#what would charles martel do?

[beansprean]

Accidentally made the extraordinarily terrible Empress Theresa required reading for this comic lmao (don't read it tho). Definitely a big meal for our boy.

My Familiar’s Ghost part 27

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of the music room, Colin Robinson sitting in the foreground with Nadja standing in front of him. He is wearing a beige party hat and clapping gleefully as Nadja, also wearing a beige party hat and scowling in confusion, reads aloud from a book titled “Empress Teresa”. The cover is a clumsy painting of a woman with long black hair in a military uniform. Nadja reads, “I was the princess of the Surr-llivan clan of F-Framing-ham, Mass… Massen-choots-test? Because besides being cute I was a whiz in school and had a good disposition. All the relatives expected great things of me. Nobody could have dreamed of what I would do a few years later, and nobody would have believed it if they’d been told.” In the background, Laszlo, also wearing a beige party hat, is playing the Hamsterdance on his harpsichord and looking back at Colin with a smile. 1b. Close up of Laszlo at the harpsichord as Nadja shrieks from offscreen, “Laszlo what the shit is this?!” Laszlo calls back, smiling, “Try to make it through the first chapter, my darling! We did promise the boy a re-do party.” Ghost Guillermo phases into the room from an adjacent wall, tugging on his fingers nervously as he smiles at the scene. He is not wearing a beige party hat because he can’t, but the ribbons of wraith energy behind him are smooth and subdued. 1c. Reverse shot over Guillermo’s shoulder as Laszlo turns to him and offers a nod of acknowledgement, as close to a thank you as Laszlo can give. Guillermo nods back with a smile. In the background, Nadja pulls the book close to her face and continues reading, “Churchill, Hitler, and Lincoln will be footnotes in dusty history books a thousand years from now, and nobody remembers Charles Martel who saved Chri-“ She pauses and gags on the name, trying again with a different inflection. “Chhheeerrryyy…” Colin, sitting in an armchair across from her, says “Pace yourself, Nadja.” There is a jumbo tub of Legos in his lap and he is dropping prices purposefully on the floor. Nadja doll is slumped comfortably in the adjacent loveseat, wearing an identical dress to Nadja’s along with a beige party hat and grinning slyly up at her counterpart.

2a. Bust of Guillermo as he watches the scene, hands tucked behind his back and smiling with affection and satisfaction. Offscreen, Nadja snaps, “Colin Robinson, this is the most terrible book I have ever read!” Colin replies happily, “Yes, it is.” 2b. Repeat. Guillermo’s eyes flick over to the side in surprise as he notices something across the room. Offscreen, Colin continues, “Start that paragraph over, I missed it.” Nadja shrieks in frustration. 2c. Waist up shot of Nandor as he enters the room through the open curtain, fingers fiddling together and beige party hat strapped to his head. He looks up in surprise, meeting Guillermo’s gaze. Offscreen, Nadja exclaims “I am skipping the Jebus-man parts!” Colin replies facetiously, “Don’t worry. Theresa never talks about religion.” 2d. Reverse shot of Guillermo again, smiling hesitantly as he lifts his hand in a cautious wave. Offscreen, Nadja asks, “My broad bear, how is this pronounced?” Laszlo responds “‘Prime Minister’, my love. It is synonymous with ‘load of horseshit’.” Nadja crows, “Ooh, that I like!” 2e. Reverse shot of Nandor, perking up with a small smile and curling his fingers up and down in a shy little wave. 2f. Repeat. Nandor frowns at himself and looks away, hand lowering awkwardly. 2g. Reverse shot from behind Nandor’s hip as he walks further into the room. Colin calls from offscreen, “Nandor! Take your shoes off before you come through!” Nandor snaps back, “I will do no such thing, Colin Robinson, I see the evil bricks you have scattered about!” Colin whines, “C’mon, I’m just a little birthday boy! It’s my birthday!” In the background, Guillermo watches Nandor pass with a nervous, longing gaze, hands twisting together anxiously. The scraps of black energy behind him multiply and swirl around, looking more like a cloak than ever before. /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #nandermo #dadzlo #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

[ficretus]

Theory: Speculating about Volume 10 through Joan of Arc references. Part 3: Crocea no more(s)

This will be my final and shortest installment of Volume 10 Joan of Arc theories. This time it will be focused around Crocea Mors and Jaune's potential new weapon. Usual disclaimer:

Speculations will be done mostly through Joan of Arc references, meaning they will be very Jaune-centric. Speculations will also imply that every major event in Joan of Arc's story will have RWBY equivalent, which is very optimistic assumption. But hey, I'll shoot at the wall and see what sticks.

You can check previous two parts in links below:

As we all know, Jaune had his sword broken by Cinder at the end of Volume 8. This matches well with Joan of Arc having her sword broken after failure at siege of Paris.

Side note, there are various accounts when and how Joan lost her sword, however, based on timeline placement and witnesses present it appears they went for "after the siege of Paris" story.

Just so we are clear, Crocea Mors does fit Joan's Sword of Saint Catherin. Both are treasured heirlooms, Joan's sword belonging to Frankish national hero Charles Martel. Breakage of both swords is a source of doubt in their respective wielder's abilities. Public starts doubting Joan as promised hero after sword breaks (and she loses at Paris) while Crocea Mors breaking symbolizes Jaune himself breaking after he had to kill Penny. If you wanna tinfoil it, I speculated Saint Catherine's voice in Joan story is represented by Penny in Jaune's, making their swords inverted versions of each other. Joan's blade was blessed by Saint Catherine, Jaune's sword was cursed by Penny's death.

____________________________________________________________

What to do with broken sword? Straight forward answer would be to copy Blake's story and reforge it, especially since lot of people in this community think Cinder will be utilized like Adam as story continues.

Looking at Joan of Arc story, I don't think that's gonna be the case. Joan's sword was unable to be fixed after it was broken. This can be translated in variety of ways. I doubt there will be 1:1 translation and for some reason local craftsmen will be unable to fix Crocea Mors. One explanation I see is that Ever After crew will arrive just before Salem's attacks begin, meaning there won't be enough time for Jaune to get his sword fixed. Another is purely psychological, Jaune won't have it fixed since he doesn't feel he deserves to wield it anymore after he killed Penny with it. Broken knight being stuck with broken blade.

Personally, I think Jaune abandoning Crocea Mors is logical step in his character growth. Instead of living in the shadow of his famous family, he needs to forge his own path forward. Getting new weapon instead of family heirloom makes sense in that regard.

____________________________________________________________

Now, I don't think this will turn into one of those Jaune power fantasy fanfictions in which he gets the gun and starts 360 no scoping every antagonist in the series. What kind of weapon he'd use is less clear looking at Joan of Arc references, but I'll throw in some speculations.

First is, forging a brand new weapon. Interesting part of Jaune as Joan of Arc is that he doesn't seem to use banner in battle. Banner was preferred item Joan brought to battle, using it way more often than her sword. It is possible banner is already represented with Jaune's shield or Semblance, but I'll go towards more straight forward representation. I could see banner being represented through some kind of bardiche like weapon. Jaune becoming polearm user would also be nod to Pyrrha, for better or worse. Although it would be weird for Jaune to completely swap weapon style more than half way through the series.

Second option is that Jaune will use some hand out blade throughout the next volume, while the matter of his permanent weapon will be resolved later on. This would fit with Joan of Arc grabbing random enemy sword and using it for the remainder of her battles.

Looking at my previous theory, there is another interesting option. In that theory, based on references to Joan's battle of Lagny, I considered it possible they'll fight Tyrian over Relic of Destruction. If that's the case, then random hand out blade Jaune gets will possibly be Relic itself. Nothing concrete here, but it's quite interesting Jaune ends up having his sword broken just before he reaches the region in which sword is the Relic. However, if this happens, I'd only expect it to be short term. I speculated before that Jaune will be captured by Cinder in theoretical Volume 11. When Joan of Arc was captured her sword was missing and she refused to admit where she hid it (her captors even referred to her sword as magical). So Jaune would at most wield it from after the Tyrian fight to before he encounters Cinder, either hiding it or entrusting it to someone else.

Last option will deal with the prospect of Jaune shaping his Aura into weapons. This sounds like something his Semblance could theoretically do. It would also allow him to utilize his massive Aura supply for something other than healing or boost. Additionally, it would continue his foiling with Cinder, making them both not have permanent weapon. This one has straight up nothing to do with Joan of Arc, but sounds fun.

___________________________________________________________

This is it for this theory as well as my Volume 10 speculations through Joan of Arc references. Although Volume 10 status is complete uncertainty, it was still fun to throw some theories about it. As usual, feel free to comment if you think I missed something or you have your own interpretations.

#rwby theory #jaune arc #rwby jaune arc #greenlight volume 10 #rwby volume 10

[manorpunk]

Who are the loony left and the loony right?

Sunny: oh this is gonna be fun. So, we should probably start with some context - there was a lot of self-sorting during the Polycrisis and we’re still living with the downstream effects of that in 2069.

Maria: And it wasn’t just an urban coasts vs rural interior thing. There were a lot of digital communities that became face-to-face communities.

Sunny: Yeah. It was kind of the silver lining to all of this. The coasts were fine, everyone knew the coasts would be fine, they still had people keeping the lights on, but in the interior it was just YOYO - that’s an acronym for You’re On Your Own - and there were some people who were really into that. If you didn’t like your life then you could just move with your internet friends to some ruins in Montana or whatever and start over.

Jacob: neo-carpetbagging, baby!

Maria: Yeah, but the odds weren’t great. The textbooks like to portray it as this brave new world, like a Thirteen Colonies redux, but it was more like… you flip a coin, if it’s heads then your new community turns into a sex cult, if it’s tails you die from contaminated water or get shot over a petty dispute, and if the coin lands on its side then you start some rural industry like brewing or beekeeping that’s boring and profitable enough to form a stable business and cover basic maintenance costs. So it really was like the Thirteen Colonies in that sense.

Jacob: Yeah, all the successful Kowloons - that’s the nickname for these frontier towns by the way, Kowloons - the successful ones were all, like, hipster company towns.

Maria: They’re not that bad. Not anymore, at least. Sorry, what was the question?

Sunny: loony left and loony right.

Maria: okay, yes. Point being, “the ideological became geographic,” as the saying goes. So, do we wanna do right or left first?

Jacob: We kinda just did. The loony left formed sex cults and the loony right shot each other over property disputes.

Sunny: there’s so much more we could talk about, though. Like the Suburban Samurai. So, in eastern America you’ve got the Boswash megalopolis on one side, you’ve got the Great Lakes Republic on the other-

Jacob: that’s me!

Sunny: -and in between it’s one big exurb full of Suburban Samurai: rentiers, small business manor-lords, get-off-my-property types… Neo New Hampshire people, basically.

Jacob: Yeah, they’re all the chuds who think they’re Charles Martel protecting their local Denny’s from Chinese invasion.

Maria: Really? I thought you would’ve liked the Suburban Samurai.

Jacob: Why the hell would I?

Maria: Because you live on a manse and dress like an 18th century cavalry officer.

Jacob: Ahem, just because I live on a vast estate with a fleet of cross-dressing servants doesn’t mean I’m not a socialist.

Sunny: the word ‘socialist’ has pretty much lost all meaning now, if that didn’t tell you already. Shall we do the loony left now?

Maria: excuse me, I think we’re forgetting something.

Jacob: oh I know where this is going.

Sunny: folks, it’s gonna get weird for a minute.

Maria: the Suburban Samurai pale in comparison to my sworn nemesis, Tidewater. The wrong side of the Appalachian mountains.

Jacob: ‘sworn nemesis,’ they’re literally on the other side of the continent.

Maria: and they’re still too close! Ladies and gentlemen, I will not rest until every last bastion of Southern perfidy has been erased from America! Dixie delenda est!

Sunny: Maria. No purges.

Maria: but how do know they don’t work if we’ve never even tried it?

[the next four minutes and twenty-three seconds have been edited from the recording]

Maria: Ahh… mommy has her gin now.

Sunny: So, the loony left!

Jacob: Slimmer pickings here. There’s a lot of off-the-grid types on the interior side of the Rockies.

Sunny: god, yeah, they’re all “but I don’t want the Global Logistics Network to track my location. The president shouldn’t be able to hijack my electronic devices whenever she wants, waaaaah.”

Jacob: what else… Maria, is Juche Cascadia still around?

Maria: Sort of. I let ‘em keep a little corner… like a zoo. *tipsy giggles* My own little open-air zoo of Maoist Third-Worldists.

Sunny: I’m stopping this before it gets weird again.

Jacob: too late.

Sunny: that’s all the time we have for today, folks!

#manorpunk #unreality #sunny roosevelt #jacob martin rider #maria von zuckerberg lorraine #thanks for the ask! #q and a

[wiremotherenergy]

my tiktok algorithm thinks im 16 again so here is MY ideal casting of if they ever make a movie of the secret history (which i both doubt and dont want) cause ive seen way too many wrong videos. first. richard MUST be gravely misinterpreted as the good guy actually and i demand he be played by a quirky charming hollywood ingenue. less weird than timothee chalamet and more weird than tom hollad are the example vibes, like miles teller pre-topgunification, or when logan lerman was in perks of being a wallflower. the cute preteen girlcrush vibe is so important for the whole direction of the movie, and if there are y/n fanfics about him on tumblr thats a plus. next the class which in my opinion should be a bunch of overall unknown/indie actors where maybe they were in an older a24 movie or mainly do theatre or are like an obscure nepo baby. a good vibe for francis typecast wise would be jaeden martell or even noah schnapp - former portrayals of sad gay children not required but has to believably have been a sad gay child (i want the ginger hair to specifically look too fake, think archie riverdale). this is already so long jesus. charles opinion (unpopular amongst dane dehaan fancast community) is i dont want him to look sleazy at all i want him to be an all american charm prettyguy type i want them to do the same thing they did when hbo cast ncw as jaime in got, except i unfortunately dont think the actor theyd get for charles would have the range to give the complex deep performance ncw did but the guy that played the love interest in where the crawdads sing movie that i saw begrudgingly is like, an acceptably flat boring option. with henry i think you could possibly go with making him poc (most probably asian) as either "blind casting" or "updating the source material" since im not sure if a major enough part of the people who would actually go see this movie would care enough about how its missing the point of the story. still this hypothetical movie would have bad reviews anyways. i predict he would have something a lil fucked up or quirky going on with his face. camilla i want to be a girl who is maybe a model or friends with lily rose depp predominantly, in the same category as the girls they got for the new pll, NOT mia wasikowska but the vibe of when mia wasikowska played jane eyre. and in a hotd world i would even suggest milly alcock cuz i think she could agree to that and it would be fun (mia goth could have been this but shes having her big moment now and has too much of a fanbase). in a compeltely opposite vein they literally have to get a random brashy popstar girlie to play judy, like charli xcx or bhad bhabie or even just go nuts with it and get keke palmer to do it. whats important is star factor and general chaotic messy vibe. bunny is difficult bc on one hand it would be fun to me if they made bunnys character the sweet poor little pathetic niceguy whose mean friends bully him for being fat stereotype but on the other hand a guy who has the aura of a victorian dandy meets content house fuckboy oscar wilde part time model would be absolutely perfect. maybe they could do both i want it to be both. and finally julian and now i get to the tiktok that made me think about this for over an hour straight i saw someone say richard gere and to that i say yes that absolutely makes sense. pick a former hollywood romcom guy whos old now but people still call him a daddy even though he is definitely way too old for that. hugh grant is also an option. im literally so smart

#moving on with my life this took away so much of my joy of life #etxt #tsh

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Frank, who do you predict the next Tumblr sexy man will be?

Good question.

A lot of people would put the next sexy man in the Frankish noble household of one of the Carolingians: Harold Godwinson, Richard I, Louis VII, or Charles Martel, based on his family name, his association with his cousin/sister, and his "cute and noble"-ness.

A lot of people wouldn't put him in the House of York. (Who cares what family members were named after him, I guess.)

As it happens, I think Richard II was a good choice for the next Tumblr sexy man based on the "cute and noble"-ness and the fact that he, like Frank, made his entry by slugging a guy in an argument.

He also has some very sexy "look how he's a rebel, a jester, etc." qualities that make him less like a boring old king.

His son, also Richard II, was an even bigger fuckup, but he was Richard III, which has to count for something.

(Richard was an older brother of the Black Prince, who was also a fuckup, in a similar fashion to Richard II, but not quite as much of a sex icon.)

#cal-is-a-cuddlefish

[girltrashstl7]

Do not be so worried about people being "WOKE" THAT YOU FALL ASLEEP. GOD SAID "DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE." GOD DID NOT SAY "PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAPPE. TO SLEEP WITH A PORN STAR LIKE STORMY DANIELS: WHILE YOUR WIFE IS IN THE HOSPITAL GIVING BIRTH: BECAUSE YOU HAPPEN TO BE A SERIAL CHEATER: WHO NEVER PLANS TO BECOME A NEW CREATURE IN CHRIST. YOU INSTEAD PLAN TO BLASPHEME: HOLY SPIRIT, JESUS, & ME: JUST KEEP COMMITTING THE SAME ADULTRY SIN & JUST KEEP ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS: THAT IS OK. BECAUSE I DO NT REALLY MEAN WHAT I SAID: THAT IS WHY I ASKED NICELY & SAID PLEASE: BECAUSE LOYALTY & COMMITTMENT IS REALLY JUST AN OPTION. OH BYE THE WAY DO NOT USE ANY PROTECTION WHEN CHEATING ON YOUR SPOUSE: SO YOU CAN ALSO BRING HOME SOME DISEASES.

Charlene Smith BLACK PEOPLE INVENTED COUNTRY MUSIC: SO ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE A LITTLE COUNTRY LIKE: DEFORD BAILEY, RUFUS "TEETOT" PAYNE, LESLEY RIDDLE, CHARLEY PRIDE, RAY CHARLES, LAMELLE PRINCE, LINDA MARTELL, POINTER SISTERS, LIONEL RICHIE ALL HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO COUNTRY MUSIC. BLACKS SLAVES BROUGHT: 1. GUITARS, 2. DRUMS, 3. BANJOS, 4. COUNTRY MUSIC TO USA FROM AFRICA: BUT RACISTS WHITE WASHED COUNTRY MUSIC & STOLE IT FROM BLACK PEOPLE LEARN YOUR DAMN HISTORY & YOU WOULD NOT EVER SAY ANY BLACK PERSON IS NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY THE COUNTRY MUSIC OUR ANCESTORS BROUGHT TO USA. TIRED OF RACIST. Republicans are re-writing the 10th commandment by complaining about Beyoncé version of Jolene. So the Bible the Republicans care so much about means NOTHING & GOD MEANS NOTHING TO THEM.

According to Megyn Kelly & all the MAGA FOLKS ON THE RIGHT GOD SHOULD HAVE SAID:

"PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAVE UNPROTRCTED SEX WITH A BUNCH OF PORN STARS LIKE STORMY DANIELS OR PROSTITUTES: THAT IS OK BECAUSE I AM GIVING YOU LICENSE TO CHEAT CAUSE I REALLY DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR FAMILY NOR DO I MEAN WHAT I SAY."

THE REAL COMMANDMENT SAYS:

You shall not covet your neighbor’s house . . . your neighbor’s spouse . . . nor anything that is your neighbor’s” (Exodus 20:17). The 10th Commandment.

Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their spouse a "DONALD TRUMP UNPROTECTED, UNSAFE SEX, MAGA LICENSE TO CHEAT WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING & SUGGESTING. DOLLY WAS POLITE PLEASE DON'T CHEAT BACK IN THE 1960'S WELL Beyoncé IS WORTH A BILLION DOLLARS SHE IS SAYING DON'T CHEAT PERIOD NO PLEASE IN THEIR CAUSE YOU & YOUR GIRLFRIEND GOING TO HAVE A BILLION DOLLAR PROBLEM.

Instead of saying please don't cheat Beyonce is saying DONT TRY IT: DONT CHEAT. I AINT GONNA STAND FOR IT. Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their husband a license to CHEAT LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING. IS THE RIGHT CONSERVATIVE FOLKS ALL WANT THE SPOUSES SLEEPING WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES WITH NO CONDOMS: WHILE THEY BLINDLY TRUST THEIR MATES LIKE MELANIA TRUSTED DONALD TRUMP. DONALD TRUMP WAS BANGING A PORN STAR: WHEN MELANIA WAS GIVING BIRTH TO BARRON: WHAT IS WRONG WITH SAYING "CHEATING ON ME IS NOT OK." DO YOU WANT YOUR WIFE CHEATING ON YOU: ARE YOU GIVING YOUR WIFE A POLITE LICENSE TO CHEAT?

[lamelleprince]

Do not be so worried about people being "WOKE" THAT YOU FALL ASLEEP. GOD SAID "DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE." GOD DID NOT SAY "PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAPPE. TO SLEEP WITH A PORN STAR LIKE STORMY DANIELS: WHILE YOUR WIFE IS IN THE HOSPITAL GIVING BIRTH: BECAUSE YOU HAPPEN TO BE A SERIAL CHEATER: WHO NEVER PLANS TO BECOME A NEW CREATURE IN CHRIST. YOU INSTEAD PLAN TO BLASPHEME: HOLY SPIRIT, JESUS, & ME: JUST KEEP COMMITTING THE SAME ADULTRY SIN & JUST KEEP ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS: THAT IS OK. BECAUSE I DO NT REALLY MEAN WHAT I SAID: THAT IS WHY I ASKED NICELY & SAID PLEASE: BECAUSE LOYALTY & COMMITTMENT IS REALLY JUST AN OPTION. OH BYE THE WAY DO NOT USE ANY PROTECTION WHEN CHEATING ON YOUR SPOUSE: SO YOU CAN ALSO BRING HOME SOME DISEASES.

Charlene Smith BLACK PEOPLE INVENTED COUNTRY MUSIC: SO ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE A LITTLE COUNTRY LIKE: DEFORD BAILEY, RUFUS "TEETOT" PAYNE, LESLEY RIDDLE, CHARLEY PRIDE, RAY CHARLES, LAMELLE PRINCE, LINDA MARTELL, POINTER SISTERS, LIONEL RICHIE ALL HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO COUNTRY MUSIC. BLACKS SLAVES BROUGHT: 1. GUITARS, 2. DRUMS, 3. BANJOS, 4. COUNTRY MUSIC TO USA FROM AFRICA: BUT RACISTS WHITE WASHED COUNTRY MUSIC & STOLE IT FROM BLACK PEOPLE LEARN YOUR DAMN HISTORY & YOU WOULD NOT EVER SAY ANY BLACK PERSON IS NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY THE COUNTRY MUSIC OUR ANCESTORS BROUGHT TO USA. TIRED OF RACIST. Republicans are re-writing the 10th commandment by complaining about Beyoncé version of Jolene. So the Bible the Republicans care so much about means NOTHING & GOD MEANS NOTHING TO THEM.

According to Megyn Kelly & all the MAGA FOLKS ON THE RIGHT GOD SHOULD HAVE SAID:

"PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAVE UNPROTRCTED SEX WITH A BUNCH OF PORN STARS LIKE STORMY DANIELS OR PROSTITUTES: THAT IS OK BECAUSE I AM GIVING YOU LICENSE TO CHEAT CAUSE I REALLY DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR FAMILY NOR DO I MEAN WHAT I SAY."

THE REAL COMMANDMENT SAYS:

You shall not covet your neighbor’s house . . . your neighbor’s spouse . . . nor anything that is your neighbor’s” (Exodus 20:17). The 10th Commandment.

Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their spouse a "DONALD TRUMP UNPROTECTED, UNSAFE SEX, MAGA LICENSE TO CHEAT WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING & SUGGESTING. DOLLY WAS POLITE PLEASE DON'T CHEAT BACK IN THE 1960'S WELL Beyoncé IS WORTH A BILLION DOLLARS SHE IS SAYING DON'T CHEAT PERIOD NO PLEASE IN THEIR CAUSE YOU & YOUR GIRLFRIEND GOING TO HAVE A BILLION DOLLAR PROBLEM.

Instead of saying please don't cheat Beyonce is saying DONT TRY IT: DONT CHEAT. I AINT GONNA STAND FOR IT. Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their husband a license to CHEAT LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING. IS THE RIGHT CONSERVATIVE FOLKS ALL WANT THE SPOUSES SLEEPING WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES WITH NO CONDOMS: WHILE THEY BLINDLY TRUST THEIR MATES LIKE MELANIA TRUSTED DONALD TRUMP. DONALD TRUMP WAS BANGING A PORN STAR: WHEN MELANIA WAS GIVING BIRTH TO BARRON: WHAT IS WRONG WITH SAYING "CHEATING ON ME IS NOT OK." DO YOU WANT YOUR WIFE CHEATING ON YOU: ARE YOU GIVING YOUR WIFE A POLITE LICENSE TO CHEAT?

[beyhivecountrymusicradio]

Do not be so worried about people being "WOKE" THAT YOU FALL ASLEEP. GOD SAID "DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE." GOD DID NOT SAY "PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAPPE. TO SLEEP WITH A PORN STAR LIKE STORMY DANIELS: WHILE YOUR WIFE IS IN THE HOSPITAL GIVING BIRTH: BECAUSE YOU HAPPEN TO BE A SERIAL CHEATER: WHO NEVER PLANS TO BECOME A NEW CREATURE IN CHRIST. YOU INSTEAD PLAN TO BLASPHEME: HOLY SPIRIT, JESUS, & ME: JUST KEEP COMMITTING THE SAME ADULTRY SIN & JUST KEEP ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS: THAT IS OK. BECAUSE I DO NT REALLY MEAN WHAT I SAID: THAT IS WHY I ASKED NICELY & SAID PLEASE: BECAUSE LOYALTY & COMMITTMENT IS REALLY JUST AN OPTION. OH BYE THE WAY DO NOT USE ANY PROTECTION WHEN CHEATING ON YOUR SPOUSE: SO YOU CAN ALSO BRING HOME SOME DISEASES.

Charlene Smith BLACK PEOPLE INVENTED COUNTRY MUSIC: SO ALL BLACK PEOPLE ARE A LITTLE COUNTRY LIKE: DEFORD BAILEY, RUFUS "TEETOT" PAYNE, LESLEY RIDDLE, CHARLEY PRIDE, RAY CHARLES, LAMELLE PRINCE, LINDA MARTELL, POINTER SISTERS, LIONEL RICHIE ALL HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO COUNTRY MUSIC. BLACKS SLAVES BROUGHT: 1. GUITARS, 2. DRUMS, 3. BANJOS, 4. COUNTRY MUSIC TO USA FROM AFRICA: BUT RACISTS WHITE WASHED COUNTRY MUSIC & STOLE IT FROM BLACK PEOPLE LEARN YOUR DAMN HISTORY & YOU WOULD NOT EVER SAY ANY BLACK PERSON IS NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY THE COUNTRY MUSIC OUR ANCESTORS BROUGHT TO USA. TIRED OF RACIST. Republicans are re-writing the 10th commandment by complaining about Beyoncé version of Jolene. So the Bible the Republicans care so much about means NOTHING & GOD MEANS NOTHING TO THEM.

According to Megyn Kelly & all the MAGA FOLKS ON THE RIGHT GOD SHOULD HAVE SAID:

"PLEASE DO NOT COVET ANOTHER PERSON'S SPOUSE: BUT IF YOU DO HAVE UNPROTRCTED SEX WITH A BUNCH OF PORN STARS LIKE STORMY DANIELS OR PROSTITUTES: THAT IS OK BECAUSE I AM GIVING YOU LICENSE TO CHEAT CAUSE I REALLY DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR FAMILY NOR DO I MEAN WHAT I SAY."

THE REAL COMMANDMENT SAYS:

You shall not covet your neighbor’s house . . . your neighbor’s spouse . . . nor anything that is your neighbor’s” (Exodus 20:17). The 10th Commandment.

Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their spouse a "DONALD TRUMP UNPROTECTED, UNSAFE SEX, MAGA LICENSE TO CHEAT WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING & SUGGESTING. DOLLY WAS POLITE PLEASE DON'T CHEAT BACK IN THE 1960'S WELL Beyoncé IS WORTH A BILLION DOLLARS SHE IS SAYING DON'T CHEAT PERIOD NO PLEASE IN THEIR CAUSE YOU & YOUR GIRLFRIEND GOING TO HAVE A BILLION DOLLAR PROBLEM.

Instead of saying please don't cheat Beyonce is saying DONT TRY IT: DONT CHEAT. I AINT GONNA STAND FOR IT. Dolly Parton gave Beyonce permission to remake Jolene: so nobody should be complaining about it: especially Megyn Kelly who is on her second marriage: unless she wants her husband whoring around on her with a porn star like Stormy Daniel's. What is wrong with saying no I do not want my husband cheating on me: because I personally would have a problem with that. What idiot wants to give their husband a license to CHEAT LIKE WHAT MEGYN KELLY IS DOING. IS THE RIGHT CONSERVATIVE FOLKS ALL WANT THE SPOUSES SLEEPING WITH PORN STARS & PROSTITUTES WITH NO CONDOMS: WHILE THEY BLINDLY TRUST THEIR MATES LIKE MELANIA TRUSTED DONALD TRUMP. DONALD TRUMP WAS BANGING A PORN STAR: WHEN MELANIA WAS GIVING BIRTH TO BARRON: WHAT IS WRONG WITH SAYING "CHEATING ON ME IS NOT OK." DO YOU WANT YOUR WIFE CHEATING ON YOU: ARE YOU GIVING YOUR WIFE A POLITE LICENSE TO CHEAT?

[lightdancer1]

The Carolingians are the founding fathers of Europe:

There is something of a tendency these days in the 21st Century to over-correct for the imperial pretensions of the European states that conquered three quarters of the known world wherever Japan and the United States did not, and in particular to simply invert the rhetoric of colonialism such that yesterday's superman-heroes are today's supervillain-demons. This is of course an irony in that it simply restores the same narrative with good and evil switched, not actually challenging it. Why does this matter?

Because this book charts the origin of Western and Central Europe as a common civilization, the creation of the Carolingian/Pippinid dynasty, which was the major bid in Western Europe to re-establish a single empire. Size and inertia undid the effort, but the legacy of it was such that a still pagan and tribal Europe east of the Rhine was drawn into the rise of kingdoms and the infrastructures of states and civilizations, with common frames of reference, and the division of Catholic/Western Europe and Orthodox/Eastern and Northern Europe began.

In doing so they established the basis of feudalism (which the major book that seeks to correct the narrative that feudalism was real did so by virtue of semantics games that didn't erase that political power was defined by land ownership in a web of mutually intertwined obligations of private citizens and not a public sector, which is what European feudalism means), the Apostolic civilization of the medieval era, revived Latin as a written language of scholarship, and secured the frontiers of Catholic Europe against Byzantines, Magyars, the pagan peoples of the north and the east, and the Islamic armies that marched into Aquitaine, of which the most famous victory was the Battle of Tours.

A cynic will note that since Islam expanded into the regions of the Golden Horde and remains there to this day in spite of the best efforts of Romanovs and Soviets to exterminate it and presumably Putin's at the same, that there was nothing to stop an Islamic world succeeding a Christian one in Europe if Charles Martel and company didn't prevent that. That they did really was a point of rifting between the worlds, amplified by the Byzantines serving as the main shield and stopping point without which the same thing happens but from the Balkans north instead of France.

In reading this, too, one sees no small amount of parallels with the imperial successes of Qin, Han, Tang, Yuan, Ming, and Qing, or of Ghana, Mali, and Songhai. When imperial cultures serve as the culture-hearths of later ages in other parts of the world they are held to be progressive because of a set of intellectually lazy assumptions that empire is progressive as long as it isn't white or Christian as opposed to noting that empires are empires regardless of religion or geographic location.

So too, ultimately, is it that Charles the Great more than the Roman Empire made Europe by forging the synthesis of tribal societies, Christianity, feudalism, and new standards of public and political power that do not quite match the old world of Roman and barbarian and became something utterly new. Charles the Great had no idea that in around a thousand years from his own successes the distant descendants of the worlds he built (and those of the ones built by Cyril and Methodius in helping to spur the full conversion of the East Slavs of Kyivan Rus to Christianity as well) would go on to overrun so much of the world.

9/10.

#lightdancer comments on history #book reviews #carolingian empire #medieval history

[this-europe]

Pepin of Landen

In the post Is Herstal the birthplace of Europe? I did not mention that Pipin of Herstal had a grandfather. I said Herstal was the the place where the Pippinide dynasty began. This is based on the fact that the sources makes this the place where both Pipin II and Charles Martel and maybe even Charlemagne was born. Old Pepin of Landen, well, he might have been from Landen, but some scholars now says that this was something made up in twelfth century sources [find reference].  But it true that this Pepin of Landen is the first Pepin and that his fathers name was Carloman, but we do not know anything about him. Pepin I daughter Begga (wonderful name) married  Ansegisel and Pepin of Herstal was their son. Now  Ansegisel was supposedly the son of the famous  Saint Arnulf, bishop of Metz. That’s what most sources says, but new history questions this, as their seems to be a lack of sources here as well (citation]. The real reason the argument goes, was that the Carolingians liked the idea of being the heir of Pepin and Arnulf, which where good friends. And that fits the whole Carolingian program of making of Christendom and it would be nice if it was true, I guess.

[arcticdementor]

“Bourgeois Values,” “Anti-capitalism,” and Restoration.

(Time for another exercise in wasted effort in writing a long post nobody’s going to bother to read.)

Now, I don't exactly like using the term "bourgeois," what with the Marxist baggage and polysemy leading to ambiguity. But, lacking a better term for "bourgeois values" — as used by the likes of Amy Wax — I find myself using the term in this essay.

Now, per the polysemy mentioned above, the values of the "bourgeoisie" have been characterized in a number of ways by different folks from differing perspectives. "Materialism" — particularly in the sense of prioritizing material concerns over spiritual or other non-material concerns — is common, as are "philistinism" and conspicuous consumption. Or, there's also there’s more positive formulations, like that of Deirdre McCloskey, or the description from Wax and Alexander:

Get married before you have children and strive to stay married for their sake. Get the education you need for gainful employment, work hard, and avoid idleness. Go the extra mile for your employer or client. Be a patriot, ready to serve the country. Be neighborly, civic-minded, and charitable. Avoid coarse language in public. Be respectful of authority. Eschew substance abuse and crime.

I'd definitely rate this sort of thing as better than the kind of alternative one sees in places like the "hillbilly" communities suffering in the opioid crisis, the "rust belt," dysfunctional inner cities, etc. Now, the criticism of this I see is almost entirely from the left, and mostly consists of posing these values as some matter of "-ist." For example, Elie Mystal attacking Robert L. Woodson's defense of Wax, Alexander, and bourgeois values, as Uncle Tom groveling:

If a white guy said this, the only people defending him would be Nazis, but because a black guy wrote it, it falls to me to point out that this right here has ALWAYS BEEN the argument deployed by House Negroes to justify their position. I PROMISE YOU that if you went back to 1830 and asked the chuckling HNIC how he can live with himself, he’d say: “Look at my back. It ain’t got no scars because I reject undisciplined and irresponsible behavior. Without me, this whole damn plantation would fall apart. Now please excuse me, it’s time for Master to take a dump and I need to be there to wipe his ass.”

I point out that Woodson’s argument is steeped in the long history of coonery not to denigrate Woodson — his own words have done that far better than I could — I point it out to show that large swaths of Black America have adopted “bourgeois values” from the very beginning. Post emancipation, the bourgeois blacks actually won out. Now, most all of us African-Americans have totally adopted the white man’s cultural norms and are just trying to get our share of the rewards.

(I'm not unsympathetic to the argument that it's a foreign imposition of "white man’s cultural norms," and that resistance in favor of defending one's indigenous culture and values against such foreign impositions is valid; I just wish it were applied more consistently and broadly for all rival cultures to "universal culture,” as well as recognizing the tension between rejection of an alien culture's values and yet expecting said culture to provide you with all the benefits of those values all the same.)

But I'd like to push back from the right.

First, there's how the American right has deeply internalized these norms, and how this affects the issue of political organization and activism — or lack thereof — on the right versus the left. Especially the sort of thing David Z. Hines talks about. When you ask you're average Republican voter why we don't do this sort of thing, the usual answers are some variety of "nobody's got time for that; we've got jobs to go to and bills to pay—" (as if the left were composed entirely of college students, welfare layabouts, and paid astroturf) "—and besides, that's Not Who We Are." (As Hines put it: "THAT’S NOT HOW THE RIGHT DOES THINGS, they bellow, by which I assume they mean unpleasant stuff like “winning.”")

I'd like, some other time, to explore this in further depth, but in short, these replies all reduce to the same thing — the tactics are rejected because of incompatibility with the above "bourgeois values."

But our choices aren't only "bourgeois values" — with concommittant dedication to being dignified losers who will somehow win through our willingness to let the enemy destroy us — or Detroit/Middletown. Because, consider, what would Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, think of those sort of "I've got a mortgage to pay" excuses? Or Otto, Fürst von Bismarck, Herzog zu Lauenburg? Charles the Hammer? Godfrey of Bouillon? George Monck, 1st Duke of Albemarle? What would the sort of man who rated non-material things like *honor* highly enough to risk their lives over them think of this sort of "think of the bottom line" mentality? What about aristocratic values?

I'm also somewhat hesitant about using the term "capitalism" unqualified, for the same Marxist-baggage-and-polysemy reasons as "bourgeois." On the one hand, I've seen people both on the far left and the far right use "capitalism" to mean pretty much anything short of outright Communism, and on the other, there's the "real capitalism has never been tried!" libertarians for whom the existence of a single business regulation renders a system "non-capitalist." Add in that I accept the arguments, by Jim Donald and others, that the Marxist model of "Capital" as entity/class is fundamentally inaccurate, and that "capitalists" are never actually the people in charge.

That said, this is where I have some overlap with what is often characterized as "anti-capitalism." Because I'm against the system which promotes and selects for the above "bourgeois values." Not in the sense of wanting to replace them with some sort of "socialist values," or with the antithesis of Wax and Alexander's list, but in the cause of restoring aristocratic values. As I once said a couple years back at Slate Star Codex:

But competent at what is key. Here, it’s “the aristocratic being overwhelmed by the competent” at making money. After all, there was a previous period where being competent at making money didn’t let you “overwhelm” the aristocrats. And, of course, there’s the issue of how the aristocrat lineages became such in the first place, which was, basically, as warlords. They were competent at being and leading a warrior elite. So there was a time when being capable at breaking faces on horseback was more important than being capable at making money, so the leaders-of-face-breakers and their descendants ruled.

Of course, I now dispute the idea that it was the money-making "bourgeoisie" who actually "overwhelmed" the aristocrats, or that it happened at the time the conventional narrative places it. For example, Wikipedia has it as "the late-16th and early 17th centuries" when the developing urban business class "had become the financial – thus political – forces that deposed the feudal order."

A better model, I'd say, is that changes in military technologies — particularly, the decline of castles — led to a trend of centralization of power away from the distributed feudal hierarchy (with weak, "first among equals" monarchs) towards "absolute monarchy" and the rise of modern states, and that the "bourgeoisie" were an effect, not a driving cause, a useful foil for centralizing monarchs to leverage against an aristocracy based in control of agricultural lands. Aristocracy and "military power in the realm of politics" looks to have still been pretty powerful, at least in most of Europe, through the English Restoration, and through the Napoleonic wars. From the very same Wikipedia page:

The English Civil War (1642–51), the American War of Independence (1775–83), and French Revolution (1789–99) were partly motivated by the desire of the bourgeoisie to rid themselves of the feudal and royal encroachments on their personal liberty, commercial prospects, and the ownership of property. In the 19th century, the bourgeoisie propounded liberalism, and gained political rights, religious rights, and civil liberties for themselves and the lower social classes; thus the bourgeoisie was a progressive philosophic and political force in Western societies.

[Emphasis added.]

Nor is the rise of science as big a factor as some portray; after all, "father of chemistry" and pioneer of the scientific method Robert Boyle was the son of Richard Boyle, 1st Earl of Cork, and it was the restored monarchy of Charles II that chartered The Royal Society out of Boyle's "invisible college." The scientific progress of the likes of Newton thrived under the Restoration aristocratic system. So, I reject the idea that aristocratic virtues are achievable only by reversion to "ignorant superstition" and 1400s technology.

That is, it looks like 1848, and the surrounding decades, were more of a turning point with regards to aristocratic values than any time in "the late-16th and early 17th centuries." The Crimean War, with Jim's favored example of the smearing of Lord Cardigan and elevation of Florence Nightengale, is another mid-19th century case. And, also [https://blog.jim.com/politics/defining-restoration-and-reaction/]per Jim[/l], this looks driven less by "capitalists" as by "priests." Wikipedia, again, has the "capitalists" having ascended to "the upper class" only by the end of the 19th century. And there, it looks to me like the elites at the forefronts of the various social reform movements, most with roots in one or another (mostly Protestant) religious "awakening," were clearly more powerful than "capitalists," whose influence is frequently overstated. That is, in line with Jim's recurring thesis, "warrior rule" was slowly replaced not by "merchant rule," but by the "priestly rule" of the post-Puritan religion, still headquartered in Harvard and Yale, with continuity of organization, personnel, and institutions all the way back to the Roundheads.

I see no reason why "bourgeous values" must inevitably displace "aristocratic values," nor that the latter is, as some claim, fundamentally incompatible with scientific progress. So, how do we of the “Red Tribe” go about prying ourselves away from our stubborn, self-defeating adherence to bourgeous values and shifting the system toward selecting for aristocratic ones again?

#long post #tl;dr #nobody's going to bother to read this #why am I wasting my time on this? #bourgeois values #aristocratic values #what would lord wellington do? #what would charles martel do?

[bookishofalder]

Night Changes [Seven]

Summary: An unexpected attack cuts the final tethers of restraint for Poe and the reader.

Warnings: Language, violence, blood, mentions of attempted assault, choking, injury description (note RED cuts to skip past uncomfortable parts if preferred), Smut—PiV, fingering, squirting, oral. W— +14K.

A/N: If there was ever a chapter I would beg for feedback/thoughts, this is it. Please tell me you like it. Oh god, soothe my worried mind.

It was tempting, the urge to roll your eyes as the man before you moved to stand too close. You smirked, waiting to see if he was serious in his attempt to corner you or if he would scamper off the moment you pulled your knife from your thigh holster where it was hidden beneath your dress.

There was a darkness in his gaze that made your hand twitch at your side, and here you had thought Canto Bight would be relatively uneventful. But it appeared you caught his eye and your disguise as just another casino patron worked because he had followed you unexpectedly into the foyer off of the main ballroom, where you had gone to wait for Poe and Temmin to return.

The three of you were here for intel promised by a very wealthy ally, so dressing the part was important for blending in with the privileged crowds. You were sure the man before you thought you weak enough to bully, a rich girl he could take advantage of.

You were annoyed, wishing you’d gone with Poe instead of Temmin, that you hadn’t offered to keep watch for any signs of your enemies because you felt you were the least suspicious of the three of you. BB8 stayed with you, but when you’d seen the man following you over your shoulder you told the droid to hide and it had zipped behind a potted plant in the corner of the foyer, beeping coyly.

You had first assumed he was a guard, perhaps about to tell you that you were in the wrong place if you were looking for a fresher, but when he stepped around you and blocked your path you quickly realized he was something else entirely. His suit, you could tell now from close up, was immensely expensive and he reeked of cologne.

There were two hallways over his shoulder, one which Poe and Temmin had gone down to meet with the contact, and the other which branched off to various parts of the greater building. Both were quiet, and so you knew not to expect any sudden interruptions that might save you the trouble of having to incapacitate the man.

But, you could easily handle one lone wolf who bit off more than he could chew.

Which was why it came as a very great surprise to you when you felt another presence behind you, but before you could do more than stiffen you felt pressure against your spine; a second man had snuck in and was pressing a knife to you. Now you understood that the first man wasn’t blocking your path; he was distracting you.

So less of a lone wolf, more of a predator with a partner. Bile rose in your throat and you glared at the man in front of you. He smirked now, taking another step toward you so that both men were almost pressed up against you, sandwiching you between them. “You’re a pretty little number.” He hissed, one hand shooting out to grab your throat.

You wanted to fight, but the knife at your back was a heavy warning of what could happen and you knew you needed to play your cards right. No pun intended. You’d been cornered before, of course, but always by First Order officers. Rich men who wanted what they couldn’t have were not on your list of experiences before this, and you wondered how best to deal with them.

“Fuck you,” You seethed, and the hand at your neck tightened fractionally. More of a threat than anything else.

His words though were a clear threat. “No, we’ll fuck you, doll.”

The way they got you onto the floor, the ease and swiftness of it, told you they’d done this together before. It sickened you, made fury rise inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to pull the knife from your holster and drive it into the hand at your throat. You made a noise, a growl, and the man with the knife finally spoke up.

“She’s a wild one, probably best to knock her out.”

You were going to kill them. Whatever happened, their blood would be soaking into this plush carpet before the end of the night. The first man moved so that he was straddling your chest, his weight on his hunches, and grinned down at you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have our fun and be on our way. We aren’t going to hurt you so long as you don’t struggle.” He immediately contradicted himself when the hand at your throat tightened, pressing at the sides in a way that cut off airflow without completely crushing your throat. They wanted you to pass out.

You went limp, conserving your energy as you scowled up at the man. The reality of your situation was now enough to cause panic to bubble up; Poe and Temmin hadn’t been gone long. The contact would invite them for a drink, chat with them briefly before passing along the intel. They would find you here, after.

No, that couldn’t happen. It would kill Poe, and he wouldn’t be able to leave until he found the men. You whimpered, black spots started to dance in your vision and you saw, from the corner of your eye, a blur of orange and white zoom down the hallway your squadmates had ventured not long ago.

The second man was already getting excited, his free hand brushing over your face, touching your lips. Even without any air coming in, you tried to bite him. He jerked his finger back, cursing, and the man holding your throat threw his head back to laugh loudly, the pressure releasing in his distraction. You think he started to tease the other man, but everything was confusing now and instincts overtook your body, pulling in air-too much air, too quickly.

Scream.

Yes, you needed to scream. One good, long one that someone would hear, or at least loud enough to scare them off of you in case someone did come looking for the source. You kept pulling in air and it was painful your vision blurring, and you think you were about to pass out. Faces appeared in your mind. Two very distinct, very familiar faces; Charlie and Poe. Your protectors, your family, your love.

Just like that, you had what you needed to find the strength to scream.

It came out in one long, very loud wail, the sound of it echoing off of the walls and back to you before you passed out.

“POOOOOEEEEEE!”

+

The Martell family moved off, having given their words of sorrow and sympathy, and Charlie tightened the arm he had secured around his mother’s shoulders. She was the strong, silent type like him; whereas you always took after dad. He was keeping close to mom today, providing her with the support she needed and knowing that you were being well taken care of by the one person who could provide the tender love you required.

Charlie glanced around the room as mom took a sip of water, seeking you in the crowd. His eyes landed on Dad's green armchair in the corner, where you were curled up in Poe’s lap, face pressed into his neck as you shook with sobs. He could see his best friend whispering to you, his hand rubbing up at down your back, no doubt repeating words of comfort. He must have felt Charlie’s gaze, his eyes flicking up suddenly before he smiled sadly.

In many ways, it was a beautiful thing to behold the love which you and Poe had for one another. Even as young as you all were, no one could doubt or question that you were both made for one another-except, of course, for yourselves.

Charlie could almost be jealous if he hadn’t spent years around you and seen how natural it seemed to come to you both. He couldn’t be angry that his best friend loved you so deeply, that he knew what to do to comfort you, to care for you, knew when it was needed without Charlie even needing to ask. Hell, even dad had noticed, mentioned it to Charlie during that last visit...

Dad was smiling at Charlie, who sat in the chair next to his bed in the medical facility. It was a nice private room, the kind that the staff made a little homier because it was where the terminal patients came to live out their last days. Mom had taken you and Poe with her to get tea in the nearby lounge, leaving Charlie alone with dad one last time. He sighed, admitting to dad now that they were alone that it didn’t feel fair to lose his father at sixteen. And you were barely fourteen!

Dad chuckled sadly, “I want to stay more than you know, son. I have to tell you, Charlie, that I’m already more than proud of who you are and I know you’ll continue to be a remarkable person. I told your sister the same, but she’s still young, she’ll need more reminders,” Dad paused to take a breath and Charlie waited patiently, taking hold of one of his hands. “I know you’ll always take care of her, put her before anything else. Even the fight, it comes second to her. Though I expect you’ll have help. Wish I could have been around to see those two get married one day.”

Charlie grinned, “You noticed them too?” His father nodded, eyes bright despite the sickness. “How could anyone not, I suppose. Except them.” Charlie added, rolling his eyes fondly.

Dad laughed again, “They’ll realize it when they’re ready. You’re all too young for love anyway,” He joked, giving Charlie a mock stern look. “Just make sure that whatever they do, you focus on your own happiness too, son.”

He squeezed Charlie’s hand weakly, he smiled at his father, “I promise I’ll take care of her, dad. And mom, she’ll need me more.” Dad nodded, his eyes a little wet but so filled with love that Charlie could only stare at him for a few minutes before continuing. “You want me to beat him up when they do finally kiss, though?”

Another weak laugh, followed by a wink, and then Charlie spent a few more minutes talking with his dad for the last time, before eventually mom, you and Poe filtered back in.

He felt a lot of love and joy despite the fucking misery of it, until Dad's eyes slipped shut the final time and you all kissed him before stepping out to leave mom alone with the nurse. You were wrapped around Charlie, who had carried you out of the room, and he passed you over to Poe, asking his friend to take you home while he took care of mom. Poe pressed his forehead to Charlie’s before doing just that, his own eyes leaking tears.

Now, Charlie wondered if Poe had stopped touching you since that day. Perhaps he simply switched between carrying you and keeping his arm around your shoulders, anchoring you down in safety and love, letting you grieve while keeping you from falling too far into the darkness.

Poe met his eyes across the room, wordlessly asking ‘do you need me?’ And Charlie smiled back, shaking his head. Because Poe was already doing exactly what he needed him to, cooing softly in your ear as you trembled and cried quietly, protecting you while Charlie held up his mother and in turn, she held him up, thanking him for being strong, for loving so hard.

Charlie thought he could love as much as he wanted, it would still never compare to the love between Poe and you. It made him smile.

+

Poe was walking with Temmin at his side, the contact leading them through the extravagant hallways to the room where their source would pass over the intel promised to the Resistance. Intel that could help track down a man that had something the General needed. He was an ally to the Resistance, not a neutral or ‘for profit’ type but a true ally who pushed through funds for them as much as intel. Coming in person to the casino he owned, dressed to the nines in finery that felt foreign, sitting over a glass of champagne-it was the least they could do.

And Poe had to admit, the moment you’d stepped out of the fresher on the small ship Black squad had taken to come to Canto Bight, he’d become gleeful over the necessity to dress up. Because you were gorgeous, dazzlingly so in a golden, glittering dress, your legs bare, hair styled loose, a touch of make-up on your face. He thought you were so beautiful, and he wanted to tell you but didn’t trust himself to say it right, so he’d grinned before turning away and letting out a low whistle. Calling ‘looking good, sweetheart’ over his shoulder.

They were approaching a large, ornate door that the man leading them gestured toward, indicating their contact was on the other side. Poe thanked him for his help, but before he could move the final steps to the door a familiar sound suddenly entered the hall; BB8 was zooming towards him, beeping frantically.

Exchanging a curious look with Temmin, Poe dropped down to one knee as the droid rolled to a stop before him. Despite Poe’s fluency in binary, he was only catching words due to the panicked, too-fast rate at which the droid communicated. He gathered ‘attack’ and ‘knife’ and wondered if BB8 was telling him you had stabbed someone.

It wouldn’t have been the first time on a mission you’d done so.

“Buddy, slow down, I can’t understand you,” Poe hushed the droid, “Say it again, slower.”

The droid repeated itself, slowly.

Poe was moving before he finished. “Captain, go in without me. BB8, stay with him.” He ordered over his shoulder. He heard Temmin’s worried affirmative reply. And then he was running, faster than he had in his entire existence, blood roaring in his ears. Poe ran because the message was clear.

You were being attacked.

And he didn’t like how BB8 had phrased it, saying you ‘couldn’t breathe'. He didn’t know if he was about to find you with Storm Troopers or undercover First Order fighters, but regardless being unable to breathe didn’t sound like their usual treatment of suspected Rebels. It only drove him to run faster through the twisting hallway, forgetting his expensive clothing or even the importance of remaining undercover, his focus solely on you now.

You had offered to stay behind. Because it was the best option, and Canto Bight was an easy enough place to blend in. So who had made you?

Poe half expected to round the final corner up ahead and find you waiting for him with your enemy incapacitated, or otherwise in a standoff he would have to join in on the fight with.

He never expected anything like what was about to happen.

Before he reached the end of the hall, an ear-splitting shriek filled the air and Poe’s veins turned to ice, his breath catching.

“POOOOOEEEEEE!”

You had never made a sound like that before in your life, and blind, all-consuming rage overtook every facet of Poe’s being-whoever, whatever, made you scream like that was about to fucking die. He came tearing around the corner and his eyes fell on the most gut-wrenching, heart-stopping sight-you, laying still on the floor as a man straddled your chest, one hand wrapped around your throat. A second man stood next to you; both men had their backs to Poe and appeared to be watching you...

Were you dying? Dead?

They didn’t hear Poe coming, neither of them even turned around when he pulled the knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and leapt at the standing man. He slit his throat without thought, already looking toward the man still straddling you, who had released his hold on your neck to peer around curiously. He looked just in time to see his friend collapse to the floor, had enough time to jump back in fear, mouth opening in horror.

It didn’t matter, though. His futile attempt to block Poe only served to aid his aim, so that the knife he slashed out could be thrust down and into the soft flesh between his collarbone and throat. Poe snarled, slamming him back into the wall to ensure he didn’t fall onto you, before yanking the knife out and finishing him off with a firm swipe of the blade over his throat, cutting through the tendons and blinking when a spray of blood landed on him.

Stashing the knife back into his pocket and glancing up at the closed door, Poe stumbled forward and dropped to his knees next to you, adrenaline coursing through his body and keeping his hand steady as he sought out your pulse point. He could already see bruising bleeding over the soft skin of your throat, darkening it, and he felt his rage ebb away into a panic so severe that he almost missed the steady beat of your heart.

“Oh fuck,” He gasped out, a modicum of relief seeping through the panic. He scooped you up quickly, spinning around and making his way toward the hallway opposite the one he’d just come from. He groaned when he realized he wasn’t sure where to go, which door led to an exit-you had the entire place memorized. But you were breathing steadily in his arms, still passed out, and Poe needed to follow his gut on this because you’re life depended on him getting you to the safety of the ship.

He couldn’t cut through the casino, so he opted to simply try each door in the hall ahead until one of them lead to a room with a window he could climb out of. Kare was waiting on the ship, he could send her in as backup once he was out. It was the second door that he shouldered through that lead to him gasp in relief-it led onto a patio, on the ground floor. He glanced around, confirming no one was in sight before tearing off at a run, holding you tight in his arms. Everything was happening in such a blur.

He tapped on his comm, “Kare! Please tell me we have bacta shots on the ship.”

Her voice crackled through in alarm, “What’s happened? We only have spray-“

“Shit!” He growled, “I’m coming back with the Major-she was attacked, get out the medkit and prepare to head to the casino and wait outside for Temmin, he needs to have a backup-“

“You got it, Commander!” She replied swiftly before the line went dead and he knew she’d have switched over to Temmin’s channel to give him the update.

When Poe boarded the ship a few minutes later, Kare was waiting at the top of the ramp and gasped at the sight of you in his arm, passed out. She paused, eyes on Poe “Whose blood is that, Commander?”

“It’s not hers,” Poe replied, setting you down on the only bed the tiny ship had and picking up the medical kit Kare had left out for him, “I killed two men. Make sure Temmin and BB8 get back here with the intel, I’ll have the ship ready to depart.” She confirmed she heard him before running down the ramp and out of sight.

Poe set to work quickly, first tugging a rolled blanket from the end of the bed and covering you with it, then seeking out your pulse to confirm it was still beating steadily. He then uncapped the bacta spray and gently tilted your head back; exposing your heavily bruised throat, and carefully opening your mouth.

“Oh my sweet girl,” He sobbed out, first spraying into your open mouth so that the spray would drip down into your throat and reduce the swelling, then again to the outside skin. It would help, he comforted himself, “My sweet, sweet girl, I’m here. I’ve got you, please, please be okay.” He pleaded, his voice a strained whisper as he stroked your hair gently off of your face, waiting for the spray to do its work. He thinks he kept talking, while his eyes watched your face, every second torture until he saw movement behind your eyelids.

“Mmm,” You moaned out a strangled sound, your face tightening as you registered the pain. Your eyes suddenly snapped open and he saw panic flash there, a fear he’d never seen on your face before that shattered his heart right in his chest.

“Baby,” He whispered, bringing his face over yours so you could see him clearly, “It’s me, I’ve got you, sweet girl. We’re on the ship, we’re safe.” He promised you, dropping his hand to hold yours under the blanket. You gazed at him for a second, then dropped your eyes to search over him and he glanced down, realizing he was...still covered in blood.

“Ah-okay?” You wheezed, your voice was scratchy, but your brows pinched together in an expression that cleared up your meaning.

“I’m fine,” He assured you, leaning down at pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t try to speak until we get you looked at, okay? Does anything else hurt?”

He drew back to watch your face, but you shook your head slightly to indicate you were okay. He cupped your cheeks then, needing to touch you, to feel you alive and warm under his now trembling fingers. You noticed his shaky hands, one of your own coming out from beneath the blanket to reach up and stroke his jaw.

A shuddering, retched sob tore out of him as you did this familiar comforting gesture, attempting to ease his pain when you were the one that had been harmed. Tears no longer threatened, but spilled from his eyes as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours, “My sweet girl, y-you scared me, there, thought I-I-“ He broke off, unable to even say the words. You kept caressing his jaw, the motion soothing to you as well, he gathered from the expression on your face. “I killed them. Both.” He admitted. You responded by merely widening your eyes slightly, then shutting them in understanding.

He watched you for a few moments, then let his own eyes shut as he lowered his head and pressed his forehead to yours, trying to reign in his emotions so that he could get the ship ready to go home. He pulled back when you attempted to speak again, your voice a little clearer thanks to the spray.

“L-love you.”

Poe ran his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the tears that spilled, “I love you,” He replied, turning his head and pressing his lips to your hand, “So, so much, my lovely girl.”

+

When Tahla had first walked onto the ship after Temmin and Kare had successfully landed back on base at D’Qar, his expression was so fraught with concern you’d squeaked a little from your spot on the bed, wanting to tell him you were fine despite your voice box rejecting the attempt. Poe had disappeared into the cockpit with Temmin and Kare when they finally boarded the ship on Canto Bight, BB8 in tow, and you think he must have overstated your injury when he’d called into base.

“Well, that sounded extraordinarily wretched, let me take a look,” Tahla joked, his features relaxing, and he sat at your side on the bed. Poe was behind you now, his body acting as your pillow, a comforting position he’d taken up the moment the ship landed and the rest of Black team had departed to get the intel to the General. “This is going to be uncomfortable, but try not to make noise, okay?” His eyes were on Poe when he spoke at first, dropping to you when he posed the question. You nodded your understanding and decided to lose yourself in thought as he gently started feeling along your throat.

When you first came to, the only thing you had been aware of was the pain in your throat. You’d felt movement at your side and panicked, thinking you were still under attack, only when you opened your eyes you instead met the most heart-wrenching sight of your life; Poe covered in blood, looking down at you pale and panicked, his eyes wide with fear. Seeing him like that hurt worse than the pain in your throat, though that was certainly in a strong second place.

When he admitted he killed the men, you regretted only that you hadn’t been able to fight them off yourself, or at least been able to help him take them down. You didn’t want all of that to sit on his shoulders. You comforted yourself at the moment by telling him you loved him, testing the words on your tongue, despite knowing he would take them at their usual meaning and not how you truly meant them now.

But you could wait a little longer to tell him properly.

“Alright, Major. The good news is that you’re going to be okay and the spray will combat any long-term damage to your vocal cords,” Tahla was looking into your mouth now, a light shining in his hand as he inspected your throat. “Bad news is that I can’t administer a Bacta shot this far into the injury, so you’ll have to allow it to heal on its own over the next couple of days.”

“F-fuck.” You stammered, and Poe’s hands, which were clasping your shoulders, tightened fractionally in response. A silent, loving, admonishment. Tahla laughed, stowing away his light before giving you a final once over.

His eyes moved up, meeting Poe’s instead, “That’s not your blood, right?”

“No,” Poe replied, his voice quiet, “No. I killed them. BB8 found me, told me (y/n) was being attacked. They were...I didn’t hesitate.”

Fuck, he sounded so dark and haunted, you wanted to take away his worry, take away whatever memories he had now from the attack. You were tired though, your eyes beginning to droop now that you were home and safe and in the clear of any permanent damage. Tahla gave Poe a nod that suggested his approval over Poe’s handling of the men who attacked you, his eyes darkening for a moment, and then your eyes closed completely.

Poe’s hands immediately moved, adjusting you in his arms. How he was able to tell you were ready to sleep you’d never know. He was lifting you before you could even consider offering to just walk since your legs worked just fine. But you let yourself curl into his hold instead, your face pressing into his neck. He began to walk and you let the gentle motions soothe you further, lulling you towards sleep.

Tahla spoke from somewhere behind your head, where he walked next to Poe, “I’m going to give her a few days off, pull her from the field for a week minimum-I’ll check on her in five days, see if her voice is good enough for the field.”

“Listen, man, thank you for coming. I know it’s overstepping to demand a specific Healer-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Tahla interrupted, “I’m glad you did ask for me. Scared the hell out of me though, Poe.”

Poe sighed, “Sorry about that.” He didn’t elaborate even though you wanted him to explain why he’d caused Tahla to panic, what he’d said to have your friend run into the ship like he thought your head was about to fall off.

You also wanted to thank Tahla for coming, but you were too sleepy. Instead, you let the way Poe carried you to ease you closer and closer to the blissful release of sleep, not realizing until you heard a door whoosh open that the Healer was gone. Poe lowered you onto something soft and you peeked out beneath your eyelashes to find you were in his room.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” He murmured, pulling his blanket from where it was folded at the base of his bed to cover you, his hands still shaky. You reached for him then, grabbing hold of his hand, and Poe stilled, gazing down at you. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You cleared your throat carefully and kept your voice as low as possible when you spoke. “Sta-y with me.” You saw the words hit him, his tension releasing so quickly that you think he nearly collapsed as he joined you on the bed, laying cautiously next to you. The only part of him that touched you was where your hand had grabbed him; now, you tugged him closer and shuffled, burrowing into his side and tucking your head into his neck.

You didn’t care that he was bloody or you were both still dressed in the fancy clothing-you just wanted him close. Needed him, not only for yourself but also for him, so that he knew you weren’t upset with him in any way, so that he couldn’t lick his wounds alone and convince himself that he messed up.

You needed him to know that you still trusted him. Always would.

He shifted so that he could circle his arms around you, holding you tight against him and breathing steadily, hard enough that you knew he was fighting off tears again. Your poor, kind-hearted Poe. He took things so hard, loved so fiercely. You didn’t understand how you deserved him when you were young or now. You just felt so fucking safe now, he was all-encompassing safety and love and you wondered again how you could have thought badly of him, to ever have run away.

“Sweet girl,” He started murmuring again, whispers as he stroked one hand over your hair soothingly. You weren’t sure if he knew you were still awake, it had been so long. You remained still, hoping he would never stop speaking so sweetly to you, letting his words lull you. “My brave, beautiful girl. So strong. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. I love you, maker I love you...”

You wanted to say it back, but you fell asleep to the soothing rumble of his chest as he caressed you in the night, rocking away your nightmares and keeping you every bit as safe as he promised.

+

Poe woke early, light only just filtering in his thin window because he was too warm. At first, he was confused as to why he felt so restricted, so heavy until he looked down.

Stars.

You were tangled around him as he lay on his back, your arm hugged around his waist, head resting just below his sternum, legs entwined with his own. And he was still wearing his suit, the fabric not as breathable as his flight suit, and tighter too. As he gazed down at you, still peacefully asleep, further warmth pooled in his chest and belly.

‘Stay with me.’

Maker, three words and you knocked him clean over and he was ready right then to tell you he would never leave your side again if you asked him not to. But he’d managed to reign himself in slightly before curling around you protectively, unable to keep himself from touching you in gentle, soothing motions. He’d fallen asleep faster than he’d thought he would.

Now, he realized that if you woke up you would find him still covered in the blood of the men he’d killed. He needed to get himself into his fresher and clean up. With slow movements, he was able to extract himself from your grip and climb from the bed. He covered you in the blanket so the temperature change wouldn’t go as noticed and wake you up. He watched you for a minute as you slept, then quietly grabbed a pen and piece of paper, jotting a note down in case you woke up.

‘In the shower. Don’t leave, please.’

He set it next to you on his bed, then grabbed some clean clothing and stepped into his fresher, the door closing behind him silently. He bypassed his mirror, not interested in seeing how he looked, and went straight into the shower, turning on the water and flinching at the brief burst of cold before the temperature evened out. He scrubbed himself clean and avoided looking at the floor, at the swirling blood and grime disappearing into the drain. He had enough images in his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t killed before, because he most certainly had-both from his x-wing and in ground combat. But he had never taken a life so viciously, so intimately. And it wasn’t how quickly he’d done it that scared him, it was how okay with it all he was.

They were hurting you, at the time he’d thought they’d killed you, he had no choice. No option but to end them.

He considered working in the field with you now, what that would look like. Would he start throwing himself in front of you and breaking protocol as he had in the woods of Takodana? Like he’d gotten angry at you for doing all that time ago when you’d first come back to D’Qar and had taken out that Stormtrooper with his gun levelled at Poe’s head? Was the fight...

Maker.

Was it worth losing you for?

The answer came fast; no, no it wasn’t. And that scared him because he’d always been ready to die for the cause, for the Resistance, to abolish the tyranny of the First Order. You and Charlie and he had all grown up with that single mindset, to get old enough to join and then fight until the war ended or you died.

And now all he could think was that he would rather lose the war a thousand times over than lose you.

When he stepped out of his shower and dried off, Poe was reeling. He was going through the motions-pulling on his socks, his shorts, his favourite tee. But internally he was reminding himself of everything he’d accomplished as a Resistance fighter. Of everything you had. Even after losing Charlie, you both kept fighting without question, for him, for yourselves, for the cause.

But...wasn’t the saying in your family that family came first, then the fight, and then everything else? When had he lost sight of that and forgotten that with great love came the equally great threat of losing it? But he couldn’t just leave, would never even consider it, no and he knew you wouldn’t, not for him or anything. There was nothing in the entire galaxy that would make you stop fighting. Which left Poe with the greatest question of all-what the hell was he going to do?

He didn’t have an answer, not even a vague idea, so he tabled the internal battle he was waging and stepped out of his fresher to check on you. His heart stuttered in his chest when he found you splayed across his bed, head hidden under his pillow, one leg kicked out from under the covers. You had always looked so peaceful when you slept, and memories surface of the countless times growing up, waking in your bed and watching you sleep. He’d usually wake up before you, sometimes he’d sneak out to hang out with Charlie, other times he’d enjoy the quiet and calm of your room.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was to wake you up, and so Poe made his way to his dresser to search through options for you to wear. Even the idea of you going alone into your room to shower and change made his heart drop, his need to keep you safe and close was so great. He picked out one of his shirts, a pair of athletic shorts you could tighten the waist of, and after much debate with himself, a pair of his briefs. He’d let you decide if you were going to wear them-he just wanted you to have the option.

He went into his fresher and set the clothing on the vanity, starting a little when he emerged and found you watching him with bleary eyes. He smiled tentatively, suddenly nervous under your gaze, but after a small pause your face lit up, eyes brightening and smile wide, melting his heart in his chest.

“Good morning,” Poe sat down on the bed next to you, brushing a hand over your face to wipe away stray hairs, “Try not to speak too much, sweetheart.” He gently reminded you, his eyes dropping to your darkened throat.

You made a face, scrunching your nose, and Poe chuckled softly. He watched you yawn before pushing yourself up, moving to sit next to him and raising your hand to tentatively touch your throat. You winced before flicking your gaze up to meet his, offering a small smile, “Hi,” It was raspy and quiet, dry enough that he realized you needed some water. He leaned over and grabbed a glass bottle from his mini-fridge, handing it over to your waiting hand.

He watched you gulp the water down in small bursts, happy to see swallowing didn’t appear to cause you too much discomfort. “How do you feel?”

“M’fine,”

“You up for a shower?” Poe asked, and your eyes widened slightly in response and he started sputtering immediately, heat flushing his cheeks, “I mean-you can shower, I uh, that is, I put some clothes in there for you-and I will wait here. I showered already.”

Stars, he felt about fifteen all of the sudden, embarrassment flooding him over his unintentionally suggestive phrasing. He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, glancing at you to find you holding in your laughter, amusement evident in your expression.

Poe rolled his eyes, recovering himself, “Very funny,” But he laughed, cheered by the smile on your face as you climbed out of his bed and made your way into his fresher. Your dress was crumpled and flat from sleeping in it, and your hair a tousled mess.

Even still, you were truly beautiful.

You looked over your shoulder at Poe before closing the door to the fresher, and he patted the bed, “I’ll be right here if you need anything.” He assured you, and a wave of relief flashed over your face as you shut the door.

Poe got out of bed, taking the time you were showering to tidy his room, including making the bed. He thought about everything that had happened and realized he wasn’t even remotely aware of whether the intel had proven as useful as the ally had claimed, having passed it off to Temmin and Kare to get into Leia’s hands. The fact that his droid hadn’t returned however told Poe that BB8 must be helping to decipher the intel, and Poe reasoned he could find out once he’d taken care of you.

When he heard the water shut off in the fresher, he started to fret over how to best do just that. He supposed it would be ideal for you to remain in the quiet space of his room, where you could avoid speaking too often or loudly. He wanted to keep you close...but then the doubt crept in and he began to question whether you would even want to stay with him, or if he was already being too overbearing. Maybe you were right now looking at the clothing he left out for you and shaking your head.

The fresher door opened a few minutes later, as Poe was tying on his boots, eager to get food from the dining hall and bring it back to the room for you both. “Anything you want from-uh...” He froze, eyes landing on you dressed in his clothing, his shirt much too large and-and you’d decided to only put on the briefs, the tighter fabric only just peeking out below the hem of his shirt.

Poe hadn’t thought of a chest band, not until this very moment when he could see your full breasts outlined against the light grey fabric. He swallowed, dropping his eyes to the floor as heat crawled up his neck.

If you noticed his reaction, you didn’t comment. You crawled back onto his bed, pulling a throw blanket over your legs before settling into the cushions happily, “Pancakes. Definitely pancakes, please.” You whispered, voice slightly improved now that you had some water.

It was entirely without thought that Poe leaned across his bed and placed a gentle kiss to your temple, before jumping up and promising to return with all the pancakes he could carry.

+

Poe sat with his drink held firm in his hand, his eyes flicking around the crowd before he sighed and settled back into his seat. The usual table, though this was the first time he’d been back to the Cantina since the funeral. Tommy and Rico had asked him a few times, of course, but he’d refused, never feeling quite ready to return.

Today though...he’d come because it was your birthday.

He’d have a drink for you. Even though he had no idea where in the fucking galaxy you’d gone.

And it wasn’t for lack of trying, but no matter who he went to, no one could or would give him your new assignment. You’d been clever and covered your tracks enough that you made sure anyone who would have helped Poe couldn’t see your assignment.

He’d never been more miserable in his life, never more angry with himself. He’d said awful shit to you and then disappeared for a few days to collect his head, thinking of how he’d apologize.

He’d wanted to tell you he loved you.

Instead, he broke your heart.

And you up and left before he could even begin to start making amends.

He was on his last possible source at this point, a person he hadn’t even wanted to go to. But Vanya had been kind to Poe, said she could try and see if anyone she was close with had the access needed. He told her he’d be here tonight, having a drink in your honour, if she wanted to stop by and let him know how she’d got along.

He just needed to find you, and then he would say everything he should have before, apologize to you and promise to make it up to you for the rest of his fucking life. He missed you so much it hurt, it hurt more than losing Charlie. You had disappeared in a way that almost made it feel like you had died as well.

He was starting to feel dead inside.

He glanced up, seeking Vanya out, and met the eyes of a woman at a nearby table, who shot him a friendly smile. He gave her what was probably more of a grimace in return, dropping his eyes to his drink. He wasn’t sure he was ready for...anything like that.

After a moment, he looked back up and saw Vanya walk in. She spotted him and waved, beginning to make her way over. As she grew closer, Poe could see the hard set to her jaw and felt his heart sink into his stomach-he could already tell she’d been unsuccessful.

When she sat down across from him, she heaved a great sigh, her eyes casting downward to look at her hands. “I’m sorry,” She looked up at him after a moment when he made no reply, “She’s smart, didn’t leave a lot to chance.”

Poe waved his hand, “It’s not your fault in the least, Vanya. I appreciate you trying.”

“I’m sure she’ll come back, once she’s grieved enough, had a chance to think things through.”

He wanted to laugh, but instead only grunted, “You didn’t get a chance to know her, but she’s more stubborn than...” He broke off and rubbed a hand over his face. Vanya’s face had fallen as the unspoken name sat between them, and he felt a surge of sadness for her-she had really loved Charlie. “I said...well, I don’t blame her for leaving. It’s already been a couple of months, she’s not coming back. I just wish one person in this fucking place could tell me more than ‘she’s alive.’.”

Vanya leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she bobbed her head in agreement, eyes kind, “Poe I saw you-both of you-that night when we first met here. I saw the way you looked at each other-“

Poe tried not to glare, frowning into his drink, “Yeah? And what do you think you know now?”

Vanya ignored his tone, unbothered, “I saw how in love you both were. That kind of love...it doesn’t go away. Not forever. She’ll come back.” And with that, Vanya dipped her head and let loose a wave of fresh tears as thoughts of how Charlie was never coming back sat in the air.

He reached across the table automatically and took her hand, squeezing. “I’m sorry, Vanya. Look, thank you for everything. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me, alright?”

She smiled then, her eyes misty, but remarkably already recovering from her emotional moment, just the kind of tough lady Charlie loved. With a farewell hug, Vanya departed and left Poe alone at the table again. He sat for a minute, his drink nearly finished, and thought of all the times he sat here and took for granted what he had. Silently, he wished you a happy birthday wherever you were in the universe and hoped you weren’t even half as lonely and miserable as he was.

When he finally looked up again, the pretty woman at the table not far from his caught his eye again, and this time he smiled more broadly at her, tilting his head in question. She gestured at the seat next to her and after only a brief pause, Poe decided it was time to give himself a break from the monotony of grief and pain and loneliness and just escape for a few hours.

He joined the woman, Smiling in a way that didn’t feel real at all.

+

“This is nice, me getting to talk and talk with absolutely no interruptions-“

Tahla flinched when you kicked him under the table, and you stifled a giggle. Stars, it wasn’t as painful as when you’d woken up last night, but your throat still hurt. It was stinging, scratchy sort of pain when you made too much noise, but you found you’d been able to hold a low conversation with your friend over the past hour with minimal issues. It was just the laughing that did you in.

Poe had reluctantly dropped you off to the dining hall for an early dinner after you’d spent a good ten minutes convincing him you could handle going to dinner. He’d then been called away by BB8 to see the General, and you’d watched him actually contemplate what to do. It had almost been funny, but it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach-not for the first time that day. You shooed him away with the promise that you’d seek out Tahla or Temmin so that you wouldn’t be alone.

He’d been so attentive since you woke up, setting out clothing, then by bringing you breakfast and lunch and confining you to lounge on his bed all day. Despite your injury, it had kind of been one of the best days you’d had in years. It had felt a lot like old times, curled up in bed with Poe. The silence was comfortable as you read and he typed up his mission report, though the emotions running through you were entirely new.

It was a lot, emotionally, the last twenty-four hours. As traumatizing as your attack was, you felt like you were being best-taken care of by Poe and felt a little overwhelmed at how good he made you feel. He sensed everything you needed, right down to catching you when you’d be stuck on a page for a little too long, your thoughts turning inward, and he’d press a soft kiss to your hair, run his hand over your jaw, whisper sweet words of comfort.

You wanted to comfort him, too, for having to do what he did. For having to suffer through the worry of how injured you were and if you would recover. You didn’t know how to make him feel better, exactly, but you sensed that the more he took care of you the better he felt in turn, so you allowed him to fret more than was necessary.

And every time he touched you? Well, that was the thing, now that you’d encountered darkness where, for just a few moments you thought you were going to die, you realized you needed to tell him how you felt, finally. You weren’t sure how to bring it up, though, and ended up going back and forth in your head all day trying to decide.

“Lost in your head again, kid.” Tahla’s hand came to rest over yours from across the table; you glanced up from staring into your soup to meet his gaze. He looked extraordinarily understanding considering this wasn’t the first time it had happened during this dinner.

“Sorry. I guess I-I’ve never been attacked like that before. I’ve had, you know, guys pinch my ass or whatever and had no problem kicking the shit out of them if Charlie or Poe didn’t get to them first, but this was...” You trailed off and ran a hand over your face, then sipped your water to help soothe your throat as you spoke. “This wasn’t enemy forces, this wasn’t some guy in a cantina too many drinks in with a shit moral compass. This was-“

“Attempted assault,” Tahla said bluntly, squeezing your hand again. You gulped, then nodded, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that you went through that, (y/n), I really am. I wish I could say something more insightful.”

You sighed heavily, waving off his concern, “The worst part is that I passed out before I could...and Poe didn’t say what he did, but I saw Temmin’s face when he was getting off the ship last night. I don’t care how he killed them, I just hate that I couldn’t help, that I couldn’t take away some of the responsibility from him.” You had another couple spoonfuls of your dinner, eyes on Tahla as he thought over your words.

“You know,” He began slowly, tapping his free hand on the table, “Poe basically said the same thing to me when he got me on comms last night. That he wished he’d prevented you from being hurt at all, that he failed in protecting you. He was so worked up, so upset, I thought you were close to death. He really loves you.”

Setting down your spoon with a clang, you sat up straighter before, quietly, replying. “Of course he does, and I love him. We’re a team, one of the best. We get the job done, always have. That’s why I’m freaking out, Tahla,” You flinched as your voice raised too high and your throat burned. You switched to a whisper, “He dropped everything mid-mission to save me, then brought me to the ship. He still...He sent in Kare, but it wasn’t exactly protocol.”

Tahla suddenly grinned at you in a bright, knowing sort of way that made you want to kick him again. Your scowl gave you away, “Don’t kick me, I’m just...I can’t believe you don’t see it. Don’t you realize-aren’t you in love with him?”

You blinked across the table; were you that obvious? If Tahla was calling you out, did that mean others, Poe, had figured you out? “Kriff, Tahla, why are you always so fucking blunt.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You glanced around wearily to ensure you wouldn’t be overheard, “I am, but I just got him back so I’m trying to time it-”

“Maker, I bet he tells himself the same thing and that’s why you’ve both been so fucking blind. You realize he cut down your attackers with his knife?” You stared at Tahla in surprise, “Then he carried you back to your ship and freaked the fuck out until he got you here, not to mention how he told the Healer on call to go to hell and only send me to look at you?”

“I-I, but-“ You gaped. You’d known some of the pieces, of course, but hadn’t realized the extent of Poe's panic.

Tahla laughed, not unkindly, “You want to know what we all used to say back home growing up?” He didn’t wait for your reply, seeming to understand from the expression on your face that words didn’t exist for you right now, “We said, ‘never mess with Poe’s girl’. Remember when Gus broke up with you, said some rude shit to you? Well, he ended up with a black eye for it. Poe’s always loved you. And since I’ve been here these past few weeks, it’s like you two are already a couple.”

You still didn’t know how to reply, so you were incredibly grateful when his pager went off and he glanced down before releasing your hand. With an apologetic smile, he began to stand, and you joined him-no longer hungry-and met him around the table. He pulled you in for a hug, his face schooled to a more neutral look when you pulled back slightly to peer up at him.

“Thanks for everything, Tahla. I’ll be sad when you leave next week.” You admitted softly, and his smile grew.

Leaning down, Tahla pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek and then turned his head slightly to whisper in your ear. “I’ll come back for the wedding, of course.”

And with that, he pulled back, winked at you, and then walked off toward the far doors of the dining hall. You had half a mind to follow him and kick him just for the hell of it, the cheeky bastard, but instead, you pushed your seat in and turned to head back to your room, hoping Poe would be done with the General and would give you an update.

When you walked into the hallway and spotted Poe coming along, a weirdly decisive sensation seemed to settle in your stomach, solidifying the moment his eyes found yours from several feet away. His face broke into a relieved, wide grin and that was it, that was the final cord snapped.

It was almost funny.

You saw a modicum of confusion knit his brows together when you suddenly marched towards him, jaw set because you were trying to reign in the intense emotions now bubbling up inside of you. “Sweetheart?” He said, frowning further when you grabbed his arm and started toward the direction of your rooms. You didn’t speak, afraid of opening your mouth and just word-vomiting every thought you’d ever had, and so you pulled him along silently.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him assessing you, trying to figure out what set you off, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth as he considered. When you got to the first empty hallway, you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. You halted, releasing his arm and spinning to face him straight on. Poe opened his mouth, but before he could ask you a question, it just...came out.

“I love you,” You sighed it, lower than you’d have liked to say it because of your damaged vocal cords, but he heard you. You knew because he stiffened like a board and his open mouth slackened almost comically. “I-I’m in love with you, Poe Dameron, and I always have been and I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You bit your lip to prevent yourself from babbling, holding his wide-eyed gaze steadily. Finally saying it aloud was about a million times better than it had felt to simply admit it to yourself. You felt like you could float away just for getting the truth out, though a level of anxiety began to grow the longer he stood silent before you. But you knew his eyes, every expression they’d ever held, and you could see that he was processing your words, that they grew brighter and brighter until movement caught your eye and you glanced down to see his fingers twitch, and then he was moving.

Poe reached up and caught your face gently in his hands, closing the distance between you both so that your bodies were pressed together. He gazed at you in wonder for a moment. “Oh my sweet girl,” He crooned softly, and you were melting into his touch, your heart was surely about to burst now, and then- “I have loved you in every eternity that has ever been, and will ever be. You are everything, sweetheart, everything to me. I should have...should have told you so many times before this.”

And then Poe Dameron slotted his lips over yours and kissed you deeply like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. It was like coming home. You were rooted to the ground now, his kiss anchoring you, his gentle caress over your cheeks sending fire into your veins that conflicted with the euphoria in your mind.

Because Poe, your Poe, was kissing you. Handsome, tall, broad and strong Poe. Your best friend, your soulmate, was kissing you and you didn’t think you could ever stop now. Your lips parted for him the same moment he did for you, and then you were tasting him and Stars, did he ever taste good. Like home-warm, a smouldering fire on a rainy evening. You knew he liked what he found in kissing you when he groaned lightly, his hands settling at the back of your neck and pressing you closer against him, deepening the kiss as your tongues danced, and you whimpered in response.

With a gasp, Poe pulled back and you saw more than love and adoration on his face, now you saw desire too. Real, heated desire.

And fuck, that pollen had absolutely nothing going for it, you saw that now. Seeing just a sliver of what desire truly looked like on his face, you knew it had all been a huge illusion brought on by the poison, during that mission. You were burning under his gaze now, every cell of your body alight and happy to surrender, responding to him before he’d barely moved. His hands were still on you and you realized yours were in fists at your sides so you reached up and did something you’d always wanted to do-sinking them into his curls.

“Fuck,” He rumbled the moment you gave a slight tug, his eyes fluttering closed briefly, a twitch appearing in his jaw. When he looked at you again you swear you burst into flames. “We need to...talk. In my room.” Before you could reply, he stooped and clasped his hands to the back of your thighs, lifting, and you realized he wanted to carry you.

And you were going to fucking let him. You pressed yourself against Poe and allowed him to guide your legs to wrap around his waist, whimpering again when his hands gripped your hips tightly. You leaned forward, wanting to kiss him. You could see how determined he was to focus, to get to the privacy of his room. You nipped along his jaw as he hurried along, grateful the halls were quiet but truly you wouldn’t have cared if he bowled people over at this point. His hands flexed as you kissed him, pressed you even closer against him when you lightly sucked on a spot on his neck that tasted as delicious as it looked.

“Stars, Poe,” You whispered, playing with his hair still. “I love you so much.”

“Let m-me show you, how fucking much I love you, sweet girl.” He panted in response, stepping through the doorway to his room and laying you onto his bed. The door shut and locked at his command, sealing you into the privacy of his quarters. He pulled back to gaze down at you, eyes wide, then reached up with one hand to very lightly trace along your neck. “And no one is ever going to touch you again.”

He said it with such strength and conviction you could only nod, even though it was a tall promise to make given the lives you lived. Because you believed him; that he meant he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. When he lowered himself down over you and started to kiss you again, you relaxed entirely for probably the first time in your life.

Burning never felt so good.

+

Poe was kissing you. You were kissing Poe. It was, it had to be, a dream. But if it was a dream how could it feel so intense and real and right? How could kissing you possibly be as perfect as this? He felt like he was whole again-like his heart tripled in size the moment you told him you were in love with him and then every moment with his lips pressed to yours only continued to make it grow.

Yesterday he’d almost lost you, or at least thought he had, and now you were tangling your fingers in his hair and moaning underneath him as you kissed, your body trembling. He’d never been as hard as quickly in his fucking life, could feel himself pulsing where he was pressed against your leg. He wanted to be embarrassed but the look on your face when he’d dropped you onto the bed told him you were thinking the same thing as he was now, just as overwhelmed and needy to get as close as possible, skin to skin. To finally tear down every single barrier-mental and physical-between you and come together, be together.

Which was probably why it seemed to take no time to rip one another’s clothes off until Poe was only in his briefs and you were left in the briefs he’d given you that morning to wear.

“Oh sweetheart,” He murmured, his eyes running over your every dip and curve and swell, the smoothness of your skin calling to him. He was laving his tongue over your nipple the first time you cried out, the sound strangled and broken enough that he pulled back and looked at you closely. “You can’t be loud, sweet girl. I want you to, trust me, but you have to be a good girl. We don’t want to hurt your voice any more than it already is, okay?”

“O-okay, I’ll try.”

Poe hummed, “Tell me the moment you want to stop. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable-”

You slid one hand out of his hair and dropped it between your bodies as he was speaking, coming to grip his length over his underwear. Poe broke off with a hiss, automatically thrusting into your hold. “I’ve b-been waiting my whole life for you, Poe Dameron.” You sighed, releasing his erection and tracing your hand along the planes of his stomach and chest. “Never stop. I’m yours and I never want to stop.”

A possessive feeling, one that had always lingered in the background when Poe was with you, increased tenfold at your words, further driven by what had happened yesterday. He growled before capturing your mouth in another, more fierce kiss, his tongue exploring you as he ground his hips down a little.

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping and even more flushed, your chest heaving as you looked at him. “You’re mine,” He repeated, bracing one arm on the bed and trailing the other down to tease over your centre, dipping below the band of his briefs. “I’m yours, too, sweet girl.” And he locked eyes with you as he pushed two fingers inside of you, gasping out at the blissed-out, contained moan you allowed yourself and the feel of how tight and wet you were.

Your hips bucked when he pressed in deep and curled his fingers, playing with you until he found a spot within that made you just about shoot off of the bed. With a wicked grin, he started to tease that spot and watched your face as you came undone bit by bit for him.

It was the most vivid, raw experience of his entire life. Every single moment soaked into his mind and became a permanent, detailed memory-your little whines and pleas, the roll of your hips, the heat of your slick and how he could smell you, just the right amount of sweetness. It was all so much more than the sex you’d had during the pollen exposure. Every other sense had been cut down and pushed back during that, but now they were all operating on full levels and it felt so right. It enabled Poe to work you through to your orgasm with ease all the while just about ready to cum in his underwear as he did.

“Shit, you are fucking beautiful, sweet girl,” He moaned, adjusting the arm he was bracing himself with so that he could clamp that hand over your mouth. He sensed you were close, could feel your tight walls clenching, and wanted to protect you from harming yourself if you forgot you couldn’t scream. “Cum for me-I’ve imagined it so many times, need to see you cum for real, for me. I’ll keep you safe, go ahead, let go.”

He felt your lips part behind his hand, then your entire body went rigid and you came hard, back arching until a significant amount of wetness soaked his hand, and the bed, and you started to whine and shake from the intensity of it all. Poe growled as you came, glancing down in wonder to see more wetness pool and realizing you were squirting, and he hadn’t known you could do that.

“Fuck, baby, is that for me? You perfect little thing, you are the hottest fucking woman. Holy shit!”

You slumped into the mattress with a huge breath, the warm air hitting his hand and he moved it so that you could catch your breath. With care he slowly removed his fingers from you, looking from your blissed-out expression to your soaked underwear, to your essence all over his hand. He quickly removed your panties, then shuffled down the bed, even more turned on now.

“I just, fuck I need to taste you real quick, sweet girl.” And he dove into your folds before you could respond, taking care to avoid your sensitive nub, and licked you like it was his last meal. You tasted fucking delicious and he didn’t want to stop, pushing your legs apart he cleaned up every drop you’d leaked while you whimpered for him.

“Sh-shit,” You cried, voice low, writhing against his hold on your hips. “Poe, please. Please!”

Poe pulled back, licking his lips, and grinned up at you. “You okay, sweet girl?” You nodded and he rose, eager to get you over the edge again so that he could lick up everything you gave him. “Please what? What do you need?” He crawled back up your body, chuckling when he felt your hands pushing desperately at his briefs.

You cleared your throat, “You. Always needed you, Poe.” You whispered, your voice so filled with emotion you nearly knocked him over. He took over pushing his briefs off and then reached under you with both arms, securing your body before lifting you, changing positions so that you were sitting in his lap. His length pressed against your thigh as you settled.

Poe stroked some stray hair out of your face and kissed you softly, holding you against him and savouring the moment. He’d never been so filled with emotion and pleasure before, every woman he’d been with over the years simply could not compare to the power and love between you and Poe, and it was terrifying. Sensing his apprehension, you drew back from the kiss and stroked along his jaw soothingly and Poe took a moment to simply drink you in.

“I never knew anything could be like this,” He admitted, now running his hands all over your body, pausing to squeeze his favourite curves. You smiled at him, pupils blown wide with lust, your expression telling him you agreed. “I’ve wasted so many years, (y/n). I’m so sorry.”

“No,” You shook your head, dropping one hand to seek out his length and holding it gently in your hand, lining him up. “No, we aren’t apologizing for our mistakes anymore. It’s you and me now, Poe, you, and, m-me.” You lowered yourself, your scratchy voice breaking off into a sigh of content as you slowly sunk onto his length.

Poe had pictured being with you like this many times in his life, certainly more than he’d like the admit. But even combined, none of those fantasies could come close to how it felt to bring your bodies together, the fucking ecstasy, the sight of his cock splitting you open as you slowly took him inch by inch. Your hands tangled in his hair again as a low, continuous whine fell from your lips. Your face was slightly scrunched as you tried to relax and accommodate him, and Poe was enraptured, watching everything with his hands at your hips.

You were devastating. And you were his.

Poe hurled headfirst into oblivion as you settled fully on his lap, a groan escaping as your tight heat clenched around him, and it was all he could do to speak, to just tell you how perfect you were. “Baby, oh fuck, I love you,” He leaned back slightly, dropping one arm to brace on the bed and then gripping your hip with the other. Poe set a slow and deliberate pace with his feet pressing into the baseboard of his bed. He rolled up, then back, his cock dragging halfway out before sinking back into you as you gripped his shoulders and whimpered above him.

It was sensual, soft, each movement like a slow dance, your hips rolling down to meet his in perfect harmony with his thrusts. You were biting your lip, eyes locked on Poe’s, and he could feel you flutter around him every time he groaned; so he let himself make noise, let you hear how good you made him feel, grunting and cursing with every blissful motion.

Even though the pleasure kept mounting Poe didn't want to rush this, so he moved at the same pace for a long time. Occasionally stopping completely when he was fully inside of you and relishing the sensation until you whimpered and he would move again with a grunt. It was divine, perfection...you. It was all you.

“Poe,” You whimpered as you moved one hand from his shoulder to push into his curls, urging him toward you as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you slowly as well, licking into your mouth, over your lips, drinking up your moans, until eventually it wasn’t enough for you and you made a noise in your throat, a little frustrated sound that made him smirk. Made him even fucking harder.

Without warning he sat forward, brought both hands to your hips and slammed you down onto his cock, using his strength to lift and drop you. “Sweet girl,” Poe grunted as your head tilted back in a silent cry, “That’s it, cum for me, let me feel you, baby, please.” He was desperate to feel you cum on his cock, pulling out and then slamming you back down, meeting you halfway as you struggled to hold in your noises, and Poe let loose another round of groans that seemed to propel you straight over the edge.

Your body curved forward as you came, one of your hands shooting to cover your own mouth as you sobbed in pleasure. He kept moving, watching your face rapturously until a strong clench around his cock drew his gaze downward. He had a moment to recognize what was about to happen before roaring in delight as you squirted for him again, the hot wetness coating his lap. The room filled with the wet slapping sounds of your body meeting his and Poe had to actively work not to cum, setting his jaw and gripping your hips with almost bruising strength.

“Ahh,” You whimpered, your legs going limp. Before you could fully collapse into Poe, he flipped you onto your back and started to fuck you into his mattress while peppering you with soothing kisses, “Oh Poe, more!”

He was right there, nearing the edge and yet savouring every deep thrust into your tight cunt. His movements were getting sloppy now, and he wasn’t even trying to hold back his noises because you felt so fucking good and this was so perfect and he loved you so much.

“Oh baby, baby-” He slammed into you one last time, dropping most of his weight down onto you and filling you deeply as he began to cum, his hips stuttering. You were moaning for him, weakened legs hooking behind his ass to draw him closer as he filled you, “I love you, I love you, I love you-“ He couldn’t stop saying it now, his head dropping to your shoulder-careful to avoid your injured throat-he just kept repeating himself between grunts.

As he started to come down from the high, he realized you were speaking, your voice a whisper in his ear, hands stroking his hair. “I love you too, Poe, my Poe,” He was gasping now, everything that had transpired catching up to him in the clarity of post-orgasmic bliss and your words brought his emotions back to the forefront.

He made to move back, only you stopped him, keeping him close. He looked at you, “You okay, my sweet girl?” Stars, you looked fucked out in the best ways and he swore he could cum again just at the sight of you as drunk on him as he was on you.

You nodded, giving him a soft little smile, “Just stay inside me a little longer.”

Fuck, you were going to kill him, you were so hot.

As much as he liked the idea, he didn’t want to stay on top of you and crush you, so he considered carefully before rolling you both, settling himself into the bed as you lay atop him, whimpering at the movement before resting your head on his chest. He’d started to soften inside of you, but remaining in your warmth kept him semi-hard, not something he’d ever done before and yet he decided at that moment he wanted to do it all the time.

“That was...you are perfect, you know that? Dreamt of you my whole life and that was better than I ever could have imagined.” Poe beamed at you when you looked up at him, your eyes bright. He had never been so radiantly happy in his entire life.

You reached up and ran your hand along his jaw, “Says the man who made me squirt. Twice.” You gigged, and he gazed at you for a moment before responding.

“You’ve done that before, yeah?”

When you shook your head, Poe felt a mixture of both surprise and pride swell within him, and you read that in his expression. “Yes flyboy, that was all you.” Another throaty giggle, which then morphed into a full cough as you hit the limit on your poor vocal cords.

Poe was up in an instant, carefully slipping from you and hurrying to his fridge to get you water. He passed it to you and then went into his fresher to get a warm washcloth. You were gulping the water gratefully when he returned, your eyes raking over his body with a level of possessiveness that made his cock twitch. You wanted him to yourself as much as he wanted you to himself, that much was now abundantly clear.

“Alright, sweet girl, let me take care of you,” He whispered, running the washcloth gently through your folds and tidying you up. You cooed softly, relaxing into the bed. When he was satisfied, he lifted you into his arms and carried you into the fresher to set you on his toilet. “You pee, I’m going to change the sheets.” And he wiggled his brows at you, earning him another big smile that settled right down into his oversized heart.

A short while later Poe Dameron was laying in his bed with you held in his arms. This was not the first time in his life that he drifted off to sleep with you, but it was the first time you were both nude and satisfied and so wholly consumed with your love for one another.

It was the first time he would wake in the middle of the night, hard and aching, only to find you already awake and needy for him, moaning when he rocked his hips into you and fucked you slow.

It was the first time since Charlie’s funeral that Poe would sleep entirely at peace, wrapped around his soulmate.

+

If you thought making love with Poe Dameron was perfect beyond expectations, it almost made it unfair how fucking good he was at eating you out.

You’d both woken late the morning after coming together and felt ready for more-you wanted him inside of you again. Only he insisted he hadn’t gotten anywhere near his fill of tasting you last night. Now he was happily lapping between your folds with his skilled, hot tongue and absolutely wrecking you, one hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet because he knew how fucking good he was.

You saw it the first time he’d made you squirt and then watched it solidify when you admitted you’d never done so before. It was hot, seeing the mixture of passion and cockiness, skill and care. You fell more and more in love with him throughout the night, when you came together and fit so perfectly, and now you were about ready to beg him for his cock before he killed you with his mouth.

When you came again for him, you were spent and though you did get wetter, you didn’t squirt. He didn’t mind, eagerly drinking up what you did give him before moving to kiss your thighs, then eased your legs together and began to massage the aching muscles. “Such a good girl,” He praised, his muscular figure drawing your eyes. You hadn’t realized how talkative, how much noise he would make, and it was the hottest shit. His groans were downright sinful, were what sent you rocketing into your orgasms the night before. “I should keep you here all day, wet and ready for me.”

“Fuck,” You replied, the words shooting straight to your core even after all of the orgasms you’d had. You sat up, struggling slightly and Poe reached out and gripped your arms, lifting you in another show of his strength that made you kind of dizzy with lust. “You’re insatiable. But we’re having lunch with Tahla, remember?”

Realization flashed over his face and he glanced over at his wrist comm next to the bed, relaxing when he saw there was still time before lunch. “Shit, I forgot. He’s leaving soon though, right? So I don’t want to bail.”

“Next week,” Poe moved to sit next to you, both of your backs against the wall now. He pulled the blanket from where it had been kicked to the end of his bed to cover you both. “He said something...that sort of made me realize how stupid I was being, right before I saw you yesterday.”

Poe turned his head to face you, his arms circling your waist and tugging you close to his side, “Oh? What did our wise, filter-free friend say?”

You giggled, then cleared your achy throat, “I had said I was going to miss him when he left and he told me he’d come back for our wedding.” You thought Poe would laugh with you, or at least scoff, but instead, he’d gone quiet and his expression turned inward in a way you couldn’t read. You hesitated a moment before tilting your head into his line of sight, though his mind was clearly a million miles away, “Poe?”

He looked at you then, for what felt like the first time in your life because of how intense his expression was, filled with love and something you couldn’t get a read on.

“I’m sorry,” He began, shaking his head a little, “I just...you are the love of my life. I meant everything I said last night.”

Warmth filled you as he spoke; you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to him saying such perfect things to you. Saying he loved you. “I know, Poe, I meant everything too.” You assured him, brushing your hair over his forehead to push back some stray curls.

Poe nodded, his expression still intense, eyes bright, “We’ve lost a lot of time, sweet girl. But I don’t want to waste another minute. I-” He paused, and you were growing increasingly confused. When he suddenly pulled away standing up to cross his room, your curiosity spiked, confusion at an all-time high.

Until that is, you saw what he was doing.

He was pulling something out of the inner breast pocket of his flight suit, lifting a chain and then turning to you back at the bed. He glanced between his hand and you once, stealing himself before dropping down to one knee next to the bed.

“Maybe he won’t have to come back for our wedding,” Poe opened his palm to reveal exactly what you knew he kept in his flight suit, “Maybe he’s here just in time. Marry me, (y/n). I love you and I never want to spend another minute without you. You are my soulmate, so please marry me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes fell from the passionate look on Poe’s face to his mother’s wedding band that lay in his outstretched hand.

+

34 ABY - Aftermath of the Battle of Takodana - D’Qar

Climbing from his ship with his adrenaline running high thanks to the success on Takodana, Poe turned and gasped when saw his droid, the orange and white blur zooming over to him. “BB8 my buddy!” He cried, dropping to his knees, “It’s so good to see you!” He looked the droid over, happy to see it looked to be in good shape.

BB8 beeped, excitedly explaining what had happened to it, “What? Saved you? Where is he?” He asked, the droid responding quickly and Poe glanced up, eyes landing on the defected ex-Storm Trooper who had saved Poe. Holy shit!

Finn spotted Poe at the same time and began running forward, “Poe?” He called, and Poe rose to his feet and started towards him, still reeling in surprise that Finn was here, that he was okay.

Poe felt himself grin, “Oh no!”

“Poe Dameron, you’re alive?”

Rushing up to Finn, Poe gasped out, “Buddy!” He pulled his new friend in for a hug, “So are you!” And he looked well enough, thankfully, too. Poe had worried he’d been captured back by the First Order after he couldn’t find him on Jakku.

“What happened to you?

“What happened to me? I got thrown from the crash. Woke up at night-no you, no ship, nothing,” Poe released Finn, pointing to him and then to his droid, “Listen, BB8 says that you saved him.”

“No, no, it wasn’t just me-“

Poe stepped closer to Finn, needing the man to understand, “You completed my mission Finn, I-that’s my jacket.” His gaze dropped to the jacket-his jacket- that Finn was wearing.

Finn glanced down, “Oh,” And he started to take it off and suddenly, Poe realized he didn’t need the jacket back, that Finn needed it more.

“No, keep it,” He punched Finn’s arm affectionately, “It suits you.”

Finn stopped and straightened, his eyes roving over Poe once again, “I still can’t believe your alive, Poe.”

Poe laughed, grasping his friends' shoulders, “You’ve got no idea what I have to live for, Finn. Dying ain’t an option.”

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[baeddel]

speaking of trans boys. re: this post: it’s funnily enough been picked up by people i would typically consider my enemies, who tag it with #transandrophobia #transmisandry. you’ll laugh, but perhaps they’re right to tag it that way. if we have to be a theorist of transandrophobia lets at least try and do so seriously.

it’s worth reading the replies to that post from my friends. i may overemphasize the differences between the US and the UK in that post. one of the examples i use, Abigail Shrier’s Irreversible Damage, was actually published in the US and not the UK (by the far-right Regnery Publishing, built on the Regnery fortune one of the heirs to which uses his wealth to fund the activities of the white supremacist National Policy Institute and the Charles Martel Society; how do you like them apples?). but i still think it is the case, correct me if i’m wrong, that TERFs have enjoyed the most success at legal reform in the US pursuing a transmisogynist scaremongering agenda about potential predators, and that TERFs have enjoyed the most success at legal reform in the UK pursuing a #TransgenderTrend moral panic centered around the dangers posed to young cafabs (the two other major areas worth considering apart from legal reform would be medical reform and public attitudes; we wouldn’t be surprised to find the same trend in those areas, but we would also not be surprised to find a different trend).

anyway, the analysis i make about reproductive futurity (where transmascs themselves embody the Child as victims of transgender ideology who must be rescued, their fertility restored) is i think vulnerable to the same criticism made in this post. where sybil says “TERFs view you as a misguided corrupted victim”, and the rest, fig (sybil’s interlocutor) responds that what they are describing “are v much white transmasc experiences” and that black and brown transmascs are instead treated by white women “as threats, due to the intersecting views on manhood/masculinity and race.”

sybil accepts this argument and i accepted it at the time because it makes intuitive sense; this corresponds to how i understand racism to work. but i don’t really like accepting arguments on intuition like this because competing narratives would convince me equally based on the same principles. look at it this way: if we wanted to apply fig’s argument to my post we would say that transmascs of colour cannot embody the Child in this way because white women protray men of colour (even, people of colour quite generally) as dangerous, masculine, predatory, etc. we would bring up a number of examples to prove this, such as the role of ‘masculinity’ in the repressively reconstrued diagnostic criteria of schizophrenia applied to black male radicals in the 60s, the many instances where news writers refer to black 16 year old victims of police shootings as “men”, and so forth. we have a coherent story that people of colour are denied any notion of childhood and are seen to possess a sort of inaliable masculinity.

however, we could also tell the opposite story. there are many discourses where black and brown people figure as Children par excellence. i can’t find it now (frustrating!) but there is a very demonstrative old painting: it has a white woman who is meant to represent Europe nursing several children of colour (one for each ‘race’, as they saw it). this metaphor of mother Europe and her dependant colonies was very common (eg. here {warning: obscenely racist image}; common enough to be mocked in László Moholy-Nagy’s 1925 collage Mother Europe Cares for Her Colonies). further, the notion of the ‘childhood of man’ implicit in discourses about savages and primitives, important to liberal humanist evolutionism, became more than merely a discourse when deployed in eg. the reserve schools of America and Canada and the missionary schools of French Polynesia which sought to save native Children from their own indigineity—this in fact very much resembles our narrative about transmascs and their perverse salvation. in our conversation about this dev reminded me that people conflate “the capacity for self-infantilism and the use of infantilism as a means of social control.” one remembers what Eldridge Cleaver had to say about what he called the emasculation of black men, to such an extent that he analogized black men in America to court eunuchs (this is perhaps the only feature of his thought that stayed with him throughout his transition from black muslim to revolutionary communist to conservative fundamentalist).

you can see how i now have two competing stories that i might find intuitively convincing. both have historical analogues. i don’t want to arbitrarily decide one is the right version over the other without seeing good evidence and hearing good arguments. but even if i did, i should remain mindful that one might predominate in some discourses, might predominate in certain epochs, but may easily become its opposite under different conditions. if it can i’d like to know how, if it can’t i’d like to know why. in any case, it’s significant to me that personally i have never seen TERFs talk about cafabs of colour. of course they aren’t likely to talk about it to me, but this seems to be something that they acknowledge themselves (in a paraliptic way). Shrier confines her discussion to “(mostly white) girls,” by girls meaning trans men, who previously would have “[fallen] prey to anorexia and bulimia or multiple personality disorder“ (citation needed???). i can already imagine the sort of paper you could write about this parenthetical suggestion, (mostly white).

#racism tw #antiblackness tw

[eighthdoctor]

Book Review 10/72

God's Crucible: Islam and the Making of Europe, 570-1215 by David Levering Lewis

For what the book contains, it earns 3.5 stars. For what the book doesn’t contain, it goes down to 2. Extremely disappointing.

Problems with the contents of the book: Lewis is working on a Whiggish, early 20th century-at-best understanding of history, ie, history is a progression from savage barbarians to civilized democrats and any deviation from that is quantitatively Bad, and also you can have people who are civilized and people who are barbaric without feeling any need to define those terms. The big reason I don’t hit Lewis harder for this is that he is most free with the barbaric savage descriptors in reference to Northern Europeans, so at least we’re not getting orientalism and racism with our out-of-date historical understanding.

He takes this to the point where he either uncritically quotes or outright agrees that Charles Martel’s victory at Tours/Poitiers set European civilization back precisely 267 years and a Muslim victory would have spared Europe the wars of religion. With citations. At this point I very nearly put the book down.

The problem is I don’t know enough about Islamic history, and I definitely don’t know enough about Islam and the West from anything but an Orientalist perspective, so I powered through. Did I learn things? Yes. Some of them were even on topic!

...The 80+ pages on the life of Charlemagne was not, though.

I also remain perturbed that he cites Edward fucking Gibbon as if he’s the word of God on history? Surely we have other sources for early Islam? No?? Did Gibbon pull Decline and Fall fully formed out of his head?

Anyway, based on all of that, he does generally know his stuff (there’s some phrasing that leads to outright inaccuracies, but that’s sloppy writing, not sloppy research) and because it’s an underexplored topic, I was willing to give 3.5 stars.

HOWEVER.

The title and summary are wildly misleading.

Do you know what formative event in European history was mentioned a total of 3 times in passing, with no context? Do you know what conflict he found so irrelevant that he would rather pass on (baseless!!! anachronistic!!) rumors about Charlemagne’s sex life than address it at all?

The fucking Crusades

2/5

#good news is i have a DIFFERENT book ENTIRELY about the crusades up next so hopefully that'll redeem this one #also quit. just quit taking historians at face value. #THE AUTHOR HAS WON TWO PULITZERS THIS IS NOT COMPLICATED HISTORIOGRAPHY HERE #history book #book review

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Vivant, il a manqué le monde ; mort, il le possède.

- François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848), Vie de Napoléon, livres XIX à XXIV des Mémoires d’outre-tombe (posthume)

Of course we don’t have any photograph or film of Napoleon’s death on 5 May 1821 on Saint Hélène. But we do have the next best thing: a painting. Charles de Steuben depiction of Napoleon's deathbed and his faithful entourage that served as witnesses to his dying moments became the one of the most important paintings of the post-Napoleonic era but then faded from modern memory.

I first came across it by accident when I was in my teens at my Swiss boarding school. There were times I found myself with school friends going away on hiking trips around the high Alpine chain of the Allgäu Alps and we would drive through Lake Constance to get there, or we would hike around the Lake itself through the Bodensee-Rundwanderweg.

Perched high above Lake Constance and nestled in large parklands, stood Schloss Arenenberg which overlooks the lower part of Lake Constance. At first, it appears a relatively modest country house. But this was no usual pretty looking house. Arenenberg was owned by well-heeled families before it was sold to Hortense de Beauharnais, the adopted daughter and sister-in-law of the French Emperor himself, Napoleon Bonaparte. She had it rebuilt in the French Empire style and lived there from 1817 with her son Louis Napoleon, later Emperor Napoleon III, who is said to have spoken the Thurgau dialect in addition to French. This elegantly furnished castle then was once the residence of the last emperor of France.

The alterations made first by Queen Hortense and later by Empress Eugénie have been carefully preserved and the house still bears the marks of both women. Queen Hortense's drawing room is perfectly preserved and visitors can still admire her magnificent library (all marked with the Empress' cipher) containing over one thousand books. Likewise, in the room where the queen died, every object has been maintained in its original condition: pieces of furniture and personal belongings are gathered here to evoke her memory in a very touching manner. As for Empress Eugénie's rooms, they too have been very carefully preserved. Her private drawing room is a perfect illustration of the Second Empire style with sculptures by Carpeaux and portraits of the imperial family by Winterhalter.

After 1873, the Empress and the Imperial Prince brought the palace back to life by making regular summer visits, which they continued until 1878. However, on the tragic death of her son in 1879, Eugénie found it difficult to return to a place so full of painful memories. And so in 1906 she donated the estate to the canton of Thurgovie as a testimony of her gratitude for the region's faithful hospitality towards the Napoleon family. And in accordance with the Empress' wishes, the residence was turned into a museum devoted to Napoleon.

In what is now the Napoleonic Museum, the original furnishings have been preserved, and the palace gardens had been fully restored. This in itself might be worth a visit for the view over Lake Constance which is stunning. For Napoleonic era buffs though its the incredible art collection which is its real treasure. It houses an important art collection including works by the First-Empire artists Chinard Canova, Gros, Robert Lefèvre, Gérard, Isabey and Girodet-Trioson, and by the Second-Empire painters and sculptors Alfred de Dreux, Winterhalter, Carpeaux, Meissonier, Hébert, Flandrin, Detaille, Nieuwerkerke and Giraud.

But what caught my eye was this painting, ‘La Mort de Napoléon’ by Charles de Steuben. I didn’t know anything about it or the artist for that matter, but one of my more erudite school friends who, being French, was into Napoleonic stuff in a huge way, and she explained it all to me. Of course I knew a fair bit about Napoleon growing up because my grandfather and father, being military men themselves, were Napoleonic warfare buffs and it rubbed off onto me. I just knew about Napoleon the military genius. I never thought about him once he was beaten at Waterloo in 1815. So I never really engaged with Napoleon the man. And yet here I was staring at his last breath of mortality caught forever in time through art. Not for the first time I had mixed feelings about Napoleon Bonaparte, both the man and the myth (built up around him since his death).

On 5 May, 1821, at 5.49pm in Longwood House on the remote island of St Helena, in the words of the famed French man of letters,  François-René de Chateaubriand, ‘the mightiest breath of life which ever animated human clay’ came no more. To the British, Dutch, and Prussian coalition who had exiled Naopleon Bonaparte there in 1815, he was a despot, but to France, he was seen as a devotee of the Enlightenment.

In the decade following his demise, Napoleon’s image underwent a transformation in France. The monarchy had been restored, but by the late 1820s, it was growing unpopular. King Charles X was seen as a threat to the civil liberties established during the Napoleonic era. This mistrust revived Napoleon’s reputation and put him in a more heroic light.

Fascination with the French leader’s death led Charles de Steuben, a German-born Romantic painter living in Paris, to immortalise the momentous event. Steuben’s painting depicts the moment of Napoleon’s death and seeks to capture the sense of awe in the room at the death of a man whose legendary career had begun in the French Revolution. It was this, ultimate moment that Steuben wished to immortalise in a painting which has since become what could almost be described as the official version of the scene.

There is no question that Steuben’s painting became the most famous and most iconic depiction of Napoleon’s death in art history. In another painting, executed during the years 1825-1830, Steuben was to give a realistic view of the emperor dictating his memoirs to general Gourgaud. This same realism also pervades his version of Napoleon’s death, and it is totally unlike Horace Vernet’s, Le songe de Bertrand ou L’Apothéose de Napoléon (Bertrand’s Dream or the apotheosis of Napoleon) which, although painted in the same year, is an allegorical celebration of the emperor’s martyrdom and as such the first stone in the edifice of the Napoleonic legend.

And what a legend Napoleon’s life was turned into for time immemorial. Napoleon declared himself France’s First Consul in 1799 and then emperor in 1804. For the next decade, he led France against a series of European coalitions during the Napoleonic Wars and expanded his empire throughout much of continental Europe before his defeat in 1814. He was exiled to the Mediterranean island of Elba, but he escaped and briefly reasserted control over France before a crushing final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Napoleon’s military prowess earned him the fear of his enemies, but his civil reforms in France brought him the respect of his people. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in 1804, replaced the existing patchwork of French laws with a unified national system built on the principles of the Enlightenment: universal male suffrage, property rights, equality (for men), and religious freedom. Even in his final exile on St. Helena, Napoleon proved a magnetic presence. Passengers of ships docked to resupply would hurry to meet the great general. He developed strong personal bonds with the coterie who had accompanied him into exile. Although some speculate that he was murdered, most agree that Napoleon’s death in 1821, at the age of 51, was the result of stomach cancer.

By contrast, Charles de Steuben was born in 1788, his youth and artistic training coinciding with Napoleon’s rise to power. He was the son of the Duke of Württemberg officer Carl Hans Ernst von Steuben. At the age of twelve he moved with his father, who entered Russian service as a captain, to Saint Petersburg, where he studied drawing at the Art Academy classes as a guest student. Thanks his father's social contacts in the court of the Tsar, in the summer of 1802 he accompanied the young Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna of Russia (1786–1859) and granddaughter of Frederick II Eugene, Duke of Württemberg, to the Thuringian cultural city of Weimar, where the Tsar's daughter two years later married Charles Frederick, Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach (1783–1853). Steuben, then fourteen years old, was a Page at the ducal court, a position for which the career prospects would be in the military or administration. The poet Friedrich Schiller was a family friend who at once recognised De Steuben's artistic talent and instilled in him his political ideal of free self-determination regardless of courtly constraints.

At the behest of Pierre Fontaine in 1828 de Steuben painted La Clémence de Henri IV après la Bataille d'Ivry, depicting a victorious Henry IV of France at the Battle of Ivry. De Steuben's Bataille de Poitiers, en octobre 732, painted between 1834 and 1837, shows the triumphant Charles Martel at the Battle of Tours, also known as the Battle of Poitiers. He painted Jeanne la folle around the same time and he was commissioned by Louis Philippe to paint a series of portraits of past Kings of France.

Life in the French capital was a repeated source of internal conflict for Steuben. The allure of bohemian Paris and his military-dominated upbringing made him a wanderer between worlds. As an official commitment to his adopted country he became a French citizen in 1823. However, the irregularity of his income as a freelance artist was in contrast to his sense of duty and social responsibility. To secure his family financially, he took a job as an art teacher at École Polytechnique, where he briefly trained Gustave Courbet. In 1840 he was awarded a gold medal at the Salon de Paris for his highly acclaimed paintings.

The love of classical painting was a lifelong passion of Steuben. He was a close friend to Eugène Delacroix, the leader of the French Romantic school of painting, whom he portrayed several times. Steuben was also part of this artistic movement, which replaced classicism in French painting. "The painter of the Revolution," as Jacques-Louis David was called by his students, joined art with politics in his works. The subjects of his historical paintings supported historical change. He painted mainly in sharp colour contrasts, heavy solid contours and clear outlines. The severity of this style led many contemporary artists - including Prud'hon - to a romanticised counter movement. They preferred the shadowy softness and gentle colour gradations of Italian Renaissance painters such as Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio da Correggio, whose works they studied intensively. Steuben, who had begun his training with David, felt the school was becoming increasingly rigid and dogmatic. Critics praised his deliberate compositions, excellent brush stroke and impressive colour effects. But some of his critics felt that his pursuit of dramatic design of rich people also showed, at times, a pronounced tendency toward the histrionic.

The portrayal of key moments in Napoleon’s dramatic military career would feature among some of Steuben’s best known works. But it is this death scene that Steuben is most remembered for.

Using his high-level contacts among figures in Napoleon’s circle, Steuben interviewed and sketched many of the people who had been present when Napoleon died at Longwood House on St. Helena. He wanted to attempt o give the most accurate representation of the scene possible. Indeed, the painter interviewed the companions of Napoleon’s captivity on their return to France and had them pose for their portraits. Only the Abbé Vignali, captain Crokat and the doctor Arnott were painted from memory. The Grand maréchal Bertrand made sketches of the plan of the room, noting the positions of the different pieces of furniture and people in the room. All the protagonists within the painting brought together some of their souvenirs and in posing for the painter, each person can be seen contributing to a work of collective memory, very much with posterity in mind.

Painstakingly researched, Steuben painted  a carefully composed scene of hushed grief. Notable among the figures are Gen. Henri Bertrand, who loyally followed Napoleon into exile; Bertrand’s wife, Fanny; and their children, of whom Napoleon had become very fond.

The best known version of “La Mort de Napoléon” was completed in 1828. French writer Stendhal considered it “a masterpiece of expression.” In 1830 the installation of a more liberal monarchy in France further boosted admiration of Napoleon, who suddenly became a wildly popular figure in theatre, art, and music. This fervour led to the diffusion of Steuben’s deathbed scene in the form of engravings throughout Europe in the 1830s. As Napoleon’s stock arose within French culture and arts, so did Steuben’s depiction of Napoleon’s death. It became a grandeur of vision that permeated Steuben’s masterpiece of historical reconstruction.

Initially forming part of the collection of the Colonel de Chambrure, the painting was put up for auction in Paris, on 9 March 1830, with other Napoleonic works, notably Horace Vernet’s Les Adieux de Fontainebleau (The Fontainebleau adieux) and Steuben’s Retour de l’île d’Elbe (The return from the island of Elba). The catalogue noted that the painting had already been viewed in the colonel’s collection by “three thousand connoisseurs” – which alone would have made it a success -, but its renown was to be further amplified by the production of the famous engraving. The diffusion of this engraving by Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet (1830-1831, held at the Musée de Malmaison), reprinted and copied countless times throughout the 19th century, made the scene a classic in popular imagery, on a level of popularity with paintings such as Millet’s Angelus.

A / Grand Marshal Henri-Gatien Bertrand. Utterly loyal servant of Napoleon’s to the last. His memoirs of the exile on St Helena were not published until 1849. Only the year 1821 has ever been translated into English.

B / General Charles Tristan de Montholon. Courtier and companion of Napoleon’s exile. Montholon managed to ease Bertrand out and become Napoleon’s closest companion at the end, highly rewarded in Napoleon’s will, which Montholon helped write. Montholon’s untrustworthy memoirs were published in 1846/47.

C / Doctor Francesco Antommarchi. Corsican anatomy specialist. Sent by Napoleon’s mother from Rome to St Helena to be Napoleon’s personal physician on the expulsion of Barry O’Meara. Napoleon disliked and distrusted Antommarchi. Antommarchi’s untrustworthy memoirs were very influential and published in 1825.

D / Angelo Paolo Vignali, Abbé. Corsican assistant-chaplain, sent by Madame Mère from Rome to St Helena in 1819.

E / Countess Françoise Elisabeth “Fanny” Bertrand and her children: Napoléon (F), who carried the censer at Napoleon’s funeral; Hortense (G); Henry (H); and Arthur (I), youngest by six years of all the Bertrand children and born on the island. She was wife of the Grand Marshal, very unwilling participant in the exile on St Helena. Her relations with Napoleon were difficult since she refused to live at Longwood. She spoke fluent English. Was however very loyal to Napoleon.

J / Louis Marchand. Napoleon’s valet from 1814 on and one of his closest servants. As Napoleon noted in his will, “The service he [Marchand] rendered were those of a friend”.

K / “Ali”, Louis Étienne Saint-Denis. Known as “the Mamluk Ali”, one of Napoleon’s longest-serving and intimate servants; He became Librarian at Longwood and was an indefatigable copyist of imperial manuscripts.

L / Ali’s English (Catholic) wife, Mary ‘Betsy’ Hall. She was sent out from England by UK relatives of the Countess Bertrand to be governess/nursemaid to the Bertrand children. Married Ali aged 23 in October 1819.

M / Jean Abra(ha)m Noverraz. From the Vaud region in Switzerland. Very tall and imposing figure that Napoleon called his “Helvetic bear”. He was himself ill during Napoleon’s illness.

N / Noverraz’s wife, Joséphine née Brulé. They married in married in July 1819, and she was the Countess Montholon’s lady’s maid. Noverraz and Saint-Denis had a fist fight for the hand of Joséphine.

O / Jean Baptiste Alexandre Pierron. The cook, dessert specialist, long in Napoleon’s service and who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba.

P /Jacques Chandelier. Iincorrectly identified on the picture as Santini who had left the island in 1817. A cook, from the service of Pauline Bonaparte, Napoleon’s sister, who arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

Q /Jacques Coursot. Butler, from the service of Madame Mère, Napoleon’s mother, he arrived on St Helena with the group from Rome in 1819.

R / Doctor Francis Burton. Irish surgeon in the 66th regiment who had arrived on St Helena only on 31st March 1821. He is renowned for having made Napoleon’s death mask (with ensign John Ward and Antommarchi).

S/ Doctor Archibald Arnott. Surgeon in the 20th regiment. Brought in to tend to Napoleon in extremis on 1 April 1821.

T/ Captain William Crokat. A Scot, orderly officer at Longwood for less than a month, having replaced Engelbert Lutyens on 15 April. He received the honour of carrying the news of Napoleon’s death back to London and also the reward, namely, a promotion and £500, privileges of which Lutyens was deliberately deprived by the governor.

#charles de steuben #art #painting #napoleon #bonaparte #st helena #life #death #chateaubriand #french #france #emperor #artist #aesthetics #war #politics #society #culture #arts #personal

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Major Updates to My Weird Idea (that includes my Nightside OCs)

Go check my previous post on this - HERE

This is mainly an update for @schizoauthoress , @the--blackdahlia , @spacelizardtrashboys , @enigmaticandunstable and @piratewithvigor and I personally think @nattinngrst might like this.

I went on a trip to the beach yesterday with my parents and my older brother (who I bored and annoyed with this idea and you'll see some of his influence in this here post)

Anything written in italics is meant to be taken as a joke as you read through this wall of text, sending good vibes as always, hope y'all are doing well.

The show is set in Canadian, Texas (real place: Wikipedia). I'm thinking of this show starting in the mid-to-late 90s (1996/1997).

I've managed to do several things with that weird sitcom idea, so, where to start, how about with the three potential titles:

1 - Neighbourhood Watch

2 - First Call

3 - First Round (Which my brother likes)

Here are some options for bar names, starting with the Cop bar:

1 - The Donut Hole

2 - The Roasted Hog (which my big bro suggested)

3 - The Sherriff's Outpost

And the Biker Bar:

1 - The Handlebar Inn

2 - The Steel Horse Saloon

3 - The Rebel Room

Next on the list of updates: Cast additions, character roles and (Finally after 2 days) Names for Everyone!!

I'll start with the Cop Bar's owner & staff:

Rosalina Asturias 'Rosa' (Played by Billie Martinez) an employee of the local cop bar. Didn't grow up in the town, moved here for work.

Violet Croft (Played by Eli Herne) an employee. Grew up in town, never left, has the hots for one of the guys in the local police.

Sunshine Crawford 'Sunny' (Played by Holly Di Antonio) an employee. Grew up in town, left for college and came back.

Roscoe Power 'Ross' (Played by Jimmy Hart) the loudmouth who owns the bar, grew up in town, used to be a car salesman.

Olesya Pavlovsky 'Olivia' (Played by Penelope Voronin) an employee who grew up in town and has immigrant parents, goes by 'Olivia' because she would rather you don't f*** up her actual name.

Winona Vance (Played by Sam Griffin Silver) an employee who moved here from New York, for unknown reasons, and doesn't really understand the small town, everyone knows everyone lifestyle.

Lavender Whittemore (Played by Victoria Lucifarian) an employee who grew up in England but moved to live in America, settled in Canadian, Texas due to her love of westerns.

Next: The Local Police Squad:

Sergeant Valentine Gautier 'Val' (Played by Bret Hart) recently promoted before the series begins but still on patrol duty, watches over his younger brother.

Corporal Buck Morris 'Buckshot' (Played by Davey Boy Smith) the gun loving corporal of the squad and the only one to have both 'work' and 'home' guns.

Captain Napoleon Cooper 'Crazy Cooper' / 'Captain Crazy' (Played by Jim Neidhart) the police captain, recently reassigned to Canadian, Texas as there were rumours abut him which interfered with his work in his previous location.

Officer Duke Gautier (Played by Owen Hart) the young, recently recruited brother of Sgt Gautier, often put on patrol alone to ensure less arguments, but always checked on by his brother.

Next: The Biker Bar's Staff:

Ozzy Rains (Played by Charles Wright) A biker and member of the staff who grew up just outside of town but loves his fellow staff members like family.

Brock Martel (Played by Henry Godwin) a biker and member of the staff who grew up on a local ranch and loves beer, football and the current Mayor's down-to-Earth style.

Vincent Gore 'Vinnie' (Played by Kane) the owner's son and a known fire loving 'freak' often protected by his surrogate family, the bar staff, Vinnie knows no better than 'ooh, cool looking fire' and must be restrained or have his hands swatted away to stop him burning himself trying to touch campfires.

Raven Knight (Played by Kirby Roussimoff) the only female staff member, but also the girl who does all the tough jobs when needed, has a side business of making and selling artwork, such as portraits to locals, has designed some of the bar staff's tattoos.

Harlow Gore (Played by Paul Bearer) the owner of the bar and a loving father to his son, took Murphy (Undertaker) under his wing when they first met and also treats him, and the rest of staff, like family.

Hunter King (Played by Phineas Godwin) Brock's cousin and a member of staff, taught Raven how to shoot a shotgun and his father owns a local tattoo parlour.

Sequoia Reed (Played by Rikishi) an employee and Frankie's (Yokozuna) cousin, also a surrogate cousin to Raven, having been best friends since childhood. Reed loves his job and his staff family and will defend both at any cost.

Lupe Zapatero (Played by Savio Vega) an employee at the bar and possibly the shortest member of staff, towered over by the tallest staff members but is not any less of a fighter because of his size, a former mechanic who loves nothing more than taking things apart and putting them back together while listening to metal / rock.

Murphy Graves (Played By The Undertaker) Manager of the biker bar and an excellent member of staff, has an outlaw rules vibe, as in he would say to the police "Your jurisdiction ends when you walk in my bar." Very protective of the staff, and the owner.

Frankie Wolf (Played by Yokozuna) the most relaxed and laid-back of the staff, Frankie would prefer to be in the kitchen making potential 'Culinary Masterpieces' as he would call them. Sequoia and Raven's (surrogate) cousin, views his staff mates as family.

Next: The Local Band (Named: Exoskeleton Samurai)/College Students

Quinn Thorn (Played by Jeff Hardy) the bassist to Ros' (Lita) vocals / lead Guitar and older brother Garth's (Matt) Drums, a face paint enthusiast and an English major in college who never seems to find time to study, but always has time to date somehow.

Roz Jerome (Played by Lita) the vocals and lead guitar for the band and an art major who actually studies, dating Garth (Matt) and met Quinn through him. Roz also studies Spanish and French.

Garth Thorn (Played by Matt Hardy) Quinn's older brother and the band's drummer, a major in psychology and a horror movie lover, Roz' boyfriend and almost totally devoted to her, even at the cost of his college work.

Next: The Local Townsfolk of Note:

Mayor Robert Sweet (Played by Jim Duggan) rarely seen, but apparently a good man with good ideas, helps out in volunteer projects and absolutely loves the town. Trying his hardest and people know this, and they love him. (did I meme correctly?)

Rusty Jarvis (Played by Mick Foley) the local hippie who has never left town, somehow managing to know both everything and nothing at the same town. (Very Dude Love with hints of Cactus Jack and Mankind) Does know how to fight when he needs to.

Redd Wayne (Played by 'Sycho' Sid Vicious/Justice) the local baseball/softball star, helps out at the local school/college teaching sports and likes Raven's artwork, he watches her draw when he can, runs the local little league & minor league baseball/softball games.

Earl Black (Played by Steve Austin) the most often seen regular at the biker bar, absolutely loves both the bar and the town, a hardworking guy who has befriended the entire staff (including Harlow and Vinnie) of the biker bar.

Lex Aston (Played by The Rock) a local struggling actor, teaching an acting class to pay the bills and an absolute ladies man, and for that reason he goes to the cop bar, to try and pick up one of the bartenders who works there, often favouring Rosa as she will jokingly flirt back.

Finally (for this section): The Degenerates and Their Benefactors:

Reign Yates (Played by Billy Gunn) Leon's (Road Dogg) best friend, often the getaway driver for the group and a scout for locations, often getting all the info on a place before telling Matty (H.H.H) and Dell (HBK). Often leaves town with Leon to get the heat off them. (and make out in secret)

Zelda Hooper (Played by Chyna) the only female degenerate but possibly the toughest, has a rap sheet as big as her arms, not to be trusted when around the other degenerates as she is usually the actual brains of the operation.

Matty Battle (Played by Hunter Hearst Helmsley) the co-leader of the degenerates, often protected by Zelda or Mark (Kevin Nash). does most of the talking but has the piss taken of him for his looks often by either other degenerates or locals who don't care for the degenerates.

Romeo Colombera (Played by Mike Rotundo/I.R.S) the right hand man of the mysterious benefactor, and often the lawyer for the degenerates as well as a taskmaster for them, telling them what the boss wants done and by what date.

Mark Rake (Played by Kevin Nash/Diesel) the tallest degenerate with a rap sheet as long as his leg, a former bouncer at a now closed nightclub, alongside best friend (and possibly boyfriend) Galo (Scott Hall) and now a bodyguard (when needed) for Matty and Dell (HBK, also boyfriends).

Leon Rose (Played by Road Dogg) best friend of Reign and a scout for the group alongside him. Has found every possible way to piss off other townsfolk and often in the most fights because of it, always on the police's radar for one thing or another and constantly leaving town because of it.

Galo Villalobos (Played by Scott Hall/Razor Ramon) the only (supposedly) Latino degenerate, raised in Canadian, Texas but his parents are from Cuba, Galo is a former nightclub bouncer (alongside Mark) Galo is known (for his ability to give minus fucks) as the most relaxed member of the group.

Dell Pain (Played by Shawn Michaels/HBK) the co-leader alongside Matty, a known flirt with people regardless of gender or sexuality, just to piss them off on some occasions. Dell grew up in town, knowing it like the back of his hand.

Giles Rennell (Played by Ted DiBiase) the mysterious benefactor of the group, bailing them out if needed, he stumbled across the group after seeing a police bulletin and decided to use them to cause enough chaos to guarantee a chance in the next mayoral election.

Zac Noel (Played by X-Pac) the shortest and youngest degenerate, Zac is often treated as the child of the group, being taught how to get away with crimes and trick the police into just letting him go by clerical error and tomfoolery.

Next on my list of updates: Season 1's episode list, episode titles, episode synopses, some spoilers, and the revolving door idea a bit further explained.

Series running order:

Biker bar episode

Cops on Patrol episode

Band/College Students episode

Cop bar episode (yes these are different)

Degenerates episode

(last episode of each season/series only) town meeting/town get-together (E.X: town hall meetings, the town getting together for a sports game or barbeque or restaurant opening)

1x01: Insert Coin to Start: The pilot episode of the series sees the local biker bar of Canadian, Texas installing two, brand new, arcade machines. After leaving for the night, the team finds the bar broken into and both machines missing with no evidence or possible suspects to the robbery. The team finds the machines relatively undamaged in an alleyway nearby. By the end of the episode there's still no suspects. B plot includes an argument between father and son, Harlow and Vincent which ends when Murphy gets involved.

1x02: Hot Pursuit: Newly instated chief of police Chief Cooper [Neidhart] makes changes to the patrol teams before tasking them with looking for any persons involved with (1x01)'s robbery and break-in, leading to a high speed chase later in the episode. B plot includes the squad coming to grips with the new, and much crazier, police chief.

1x03: Making Noise: Local band Exoskeleton Samurai [Team Extreme] are writing new music late at night while Roz [Lita] tries to study for a class the following day but, during a moment of quiet, they hear a break in a couple of doors down and attempt to see who it is. The group get a glimpse of Zac Noel [X-Pac] and Mark Rake [Nash] but not a full glimpse. Now aware of the local degenerates, the band try and forget about it and focus on their own lives until their apartment gets broken into when they're not there.

1x04: Donuts & Beer: The new cop bar opens on the other side of town, serving mainly (both savoury and sweet) bagels and donuts as well as beer (on tap and bottled), the fact it's slightly more risqué gets (both good and bad) attention on the place. Winona Vance [Sam] gets in a fight with Zac Noel [X-Pac] as she's locking up. Winona [Sam] being put in the hospital with a broken arm makes the rest of [Cop Bar]'s staff double down on getting justice for the near break-in.

1x05: Dirty Work: The first episode from the degenerates perspective. The degenerates are just causing general problems for the town without reason because it's fun' but it's quickly losing their interest as the heat on them rises. The end of the episode has Matty Battle [Triple H] receiving a call from 'Mister R' [DiBiase] offering him a deal.

1x06: Blue & Black: A brawl breaks out at [Biker Bar] following whispers that the people who broke in are in the building. The bikers who work at the bar threaten to hurt anyone who works for the rival bar if they try and mess with business while in the biker bar.

1x07: Captain Crazy: A rumour that the current captain was moved location and promoted to smooth over allegations that he may not be fully sane, Officer Duke Gautier [Owen] is determined to find the truth while Sergeant Valentine Gautier [Bret] and Corporal Buck Morris [Davey Boy] are determined to keep the peace and catch the local degenerates.

1x08: Broken Strings: following an argument with an ex girlfriend Quinn Thorn [Jeff] finds his guitar smashed and has to work odd jobs to buy another one (starting a potential series c plot). Garth Thorn [Matt] ends up in a fight with Galo Villalobos [Hall] which ends when Roz Jerome [Lita] smashes a table leg over the back of Galo's [Scott's] head, knocking him out and giving him over to the police.

1x09: Badges & Bottle Tops: Captain Cooper [Neidhart] stops by [cop bar] to talk with owner Roscoe Power [Jimmy Hart]. Meanwhile the Gautier boys [Owen & Bret] interrogate Galo Villalobos [Scott Hall] about what the degenerates are doing and why, getting no information about the mysterious benefactor over than he pays them a lot of money depending on what they do.

1x10: Paid off: The mysterious benefactor 'Mister R' [DiBiase] pays Galo's [Scott's] bail, getting him free for a while but side-lining him too. The benefactor remains hidden in shadow but Matty & Dell [Triple H & HBK] have a meeting with him to discuss money and the next job.

1x11: Written in Ink: the tattooed bikers on the staff encourage regular customer Earl Black [Austin] to get a skull tattoo on his back and even take him with them to the tattoo parlour they frequent, finding it to be burned to the ground with a 'freaks get lost' sign planted in the wreckage. Murphy Graves [Undertaker] dismisses the rumours that the arsonist is the fire fascinated Vincent Gore [Kane] and even gives him an alibi when the cops come looking for answers, putting blame on someone in town who knows about Vinnie's [Kane's] love of fire, which is nearly every person in town.

1x12: Sergeant Heartbreaker: Sergeant Gautier [Bret] is accused of flirting with the staff at [Cop bar] leading to a paid two day leave to get heat off of him while he's ordered to remain at home. Officer Gautier [Owen] and Corporal Morris [Davey Boy] are put on patrol together, leading to a high speed chase of Reign Yates, Leon Rose & Zelda Hooper [Gunn, Road Dogg & Chyna] after witnessing a mugging, assault and graffiti from the trio, the cops eventually lose them down a back road on private Giles Rennell's [DiBiase's] land they would need a warrant for.

1x13: Failing Grade: Quinn's [Jeff's] lack of sleep leads to him getting a fail on an test forcing him to do the semester again. Enraged by this Quinn [Jeff] considers leaving the school but is encouraged to continue following Garth [Matt] ending up in hospital following [1x12]'s assault and mugging on Garth & Roz [Matt & Lita].

1x14: Microphones & Megaphones: [cop bar]'s owner Roscoe Power [Jimmy Hart] installs a stage for local acts in the bar, leading to Violet Croft [Eli] performing later that episode (the closing of the episode into the credits) and the night before the first performance the bar is covered in graffiti, leading to a massive clean up effort from the staff and local volunteers (like Mick Foley & The Rock).

1x15: Trench Warfare: Romeo Colombera [IRS] the benefactor's [DiBiase's] right hand man and go-to lawyer gives the degenerates an list of jobs, run the police chief out of town by the end of the year, run the bikers out of town, and ensure that 'Mister R' [DiBiase] the benefactor wins the next mayoral election.

1x16: Fuelling Up: after closing up [biker bar] Raven Knight [Kirby] narrowly avoids being burned by her motorbike exploding in a ball of fire. Her boss, Harlow Gore [Bearer] tells her to take the week off, leading to her coming into the bar and sitting at the back of the bar, sketching the regular customers and having a long conversation with local sports star Redd Wayne [Sid].

1x17: Brothers in Arms: Together: the Gautier brothers [Bret & Owen] are put on patrol together leading to the arrest of Zelda, Matty & Dell [Chyna, Triple H & HBK] before the trio are bailed out, the brothers interrogate Dell Pain [HBK] (leading to a very 'basic instinct'-esque scene with Shawn in assless chaps and boxer briefs) who gives them no information on their behaviour and why they are doing the things they've done.

1x18: Night Time Fun: the band attends a college party, unknowingly with Zac Noel [X-Pac] also in attendance, leading to the trio being high and drunk and the Thorn brothers [Matt & Jeff] end up in a fight, almost being thrown out of college entirely for their actions the next morning.

1x19: Head or Hart: Violet Croft [Eli] and (officer) Duke Gautier [Owen] meet properly for the first time on a blind date, leading to them walking through the streets of Canadian, Texas at night. The date is quickly ended after Duke [Owen] spots Leon Rose [Road Dogg] spray painting [cop bar] and gives chase after handing Violet [Eli] his number.

1x20: Grunt Work: The degenerates have a group meeting about how to sabotage the town meeting, leading to Rennell [DiBiase] coming out of the shadows to lead the degenerates in a coordinated attack on the town hall. Leading to the degenerates waiting until the town meeting to begin the next day.

1x21: Town Meeting: Mayor Robert Sweet [Duggan] conducts a town meeting, leading to everyone airing their grievances with the degenerates recent spree of activity. At the end of the meeting, paint bombs hidden above the townsfolk go off all at once, covering everyone in bright, almost neon, green paint.

#Kayleigh's weird idea #any thoughts?