Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

elenothar asked: Hi! I was wondering whether your awesome 'Poe is a space princess' trope/headcanon is something you're writing or a general prompt type thing because reading it kinda started an avalanche of plot ideas. Thank you! :)

leupagus:

cactusspatz:

leupagus:

Go for it! That was just an idea one of my friends had; I wrote her that story as a gift, but it’s certainly not my headcanon and it’s free to a good home. Write as many stories as you want about Princess Poe!

 I am very much of the opinion that prompts/general ideas for stories  are not something you can say ‘no this belongs to me’ anyway  because there is no new idea under the sun but in case you were wondering please anyone who wants to write as many princess poe fics as your heart desires although tbh what *I* really want to read is Princess Finn  THINK ABOUT IT TAKEN FROM A FAMILY HE’LL NEVER KNOW  RAISED TO DO ONE THING but what if he was like taken from a ROYAL FAMILY as some kind of IDK punishment and then they see his face on holovids about the Heroes of the Resistance  and are like OUR BABY IS ALIVE and descend on the resistance base with like tiaras and scepters and are like WHERE IS THE ONE THEY CALL meanwhile Poe and Rey are like saaaaaaaaaay what now? it’d be great (via leupagus)

Apparently I’m going to be a broken record in this fandom and it’s all your fault:

When Finn got back from his latest mission, the General was waiting for him.

“Finn, you have…an unusual visitor,” she said. Finn looked at Poe, who could usually translate for Finn in situations like this, but Poe looked just as lost.

“What kind of unusual visitor?”

“The kind with an official diplomatic brief from the Chanji system.”

“Wow,” Poe said. “You don’t see those types out here very often.”

“Chanji system?” Finn asked plaintively.

“Really, really disgustingly wealthy planetary system. They had exclusive gem trading rights with the Hapes Consortium for years. Famous for their artists. Not really the type of people who’d associate with guerilla scum like us,” Poe added with a grin.

“Sounds like a real party,” Finn said. “What do they want with me?”

“Their representative refused to discuss the matter with little old me,” the General drawled. “So I stuck him in the old pilot ready room to wait.”

Poe winced. “The one with the droch infestation?”

“What droch infestation?” The General said innocently.

Finn made a face. He couldn’t just abandon someone to that, no matter how rude they’d been to the General. “Yeah, okay, let’s get this over with. Find out what the guy wants.”

****

“Wait, you think I’m a <i>what</i>?”

“Prince Royal Teneveld IV, who went missing twenty years ago during a First Order attack on a planet that Queen Betham, who was then only Princess Royal, was visiting. No remains were ever found, and so the royal family has continued to search for their lost son in hopes of bringing him home.” The advocate took a moment away from looking primly disgusted by the ready room to look extremely skeptical instead.

“And you think Finn is this….Prince Teneveld?” Poe asked, a terrible, delighted grin spreading across his face. Finn elbowed him in the ribs, but Poe just winked at him.

“According to the terms of the trust left by Dowager Queen Maris, we are required to investigate all possible leads in this matter,” the advocate droned. “We received a communication that Mr….Finn here might be a candidate.”

Poe, who seemed to be following all this better than Finn, asked, “Wait, who tipped you off that Finn might be your guy?”

The advocate shuffled his datapads. “Ahem. Maz Kanata, of Takodana.” He pronounced it <i>Mazz</i>.

“Maz?” Finn said. “She didn’t even like me.” There had been that whole creepy staring-at-his-eyes thing, though. But that was ridiculous, you couldn’t recognize long lost royalty by looking at someone’s eyes. And Finn’s were just plain old brown, anyway. Nothing special.

The advocate blinked, slowly, and Finn got the impression he didn’t like Finn either. Finn crossed his arms defensively. “Fine, whatever. Just test my blood and get out of here.”

The advocate pricked Finn’s finger with a little device, then stood looking increasingly bored as it ticked away, processing the DNA scan. Poe nudged against Finn’s back with his shoulder, and Finn relaxed a little. He always felt better with someone at his back, even in stupid non-combat situations like this.

The little device finally trilled and stopped ticking, and the advocate turned it over to check the result. He stared at it for a long moment, expressionless, then blinked.

“Oh fuck,” the man said. “You’re actually him.”

SCREAMING

riskpig:

bottledspirits:

riskpig:

congenitalprogramming:

the13thdoctorbetterbeginger:

riversnogs:

It is the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. School is starting again. And the thestrals are confused by all of the attention they are getting.

oh

oh no

you BITCH

WHY IS THIS NOT A THING I’VE CONSIDERED?

No. NO. Sit the fuck down, we’re going to talk about this.

The year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Students nervously climbing into the carriages (no first years, thank god, no one wants to think about that) and eyeing the creatures in front of them. Is this some sort of stunt? Like a memorial?

Hagrid showing the fifth years the thestrals. He wonders if he should, if this is asking too much, but he thinks it would be wrong to keep the truth from them. There are more in the class who can see them than those who can’t.

He wakes to a knock on his door after nightfall. For a second he thinks it’s those three again, but no, that’s not right. He shuffles to the door, holding Fang down behind him, and finds a wide-eyed second year on his doorstep. They came to ask about the horses.

Hagrid isn’t one to turn someone away, so he ushers the child inside and puts the kettle on. He explains they’re not quite horses. They’re gentle creatures, really. Yes, you have to…you have to have seen things to see them, too. But they wouldn’t do anyone harm.

Can he see them? Why, yes, he can, has for the longest time. Ever since his Dad…ever since…

Hagrid stops for a moment, unable to speak. But the child at his table waits patiently, understanding. This is not the first time they have heard someone’s voice catch on the words. It’s reassuring, somehow, hearing an adult share the same problem.

They drink a pot of tea before Hagrid sees the kid back to the school, Fang loping along beside them. It’s reassuring to have these two massive, almost comical forms tromping to the front door. Safe.

Hagrid warns not to go out after dark again. If you want to visit, come along any time in the day.

The next time he opens his door, there are three. Third years, this time. They know a little more, more than they ought to, he thinks. Makes him feel nostalgic.

He sits them down as before and has a long talk. They’re less open, keep glancing at each other as they speak, but he can see they have questions. It’s just a matter of waiting them out.

This goes on for weeks. Hagrid sees a steady stream of students at his door until he’s sure at least half the school has walked across his mat at some point. One day McGonagall approaches him and suggests a change in the curriculum. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to move a few things up on the syllabus? If he’s willing, of course.

Hagrid leads more students into the forest. He sees their faces, eyes wide with fear, as they see the creatures in the light of day. He patiently explains that they’re quiet animals, don’t much like a lot of noise. Easier to manage, certainly. That’s why they pull the school carriages.

He finds taking them once isn’t enough. Students keep asking to see the thestrals. Bewildered, he takes them back again and again, watching as the kids sidle up to stroke the long, black wings. They hold out bits of meat to the sharp beaks and whisper calming words under their breath.

Gradually, the looks of fear subside into something else. More than once he hears someone say these things are all right. Kids show up at his doorstep to ask about what he does and what kinds of animals he’s seen. Someone even says they might like to be a teacher like he is someday.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. His eyes glisten and he makes a sound like a trumpet as he blows his nose. He hears a giggle when he knocks over the umbrella stand with his elbow.

Things have changed, he thinks. He leads children into the forest because they ask, not because they’ve been punished. Students are clambering to get into his classes when it used to be seen as a last resort. People don’t stare up at him with suspicion or fear when he walks the halls these days.

They aren’t afraid of monsters anymore. They fear the people who become them.

holy shit, woman

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)