yol-ande asked: Oh oh oh, I saw you ship Damerons, could you write something ridiculously fluffy with Finn being badass, while Rey and Poe are all starry-eyed over it? This fandom needs more Finn love. (And I need all of the fluff)
Okay I’m so sorry for the delay but
HERE. Also, bear with me, there is in
fact some fluff here, but this kind of turned into a crash course in my favorite
tropes, so the fluff is…at the end.
We’ve got dramatic rescues! We’ve
got canon references! We’ve got
hurt/comfort after interrogation! We’ve
got the Damerons being stupid in love with each other! We’ve got Rey being deadly as fuck even
severely compromised! We’ve got Finn the
patron saint of revolution! We’ve got
disguises and drugs and sweary droids! And
eventually we’ve got fluff. Also this is like…twelve pages, pushing 6K, I have no excuse. I’ve also decided that Shinedown’s Cut The Cord is the new theme song for the Stormtrooper revolution.
Poe wasn’t sure how long they had been there—definitely
days, but probably not more than a dozen.
Probably. It was hard to tell,
with irregular ration schedules, and there were no other prisoners in their dark
cell to ask. The brig was far from the
hull of the vast First Order battlecruiser, too, and although the impenetrable
black wouldn’t have helped with timekeeping, he wished they could at least see
the stars.
They didn’t seem interested in him, but they had taken
Rey from him three times since they were first captured—all his injuries were
from trying to keep them from taking her, against her direct orders. The first time, she had walked, as graceful
and serene as a dead moon, between the Stormtroopers. She had been weak with the cuffs on her
wrists, cutting her off from the Force, clean and crisp as a lightsaber slash,
but she was strong. They had returned
her to him bruised and exhausted, wilted with it, and she had bared all her
teeth at him proudly and snarled that they would never get answers out of
her.
everybody liveblogging clone wars stuff on my dash made me think
okay in the theoretical instance where eventually finn sparks off a revolution and all the stormtroopers rebel en masse…
you can’t fight with no helmet bc that’s impractical (even if seeing faces would be incredibly important and powerful) but how can you tell yourselves apart from the stormtroopers still killing for the first order?
easy. helmet decoration.
every freed/rebelling stormtrooper takes their helmet off and they make themselves bleed and they put the blood on it just like this, that same smeared handprint, with ONLY their own blood
because in a universe where so many weapons are lasers, you wind up getting a lot of carnage with no BLOOD, and it’s easy to forget people, especially stormtroopers, can even bleed at all
but what better way to say, we are men? what’s more personlike and human than bleeding?
and i picture finn somehow coming over a hill and i don’t know if it’s better if they recognize him or if they don’t but imagine the sun rising or setting just behind him, and for a moment he’s in silhouette, and they’re all faceless again
and finn just seeing the ARMY of them, the tens of hundreds (of thousands!?) of PEOPLE who’ve made themselves look like him, so they can BE like him, who’ve bled to do it, and each and every one of them have a name
DO STORMTROOPERS WHO REBEL TOGETHER–FRIENDS WHO COULDN’T BEAR TO LEAVE EACH OTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS AND SIBLINGS WHO COULDN’T STAND TO KILL EACH OTHER, LOVERS WHO COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT EACH OTHER–PAINT EACH OTHER’S HELMETS WITH THEIR BLOOD?
ARE THERE WHOLE SQUADRONS WHOSE HELMETS ARE MARKED WITH THE BLOOD OF THEIR CAPTAIN, WHO WILL FIGHT TO THE DEATH FOR THEM AND WANTS IT TO BE KNOWN?
DOES IT BECOME PART OF THE CULTURE? CAN YOU WALK UP TO A REBEL STORMTROOPER WHO’S OUT, WHO’S FREE, AND SAY “WHOSE BLOOD DID YOU WEAR?”
“MY HUSBAND,” SAYS ONE, FLASHING THEIR RING, AND THEY HAVE A HUSBAND, THEY ARE A PERSON WHO COULD MARRY, AND THEY ARE PROUD.
“MY BROTHER,” SAYS ANOTHER, AND IT DOESN’T MATTER IF THAT BLOOD WAS SHARED IN THEIR VEINS OR IF THEY WERE SIBLINGS OF CHOICE, BECAUSE THEY ARE FAMILY.
“MY BEST FRIEND,” SAYS A THIRD, AND THEY DIDN’T KNOW THE WORD ‘FRIEND’ BEFORE THEY FLED BUT IT WAS WORTH IT, SO WORTH ALL THE PAIN TO LEARN THAT WORD.
“MY COMMANDER,” ANOTHER SAYS, AND, NO, THEY ARE NOT A STORMTROOPER, NOT ANYMORE, BUT THEY ARE STILL A SOLDIER AND THEY STILL LOVE THEIR COMMANDER.
“IT WAS MINE,” ONE SAYS, PROUD AND FIERCE AND UNBROKEN, AND THEY REBELLED ALONE, ONE AGAINST MANY, AND THEY WILL NOT BE BROKEN NOW.
