drive home how truly better the Capitol was, how its reign would last forever. That was a sentiment Coriolanus was very satisfied to contribute to, he wanted to feel everyday how much better he was than those animals.

The acidic warm air of the labs underground makes him feel a bit better, winters seem to have grown harsher in the past years.

Good.

The staff directly assisting Dr Gaul hadn’t changed much, a few new unimportant faces but most knew him well enough not to even ask what business he had there. He made his way down the narrowing corridors, unbothered by all the abominations that were crying or wailing in their cages. He had seen them too many times to pity them and had watched them rip to shreds a few too many tributes in the newer editions of the games to feel remorse.

He opened the white heavy door to Doctor Gaul’s personal labs and searched for the woman with his gaze. She was waiting for him in her preferred red robes, purposefully stained, it always gave her a sinister aura, especially when she was wearing that unpredictable smile to match. Nothing friendly or even sadistically happy, it was all teeth and that unpredictable glint in her eyes.

She always looked at people like they were her little test subjects, thrilled to find out if they will die or live another day at her hands.

“Snow is falling heavily on Panem this winter, it seems to be overtaking the city by a storm. I am wishing you the same fate Mr. Snow.”

Coriolanus really hadn’t missed her little word plays and he had missed even less having to rake his brain for possible answers.

“Dr Gaul you requested to see me for something important, as I understand?” – Coriolanus asks calmly, making sure his impatience to return back home wasn’t too obvious, as he fiddled with the petals of the white rose tucked in his suit pocket.

“Young Mr. Snow you have been doing well, it seems you are putting what you learned back from District 12 to good use. You have realized the way people’s puny brains work and how attachment controls them, your ideas based on this thesis have helped raise the Hunger games to the civilian’s interest. For that I applaud you.”

The click clacking of her heels sounded oddly hollow compared to the deafening silence created in the laboratory.

Where was she going with this?

“But I often wonder if you yourself are able to withstand those powerful emotions within yourself. If you truly have been cured of it as you claim to have been.”

“Doctor Gaul I don’t understand-”

“Then perhaps we should test it to be sure. Follow me, Mr. Snow”

And with that she was walking away and deeper into the secluded laboratories down the hall. Coriolanus had no other choice but to follow her, even as his mind was running lightyears ahead of him.

What did this crazy woman intend to do? Flashes of Clementina’s fate flash before his eyes from all those years back and he knows that Dr Gaul would do whatever she pleases and stop at nothing. If she meant to test his attachment then that would mean she would harm Tigris? Granma’ am?

Flashes of strung up corpses accompanied by screams of birds fly through his mind and almost dull his vision. Thankfully he doesn’t walk head first into the wall at a specific sharp turn. He stands up straighter and slows his step, he is Coriolanus Snow, he is in control.

As he follows the menacing figure of Dr Gaul around a seemingly endless corridor of small rooms, that had a striking resemblance to a medical wing, they came to a gradual stop in front of room 278. No words were exchanged as they wordlessly stepped inside. He realized with a baited breath and fastening heartbeat, that his assumption about the medical wing had been correct. The room consisted of white walls and a simple medical bead that lay in the middle of the floor, currently hidden by drapes. The clinical acidic smell and lack of corpses at first glance made his shoulder untense under his red vest, just a little.

Dr Gaul walked over with the same unshakable calmness she always carried and went to stand next to the bed, just inches from the curtains, signaling for Coriolanus to come and open them. She observed him unblinkingly, the spark of interest never wavering.

If something gained such a strong response from doctor Gaul, Coriolanus was ready to sign his loved ones’ obituaries.

His heart was beating out of his chest and he hoped his breathing hadn’t intensified, as his hand took a hold of the rough material. He knew that he wasn’t visually showing anything, years of play pretend and weaving lies had made him an amazing subconscious actor, but he also knew that nothing escaped Dr Gaul’s gaze.

He pulled back the curtains with a sharp tug and for a few moments he didn’t know how to respond.

He felt almost naïve relief as he witnessed sprawled out body, so foreign from his family’s. And then it all came back cascading onto him as his mind cleared and he looked past the stress induced haze.

The image he had been seeing every night, the ghost haunting everything beautiful, the job he never finished properly.

It was you.

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wazzuppy · 6 months

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this one goes out to all the young fanfic writers/self shippers/oc makers/whatever, and i genuinely mean this when i say it:

just write whatever you want.

like, if you want to make a self insert character who everyone loves and has super cool magic powers and colorful anime hair? DO IT. write what YOU have fun with. don't worry about making your writing "not cringey," because if you do that you're just going to end up hating writing and creating in general.

trust me, as someone who has been in that awkward tween phase where both your passion for things and your shame is at its highest, you are going to feel so much better if you don't worry about being a "good" writer and just focus on having a good time. as long as you aren't hurting anyone, then you aren't doing anything wrong.

like, i'm an adult now and i still LOVE making self insert characters, including ones that are insanely indulgent. i have an s/i that's basically a sillier, catgirl version of shadow the hedgehog and everyone is her best friend and she's one of my inserts i've had the most fun working on! you don't need to worry about being perceived as "cringe." anyone who calls you that is just insecure that you're cool and self assured to let yourself be passionate.

#tara says stuff #writing #self insert #self inserts #self ship #self shipping #oc #original character #ocs #original characters

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machinesonix · 2 months

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Okay so chewing my way through Dune for the first time as an adult and there’s this chapter that’s got me wilding out so hard I’m basically just gonna paraphrase it here. Obviously concessions need to be made when switching mediums and I think the films have done a splendid job, but I think they sorta took the teeth out of this one.

When the Atredies first touch down on Dune, Lady Jessica is introduced to their groundskeeper, an elderly Fremen woman called ‘the Shadout Mapes.’ Now Mapes is extremely excited to meet a member of the Bene Gesserit, from which Jessica correctly concludes the ministoria protectiva has been here seeding the local mythology with favorable propaganda. Like a good third of the new movie is screaming about how fucked up all that is, so I will curb my enthusiasm to explain what the funny words mean in exhaustive detail, but suffice to say the Space Mom Cult secretly shapes cultures all across the universe to recognize them as cool people that everybody ought to listen to when they show up. So Jessica immediately code switches into Ominous Witch Mode and shows off some of her preternatural powers of observation by calling out the Shadout Mapes for having a weapon on her. In the movie the knife is a gift. The book has a little more nuance that has me absolutely salivating.

Mapes flips out and shows her the knife, which later we’re gonna learn is made from a worm tooth. She explains that Jessica might be the One, and if she is, the knife belongs to her. If she isn’t then she’s gonna kill Jessica with it because now she already knows too much. And to put her to the test she asks her what the knife is. Jessica hopes to establish her credibility by being well versed in ancient tongues, and intends to call it the ‘maker of death’ because in the language that the word ‘Shadout’ is derived from that’s the idiomatic translation of ‘knife.’

Instead Mapes starts screaming in religious fervor as soon as she hears the word ‘Maker.’ Because the worms make the spice, see. Jessica absolutely triples down on this, and this is what drives me wild. Immediately after narrowly escaping murder by a lucky stroke of linguistics she’s like FUCK YOU, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE NOT THINKING I WOULD RECOGNIZE THE MAKER. IN FACT, I’M GONNA STAB YOU NOW. Like okay, what she actually does is go ‘Mapes, now that the blade’s been drawn who’s blood is it gonna taste?’ And here I just have to say hats off to the Bene Gesserit for their training in genre awareness. Jessica has absolutely no idea of any of the customs surrounding a crysknife and risks blowing her cover here to flex even harder. She’s right, of course, and lets the Shadout Mapes off with just a scratch. It turns out Fremen have hypercoagulant blood which is not terribly important but still kinda cool.

So to put a bow on all of this, the Shadout Mapes ends up saying something along the lines of ‘She is the One, she will free us.’ This shocks Jessica. She recognizes this line from the ministoria protectiva, and knows that only the super fucked up horrible places wind up with the ‘we will save you from your oppressors’ prophecies. And I just love it because here we've got a microcosm of what this is all about. The ministoria protectiva did exactly what it was supposed to do and saved a Bene Gesserit life because Mapes heard her own religion in what's basically a cold read con. This exploitative power is so intense that Mapes is willing to give Jessica her life; there's no reason for a Fremen to expect somebody is going to show mercy with a crysknife. And then when she's feeling at her highest and mightiest she gets a wake up call. These people have context.

The Fremen don't have their finger on the pulse of galactic politics. They know there is a limited amount of moisture in their atmosphere and that the off-worlders in the palaces are going to take enough of it to keep themselves comfortable. As far as they're concerned, the Atredies are basically Harkonnens with better personal hygiene. The freedom the Shadout Mapes is talking about is freedom from Jessica's family. The ministoria protectiva doesn't exist in a vacuum. The Fremen's history of oppression has become inseparable from what was meant to be a means to control them.

#dune #dune meta #ministoria protectiva #lady jessica

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deisbookofdemons · 1 year

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Zizzi would fly into Nevada to look for the Maker before she noticed him as she flew down to him. "Um hey, you wouldn't believe what happened to me recently." She would let out a soft yawn.

The Maker sipped some tea. "There are very few things that a deity won't believe."

#|| the highest power: the maker ||#bluemajingirl

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warsofasoiaf · 5 months

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When an army's sacking a big city and doesn't intend to stay there any longer than it takes to unseat the rulers, how many layers of command are there? How complex are the soldiers' orders? About how many people could be giving those orders?

Depends on the sophistication and professionalization of the attacking enemy forces. A medieval kingdom might only have a king who is sieging the city personally, or delegating authority to a senior vassal, knight, mercenary commander, or viceroy taking charge in his absence. A professional and modern nation-state, however, might have a civilian commander-in-chief, who delegates authority to a military chief of staff, who in turn delegates authority to a service chief, who in turn delegates to a theater commander, who in turn delegates to a field grade officer, who in turn delegates to the actual unit that is charged with taking the city.

Then you go even further. How sophisticated is their junior officer corps, and their NCO corps? How large is the city, and what is the size of the attacking force that needs to conquer this city? Do you need a modern battalion-sized requirement to conquer the city, or can you make do with a regiment? In a medieval setting, is there a single senior knight that has subinfeudated vassals, a major lord like a duke? Is this a multi-national coalition force ala the Crusades or a more modern coalition operation?

And of course, then you have to factor in the very real question of who is in charge after. Do you have a local collaborator? A claimant that sought foreign aid to press their claim? A claimant at the head of a mercenary organization? It gets so complicated that it's better to factor not only technological and organizational concerns, but also local political concerns of legitimacy that a single rule-of-thumb simply cannot service the wide range of consideration that need to be examined.

So in the end, this is a question that benefits from a greater sense of clarification from the opposing army. What is the technological and bureaucratic sophistication from this particular army? Does this nation have a modern notion of the idea of a civilian head-of-state that outranks even the highest generals as a means of subordinating military power under the nation-state?

So the question really becomes "how many troops do you need to take this city?" Once you find that out, then you can answer "what is the grade of officer that would command such a force?" which then becomes "how long is the chain of command?" It's a solid question, but it is one that varies immensely given the times and the sophistication of the military forces that would be in charge.

Thanks for the question, Maker. Good to see you're still around.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King.

#command

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raayllum · 1 year

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Quick run down: 4 is the lowest typical score given, 10 the typical highest score given (although you can technically go up to 12). Making my post because I noticed Callum’s Justice ranking was at 6 (lower than I’d expected) and I always meant to do a lil more formal comparison between the trio so here it is I suppose.

Devotion: This is value is about duty, faith, and friendship. You’re motivated by the bonds of loyalty and your love for others.

Truth: This value is about fidelity, certainty, and authenticity. You’re motivated by finding strength in facts and by the principle and pursuit of knowledge

Glory: Have you ever wanted to be celebrated by history? This value is about legacy, fame, and fortune. You’re motivated by praise, acclaim, and your desire to be remembered.

Justice: Have you ever been compelled to fix what’s wrong? This value is about balance, virtue, and reward. You’re motivated by adherence to fairness and what you think is right.

Liberty: Have you ever resisted the control of others? This value is about freedom and autonomy. You’re motivated by a world without oppression or suppression.

Mastery: Have you ever needed to rise above your own limits? This value is about control, achievement, and skill. You’re motivated by power, growth, and progress.

Similarities:

Glory is a 4 for all of them. Utterly unsurprising I think - they’re all willing to do things regardless of recognition and aren’t motivated by any real self importance

Truth is a 6 for all of them. I find it interesting that Callum gets the “hide the truth to protect others” rather than Rayla, but we do see elements of that in TTM. For Ezran, it has less to do with a moral truth (Rayla) or how to handle the truth (Callum) but more to do with maturing to see the truth (“I ignored something that is true” —4x03)

For anything other than their Most Important Feature, everything else has roughly an 8. This makes sense as it is still a core value, i.e. Callum jumping off the mountain is very devotional, Rayla works very hard to find real justice, Ezran cares a great deal about placing autonomy in other people’s hands (S3), etc.

In Betweens:

Ezran and Rayla both have Mastery at a 6 with Callum having it at an 8; this makes sense as he is driven to look for knowledge and power (through magic) in ways they are not / are mostly settled and/or disinterested in

Ezran and Callum both have Devotion resting at 8 - high, but not their highest values. This makes sense as according to the game, Devotion is how obligated you feel to others. Ezran feels beholden to Katolis but that’s something he’s largely grown into, and he feels a wider responsibility to the world at large, moving in between them as he can. Callum is very devoted to his loved ones (mainly Ez and Rayla, but also Zym in a lot of ways) and his desire for freedom often interplays with a desire to have autonomy/capability to protect and/or provide for them in key ways.

Rayla and Ezran have Liberty at an 8, showing that they value freedom (Rayla’s bio includes her goal to free all people from terrible fates like the one she almost had with the binding ceremony, we’ve gone over Ez’s, etc) even if it’s not as high as Callum’s - but more on that later

Highest Values

Ezran’s is Justice at 10. This makes sense as he is the series’ embodiment of Justice thematically as well as the series’ Witness. This reflects his role as the peace maker for elves and humans and dragons, both politically and interpersonally with Callum and Rayla in S1 and S4 in particular. It is also embedded into the fact that his death itself would have been Justice and his survival is what allows true justice to actually continue, his decisions as king, and the fact he’s king at all, per Harrow’s words: “My father told me that about all, I must be a Just king.”

Callum’s is Liberty at 10. This foreshadows his arc in season four in terms of a complete loss of control/freedom and why it screws with him so royally. While many of the characters agonize over making the right choice (or a choice at all), not having a choice at all is what torments him the most: “I can’t do anything!” (2x07) particularly when it comes to protecting or helping his loved ones. We see this especially in his quote under Liberty in which despite being crown prince and heir to the throne, he states that he is beholden to his inner circle rather than a sense of duty. In S4 he is concerned about Aaravos hurting his loved ones, and that fear of doing awful things to other people is what has him so especially worried over the situation, reaffirming his statement that “I value those close to me more than anyone or anything” certainly.

Rayla is Devotion at 10. At first glance it’s easy to take her “My only allegiance is to my heart and those that know it” as a similar kind of sentiment to Callum’s “I value those close to me” statement, but we know what Rayla’s heart is aligned with: “My heart for Xadia.” Her heart is given to whatever she feels her duty is, to what feels right, hence why she risks everything for Phyrrah, someone she doesn’t know at all, simply because leaving the dragon there results in “every fibre in my body is telling me this is wrong.” Bloodmoon Huntress also expands on this further, drawing comparisons to her and Runaan’s sense of duty and love for the whole world, as well as precisely what led her to take on the assassination mission in the first place. In S1-S3 Rayla gets better at listening to her heart rather than shutting it down, although this has changed in S4. She’s learning to prioritize her loved ones more and more, but at the cost of her actual heart.

Misc Notes:

For Callum, it’s worth noting that Devotion and Mastery (magic) are of equal value to Callum and are definitely two cornerstones of his more hands on arc. Thus, we can likely deduce that as much as Callum undeniably values Liberty, the fact it’s his highest value is also because it’s the value that informs and guides his arc the most Thematically. This means that his desire to learn magic and be there for his loved ones is of equal measure in terms of his decision making, but we also see him clearly prioritize his loved ones in ways he does not do with his own pursuit of magic.

[ Side note: And just as a comparison, Claudia - Claudia’s - devotion is also an 8, but Mastery is her 10, even though so much of her arc is driven directly by devotion to her family (although her bio makes it clear it is supporting her family and her father, not merely her valuing them, as the distinctions are important too). ]

Following this “Two Pillars holstered by One Theme” logic, we can break Ezran and Rayla down into a similar manner.

Rayla is defined by her initial quest of Justice and a growing sense of Liberty (cue: being literally freed from her binding, other symbolic cycles, etc) but this is bound together and streamlined through her Devotion to a cause to people and her family. We can see S4 bring this together directly in her devotion to Callum and her family and how they are both either already literally or becoming entangled / entrapped in forces beyond their control with Rayla wanting to free / protect all of them.

For Ezran, this means he is defined by his place as Justice thematically first and foremost, with Devotion and Liberty as his two tether-hooks: re a child king being put in chains to try and give his people a choice > forced conscription, as well as the work he’s doing to try to create peace and a Narrative of Love (devotion) in S4.

Thus, the highest value for each of the Trio is what informs them at their core and subsequent thematically, with their two respective pillars as how those things are motivated and manifest throughout, with of course a good dose of overlap beyond all three. But either way, I just thought it was Neat™

Closing Note

One thing I found interesting when actually going each beat of their bios is that Rayla and Ezran are inverses of each other and very closely aligned. They share the exact same 3 values, all in similar amounts (either 8 or 10) and just rotate one out for their respective highest: for Rayla, Justice is at an 8, and for Ez, it gets bumped up to a 10 and his devotion down to an 8. This closeness between them, and how Callum diverges, lines up with how I’ve thought of and how I’ve written each of the trio for a while now, re: meta dated September 2021 about this exact difference, well before TOX came out.

Because Callum, strangely enough, does not have Justice™ as a particularly high value. It’s actually on the lower end of his scale, with other heroic characters like Amaya, Janai, and Aanya having it as a 10, an 8, and 8. The only none villain adjacent character (Soren, Viren, Claudia) with a Justice as low as Callum’s is Lujanne, and Callum’s justice ranking is the lowest of the trio’s. This is interesting particularly because Justice is defined by fixing what’s wrong/broken, a sense of fairness and balance. And while Callum wants to have positive impacts on the world and make things better, it shows that his big heart is also equally if not more so tethered to pragmatism, perhaps, compared to his family, even in decisions made like leaving with the egg in the first place being what was also safest for the egg and particularly Ezran during the attack on the castle.

And well, if you know, you know ;)

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

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I didn't mean to love you so much.

Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: You don't know what you have until it's gone. Or is it?

Word Count: 6.0K

AN: Hello lovely people, sorry the ending to this one's kinda shitty! Kinda got lost while writing it, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway. All love!