Starlight Princess | A Star Wars Fanfiction Masterlist
Poe Dameron x Solo! Reader
What if Leia Organa’s daughter survived the fall of the Jedi Temple?
In Starlight Princess, you are the twin flame of the Force, daughter of Leia Organa and Han Solo, sister of Ben Solo, and Poe Dameron's unexpected partner in rebellion and heart.
This reimagining of the sequel trilogy blends canon with new emotional arcs, political stakes, and romance, with a slow-burn Poe x Reader relationship and a deeper redemption arc for Ben Solo.
Series Info:
Title: Starlight Princess
POV: Second-person (You x Poe Dameron)
Genre: Action, Romance, Drama, Force lore, Canon Divergence
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, emotional trauma, pregnancy, slow-burn, Force visions
Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader
(Post-Exegol | Domestic | Family | Hurt/Comfort)
Loosly based on my fic "Starlight Princess"
Word Count: 4k+
Summary:
After the war, Life Day on Yavin IV is quieter, soft lantern light, chosen family, and love that survived everything. As grief for Han, Leia, and Ben lingers gently in the air, Poe surprises you with something unfinished, imperfect, and meant to last. A story about rebuilding, staying, and choosing peace together.
Author's Note: I meant to release this around the holidays. I am so sorry I failed you.
Life Day did not look the way it used to.
There were no grand halls, or roaring crowds, no endless speeches about hope and victory. But there were lanterns strung between ancient trees on Yavin IV, their light warm and uneven, like the galaxy itself learning how to glow again without burning.
You stood beneath the trees with Poe’s arm warm around your waist, watching your son toddle across the clearing, his laughter bright as he chased BB-8, who beeped enthusiastically and rolled just fast enough to keep the game going. Chewbacca crouched nearby, pretending not to supervise while very obviously supervising. Finn laughed nearby, helping Rey hang lights along the temple archway while Rose adjusted a small generator to keep them glowing. C-3PO fussed over place settings, and D-O hovered shyly beside him, curious and quiet.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t perfect. It was everything, and somehow, that made it sacred.
Poe stood behind you, his hands settling at your hips, like they belonged there, which they did. He rested his chin briefly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured.
You smiled faintly. “Am I that obvious?”
“To me? Always.”
You leaned back into him, letting yourself be held. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The absence lingered, familiar but softer now. Leia should have been here, gently correcting everyone’s decorations. Han would have complained loudly while secretly enjoying himself. Ben… Ben would have stood at the edge, uncertain, watching before finally stepping closer.
Grief didn’t ruin the night. It made it honest.
You felt Leia in the way Rey smiled at your son. You felt Han in Finn’s laughter, in the warmth of chosen family gathered without being asked. You felt Ben in the quiet between moments, in the calm that came without fear now, in the peace you had earned.
“They’d love this,” you said quietly.
Poe kissed your shoulder, slow and reverent. “Yeah,” he said. “They would.”
Later, when the food was gone, and your son had finally worn himself out, curled against Rey’s shoulder with his fingers still wrapped around a toy Chewie had carved, Poe took your hand.
“I need to steal you,” he said, far too casually.
You arched a brow. “From my own family?”
“Just for a minute,” he grinned. “Before someone else does.”
You let him pull you away from the clearing, the sounds of laughter fading into the trees. The night air was cooler here, damp earth beneath your boots. Poe stopped just short of the old hangar, one that hadn’t seen much use since the war.
He turned to face you. Suddenly nervous, which was new.
“You trust me?” he asked.
You smiled, reaching up to straighten his collar. “Poe Dameron,” you said softly, “I followed you into war. I think we’re past trust issues.”
He laughed under his breath, relief easing the tension in his shoulders. Then, gently, almost shyly, he pressed his forehead to yours.
“I didn’t want this to be loud,” he said. “Didn’t want it to feel like a victory prize. We’ve had enough of those.”
He took your hand and guided you forward. Inside the hangar, lights flickered on low, warm, intentional. And there it was. Not polished or finished.
It wasn’t finished. Bare frame, mismatched panels, old and new parts waiting to be assembled. A ship that had survived war once before and was ready to become something else.
You stared, breath catching. “Poe…”
“I know,” he said quickly, smiling that crooked smile you loved. “It’s not flashy. And it doesn’t even fly yet. But—” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You lost your ship protecting people. Twice. And I kept thinking… maybe the next one shouldn’t be built for running or fighting.”
You turned to him slowly. “Then what is it for?”
He took your hands, thumbs brushing your knuckles.
“For staying,” he said. “For building. For teaching our kid how to take something broken and make it fly again.”
Your eyes burned.
“And,” he added, grin returning, “for arguing over repairs. I feel like that’s important.”
You laughed through the emotion, pressing your forehead to his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “But I’m yours.”
You kissed him then, not hurried, not desperate. Not the kiss of soldiers bracing for loss, but of survivors choosing joy. Just warm. Certain. His hands slid into your hair, grounding, familiar, as if he was reminding both of you that this was real. That you were still here.
When you pulled back, you rested your hand over his heart. “This isn’t just a gift.”
“No,” he said. “It’s a promise.”
Outside, the lanterns swayed gently as Life Day continued. Laughter. Lights. The sound of hope settling in where war once lived.
Somewhere in the quiet, you felt it, the steady presence of love that hadn’t disappeared, only changed. Leia’s calm strength. Han’s stubborn joy. Ben’s peace, finally earned.
And for the first time, surrounded by family, living and remembered, you felt it fully.
You had family. You had love. You weren’t building for survival. You were building for tomorrow. Peace.
klaus mikaelson tumblr are we ALIVE or am i just a ghost haunting my childhood hotties
blink twice. like once. scream into the void. something.
because i am this close 🤏 to posting a multi-part klaus mikaelson fanfic series, and i need to know if anyone is still out there before i emotionally commit and start dropping chapters at 2am like it’s 2014 again.
this is a serious inquiry (it is not serious at all):
do we still read klaus fic?
do we still thirst over emotionally unavailable immortal men with trauma?
do we still follow long, angsty, slow-burn series that WILL hurt us?
or will i simply be whispering “always and forever” into the abyss?
about the fic:
klaus-centric (obviously)
set in the The Vampire Diaries / The Originals universe
multi-part because i don’t know how to be normal
angsty, romantic, dramatic, emotionally unwell
written with love, chaos, and unresolved mikaelson trauma
reimagined from a fanfic i wrote as a teenager TEN years ago, titled Battles, which i accidentally deleted off wattpad
based on ✨ vibes ✨ and memory ✨ so pls bear with me while i resurrect my own lore
if you are:
still here. still feral. still emotionally attached to klaus mikaelson.
LIKE. REBLOG. COMMENT. POSSESS ME.
i need a sign from the universe before i press post.
—
tags because tumblr tags are basically summoning circles. pls let me know if i should add any
i fucking love tumblr on new years i scroll past a glittertext gif wishing me a happy 2002 i scroll past my mutual wishing me a happy 2018 i scroll past a gifset wishing me a happy 2013 i scroll p
fanfiction is a rare gem and a solid, living proof that, in a world of tiktok, influencers and content posting, not everything is about money and going viral. art can still be art just for the sake of the artists’ pure love, joy and passion for the art they create. fanfic writers write 100k words and more about the characters they love for free. just because they love these characters and the art of writing so much. art is not dead and the world is still beautiful.
it’s fucking wild because one day you’re like i guess i’m not dying tragically young and you go to the store and you buy dental floss, ingredients for soup, and a bath mat
