Mar. 9th, 2016

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I said it was a series, and so now there’s a second one, and that makes it a series and me not a liar.

I know it’s cheap but any song that mentions flying, I am all over Poe singing it.

This one is not plot-significant, though it does appear explicitly; Poe sings snatches of it to himself while brushing his teeth, and Finn is charmed. 

Of course the lyrics are slightly different. 

But anyway. In-universe, I imagine, Nora’s [sic] dove is a reference to some sort of saga, and Poe isn’t quite so uh, bohemian-looking as Llewyn here. But this is another good atmospheric one, and also is, you know, actually Oscar’s performance, so you can really solidify his voice and range in your mind. (The faces Oscar makes in the Llewyn Davis performances, btw, are subtly not at all like the ones he does in his own stuff. Interesting, no?) (Nora’s dove, btw: the song is most famous from Dylan’s performance, I think, and he says “Noah’s dove”, which is obviously a Bible reference, but Dave Van Ronk’s idiosyncratic gender-switched performance of it features “Nora’s dove”, and that’s the extent of the research I’ve done.)

I’m going to run out of suitable Oscar Isaac performances after this, folks, so you’re gonna start having to use more imagination, but hold on with me here. Ride the momentum, if you will.

(Also I did in fact get a lot written today and we are crawling close to the end and I am procrastinating right now, can you tell? It doesn’t matter if literally nobody cares about these videos, I am compiling them to keep myself sane.)

misc:

Mar. 9th, 2016 02:35 am
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My DJing deskmate wasn’t in today so I was DJing for myself, and so I decided to work my way through the entirety of Townes Van Zandt’s back catalogue because, I’m not sure why, it seemed like a good idea I guess, but this involved looking him up and reading his life story to figure out what order the albums go in, and Jesus Christ I don’t know how I managed not to read about his life before now but oh my God I am going to die alcoholic in a ditch just from reading about it oh my God. Um like massive TRIGGER WARNINGS for his ENTIRE LIFE: alcohol abuse, terrible medical abuse, awful fucking tragedy.

[Fun fact: he was given “insulin shock” therapy for bipolar disorder at age 18 and lost most of his long-term memories. Fucking what.][Also he died of many complications but among them a fractured hip he refused medical treatment for for eight days.][Also the normally not-very-poetic Wikipedia takes the time to describe his ex-wife Jeanene performing CPR on him “screaming his name between breaths” as he died, thanks for that image!]

So uh. I had to share that, I actually couldn’t not share that. 

More cheerfully, a happy customer brought in cookies, and i am at The Time Of The Month where anything with chocolate in it goes from being mildly interesting to ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY so, here’s a GPOY: 

It was kind of terrible and kind of awesome. I… will admit to no regrets.

I made a lot of progress on the novel today since nobody was supervising me. that’s not to say i did no work, i did plenty, i just didn’t have to waste quite so much time looking busy. funny how that works. 

I have booked tomorrow off, since I’m supposed to be part-time, and I am promising to spend it cleaning my house more. If my house were clean enough, I could have people come over sometimes, and that would be nice. 

i really want to promise myself I’ll make something with my hands, though, because I get so anxious when I haven’t, and I have all these projects I’m dying to work on. So, maybe I’ll really make something. It would be so great. I would be so happy. I want to. 

I also want to finish the fucking novel though and I’m so close. I’m trying. It’s more difficult the closer you are to the end. I feel like. I don’t know. I rarely finish things so it’s hard to say. I’ve finished stuff before, though, and i know. I know! Stay strong, self.

I’m going to reblog a stupid ask meme, please ask me stupid things because it is motivational procrastination. 
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Oh yes, title suggestions would be appreciated! I just– it’s too big and sprawling for me to feel like I can come up with a thing to call it! I’m hung up on making a home out of the wind somehow, but I just can’t figure it out. 
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I saw this when it was going around and then can’t find it again, but it was a Work-In-Progress Guessing Game and the whole game was just that you could send an ask with a word, and I’d respond with the sentence it appeared in, in my WIP.

In this case, though, since I have about eleventy-billion WIPs, you should specify whether you care which WIP. 

The list of works I still consider In-Progress:

The Star Wars Thing (Finn/Poe, OT3-ward leanings, and like 120k to pick from)
Subcategory: the Hoe/Pux thing (10k words of Poe and Hux being assholes to each other)

FOG and related– yes, I promised at least one Steve/Bucky/Natasha scene, and it’s still technically in-progress

Choice Is Not A Word A Bullet Knows and related: parts still in-progress include Facepunch and the resolution to the Peggy arc I solidified in Guts)

and yes, yes, yes, neither of the two SG:A verses are officially moribund. Two-Body Problem and Other Stuff are still both things I have active projects in, though they progress very, very, very slowly. 

If you don’t specify, I will pick whatever I’m most excited about the result of a cursory search in! 

If nobody sends me anything I will take it as some kind of sign. But don’t be shy. I like talking about myself sometimes. You can also send me asks about other things. That would be okay too.

face, TBP!

Mar. 9th, 2016 03:25 am
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I’m doing more than a sentence at a time so it makes sense. 

“If you felt comfortable discussing your feelings in detail,” Dave said drily, “I’d know you weren’t really John, but some sort of pod person.”

John laughed, at that, and pushed himself to his feet. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get shitfaced.”
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bomberqueen17:

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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I LOVE IT

and also I’m going to post another link to it because reblogging the original post is kind of really long and I’m not sure people saw, but

PODFIC! of Dealing With Your Inevitable Crush On Poe Dameron! Here! It is fantastic! I am excited! 
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He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Well,” he said. “Maybe I should make dinner before the gravity gives out.”

Rey thought suddenly of the descriptions of food that had been on his datapad. She’d used their sparse funds to buy food according to lists he’d written of provisions. It would have been better if he’d bought them, but he simply wasn’t up to the task. A lot of the things he’d listed were words Rey didn’t even know. Fortunately at one of the places she’d stopped, the shopkeeper had found it endearing that she knew so little, and had given her free samples of all kinds of things, as well as giving her more food than she’d paid for. Poe assumed she’d used the Force to trick the shopkeeper, but she hadn’t. 

Also well– I mean– what would you call that ship name??? Hoe is absolutely the best way to go. The doc I put it in is titled Pux but that’s because I just wasn’t thinking. 
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Alas, in the unpublished segments of Other Plans, that word does not occur, shockingly enough.

However. Liquor does. And it points out what a hard left I was planning on taking with the series, which is why I hiatus’d it. Too much ambition! But I remain committed in my heart. 

The thing with winning bets about holding one’s liquor, Vala reflected as she swallowed hard against nausea, was that you could really only do it once in any given social group. And it wasn’t without its costs. But these braggarts had been so ripe for it, she hadn’t been able to resist. She’d won a fair haul but they were probably planning on mugging her to steal it back; the more sober among them had been far too sanguine about letting the money go.

Join in! Ask me a word and a WIP! List is here.
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pussykraken:

i genuinely love seeing peoples really passionate and angry opinions about hobbies i know nothing about where they use a bunch of really specific terminology i dont understand. im just like (nodding) yeah man i bet it is bullshit that they tried to pass off hongus crongus as a 66 Gubbo when its clearly a standard fuckowski, in a blatant insult to hamsport-enthusiasts everywhere, they just never LEARN man
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I swear I did this one, and then it wasn’t in my drafts and it was sitting here unanswered! Hm. Well, here we go, and sorry if it’s a duplicate!

“Okay,” Poe said, because there was no point. If your planet wasn’t equipped to resist– if the operative the Resistance sent to you showed up broken and useless– there wasn’t a whole lot you could do when the First Order arrived, or the Knights of Ren, or whoever they’d brought. He couldn’t blame this guy for the betrayal. He pried his eyelids up and gave the fellow as considering a look as he could manage under the circumstances. The man looked desperately sad. Poe patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault, I know.”

“Stars,” the man said, annoyed, “don’t be nice to me.”

Poe gave him a grim smile, and closed his eyes. “Well,” he said, “let’s not fuck around, then.”

WIP Guessing Game: Send me an ask with a word in it, and I’ll give you the paragraph it’s from in one of my WIPs! Full post with list of what I consider “in-progress” here. C’mon, it’s fun– anon enabled! :)
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Continuing the series on music in the Star Wars Novel I’m going to have a title for any day now… 

So. We run out of perfect videos, and must now begin to use our imaginations. 

The deal is, a lot of times, in the Resistance, you don’t get a ton of transmissions, so you’re sometimes strapped for entertainment material. And in those times, you have to fall back, in time-honored tradition, on whoever you know who can sing or play an instrument.

On the current base, that is mostly Poe, who knows Every Song, and Dr. Kalonia (the medic who in the movie totally knows that the way to handle an injured Wookiee is a lot of flattery). She can play a kind of harp thing, and she is one of those slightly shrill ladies whose voice really cuts through, but she can carry a tune and I have known so many women like her, the backbone and bane of many a folk circle and trad seisun. I speak with love, because I will probably be her, someday, if I ever go to a circle again. (I am good but I am piercing. Whoops.)

So, this recording is perhaps how Dr. Kalonia would sound if her voice were perhaps a little bit sweeter, but is otherwise pretty dead-on. She loves the old patriotic favorites. 

This is about half of the inspiration for the song “For The Republic” that Poe sings in the story. Only I actually really love this song, along with Blake’s Jerusalem, in the genre of patriotic songs that are actually sort of challenging? And the Republic song Poe sings is not challenging, it is trite. So that’s why this is only about half of the inspiration.

Perhaps this song is actually a precursor to For The Republic, and dates back to an earlier conflict, and so the sentiment is somehow just a little less cheesy. I have yet to find a good one to inspire the rest of the way. Trite and cheesy patriotic songs that are still kind of moving are hard to come by. 
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I totally understand why some authors really aren’t happy to talk about abandoned old WIPS and long-ago works, but I haven’t been active in fandom all that long so it’s not that long ago for me. And I write in such non-linear ways, often, that there’s still a lot of material from those stories that I never got around to using. I still harbor a hope I’ll be able to get back to them and work out some of the tangles and post that stuff, because it was really heartfelt. 

I’ve always worked non-linearly with this stuff, before; I’ve never abandoned things and said “I will never come back to this”. In my original works I always set them aside deliberately to come back to later. So I never declare anything dead, usually, unless something horrible happened– if I had a falling-out with a collaborator or something. But even that has never been bad enough. There’s only stuff I’ve forgotten too much of to want to revisit. 

I can’t even begin to imagine when I’ll get to it, but that doesn’t mean never, I’m not just dangling that to give people hope.

I also have the advantage, I think, of having been very active in fandom before. I cut my teeth and got my really embarrassing shit done in, uh, the 90s. By the time the AO3 existed, I knew better. I feel terrible for some of the kids out there today making all their mistakes in the digital age. My super-non-self-aware, I-have-no-idea-how-the-world-works stuff was all pencil and paper and nobody read it. I had classes, and critiques from professional authors, before I ever published anything online. So anything that’s still live and linked-to on the Internet is by most standards, pretty polished, adult work.

If you want me to dig deep enough to find something I’d be embarrassed by, we’d be going back to obsolete file formats. So I have an advantage over many of the other authors I know, who don’t like to talk about their old stuff. For me, it’s not all that old, and I knew what I was doing when I wrote it, mostly. (Well. Nobody ever knows what they’re doing. There’s no actual end to “it”.)

Though one thing I am realizing, I have learned a ton about organization in the time since I started TBP, because holy shit, I can’t find anything in the mess that document is. Yiiiikes. 
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gothhabiba:

lunafluction:

celestialdragongoth:

lunafluction:

wunderhorntanz:

lunafluction:

amazing

wow. 
also “a study with rats” i’m dead

I didn’t even notice that. Truly incredible.

I’m still not over the rat bromance study

Who paid for this research. Who raised these scientists

rats don’t even have gender

oh jesus fuck that’s my alma mater @dontbearuiner what fuckery is this

on closer perusal they’re just unironically presenting the study. i doubt they screencapped it to be like that. but i don’t think they did the study.
please tell me u of r did not do that study.
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So I was talking to @albymangroves and discovered we were both super into textile arts, and I remembered that I have this crazy quilt carefully folded away into a trunk. So my uncle gave my sisters some quilts our great-grandmother made, but there were only three, so he gave me this one. I guess I got the special treatment because I was his godchild, I’m not sure. Anyway, he never explained where he got it or how. It’s dated “1888″ in laid-and-couched glitter piping– some is missing, but that’s the only numerals they could be, I think– and it’s signed “Jennie Freeman”, who is not to my knowledge connected to our family at all. 

It’s entirely pieced; the batting is made of wool scraps similarly crazy-quilted together. There are some painted panels (including a woodland scene with a tipi and a leaping deer), and some applique panels, and some figurative embroidery portraits, including possibly a self-portrait of the artist in a bonnet? The artistic quality is uneven but it’s possible it was all Jennie’s work; it makes sense to me that she’d be great at painting/embroidering flowers after what was clearly a lifetime in the decorative domestic arts, and considerably less-practiced at figurative portraits like the birds, the cat, the scissors and spool, and the woman’s face. 

Every scrap is edged in a decorative stitch, mostly feather stitch variants as far as I can tell. I don’t see any machine sewing anywhere. 

Much of the fabric is decayed in places, and some of the stitching is coming loose. I don’t know how to preserve or display this. I don’t know if I should repair it, or if I should conserve it– I’ve worked in museums enough to know that conservation means making no alterations to it that cannot be undone, and focusing on preserving as much of it original as possible. Repairing it would mean replacing the damaged panels with modern material so that I could use or display it without it degrading further, but it would destroy some if its historical value to do it that way. 

So I don’t know, so I keep it carefully folded inside-out inside a wooden trunk in my attic, with a cedar block to keep insects away. There’s some sun in some of these photos, but i assure you, me holding it near a sunbeam is the most light it’s seen since I owned it.

It’s about a standard twin size, and I’ve no idea what to do with it. I can’t imagine how many hundreds of hours of labor it represents. I don’t know how to go about finding out who Jennie Freeman was. My uncle, unfortunately, passed away not long after giving this to me, so I have absolutely no idea whether any of his friends would even know; probably not. 

I guess you can see that the crazy tiny scraps are all made into largeish squares that are then sewn together pretty regularly. The batting is also made of scraps; the decayed pieces allow this to be seen. It’s not quite square, the edges are a little uneven, and the batting is lumpy because the scraps were not all the same thickness. It’s not through-quilted; the top stitching is all only in the top layer. It’s tacked down in regular intervals with a single stitch through all the layers.

The back is in panels of white cotton and silvery satin-ish fabric. The entire edge is overcast in a hand blanket stitch in bright red thread. 

Pardon the backdrop of my messy attic, it’s just the only space I had handy to lay it out. My cat might be in the background. I did not let her step on this, though she badly wanted to. 

So I want to make a thing like this, but what an extravagance of personal time!
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kat8therude:

wildehack:

so I’m not gonna write it rn because Thesis, but SOMEONE should probably write the story where Finn is secretly Luke Skywalker’s son, right? 
we have SUCH A SHORT WINDOW OF AUS before we get canon confirmation about everyone’s parentage, and I WANT REY SKYWALKER AND REY KENOBI AND REY ANTILLES AND FINN SKYWALKER AND FINN KENOBI AND, YOU KNOW. EVERY ITERATION OF THE SECRET BABY AU IS CURRENTLY OURS FOR THE TAKING, WHY DON’T WE PLUNDER IT, etc.  
IMAGINE: 
Mara Jade swoops in, steals Luke Skywalker’s heart, and after they break up (due to Serious Important Reasons, as well as Force Philosophical differences, probably), Mara realizes that she’s pregnant, and can’t think of anything worse than having her baby be the Last Jedi’s son. There are multiple intergalactic churches devoted to Skywalker worship, and multiple churches who sincerely believe Luke Skywalker is a demon to be vanquished. There were two hundred attempts on Luke’s life in the last year, at least seventy of which were professional hits. (Mara should know: she was one of them.) 
She doesn’t want her son raised like that, doesn’t want him to grow up with kidnappers and blackmailers and religious extremists lurking around every corner. She thinks Luke would agree, actually. She puts off telling him because–well, fuck, what good’s it gonna do? It’s going to hurt him, and it’s going to hurt her, and it won’t change what has to be done, which is taking the baby somewhere far away from Princess Organa and the Last Jedi and raising him somewhere safe. 
AND THEN: the baby’s born, the baby’s perfect, the baby’s midichlorian count is higher than average, but still normal. he has just enough of the Force to be lucky, not enough to put a target on his back. he doesn’t look like Luke, and she’s thankful for that, too. 
six months after the baby is born, she takes her first real job, the kind with a serious payout and risk to life and limb, the kind where she has to leave the sector. She leaves the baby with her sister, kisses his tiny hands, tells him she’ll be back–
but when she does come back, the house is smoking, the station’s on fire, and the baby is gone. 

It was a First Order raid, although of course there’s no way to prove it. Half the village is destroyed, every kid under the age of five taken. Her sister’s in the hospital, brother-in-law’s dead. 
There are too many traces after that–too many missing kids, too many soulless assholes trading in them. But she’s Mara Jade. She hunts down the ship that took her son. 
When she finds it, it’s been reduced to ash. Something about a disagreement with the Hutts. 
(Oh, but the baby was lucky. He wasn’t on the ship when it burned.) 
Luke never knows he had a son. Mara isn’t sure if it’s kindness or selfishness that keeps her from telling him. And she thinks her son is gone, and Luke never knows, and FN-2187, like all troopers, was taken from a home he’ll never remember.
The first time Kylo Ren and FN-2187 are on the same planet as adults, Kylo Ren feels something. It’s familiar, but frustratingly out of place–he doesn’t trust it enough to say anything. It’s because he’s here looking for Luke Skywalker, he thinks. That’s all. 
Leia knows, and doesn’t know. She feels the same thing Ben did, the little ripple of connection, but she chalks it up to nostalgia, at first. It’s sort of wrenchingly familiar, isn’t it–Han and Chewie riding in with a fresh-faced kid, all alone in the world, begging for their help rescuing a girl he hardly knows. She puts the thought aside. She’s sending the kid into a war zone, and she misses her family. That’s all. 
Rey convinces Luke to take her on as a Padawan, and when he shows her how to loop a training bond between his mind and hers, he discovers two nascent bonds already forming in her thoughts. One is red and knotted and familiar, and leads to his nephew. Luke doesn’t touch it, but tells Rey how she can unravel it, if she wants to. The other is thin and blue and emanates warmth, and his Padawan says he can examine it if he wants but she’s pretty sure it’s only Finn. 
Very gently, Luke touches the warm blue thread. 
Worlds and worlds away, Finn wakes up, wide-eyed and gasping.
anyway, yeah, I can’t write this right now, BUT: IMAGINE LUKE FINDING OUT, AND THEN MARA JADE FINDING OUT, AND THEN MARA COMING FOR HER SON, AND A VERY BELATED LUKE/MARA REUNION? AND FINN GETS A MOTHER AND A FATHER AND AN AUNT AND CHEWIE AND
A COUSIN 
OBVIOUSLY 

(THE SAME COUSIN WHO ORDERED HIM TO KILL INNOCENT PEOPLE) 
(THE COUSIN WHO NEARLY RIPPED HIM APART) 
(THE COUSIN HE STILL HAS NIGHTMARES ABOUT) 
(THE COUSIN WHO SEEMED LIKE ALL THE WORST STORIES ABOUT LUKE SKYWALKER COME TO LIFE, BECAUSE. LET’S FACE IT. THE FIRST ORDER TELLS TERRIBLE FAIRYTALES ABOUT THE LAST JEDI AND THE THINGS HE’S DONE.) 
(FINN HAD NIGHTMARES ABOUT LUKE SKYWALKER FOR YEARS BEFORE DEFECTING.) 
(JUST THINK ABOUT IT.) 

Yeah, no, I am so here for Finn Skywalker theories. So here.
dragonlady7: self-portrait but it's mostly the DSLR in my hands in the mirror (Default)
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Man for the record, all you Brooklyn peeps, you know basically all your shit is brewed in Baldwinsville right?
–signed, a disgruntled upstate microbrewery fan

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dragonlady7

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