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Chapter update: Chapter 4: If I Had Wings

Finn learns some lessons, and we get some perspective on a few things. And of course, BB-8 weighs in.

Poe looked over at Pava, rolling his eyes. “Do you let your astromech watch you fuck?” he asked. “I feel like that would be really inappropriate, but is that hopelessly old-fashioned of me?”

“I do not let my astromech watch me fuck,” Pava agreed, making a horrified face. “That is not old-fashioned, that is just having healthy personal boundaries. But BB’s right, if you’re a person who likes sex, it’s good to have it.”

“I am never going to hear the end of this,” Poe realized, looking at the curling corner of Pava’s mouth.

“Nope,” she said, popping the P, and got up.

“Jacket Thief would likely let you put your extensions in his ports,” BB-8 said to Poe, very earnest now.

“I don’t know who that is but it sounds like a great idea,” Pava said.

BB-8 refused to use any other name besides Jacket Thief for Finn. Poe covered his eyes with his hand. “I do not think Jacket Thief wants my extensions in his ports.”

“Everyone wants your extensions in their ports,” Pava said. “That’s like. A universal truth of the Resistance. Everyone wants Poe Dameron to put his extensions in their ports.”

“I am never going to hear the end of this,” Poe said, haunted.

“Nope!” Pava said cheerfully, and walked away.

Full story link 

This is juuuust about the halfway point of this story, so I really should have thought of a title for the sequel by now. 
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Chapters: 1/1Fandom: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)Rating: ExplicitWarnings: No Archive Warnings ApplyRelationships: Poe Dameron/Finn, BB-8 & Poe DameronCharacters: Poe Dameron, Finn (Star Wars), Leia Organa, Kalonia (Star Wars), Iolo Arana, Ello Asty, Pamich Nerro, Kes Dameron, Karé Kun, Jessika Pava, Bastian (Star Wars), OCsAdditional Tags: Angst and Humor, poe dameron’s hair, (the hair symbolizes things), Bros to lovers, Platonic bed sharing, Spivak Pronouns, agender BB-8, Mutual Pining, miscommunications, Poe Dameron hurts so pretty, Poe Dameron: Space Latino, finn is very brave, stormtrooper recovery, no longer platonic bedsharingSummary:

Poe gave up a lot of things when he defected to the Resistance, but there’s always more to lose. War is an expensive lifestyle. You’ve got to keep your affairs in order and do the best you can with what you have. He owes this former Stormtrooper a life-debt, and beyond that he knows the kid’s exceptional, so he’s going to do everything he can to get the kid a fair start in this messy business.Finn wakes up and has no idea what to do beyond joining the Resistance, but he knows he’s got to keep up with Poe somehow.

BB-8 really just thinks the two of them should go ahead and do that thing that biological organisms seem to spend so much time thinking about where they rub themselves on each other, already, because clearly that needs to happen.
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bomberqueen17:

I have given in to my crackier sensibilities and posted another short Star Wars work on AO3. It’s a kind of sequel to Dealing With Your Inevitable Crush, kind of, and it’s set after the events of the Novel more or less, but not totally in the same continuity. (Don’t worry about it, I’m the only one who cares about these things.)

Morale Surveys, based on the @deputychairman‘s terrible just-shower-thoughts reblog. 

Sometimes these things just– hit you just right, you know? Anyway. Hopefully this eases people’s time-change Monday, or just regular Monday if you’re not in this terrible backwards awful situation. 

I’m almost done with the dang novel. And then there might be a sequel to this too. Depends. 

Poe/Hux is also definitely happening but not in this sequence. <3

Evening reblog if you  missed it. Still not The Novel, but I wrote the end of the Novel today and this is kind of a celebration of it.
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bomberqueen17:

I was trying to write something else and this happened instead. Untitled, 2000 words, set shortly after Poe defects to the Resistance, a little while before the events of the film, well before the events of the story I’m working on. A discussion with a mechanic on the care and maintenance of astromech droids. I meant this to be cute, but, TW for mention of droid abuse.

“You know,” Goss Toowers said, leaning in the doorway, “our mechanics are equipped to work on astromechs too.”

Poe glanced up at the Shozer mechanic, caught flat-footed; he had BB-8’s sensor array all spread out on a dropcloth in front of him, and it was clear as anything he was doing his own maintenance work, and he hadn’t planned on rubbing it in anyone’s face exactly, but this was a little bit irregular.

Great start to working with the Resistance, champ, he told himself. Very diplomatic.

“I, ah,” he said. He set the multitool in his hand down carefully. He was a bit nervous as a mechanic, especially with sensitive stuff like this; he always had to lay it out carefully and then constantly re-check and keep everything in relative position so he remembered where it went to put it back together. “You know, you guys have enough to do, keeping up with all the dumb shit I do to the damn craft, I figured, I’d just do the shit I know how to do and not bother you unless it was really a problem.”

Shozer facial expressions were hard to read, since they were big reptilian things; Poe really hoped this guy wasn’t as disgruntled as he looked.

“Fair enough,” Goss said. “But we’ve all been wanting a look at that little astro of yours, he’s different.”

“BB-8 is one of a kind,” Poe said, and it was a defensive catchphrase. He had a reputation for spoiling his droid, for being inappropriately indulgent of the thing, but it was all a pretty calculated plan, which he camouflaged by being really flippant about it. “And um. My mom never let me have a pet so I’ve kind of. Done all the things you’re not supposed to do.”

Goss made an alarming noise, but it was pretty clearly a laugh. “Pilots always fuck up their astromechs,” he said, “we’re used to it. What’s yours do now?”

“Ehm,” Poe said. “Well, I mean. I’m just cleaning the sensor array, I think the weatherseal is starting to go. But you mean, specifically or in general, what’s BB-8’s deal?”

“Yeah,” Goss said, “both specifically and in general. There’s only ever two ways this goes– a pilot either treats their astromech super shitty and the thing gets a complex, or the pilot treats it way too nice and it gets a complex. So I’m figuring, since you’re in here doing this instead of hitting on girls or whatever it is that you hit on, because that’s what pilots do, you’re probably the second kind. So what kind of complex does BB-8 have?”

Poe laughed so hard he almost lost his place, and had to take a moment to re-count the lenses of the sensor array to make sure he had them in the right order. “Oh,” he said, “so you’ve worked with pilots before. Fleet pilots are the worst ones, don’t you think?”

Keep reading

I forgot I wrote this. It’s at my length threshhold to go on AO3 but there’s no real… plot? I dunno. Anyway. Shameless self-reblog here. 

Right after writing this I spent a really long car ride with my dude talking about AIs and algorithms and theoretical ways in which a functioning droid’s AI would work, and it was kind of cool and kind of, well, solidified my resolve that Star Wars is fantasy not science fiction.

hair

Mar. 1st, 2016 03:38 am
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On the topic of hair… 

I have never had curly hair. I used to want it, in a grass-is-greener kind of way. So I had a perm in the 80s, as was often the done thing in those times, and pretty instantly realized that curly hair is terrible. I looked like a poodle. I didn’t brush it. It was terrible. (I was, I believe, nine.)

When I write, themes kind of just– happen. Sometimes I set out to write them. Usually I don’t. Often I’m aware of them as I’m writing. I keep bringing this up, I think to myself, so I look for it more.

Sometimes details pop up repeatedly. Sometimes that’s significant, sometimes it’s my brain going in circles. (The last thing I had beta’d before this current project was a Tolkien fic a decade ago, yes I know, Glorfindel/Ecthelion First Age stuff, not even technically Silm– Gondolin, HoME canon, I know! And it was an account of the Fall of Gondolin, and one of the themes was teeth, accidentally. My beta kept pointing them out and I kept excising them because I couldn’t make it work, thematically. I just was– always mentioning people’s teeth. It was weird.)(It’s on AO3, incidentally, sans teeth. I think I got it down to one or two mentions. Revisiting that makes me feel so very old. I don’t… remember writing like that.) 

In this one it’s Poe’s hair. It just kept happening. Things happening to it, him doing things with it. I have no intrinsic feelings about hair. But Poe had feelings about his hair, clearly. And thus, so do I.

In the end I realized that it was his feelings about his ethnicity, on some level– careful control of his appearance was one of the ways he managed in a world where he frequently had to deal with low-level, not-particularly-malicious, but grating racism. The texture of his hair would affect how he was perceived on many levels. And possibly the most important part would be that he was not seen to make a great deal of effort– and in a military lifestyle where privacy is not guaranteed, this would entail strategy and coordination. His effortless charm clearly has a lot of effort behind it. 

I don’t know anything about curly hair, though. So I just did, like, a Google search. 

(I’ve had to do more than a Google search about ethnicity. I know that takes a lot more research. And like, asking people. Because I don’t know. Rest assured, I’m not just making that up as I go.)

I’m trying to come up with a title for this thing now, because I’ve got 100k of it done and out for beta and am just trying to find the conclusion. I managed to sit down and write a summary of it, and that’s something. I still don’t know what it’s about. Except that a little bit of it is about Poe’s hair.
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Space Latinxs, Snippet #1 (experimental)

So here’s a short-short of Poe discussing what it’s like to be a Space Latino. Since this is a world where a character can be named after a rap song, I figured using “Iberican” in place of “Spanish” and extending it out to encompass both the people and language in this fictionalized, necessarily-simplified, Star Wars universe would work. Iberican is a cultural/linguistic grouping, kind of like Hispanic or Latino is on Earth, and I’m going from there. (That kind of thing though is why it’d be awesome to get some feedback on what’s shitty to simplify and what’s acceptable. That kind of thing.)

(Oh also I’ve decided that homophobia isn’t really a thing so much in this ‘verse, not most of the time; being bi or fluid is kind of just normal. Because science fiction/fantasy, c’mon. Space Gays.)

Anyway. Set sometime after the events of TFA, when Finn is recovered. 

“No,” Poe said, and he looked a little wistful. “Not many people speak it around here. There were a few of us, at the Academy, but most of the others went into other specialties. For some reason not a ton of pilots wind up being Iberican, or speaking it well, so I don’t use it much now. Oh, but there was one time–” and he lit up with remembered amusement. Finn could watch the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled all day and never be bored.

“One time, I was out with a bunch of other Fleet pilots, right, we were out on this pretty remote posting, and we had a stopover on this godforsaken little planet.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Like, one real city on the whole thing, and they had like, two bars in the place, right?”

“Oh,” Pava said, “oh, gather ‘round, it’s a Wild And Crazy Dameron story.”

“It kind of is,” Poe said, amused. Sometimes he went a little tight around the eyes when Pava referred to his putative Wild And Crazy past, but but this time it didn’t seem to bother him. “So okay.” Suddenly everyone in the room was looking expectantly at him, and it would have made Finn nervous, but it didn’t seem to faze Poe at all.

“Okay. So we’re in this little shitty bar,” Poe said, “we got nowhere to be for the night. And it turns out this backwater planet is like, rotten with First Order. So there are all these First Order guys. And like, nobody’s in uniform, right, so it’s fine, it’s not anything we’ve got to really do anything about, right. But like. There’s some tension, and everybody’s hammered. And let me point out– man, First Order? They like to drink, okay? Don’t think for a second they don’t.”

Finn nodded, and suddenly everyone was looking at him. “Oh,” he said, “not me, I was a cadet still until like, a couple months before I got out, we didn’t get that kind of freedom. But if you were offworld you could get up to all kinds of shit.”

“So some of those guys might have been Stormtroopers?” Poe asked.

Finn shrugged. “If they were off-duty,” he said, “you wouldn’t know. What, did you all think we sleep in the outfit?”

“Kinda,” Pava said.

“Hell no,” Finn said, “that shit’s uncomfortable. If you’re offworld and your commander’s chill you can go to bars and stuff, we’re not robots. We don’t, like, sleep in pods whenever we’re not needed.”

“Huh,” Poe said, like that was a revelation.

“So what did you do to them?” Finn asked, a little twitchy at everyone’s regard.

“Oh,” Poe said, and lit up a little again, visibly taking back the mantle of The One Telling The Story. “So the thing about the First Order, right, they don’t let in anybody who’s not human, and even within that, they only speak Basic. So they’re just– they’ve got zero grasp of any other languages. They’re so set on one thing, you know?” and he made a gesture with his hand, as if delineating people in regimented rows, “everything the same, uniformity. So–”

“What’d you do?” Snap asked, leaning in.

“I pretended I didn’t speak any Basic,” Poe said. “I just stuck to Iberican the whole night. I forget how it started, I think I came in and I stepped in something or whatever, and I cussed in Iberican because I wasn’t thinking about it, and then I saw who-all was there and I just rolled with it. Me and one other pilot. She wasn’t a native speaker but she was fluent enough. So we just pretended we didn’t have any Basic at all.”

“Okay,” Pava said slowly, with a visible air of waiting for there to be more.

“So here’s the thing,” Poe said. “I mean, we weren’t in uniform, but like. Our jackets have Fleet insignia on them. It’s fucking obvious we’re Fleet pilots. And you know the Fleet operates with Basic as its standard language. So at the very least we’d understand it, right? And everybody knows that, and the First Order assholes know that. And I’m like, no comprendo, perdon, ¿habla Iberica? no hablo basico, no entiendo, ¿puedo le comprar una bebida? ah, tienes ojos tan bonitos.” 

Finn was entranced; he had never heard Poe speak anything but Basic, and it made his voice seem different, lower and more liquid, sweeter somehow, and it had to just be an impression but it really seemed so different.

“Wait,” Snap said, and he clearly had understood some of that. “Did you– hit on them?”

“I did,” Poe said, eyes crinkling as he grinned widely. “The guy who seemed to be in charge, he was this ginger-haired prick, all prissy-looking, and I just decided I was going to shoot the moon and go for it. I kept getting right in his space and bringing him drinks and trying to get him to talk to me, and I’m saying absolutely outrageous things, I’m licking my lips, I’m making meaningful eye contact, I’m just– I mean, the other pilot, she’d bet me money I couldn’t get the guy to make out with me. And I decided I was really truly going to go for it. So I gave him everything I had.”

“Oh man,” Snap said. “Like, you’re not even my type, Dameron, but I’ve seen you turn it up.”

“It can be hard to resist, I’m told,” Poe said, gesturing as if presenting himself. “I clearly wasn’t this guy’s type either. You can kinda tell. He was tall, he was probably into other tall dudes. Or maybe– broad-breasted women,” and he gestured, kind of circular-ly, in front of his chest. “I got that vibe. Anyway. I still gave him all I had, you know? I was dedicated to this bet. And his buddies thought it was hilarious. I mean, when they weren’t all being super-pissy that I wouldn’t speak Basic, and they said some pretty heinous shit, but like, that was the bonus– if I was pretending I didn’t speak Basic I didn’t have to actually acknowledge the really shitty things they said.” He shrugged.

“Well?” Pava asked. “Did you get him?”

Poe blinked at her, then guffawed. “Hell no!” he said. “We ended up fighting. We nearly got into it in the bar, and managed not to actually come to blows, but then when I left they tried to jump me in the alley. Which, to be fair, I’d kind of expected– they’d literally actually said as much right in my presence, because apparently they actually bought that I was somehow a Fleet pilot with zero Basic– so I was ready for it, and so were the others of us, and we wound up having a real corker of a barfight over it, but nobody died. And I knocked my ginger pal over and gave him a big fat kiss on the mouth before I left, so.” He shrugged.

This was greeted with general applause and laughter. Finn wondered how many uptight ginger commanders there were in the First Order, and looked over at Poe as he thought about how to ask it. Poe caught his look.

“Yeah,” Poe said, “I ran into him again.”

“Really,” Snap said.

Poe sucked his teeth, nodding, and then grimaced. “He was actually on the Finalizer,” he said, “when I got captured.”

Everyone fell silent. “Really?” Pava said.

Poe nodded. “He recognized me. He’s standing there all resplendent in black with leather gloves and the whole schtick, and he looks me up and down and he’s like, no hablo basico, eh?” Poe affected an impersonation of General Hux, looking down his nose and mincing out the foreign phrase. “And I was like, dude, that shit was hilarious and you know it.”

“Did he agree?” Pava asked.

Poe made a face. “No,” he said, “that encounter really didn’t go well for me at all.” He took a drink, grimacing. “But,” he said after a moment, brightening, “I made a friend after all,” and he reached over and grabbed Finn’s shoulder, pulling him in close.

Finn basked in that attention– everyone looking at them wasn’t so bad when it was both of them. He grinned. “That’s right,” he said. And then, on impulse, he added, “And even we thought Hux had no sense of fucking humor. Our Captain thought he was a prissy little fuck.”

“Did he,” Poe said.

“She,” Finn corrected. “Phasma. She had no time for him.” He reflected on it. “She wasn’t exactly what I’d call a broad-breasted woman, but she was a couple inches taller than he was, and yeah, I’d bet you anything she was his type. And she had no interest in that at all.”

“Taller than him,” Poe said, giving Finn a strange look. “He was pretty tall.”

“Oh yeah,” Finn said. “Phasma’s enormous. Highlight of my life was throwing her down a garbage chute on the Starkiller.”

That also got a good reaction, laughter and applause and high-fives all around. Best of all, though, Poe still had his arm around Finn, and Finn leaned in against Poe’s solid warm weight and soaked it in, marveling at the way this made him feel. Like he was part of something, like he was important.
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I wrote this bit and I was like LOL self, that’s so fucking stupid, that’s totally not going to make the final draft. But I kind of. I can’t make myself delete it. It’s like. It’s my ship manifesto. It’s the clearest vision I had of what it’s like to be a Stormtrooper. (OK, this, and the snuggle barracks bench from the French & Indian War-era fort near my house, where it’s just a six-foot-wide bench along the wall that everyone sleeps on, and Stormtroopers are totally used to that. A snugglier form of space travel.)

IDK. Finn has no personal boundaries. This is my most enduring headcanon. 

“So this is really weird for you people, huh?” Finn asked, when he figured enough time had passed.

“We really don’t shit socially,” Poe said. “It’s not just me being a prude. We’re pretty much all gonna think it’s weird.”

“Huh,” Finn said. He looked around. “So I’ve had to learn a lot of new stuff here, and I think this? This might be the weirdest thing. It’s a bodily function! It’s a thing literally everyone does! Why do you have to go do it secretly?”

“It’s probably the most intensely private thing we do,” Poe said. “Nudity, most of us get over that. Sex, whatever. But I don’t think I’ve ever in my life been in the same room as another adult while taking a crap.”

Finn thought about it a moment. “Babies, though! They just shit themselves all the time, don’t tell me that freaks you people out?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Poe said, “you just made me think about the fact that Leia fucking Organa has changed my shitty diapers in my life, and a big part of what I do here in the Resistance is avoid thinking about that.” He was laughing helplessly again.

“I can’t help what I do,” Finn said, amused. “I mean, I guess that gives me context, though. She has dealt with your literal shit, and you’d die for her. That’s a hell of a bond.”

“That’s not why,” Poe said, indignant but also possibly dying of laughter.

“No, no,” Finn said, “that’s totally it. The shit-bond. It’s sacred to your people. I get it now.”
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god help me why am i wondering about the sanitary facilities on x-wings? and the probable side effects of the stimulants you’d have to take for a multi-day mission, and how you’d definitely experience GI side effects? 

“So um.” Finn had not contemplated the logistics of being in an X-Wing for more than a few hours. He knew they wore compression gear under the flight suits, to keep circulation to their extremities even without gravity. But he hadn’t really thought about anything beyond that.

“There’s no lavatory,” Poe said. “You gotta wear a piss bag. It’s not as glamorous as it looks in the holos.”

“Four days,” Finn said.

“You don’t want to know what my digestive system’s like after all these years,” Poe said. “I don’t know that I really want to have this conversation in the nominal presence of food.”

“Holy shit,” Finn said.

“It’s really not,” Poe said.

[…]

Poe grabbed one of Finn’s hands with both of his, and his hands were freezing cold and shaking. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay, man. I do this a lot. It’s– I’ll let you know if anything happens that isn’t totally normal. I’m gonna– I’m gonna go to the shitter now. You can go on about your day. If you want, come check on me in like an hour. I might have passed out in there. Okay?”

“I could come with you,” Finn said.

 “You don’t want to be anywhere near this when it happens,” Poe said. “It’s sweet of you to offer.”

“I’m a stormtrooper,” Finn reminded him, “we have literally no notion of privacy. I cannot tell you how weird it is for me to go into a room by myself to shit. I’m used to doing that socially. We had, like, schedules.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Poe said, giggling helplessly. “Oh– oh no, don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m dead fucking serious,” Finn said. “If you want me to come hold your hand while you take a monster shit that is not in any way weird to me and it weirds me the fuck out that it is to you. Stormtroopers never went through that shit alone. Literally. You were never alone.”

“Shit,” Poe said, “if you make me laugh any more I’m not going to make it.”

Finn stood up and held out his hand. “I will get you there,” he said. 
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I was trying to write something else and this happened instead. Untitled, 2000 words, set shortly after Poe defects to the Resistance, a little while before the events of the film, well before the events of the story I’m working on. A discussion with a mechanic on the care and maintenance of astromech droids. I meant this to be cute, but, TW for mention of droid abuse.

“You know,” Goss Toowers said, leaning in the doorway, “our mechanics are equipped to work on astromechs too.”

Poe glanced up at the Shozer mechanic, caught flat-footed; he had BB-8’s sensor array all spread out on a dropcloth in front of him, and it was clear as anything he was doing his own maintenance work, and he hadn’t planned on rubbing it in anyone’s face exactly, but this was a little bit irregular.

Great start to working with the Resistance, champ, he told himself. Very diplomatic.

“I, ah,” he said. He set the multitool in his hand down carefully. He was a bit nervous as a mechanic, especially with sensitive stuff like this; he always had to lay it out carefully and then constantly re-check and keep everything in relative position so he remembered where it went to put it back together. “You know, you guys have enough to do, keeping up with all the dumb shit I do to the damn craft, I figured, I’d just do the shit I know how to do and not bother you unless it was really a problem.”

Shozer facial expressions were hard to read, since they were big reptilian things; Poe really hoped this guy wasn’t as disgruntled as he looked.

“Fair enough,” Goss said. “But we’ve all been wanting a look at that little astro of yours, he’s different.”

“BB-8 is one of a kind,” Poe said, and it was a defensive catchphrase. He had a reputation for spoiling his droid, for being inappropriately indulgent of the thing, but it was all a pretty calculated plan, which he camouflaged by being really flippant about it. “And um. My mom never let me have a pet so I’ve kind of. Done all the things you’re not supposed to do.”

Goss made an alarming noise, but it was pretty clearly a laugh. “Pilots always fuck up their astromechs,” he said, “we’re used to it. What’s yours do now?”

“Ehm,” Poe said. “Well, I mean. I’m just cleaning the sensor array, I think the weatherseal is starting to go. But you mean, specifically or in general, what’s BB-8’s deal?”

“Yeah,” Goss said, “both specifically and in general. There’s only ever two ways this goes– a pilot either treats their astromech super shitty and the thing gets a complex, or the pilot treats it way too nice and it gets a complex. So I’m figuring, since you’re in here doing this instead of hitting on girls or whatever it is that you hit on, because that’s what pilots do, you’re probably the second kind. So what kind of complex does BB-8 have?”

Poe laughed so hard he almost lost his place, and had to take a moment to re-count the lenses of the sensor array to make sure he had them in the right order. “Oh,” he said, “so you’ve worked with pilots before. Fleet pilots are the worst ones, don’t you think?”

“Depends what you mean by worst,” Goss said, hunkering down to look at the assembly. “Oh holy shit you upgraded the holocam in this thing, that’s like a protocol droid rig.”

“I did,” Poe said. “BB-8, um, really likes taking pictures.” And BB’s love of obsessively-documenting things had, in the past, been extremely useful to Poe, and that was not the sort of thing one mentioned when one was trying to come across stupider than one was. “Also I got a good deal on the parts, don’t get me wrong. I spoil the shit out of my droid but I’m not crazy.”

“So you have a lot of non-spec parts in there, is what I’m getting from this,” Goss said.

“Mm,” Poe said, and shot him a sidelong look, “yes.”

“I bet he’s got a lot of non-standard programming too,” Goss said.

“A little,” Poe said. “I’ve also– I’ve let the AI kind of, develop? I know most people’s policy is to prune that shit back every so often but I’ve found that if you let the quirks work themselves out, the thing winds up smarter? A little idiosyncrasy is kind of worth putting up with if it’s meanwhile developed the smarts to save your ass.”

“Idiosyncrasy,” Goss said, skeptical.

Poe blew dust off the lens assembly, gave it a final polish, and started reassembling it. “BB-8’s got some preferences,” he said, “and I’ve found that instead of trying to rewrite the subroutines that gave rise to them, if I just go with it, I tend to get a better end result? So like. Um.” He was always a little self-conscious about this, because some people got so worked-up over it, like it was a ridiculous request or something. “BB-8’s not a he, or a she, or an it, because a droid isn’t male or female or an object.”

“Oh,” Goss said, sounding interested. “Then what is– BB-8?” He didn’t use a pronoun, and that was hopeful.

“BB-8 likes it when you say ey instead of he or she,” Poe said. “And like. Em for him or her. Eir for his or hers. Emself, not him- or herself.”

“Ey,” Goss said. He squinted, or something like that. Poe had never known a Shozer closely before but he’d had conversations with them. “I think I knew someone who used those before. Well, I’ll try to remember. Does ey get mad if you forget?”

“No no no,” Poe said, immeasurably relieved, “ey’s usually delighted you bothered to try. BB’s spoiled a little, but that doesn’t mean ey’s a total asshole.” He considered that a moment. “Well. I mean. Ey is a total asshole, but not about that.”

“Show me an astro that’s not a total asshole, and I’ll show you an astro whose owner spends way too much time resetting it,” Goss said. “Had a pilot who’d reformat the thing every time it needed a recharge. It had zero personality, never had a chance to develop one– just, back to straight out of the box programming every week or two.”

“That’s awful,” Poe said, sincerely horrified; he had to set down the lens assembly to recover for a moment. There was nothing more uncanny and unpleasant than a brand-new astromech.

“Right?” Goss shook his head. “The thing was so dumb, too, I mean, it had no chance for the learning AI to ever learn anything. Worst part, though?”

“There’s a part that’s worse?” Poe asked.

“Oh yeah,” Goss said. “Worst part is, it knew it. Reformats wipe it clean but that don’t mean it didn’t know that had happened. It fucking knew how dumb it was and that it wasn’t right. So it was all the fun and total lack of sense of humor of a brand-new AI, plus all the glitchy weirdness of an old poorly-maintained AI.”

“I might be sick,” Poe said, and he was kidding, but he actually felt a little queasy. “That’s– isn’t there a law against that?”

“There’s no laws for shit,” Goss said. “I have no idea what happened to that thing, but it don’t half keep me up sometimes at night. It used to cry when its battery got low because it knew what was coming. What a horrorshow. I didn’t know droids could cry. Talk about nightmare fuel.”

“No kidding,” Poe said. He swallowed hard, and picked the lens assembly back up, and finished fitting it back together. He’d used the compressor to get all the sand out of the socket for the lens assembly, then swabbed it out with solvent; now he rubbed it with the cleaning rag before fitting the lens assembly back into it.

“I might have a set of weathersealing gaskets,” Goss said. “If you wanted to replace those instead of cleaning ‘em out all the time.”

“Really?” Poe looked hopeful. “I mean, I thought these were still good, but then ey had condensation inside the lens this morning, and I dunno, I found a lot of grit in there.”

Goss bent in and looked at the gasket. “I mean,” he said, “if it was anything else, I’d say it’s fine, but you cause more damage taking it apart and everything, so if it was bad before it’ll be worse now. For something this sensitive, I’d just replace the gasket. They’re cheap enough. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“That’d be so sweet,” Poe said. He pulled the lens assembly back out, and set it carefully down on the dropcloth. To stay busy, he used the compressor to clean out the vent filters in the body seam, they always got dusty.

“Here we go,” Goss said, coming back in with a little box. “I don’t got the custom ones, gotta cut ‘em to size, but you got small fingers, you can probably do it without special tools.”

Shozers only had three fingers, big ones, on each forelimb, and Poe hadn’t really thought about that. “Oh yeah,” he said, “I’ve done it before.”

“You can see why it ain’t my specialty,” Goss said.

“Yeah,” Poe said. He peeled out the old weatherstripping, and sure enough, now he could see where there were cracks in it. Goss held a headlamp to give him more focused light so he could cut the new stuff exactly– the box had a good cutting surface in it, and then Goss helped him with the adhesive to get it to the right consistency. It took about fifteen minutes, but Poe had just spent an hour on the cleaning, so it was a pretty small investment of time, all told.

“That’ll hold better,” Goss said. “Should do you a couple months at least.”

“I think the last time it got replaced was almost a year ago,” Poe said. “I don’t like letting it go that long but.” He made a face. “Fleet requisitions are sometimes a little tricky.”

“You mean you hadn’t sucked up enough to the mechanics,” Goss said.

Poe nodded. “Believe me,” he said, “I know about sucking up to the mechanics. But I ah. I married a fabrication engineer, and that made things– well, you know, just complicated.”

“Oh,” Goss said, “I didn’t know you– oh– uhh.” He was trying to sound polite, but Poe recognized the distinctive sound of someone mid-sentence realizing they’d just flailed themselves into a brick wall of awkwardness. Because yeah. Poe had just defected, and he’d come here alone, and clearly Goss knew that, everyone knew that.

“We got divorced,” Poe said, “like, a year ago, it’s okay. She’s very much a Republic loyalist, it wasn’t going to work out.”

“Sorry,” Goss said.

“I am too,” Poe said. “So you can imagine, like, on top of the personal shit, that just made it real awkward to bother the mechanics about anything.”

“Yeah,” Goss said.

The rest of BB-8’s reassembly, Poe knew like the back of his hand; he tended to give BB-8 a good cleaning once or twice a month, on average, more when it was muddy, and this stuff was easy. Just a big brush, and a couple of screws, and about half an hour of work, and BB-8 was always so pleased upon reboot. Ey had a little just-been-cleaned dance ey always did, and it was one of Poe’s purest delights in this world.

“You wanna see something great?” he asked.

“Sure,” Goss said.

“Lemme just boot em up,” Poe said. “BB-8 loves a cleaning, it’s like, eir favorite thing. Then watch what ey does.”

He fitted the last bit of plating, tightened the screw down until the cover flipped easily over it, and then toggled the reboot switch. BB-8 spun up immediately, eir sensors blinking to awareness, and recognized Poe with a happy little trill.

“Cleaned?” BB-8 asked.

“All clean,” Poe said, grinning at him.

“Whee!” BB-8 said, and did eir dance, spinning in place and then completing a full revolution of the lower sphere, with an abrupt stop and reversal at the end, bringing em straight back to the spot where ey’d started, right next to Poe. “Yay!”

“Aw that’s adorable,” Goss said.

“I told you,” Poe said.

BB-8 noticed Goss, and rolled a little closer to Poe, trilling a wordless little sound of embarrassment. “Hi,” Goss said.

“That’s Goss,” Poe said, “he’s a mechanic here. He helped me replace your weatherproofing seal, your lens won’t fog up anymore!”

“Thanks!” BB-8 said, rolling a little in place. Ey was definitely doing eir best “cute” act. Poe leaned in and kissed the plating just behind eir sensor, where nothing would get smudged.

“That’s my little beep,” Poe said, indulgent like a proud parent. “Pretending like ey has manners, and all.”

“I mean,” Goss said, “for an astromech, that’s very mannerly. You’re welcome, BB-8.”

BB pretended to be shy and burrowed further into Poe’s arms.
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I am staying the course and finishing the fic before I post anything. I am letting beta-readers take their time. I am going to methodically go back and make edits. 

I am going to have a fucking title before I post it, and it’s not going to be unwieldy and long. I will have a theme. I will be organized. 

This is hard. 

(I will stop looking at other authors and seeing how popular their stories are and thinking that means my stories don’t need to get told. Listen, you, a lot of people read your shit and like it so shut your face.)
(I absolutely won’t throw this over for the modern AU that popped into my head today while I was doing something else. Poe is a jaded detective with a secret passion for a cause, Finn a former child soldier who got himself out, and Rey was raised by a cult and has inexplicable powers…)

I will chill the fuck out and finish something for fucking once. This only seems dry because you’re writing it. Get to the point and you can come back and cut the things that don’t serve it. You just have to find the point first. 

Chewie sighed, and bent over Poe. “You look kinda rough,” he said.

“I feel kinda rough,” Poe answered.

“C’mere,” Chewie said, and picked him up. Poe managed to move a hand enough to wrap it around Chewbacca’s arm as the world spun wildly. “You’re a lot heavier than the last time I did this.”

“I don’t remember you ever doing this before,” Poe said. Squeezing his eyes shut didn’t help but he did it anyway.

“Not surprising,” Chewie said, “you were probably about eight. It was that time you broke your leg?”

“Oh yeah,” Poe said. He’d forgotten that. “Fuckin’, Ben, got stuck up a tree and I fell out trying to get him down.” He tried to pry his fingers out of Chewie’s arm but instinct wanted him to hang on tight.

“You should have just come and gotten us,” Chewbacca said. “I just reached up and got him.”

“In hindsight,” Poe said, “that would have been a better idea, but do recall, I was eight.”

Chewie grunted with the effort, but lifted him up into a bunk set into the wall over a semicircular lounge with a holo-table in the middle. “I haven’t shed in this bed,” he said, “you’ll probably be comfortable here.”

Poe took a moment to peel his fingers out of Chewie’s fur. “Thanks, man,” he said.
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I actually have a lot of thoughts on this! I think they’re meant to basically be AIs but, like, AIs learn. They adapt and streamline and tailor responses based on past feedback. 

As with anything, though, they can sometimes get carried away. And so I figure like for real AIs, some of the recommended maintenance would probably involve manually going in and removing problematic or malformed code, where they’ve accidentally been conditioned the wrong way or drawn faulty conclusions from insufficient data or whatever. Many droid owners would be haphazard about this, and others would be sort of overzealous, deleting anything that makes the droid too contrary. But I feel like good droid owners, like Poe, would be a little more tolerant of eccentric habits and the like, and would more patiently try to redirect them, rather than pruning them. So some of the more cantankerous and ancient droids, and really feisty ones like BB-8, have these very organic personalities. (And the overzealously pruned ones probably wind up just as idiosyncratic, but not nearly so adorably or predictably so.)

Poe actually has worked out a number of things with BB that are camoflaged as him being overindulgent, but actually serve him exceptionally well in many circumstances; he often fakes arguments with BB, and BB pretends not to understand him, and they make everyone think they’re being cute when really they’re probably doing some pretty hardcore espionage. 

(The idea of BB-8′s loyalty subroutine, specifically, comes from a photo and caption in I think the Star Wars Visual Dictionary or something, that’s been going around Tumblr, but I just sort of extrapolated from there.)

Poe’s over-the-top care for his astromech is going to wind up being Plot-Significant, I am determined to make that work. 
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“We have upgraded our collective databanks with additional information but it remains unclear,” BB-8 said, and projected a little hologram of–

“BB!” Poe said. “Where did you guys get porn?” This was what came of leaving the astromechs unattended together overnight in the hangar every night.

“Where didn’t they get it,” Pava said, tilting her head to get a better view of the hologram.

“Stop that,” Poe said, peering out from between his fingers, “that’s in poor taste. You can’t get real information from porn, it’s fictional, we’ve been over fiction, I know you know what it is.”

“Fictional,” BB-8 said, astonished. “This is fictional?” Ey sounded indignant, like perhaps ey felt ey’d been lied to.

“Nobody really fucks like that,” Poe said. 

“I wouldn’t know,” BB said a little accusingly, “you never let me watch and anyway, you never do it, which is the entire point of this discussion. Clearly humans would not be so obsessed with this thing if it was not necessary?”

Poe grimaced. “Could you turn that off please?”

“Ew,” Pava said, turning her head the other way as the view shifted.

BB-8 finally turned the holo off. “Necessary,” ey insisted.

“No,” Poe said, “it’s really not. Some people don’t even like it at all.”

“You do though!” BB-8 insisted.

Poe looked over at Pava for support. “Do you let your astromech watch you fuck?” he asked. “I feel like that would be really inappropriate, but is that hopelessly old-fashioned of me?”

“I do not let my astromech watch me fuck,” Pava agreed. “That is not old-fashioned, that is just having healthy personal boundaries. But BB’s right, if you’re a person who likes sex, it’s good to have it.”

“I am never going to hear the end of this,” Poe realized, looking at the curling corner of Pava’s mouth.

“Nope,” she said, popping the P, and got up.

“Jacket Thief would likely let you put your extensions in his ports,” BB-8 said to Poe, very earnest now.

“I don’t know who that is but it sounds like a great idea,” Pava said.

BB-8 refused to use any other name besides Jacket Thief for Finn. Poe covered his eyes with his hand again. “I do not think Jacket Thief wants my extensions in his ports.”

“Everyone wants your extensions in their ports,” Pava said. “That’s like. A universal truth of the Resistance. Everyone wants Poe Dameron to put his extensions in their ports.”

“I am never going to hear the end of this,” Poe said, haunted.

“Nope!” Pava said cheerfully, and walked away.

From the WIP. Currently standing at 47k. More thoughts next post. 
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hahahaha I’ve written over 10k words this weekend so far i think and I am FARTHER AWAY from finishing this story

I may have to give up and make it, like, a series, which I really didn’t need to do to myself, blargh.

it’d be a nicer problem to have if i had better impulse control. But thank you all, the Poe Dameron informational holovid ficlet is creeping up in my notifications, which I appreciate enormously and give most of the credit to @albymangroves who is an A+ collaborator going places in the world. 

But I clearly missed a crucial bit of characterization, in that holovid. I don’t know if I’ll get another snippet up at any point but I present to you the beautiful entrance of a dangerous YouTube clickhole, which is to say, Oscar Isaac’s youtubeography of himself playing guitar. DO NOT think about how infrequent holovid transmissions were in some of the remote Resistance outposts, and how they’d have to entertain themselves, and how good at it Poe was. Don’t do it, guys. Just don’t.
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Chapters: 7/7
Fandom: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens - Shattered Empire, Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon
Summary:

Poe dreams of a blue-green tree.

This is a phenomenal work, that just completed. Hear me out: it’s Luke Skywalker/Poe Dameron, and it’s good. Wait, you say, isn’t Luke, like, way older than Poe, and also like, you know, the Last Jedi? 

Yes. And that shit is so not my scene I cannot even tell you. But this? This is how you do a May/December with a power imbalance. Beyond that, this is how you tell a story about The Last Jedi, who is also authentically Luke Skywalker, Farm Boy and giant fukkin nerdlord. 

Listen: you need to read this. I would excerpt my favorite bit as a pull-quote, but I can’t. There’s too much. It’s just the whole goddamn story. It’s funny, it’s heartbreaking, it’s everything I never knew I wanted. 

I’ll give you a funny pull-quote, but it doesn’t do it justice. 

“I give you my word of honor,” Poe says, crouching down to look straight into its lens, “I’m gonna come back down and turn you back on myself when this is all over, deal?” He sticks out his hand.

BB-8 looks at his face, then his hand, then his face again, and finally sticks out its connection plug. Poe clasps it and —“Ow!” he yells, jerking his hand back.

“Blood pact,” BB-8 says cheerfully.

“Okay, I’m also shutting you down myself,” Poe mutters, and reaches for the switch. BB-8 chuckles to itself, pleased, before the light goes dim.

Also I only just noticed that it’s in present tense, so what that says about either me or it, I don’t know.

A fun game to play: when I finally post something from this ‘verse, you can try to spot all of the headcanon shit I just totally absorbed from this fic and completely forgot that I did so. I bet you there’ll be a lot. That’s how vivid the worldbuilding is. This fic is a large part of why I even decided I was interested.

I have no idea where I first saw this rec, but thank you.
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I was tagged by @popkin16 in that WIP meme. What is it? Go to your current WIP and go to page 7 and go down 7 lines and copy over 7 sentences or so? Then it wants you to tag people which is how these continue but I have no idea how to know which of the people I follow are actually into this sort of thing, which is unsurprising given that Tumblr doesn’t actually really allow you to interact with your dashboard except by copying it? so uh? anyway? 

If you read these entries and you write, and you have a WIP, I am serious, consider yourself tagged if that is relevant to your situation. Because I don’t know how else to figure out how to tag someone.

But! Anyway, less crankily: This is my Sooper Seekrit project  (WITH ART!) with @artgroves that has like eaten my brain, and that y’all got the first peek at yesterday, and I’m only doing this because the page in question is hilarious for this. (And on GDocs there are pages; on Scrivener, there aren’t.)

You get ten sentences.

Finn had known there was a New Republican Academy and that most of the soldiers in the Fleet had been trained there, but he had sort of absent-mindedly assumed it was much like the various facilities that had trained him, and it was really startling to sift through the information holopacket the General had almost absent-mindedly dropped in front of him.

Recruitment materials, course curricula, write-ups in media, and so on were fine and dandy; Finn picked up that people didn’t go to these Academies until they were nearly grown, and still maintained contact with their families, and still had a lot of individual freedom. But the real treasure was when he flipped to a folder full of candid holos labeled “student life”, and it was just all short holovids and still holopics that students had mostly taken of one another.

The General was in the room, having a desultory discussion with various other officers whose names and faces Finn had already memorized, and going through briefing materials of her own, when he found it. There had been a number of holopics of students who were clearly off-duty and intoxicated, obviously celebrating; Finn gathered that this was condoned behavior, and facilitated the development of lifelong social bonds these soldiers would rely on in the future through their careers (some of that rationale was hinted at in the written materials, while some, Finn had had to infer). This holopic was of a young student, male, shirtless, on a table with a bottle– and it took Finn a long moment of admiring the student’s slender, arching torso, curving red mouth wrapped appealingly around the bottle’s neck, and dark, promising eyes before he recognized it.

“Holy shit,” he said, startled into speaking out loud.

The General laughed immediately, turning. “I was waiting for you to find that,” she said. 

Yes, it’s the same pic that I described of Poe from the video thing yesterday, hush. Yes yes I know, I’m being elliptical and telling the same bit of story over and over, but I just have this fascination with the role of media in storytelling and like, it’s a problem. I know.

Also I clearly have a hankering for that to be the illustration for the thing but I wouldn’t even begin to know where to find a reference image for it. (Thanks, though, Bucky, I was thinking of this picture when I wrote it.)
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As with any organization, the Resistance found it necessary to produce training holovids on a variety of topics, from basic demonstrations of the use of important equipment to more nuanced vids on cultural or personnel issues. They were a small force, but tended to be somewhat geographically scattered by necessity, and it saved a lot of time to have a small collection of introductory holovids to show new recruits to get them quickly up to speed.

The most entertaining holovid, however, was widely held to be this one. 

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

The title music swells, epic and orchestral, over a black screen. Fade in: a photo, taken outdoors, head and shoulders, of Poe Dameron, squinting slightly into the sun, jaw set in determination. His hair is tousled and he is in a flight suit and leather jacket, ruggedly attractive.

Another flourish of music, and the title pops bright white text over a black screen:

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

Fade to footage of Poe Dameron, in a sleeveless tight undershirt smudged with grease and worn-thin trousers that fit very flatteringly behind, bending over to demonstrate how to use a new system of tie-downs to secure equipment such as small spacecraft in inclement weather. His hair is a little too long and falls across his forehead; he habitually shakes his head a little to keep it away from his eyes, in a charming gesture, and he frequently looks to the camera for guidance, which gives him an appealing, almost supplicant aspect, especially since he frequently smiles at the cameraman.

Voiceover (male, smooth, cultured, the same one who narrates most of the rest of the instructional holovids the Resistance produces): “It’s not a question of if, but when. It’s a natural part of joining the Resistance. Everyone says, oh, it won’t happen to me, I’m immune to that sort of thing. But everyone in the Resistance eventually ends up with a crush on Poe Dameron.”

Cut to head-and-shoulders shot of a middle-aged mechanic, female, in work attire, clearly in a spacecraft hangar, holding a wrench in one hand. There’s a label at the bottom of the screen: Yana, Mechanic. Below that it says, He Remembers Her Name. “You may think you’re immune to his looks,” she says, “but then he remembers your name after only having met you once, and claps you on the shoulder, and calls you ‘buddy’ and smiles at you.” She sighed. “And it only gets worse from there.”

Quick cut to a shot, zoomed in from a distance, of Poe Dameron standing on the ladder to the cockpit of his X-Wing. It is a video; he is watching someone offscreen do something, the wind gently ruffling his tousled hair and his helmet under one arm. His mouth is slightly open; after a moment he licks his lower lip, then grins, like he’s about to speak.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“Don’t be alarmed. These are natural feelings. Take comfort in the fact that you aren’t alone. And you can console yourself in the knowledge that he has this effect on everyone.”

Cut to head and shoulders shot of a young pilot, female, dark-haired; she is attractively dressed and made-up, but wearing her flight suit. The label at the bottom of the screen says Jessika Pava, Pilot, and is subtitled, He Has Saved Her Life About 100 Times. “It’s not his fault,” she says. “That’s the thing you have to keep in mind. He’s really like that. He’s really actually nice to people. He’s completely sincere.”

A still shot fills the screen: Poe Dameron, very young, aged perhaps sixteen or seventeen. He is standing on a table, possibly dancing, shirtless, wearing New Republic Academy uniform trousers and suspenders. The suspenders are slipping down his shoulders, and he has his head tipped back and is provocatively mock-fellating a bottle clearly labeled “Corellian Death Rum” while staring seductively into the camera. He is clearly intoxicated.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“Methods of coping with this affliction vary by individual. Some people pretend they don’t feel it. Others give themselves over to it. A few daring individuals have tried to actually go for it. But it seems that despite a wild youth, Poe has settled into a reasonably responsible adulthood. It is not recommended that you pursue him aggressively.”

Cut, footage of a very attractive blonde woman in her early thirties, in a New Republican Starfleet uniform. She is labeled Garella Unaeron, and subtitled Shared Single, Memorable Wild Night Of Passion. “I just broke into his quarters and got naked and lay in his bed until he showed up,” she says, looking smug. “It went well for me, but I mean, we were also like eighteen. So. I don’t imagine that’d go as well now he’s defected to the Resistance.” She tosses her hair, clearly taking a moment to remember. “But I mean, if you go for it,” she went on, “much as I loathe his politics, I gotta say, he’s really great in the sack. I don’t imagine he’s lost the knack, it’s not the kind of thing you get worse at with practice.” Suddenly her expression changes, twisting into suspicion. “Wait, who did you say you were again?” The camera jerks and the footage ends abruptly.

The next shot is a craggily-handsome man in his late thirties, with a scar down one cheekbone that speaks of a life of action. He is labeled Naeher Adamant, and subtitled Had Actual Grown-Up Sexual Relationship. “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he says, unsmiling, but he looks pleased nonetheless, or perhaps fond. “I can tell you, though, that Dameron is never other than entirely genuine. There’s no need to play games.”

Another cut, another interview subject, head and shoulders of a shiny-polished droid. Titled CR-31T, Mechanic, and subtitled He Is Really That Nice All The Time. “I’ve never worked with any other human who went so out of his way to make sure I understood that he considered me a person, on par with a biological organism,” the droid said, a little shyly. “It’s not— I don’t mind, you know, I know what I am, but he’s just— he’s so nice.”

Cut to footage of Poe Dameron, dressed in his flight suit, clearly training footage of some kind as he is watching someone offscreen and gesturing a little hesitantly to parts of his gear, as if in demonstration. He is apparently a little bored with making training videos, however, and is making amusing faces at the offscreen person, exaggerated expressions of wide-eyed wonder and grimacing trepidation.

Meanwhile, voiceover:

“So when you find yourself suffused with inappropriate feelings for this particular individual, just remember, you’re not alone. Speak to your counselor about what coping method is best for you. And above all, don’t make it weird: we’re relying on him, and his possibly-unholy combination of dashing charm and uncanny good luck. Try to use your misplaced erotic energy wisely.”

The music swells again, and the scene cuts to another video of Poe, zoomed in on him from quite a distance; he is outdoors, watching something at a distance with a vacant half-smile. The wind, again, ruffles his hair slightly, attractively, and he laughs silently, eyes crinkling up fetchingly. The title rolls up the screen again:

DEALING WITH YOUR INEVITABLE CRUSH ON POE DAMERON

As the scene fades to black, the title is the last thing visible, then winks out as well.
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feathersmoons:

hellotailor:

vaspider:

youneedapiilot:

-spends easily 15 minutes trying to figure out what Poe’s flight vest says-

-gets mad cause it doesn’t match the aurebesh letters exactly-

-figures out the ones I can recognize are upside down-

-flips the whole thing upside down to figure out it is legit upside down and backwards-

And the verdict? You’ll love this. This 15+ minute project has brought this result:

So there you go. What the mystery writing on X-wing pilots’ vests actually says. Your welcome.

Omg this is the kind of high quality content I fucking want.

@judicialmistrangementorder you need to see this.

you’re doing important work here, @youneedapiilot

*CACKLING OUT LOUD*

____This is the best thing I’ve ever read. Anywhere in any medium.

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dragonlady7

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