Not in this galaxy

“I understand,” Ar’alani said.

Which wasn’t to say that she agreed with him. Or that she had any intention of following such a ridiculous order.

Defying an Aristocra syndic could mean the end of her career, of course. But she’d put her career on the line so many times before that it was almost becoming routine.

~

I am writing this on an emotional night.

A night in which media representation of decisive and committed, yet sweet and caring women is painfully needed.

A night in which I feel a galaxy far far away from any kind of visible step forward for women to have real positions of power or leadership.

A night in which I face, once again, how micro and macro aggression, harassment, abuse, affect us in any field.

How many times we dodged a sexual comment faking misunderstanding, how many times we laughed at a blatant insult from the "it was just a joke" guy, how many times we were underestimated, dismissed, diminished.

Even the strongest of us, ready to capitulate under the weight of the umpteenth tiny little rock thrown at us.

Today, the last day of this "Women's History Month" (which I hate with a passion, feeling that my existence should be acknowledged more than a day or a month in a year, thank you very much), I feel unhopeful and sad.

And then, I come here.

For preparing a post about an extraordinary blue Admiral, who loves "music and food", "musical performances, and, certainly, a modicum of drink".

Who storms into the offices of her superiors like her meticulously forged career is worth nothing, just because it is the right thing to do.

Who is respected, listened to, admired, cherished, loved.

And I know why I love Star Wars so much.

[Photo: detail of a wonderful art print by @balangawa]

Indomitable

She eyed the unfinished lightsaber on her workbench. It wasn’t ready yet, and the one she’d painstakingly repaired—Luke’s—didn’t belong to her. So her quarterstaff would have to suffice as a weapon. Which was just fine. It had served her well on Jakku for years. In fact, someday, once she had mastered this lightsaber-building business, she might design one that felt more like a quarterstaff in her hand. Familiar and hefty. Two business ends. Maybe with a hinge in the middle for portability.

~

A red lightsaber appeared in the figure’s hand, chaotic like Kylo’s, with two parallel blades. Light from the blade finally illuminated a face as pale and gaunt as it was fierce.

Rey gasped, stumbling backward. It was her. Her face, her form. Cold and dark, wearing a Sith cloak, whole at last.

Horrified, she watched as the dark mirror Rey swung her blades apart, forming a long, fiery quarterstaff. It was the very saber she’d tentatively begun designing in her mind.

This couldn’t be real. It was a vision, nothing more.

~

Rey stood, pulling out her own lightsaber. She ignited it.

Her lightsaber glowed white-gold, and she gazed at it a long moment. It was single-bladed, with an outer casing and emitter salvaged from her quarterstaff. The final result felt like the exact inverse of the lightsaber held by the dark Rey of her vision, and she loved it. It was beautiful, it fit so perfectly in her hand, and she would carry it with her forever.

~

I know. I pontificated already.

[About Rey, how magnificent she is, what she meant to me]

But, at this point, I guess you realized that I use the IG platform in the absolutely wrong way.

Attaching images to feelings (and insanely long rants), I challenge myself to always speak about something new every day.

Aaaaaand, there, the character counter is, once again, Damoclean.

So.

A tiny drabble using mostly borrowed words dedicated to her quarterstaff and lightsaber.

Which I adore with my soul.

A minuscule contribution to the #GalacticGalsTribute IG hashtag, which, despite seldom using prompts, I really could not miss TODAY.

Wrapping my love for you

"A minute later they were all inside. It was a chocolate shop, Eli noted distantly, heavy with an aroma he would have found pleasantly enticing under other circumstances."

I will repeat myself here.

Among all the others, I owe to Mr. Zahn the fact that chocolate exists in canon, and Eli finds it "pleasantly enticing."

["Under *other* circumstances"]

I know.

I already reported this quote, and I normally try hard not to, but last time I ranted about layers of reality and fandom (!), so I feel entitled to do a silly post just about Eli and his love for chocolate (and Thrawn).

When Jun sent me these Japanese sweets, together with a gazillion of other beautiful things, I immediately craved to post about it.

And, since Feb 14th was kind of taken by my TED talk about Thrawn's love for -basically- everyone, I immediately thought to share it on White Day.

If you are not familiar with the celebration, very Japanese indeed, on March 14th people give reciprocal gifts to those who gave them presents on Valentine's Day.

So, as the total idiot that I am, I ended up imagining Eli fantasizing about some beautiful sweets to gift to Thrawn.

Dark or sweet chocolate?

Simple truffles or perfect French culinary *art*?

Picking the box, the colors, the flavors.

Not too informal, Eli. Elegant, classy.

What gift did Eli receive from Thrawn beforehand, you are asking?

Very simply, his most precious possession: Thrawn's intimate thoughts.

In a life dedicated to maintaining strict appearances in the Ascendancy first and in the Empire later, feeling like an odd fit among all "normal" social environments, his journal was a gash on Thrawn's heart and soul.

"Eli read the entry a second time. Then, with a sigh, he shut down his datapad.

He still didn’t know why Thrawn had left him his journal. []

Perhaps the reason was encompassed somehow in that final entry.

Distantly, Eli wondered if there had been any more to the journal.

And, if so, if he would ever find the other entries."

Wrapping the beautiful ribbon around the chocolate box, Eli just wondered if it would be ever enough.

~

And, yes.

This post is just 10 days late.

[Kriff!]

[Photo: charms by @_art_and_chaos_ ]

Needs

Because I am 12

Target Audience

Vi looked at her hands, at their scars. [] She just felt so powerless. Maybe her moment of need wasn’t quite as dire as Leia’s had been, [] but she was definitely in a dark place without a clear path. Her cargo was out of reach, her collaborator was challenging, and her own task seemed insurmountable. Her first attempt at recruitment had ended in a round of public laughter. Everything had gone wrong. She felt lost and unsure, which was not her usual state.

If she reached deep inside herself, what would she find? Not the Force, of course. But there was something there—an iron core. Determination. Tenacity. Stubborn persistence. She’d gotten herself out of that First Order interrogation chair, after all. She just had to live through one moment, and then the next, and then the next.

She just had to keep going—until she had a better hand.

~

With "Turning Red" on the pages of many newspapers, mostly for very wrong reasons, I was forced to reflect, once again, on identification and representation.

[Gracefully, the sexist and racist CinemaBlend review was turned down]

For the majority of my life, I was painfully not intended as the "target audience" of the movies, tv shows, or books I enjoyed.

Worst, just astonishingly few women represented *me* in mass-media productions.

Generally, they were not looking like me, sound like me, and, especially, act like me.

So, as an old pop culture consumer, I become quite used to being intrigued by stories and characters that were "other."

As Reath Silas, Padme, and, yes, Obi-Wan, Vi Moradi is not a protagonist that I feel particularly related to.

She is, in many ways, the very opposite of me.

But how limiting would be thinking that imaginary tales are invalid or uninteresting just because we could not identify with them?

Sure, I miss the representation, sometimes.

But fiction is a way to acknowledge and appreciate narratives that are utterly diverse and, therefore, precious.

Learning from Vi.

Her frank acceptance of her weaknesses.

Her honest admission of her failures.

Pain, lostness.

Without giving up.

So human, so real.

[Photo: beautiful pin by @armstrongoutpost on my adored Vi mouse ears by @poppourrico]

Refreshingly Uncomplicated

“Mmhmm,” Ziara murmured absentmindedly in answer to the question from her lap, frowning at the military history text on her questis. 

“You’re not listening, are you.” 

Thrawn’s voice was tinged with amusement, and Ziara put her questis aside with a twinge of guilt. She had been listening, but something he’d said had tickled a memory in the back of her mind and she’d sort of… forgotten to put the text down again afterward. 

“Sorry,” she said, resuming stroking her fingers through Thrawn’s short, almost silky hair. “Nervous about the exit exam tomorrow.” 

Thrawn hummed, closing his eyes and re-settling his head slightly, but he didn’t offer any empty platitudes or reassurance. One of the things Ziara liked about him. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a time, the unspoken knowledge hanging quietly but heavily in the air that once Ziara graduated from Taharim, this aspect of their friendship, at least, this casual intimacy, would be lost. She couldn’t quite work out whether Thrawn was bothered by that or not. He certainly enjoyed her company, and as far as she could tell, the younger cadet didn’t really… have any other friends at the Academy, aside from her. He had a brother he was close to, though, of course, Ziara had never met him, but that was all. Other cadets and senior cadets seemed to think he was either an idiot— which he wasn’t— or playing some deep, political game— which he definitely wasn’t. 

What the others couldn’t see was that while Thrawn was extremely intelligent, he was also just… refreshingly uncomplicated. Ziara was going to miss him for that more than anything else. He didn’t always make sense, but he didn’t play mind games or political games or any kind of games, and to Ziara, that was worth a hell of a lot. 

The truth was, she trusted Thrawn. Even when she didn’t understand him. She trusted him enough to let her guard down around him without worrying that knowledge of her weaknesses and even fears would ever be used against her. 

A rare thing, for Ruling Family blood members. 

[From "A rare thing" by chaos_monkey.

Note: the full story implies a casual intimate relationship during the Taharim years]

~

Even if not canon, I think this excerpt expresses beautifully how Ar'alani feels about Thrawn.

Even if he is a pain-in-the-ass more than sometimes, and jeopardizes her career every other day, he is indeed "refreshingly uncomplicated."

Sure, she was his CO for the majority of their adult lives, so he deeply treasures her approval and her command.

Nevertheless, he is not intimidated, less blunt, or direct.

Funny, witty, easy to be around.

Knowing Wutroow, well.

She definitely has a pattern.

[Photo: art by Lipstick And Lightsabers on Teepublic]

Unconditional love

“Give yourself to the dark side, Luke,” he entreated. “It is the only way you can save your friends. Yes, your thoughts betray you, son. Your feelings for them are strong, especially for—”

Vader stopped. He sensed something.

Luke withdrew further into shadow. He tried to hide, but there was no way to hide what was in his mind—Leia was in pain. Her agony cried to him now, and his spirit cried with her. He tried to shut it out, to shut it up, but the cry was loud, and he couldn’t stifle it, couldn’t leave it alone, had to cradle it openly, to give it solace.

Vader’s consciousness invaded that private place.

“No!” screamed Luke.

Vader was incredulous. “Sister? Sister!” he bellowed. “Your feelings have now betrayed her, too… Twins!” he roared triumphantly. [] His smile was clear to Luke, through the mask, through the shadows, through all the realms of Darkness. “If you will not turn to the Dark Side, perhaps she will.” []

“Never!” he screamed. []

He rushed to his father with a frenzy he’d never known. Nor had Vader. [] Each stroke of Luke’s saber pummeled Vader, like accusations, like screams, like shards of hate. The Dark Lord was driven to his knees. He raised his blade to block yet another onslaught—and Luke slashed Vader’s right hand off at the wrist. [] Luke stared at his father’s twitching, severed, mechanical hand—and then at his own black-gloved artificial part—and realized suddenly just how much he’d become like his father. []

This was Darkness—and it was the Darkness he hated. Not his father, not even the Emperor. But the Darkness in them. In them, and in himself.

And the only way to destroy the Darkness was to renounce it. For good and all.

He stood suddenly erect, and made the decision for which he’d spent his life in preparation.

~

This scene is why.

Why Star Wars became part of who I am.

The fondness, the devotion, the affection in that "Never."

Pure feelings for his found family.

For the sister who could read his heart and mind.

Ever for his twisted father.

No, it could not be part of the Darkness.

Unconditional LOVE.

So intense and beautiful that doubts, selfishness, hate, have no place.

And Luke is there.

Teaching me how to do it.

[Photo: pin by @ritarussiandoll_pins. Art by Azenshelby on Tumblr]

Vengeance

The Batman

I am totally speechless.

I waited for 46 years but I finally saw a DC movie that sounds, speaks, and looks like a DC comic.

And a BATMAN DC comic, nevertheless.

I got out of the movie theater actually in tears for how hyper I was.

I am.

I cannot believe it.

It was PERFECT.

And, for the ones that "I kind of like superheroes movies but I never was a nerd,... you know?", maybe, just maybe, this is not for you.

It's not funny. It's not witty.

It is not GLOSSY. 

And it's long. Very very long.

It's a fucking DC comic.

You didn't like them before, you probably don't like them now.

But it's PERFECT.

That simple joy

Thalias was gazing out the bridge viewport at the hyperspace swirl, feeling dullness and fatigue pulling at her eyelids, when the aroma of hot caccoleaf snapped her back to full alertness.

She turned. Thrawn was coming up behind her with a steaming non-spill mug. “Senior Captain,” she said, nodding wearily at him. “I thought you were off duty.”

“I am,” Thrawn said, handing her the mug. “As are you and Sky-walker Che’ri. How is she doing?”

“As far as I can tell, she’s fine,” Thalias said, savoring the aroma before taking a sip. Not too hot, and extra strong. Exactly what she needed right now. [.]

“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay here and watch her until she needs to sleep.”

“Or until you need to sleep,” Thrawn said. “I can have someone else watch her.”

Thalias squared her shoulders. “I’ll stay here,” she repeated firmly, “until she needs to sleep.”

“Understood,” Thrawn said, and Thalias could hear the quiet approval in his tone. “Carry on, Caregiver.”

~

And, yes.

Thrawn is the kind of darling that brings you caccoleaf when you need it.

Even if he is off duty.

And, yes.

In my headcanon, he actually prefers hot tealeaf, mostly.

Not tannic, scented, partially oxidized.

Loving rich aromas, with nuts tones, and absolutely free from even the smallest trace of a bitter flavor.

And, when offered caf, maybe cheap and excessively brewed for surviving long sessions with dull Imperials, he adds an immoderate quantity of sugar and some milk.

Which always makes Eli smile.

In his years in the Empire, Vanto even tried to smuggle for him some high-quality galara tealeaf.

Closing his eyes, inhaling the familiar fragrance.

And he is home.

Che'ri lively describing to him her last blue butterfly drawing.

Ar'alani calmly entering in his office while sarcastically retorting to Wutroow.

Samakro snorting, standing close to him, gruff as he was scripted.

And, yes.

Eli would navigate the Unknown Regions alone and without a compass just for the joy of observing that exact Thrawn's expression.

[Photo: no-spill mug with my "ISD Chimaera - Bridge Crew" design. On Teepublic. Note that the actual color is a little more bluish compared to the photo]

A Home of Our Own

Kanan Jarrus was in love.

The Ghost, Hera had called it.

It was the ship he’d admired as it passed him on the way to Cynda days earlier—and it was a marvel. Roughly hexagonal in shape, it was a light freighter with lots of modifications—all of them, as near as he could tell, improvements. The two main engines jutting out the back were top-notch pieces of equipment, better than anything he’d seen on Gorse or anywhere else. A cockpit sat front-and-center above another bubble housing a turret for a forward gunner. It had symmetry many Corellian cargo ships lacked—and even a small excursion module mounted aft.

After piloting dingy freighters and explosives haulers, after riding in nasty commercial liners and the holds of mining ships, Kanan found Ghost a breath of pure oxygen.

He would kill to fly it—and as Hera had joked, he might have to.

It was hers, all hers.

That was fine. He’d welcome the ride.

~

With my endless adoration for Star Wars Rebels, it has been challenging to find something that I did not already rant about regarding my favorite space people.

Then, inspired by this beautiful pin by @lanternpins, the engineer in me realized that I could actually speak about their HOME.

The Ghost, like many other fictional vessels, is more than a spaceship.

It is the heart and soul of this extraordinary group of Rebels.

It is part of the crew, a fully-fledged character of the story.

Sure, an armed war machine, able to inflict pain and destruction.

But also their refuge, their protection.

Wrapping them, cuddling them.

A place for learning and growing.

For laughter and silly jokes.

A place for being everything they want to be.

A family.

Canon and Legends

Always. And no matter.

Backing up one another.

Canon and Legends.

And she swears in Cheunh like no other.

[Canon and Legends]

~

“So those spy accusations [] were nothing but smoke? Something to cover you in case the whole thing fell apart?”

“It was protection, yes, but not for me,” Thrawn said. [] “It was to protect Admiral Ar’alani, the officer commanding the transport that arrived an hour ago to take the freed Geroon slaves back to their world.”

“And who couldn’t afford to be even unofficially involved in any of this,” Stratis said, nodding. “But who could make sure to look the other way at all the right times [].”

~

“I was manipulated and controlled,” Thrass said. []

“For your own protection,” Car’das countered. “If Thrawn and Ar’alani had brought you into the plan, your future would have been just as much on the line as theirs were.”

“And as they are now,” Thrass pointed out darkly.

~

“He can’t do that,” Thrass protested. He looked at Ar’alani. “Can he?”

“Not legally,” Ar’alani said, her voice tight. “But as a practical matter, if he’s brought enough vessels, there’ll be no way for us to stop him. [] We’ll have to stall him.” []

“Too late,” Car'das said. “He’s here.”

Ar’alani muttered a word that had never come up in Car’das’s language lessons.

~

Car’das took a deep breath. “I’m not under Chiss command, Admiral,” he said. “I’d like to stay aboard awhile longer.”

Ar’alani’s eyes narrowed. [] Ar’alani looked at Thrawn, then at the incoming Fifth Family ships, then finally back at Car’das. “Permission granted.” []

“I’ll also stay,” Thrass said.

Ar’alani stopped in midstep. “What?” []

Ar’alani sent a hard look at Thrawn. “We’ll both be destroyed by this,” she warned.

“The role of a warrior is to protect the Chiss people,” Thrawn reminded her. “The warrior’s own survival is of only secondary importance.”

For half a dozen heartbeats the two of them locked gazes. Then, with a hissing sigh, Ar’alani turned to Thrass. “Pesfavri is the nearest Defense Fleet base,” she said. “You know the coordinates?”

Thrass nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we leave you,” she said, nodding to him. “May warriors’ fortune smile on your efforts.”

[Photo: wonderful custom Funko Pops by @poppourrico. Glass masterpiece by @ghazar_glass. Thank you again for this beautiful gift.]