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Today's Document
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@mireilleblue
Okay, Dedra Meero enjoyers: which sapphic ship (if any) do you prefer for Dedra?
Dedra/ Bix
Dedra/ Vel
Dedra/ Kleya
Dedra/ Mon
Dedra/ Grandi
Dedra/ OC or SI
Other (tell me in the comments!)
Okay! So we have Dedra/ Kleya in first place, followed by Dedra/ Bix and Dedra/ Vel. ✨
Okay, Dedra Meero enjoyers: which sapphic ship (if any) do you prefer for Dedra?
Dedra/ Bix
Dedra/ Vel
Dedra/ Kleya
Dedra/ Mon
Dedra/ Grandi
Dedra/ OC or SI
Other (tell me in the comments!)
In the last few months, I’ve seen a big decline in engagement with Keero and Dedra-centric fics. I’m really grateful for the people who continue to comment on my stories, and I’m trying to make more of an effort to comment on other people’s work, too.
I hate to see so many authors getting discouraged, even though their work is amazing :/
Excerpt from Chapter 35 of Claws Scratching the Surface:
———
Vel had begged Han to give them a mission off base, and he’d sent them on a salvage run to Phorsa Gedd. The planet was at least nominally under Rebel control again, and there were assets to recover. They’d locate two power converters in Groro Landing, then pick up a stranded Rebel agent from the regional capital of Yai-Anan. Hardly exciting work, but it gave Dedra a break from Echo Base.
Dedra still refused to talk about the ordeal with Steergard, but she’d started shouting and thrashing in her sleep. Vel knew better than to wake her, but she’d squeeze her hand or stroke her forehead until she quieted. Vel never mentioned this in the morning, and neither did Dedra.
“Vel?” Dedra called out.
“What?” Vel shut the cabinet and made her way to the interior of the apartment.
Dedra stood in the bedroom, scowling into the mirror hung above the dresser. She was struggling to unclasp the new shoulder holster that had been issued to her. Vel knew she occasionally struggled with grip strength and dexterity in her left hand, given the extensive scarring and missing finger.
Dedra glanced at Vel, radiating frustration. “I can’t unclasp this. Would you mind?”
“Of course not.” Vel stepped closer and finished unclasping the holster, then lifted it from Dedra’s shoulders. Vel made sure the blaster was secured, then dropped the whole apparatus on the bedside table.
“Thank you.”
The room was large and decorated in cheap synthwood paneling. There was a bleached white bedspread, two small nightstands, and a rug that had seen better days. Vel could see a footlocker, a cracked pilot’s helmet, a pair of lost boots piled up in the closet— detritus of previous operatives who had used this safehouse.
Dedra had turned, leaning back against the dresser and crossing her arms. She wore a simple white tank and loose, belted trousers. Her lips pursed as she looked at Vel. “You have dust on your forehead,” she observed.
“Oh—” Vel glanced in the mirror. She reached up to brush it away, but Dedra was faster. Leaning close, Dedra retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at the mark.
“There,” Dedra said, once she was satisfied. She didn’t move away, and neither did Vel.
Vel leaned in and kissed her, cradling her face with one hand. Dedra’s mouth was soft and wet under hers, and she kissed back, sucking lightly on Vel’s lower lip. Her arms had gone around Vel’s waist, pulling her close.
Dedra did not have a specific or consistent scent, other than whatever soap the Alliance commissary was stocking that week. Currently, she smelled of sterilizing mist from the ship’s sonic. Still, Vel breathed deeply as she pulled away, heart thumping erratically against her ribs.
I can't believe it took me this long to post these I finished this like nine months ago
An idea I had for Blood of Eden propaganda/recruitment posters featuring some of our favorite guys - combo of digital-print cyberpunk graphic design style with oldschool Saturday Morning Post covers like you'd see Leyendecker paintings on
I was gonna post these ahead of tabling at a small con and selling prints of them but ended up not tabling because turns out grad school is hard
maybe next year... figured tumblr would like though
Final chapter of Claws Scratching the Surface should be up this week! Sorry for the delay; I was on two back-to-back business trips.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/87372906
Dedra enlists Bix’s help to process her guilt. Post-canon.
Prompt: Dedra is feeling chuffed that she's managed to learn another impeccably neat hairdo from watching holo-vid tutorials, and wants Syril to notice and compliment her. She's bad at communicating this, of course.
For @fandom-fantasy-fuel — hope you like!
……
Dedra hadn’t expected him to notice her hair immediately. The dubiously-named Ghorman twist had taken her nearly an hour and three holonet tutorials. The pins tugged at her scalp in an unfamiliar way, the weight of her hair distributed more evenly than with the bun.
She’d been ordered to attend a Vesty Week reception — civilian dress only. She’d dug an old dress from the back of her wardrobe, where it had sat in a garment bag for at least two years. Its chief virtue was the modest cut that hid a pocket for her comlink.
Syril stood in the kitchen, where he was preparing some kind of vegetable stock. He fretted over the pot, lifting the lid every few minutes to peer inside. A towel was tossed over his shoulder.
“Dedra,” he greeted, hearing her footsteps. “Is it time?”
She nodded curtly and stuck a stray pin back into her updo. “I will return very late. Do not wait up.”
Syril looked crestfallen, but he said nothing.
“Duty calls,” Dedra justified.
“I know that. It’s just that you spent all afternoon shut in the bedroom. I’m not criticizing,” he clarified quickly, “I know your work is vital and often sensitive. But—”
“—It wasn’t all afternoon,” Dedra corrected. “And I wasn’t working.”
“What?”
“I was attempting to style my hair.”
Syril abandoned the pot to take a closer look. She watched him take in the smooth roll of hair and the ends tucked neatly underneath. She knew Syril had a particular fascination with her hair, and treasured the rare occasions when she’d let him touch it. He circled behind her, and she felt his breath tickle her neck.
“It looks wonderful,” he declared, and Dedra knew he meant the compliment. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”
Dedra extricated herself and went to the entryway to put on her shoes. For the hundredth time, she wished Senator Organa’s soirée had permitted dress uniforms. All of this fuss was taking valuable time from her Axis investigation. Stars, even visiting Syril’s mother would be a better use of her time.
“Apology accepted, provided you help me take it down when I return.”
Syril blushed. “I’d be honored.”
I was inspired 🥰🪮
OH MY GOD, I LOVE IT?! Exactly what I imagined happened after the fic. @goodluckdedra, this is fantastic ✨
WIP Wednesday!
Wingshot ch. 8:
‘’I’ll get to it Syril. I told you I would.’’ Her voice sounds slightly heavy.
Does the very notion bother her that much.
He moves to stand right behind her. He puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly, to show that he isn’t angry, just disappointed. Disappointed and...
‘’It’s required, Dedra. I don’t understand why you keep postponing it. You could get in trouble and-’’
She turns around and places a palm over his heart. Her expression is inscrutable. She’s not inscrutable as often as she used to be, but when she is, it still awakens the ache that comes with wanting to know her completely.
Period Sex on an Altar in the Catacombs Under Palmo While Ghor Skulls Watch Them (working title)
The lights dim increasingly, the deeper they go. And then... they’re suddenly back again. The entrace to the alcove is narrow, and Syril puts his hand on the small of Dedra’s back and gently pushes her inside. He swears he feels her body hum at his touch and it makes him smile. Outside, there is a a tiny green, shining button, embedded in the mouth of a grinning skull, where it’s front teeth should have been. Syril reaches out and presses it. It turns red.
Occupied. He smirks.
He squeezes himself through the opening. Inside, Dedra is staring at the wall. The wall and the Alter. A stone block covered in tributes of mouldy bread, dying flowers and bottles of spilled alcohol. Above it, on the wall, is the flickering holo of a man, over a century old, with bushy eyebrows and rugged stubble.
‘’Fenric Voscar,’’ Syril informs her. ‘’Author and adventurer.’’
‘’I can read,’’ Dedra half-huffs. Sure enough, Voscar’s name is illumated on the holo.
Syril reaches out and brushes a wet tendril of hair behind her ear. Dedra shivers and crosses her arms.''
Crackfic where the New Republic has to ask Dedra for help dealing with AGFFA's version of Bader-Meinhoff:
‘’Do you have what I asked for?’’ Dedra snaps.
Chancellor Mothma arches an eyebrow.
‘’Not much to you anymore, is there?’’
‘’Mon, just give her the fucking drugs!’’
I’d love to read all of these, but especially the second one. Sounds like something Tamsyn Muir would come up with 😅
Can I just say how wild and hilarious it is that Dedra goes in for a firm business handshake upon meeting Eedy? Like, even if you've never met her and you've been warned she's awful, in what world do you not greet your mother-in-law with a polite cheek kiss or quick shoulder hug??? 🤣 Y'all she's trying her best with what she's got, but it's all advice from "how to ace a job interview" holos. I love Dedra so much.😭
Prompt: Dedra has at least one scar from the kinderblock, Enforcement or both. Syril notices, possibly in bed, and is curious. Dedra still dislikes vulnerability but tells him at least something about how she got her scar(s).
For @fajrbismuth — hope you like!
……
“What is this?" Syril asked softly, his voice muffled by the fabric of her pajamas. He’d buried his face between her shoulder blades, and his hand was tucked beneath her shirt. He’d found the irregular ridge of skin just above her navel, and he traced it curiously.
“Just a scar.” Her tone was meant to deter further questions.
“I didn’t know you had it,” he continued, unfazed.
Well, of course he didn’t know. They’d never been…intimate except in the dark, she didn’t change clothes in front of him, and she rarely tolerated the sort of groping he was engaged in now. Thinning her lips, she reached up to peel his hand away.
Syril didn't resist. He just sighed and turned onto his back, where he somehow managed to breathe petulantly.
Dedra stood up and marched to the ‘fresher, intending to take her sedatives and vitamins from the cabinet. That accomplished, she pulled up her top to inspect the scar.
It was ugly, there was no denying that. With bacta, perhaps it wouldn’t have healed so poorly. But Kinderblock 18B hadn't seen the need to issue bacta for cosmetic complaints. You’re destined for the infantry or the factory, the medic had shrugged. Why waste the creds?
Syril was suddenly in the doorway, scrubbing a hand over his sleepy face. “You okay?”
Dedra glowered and quickly let her shirt fall. “You don’t let up, do you?” She growled.
“Not when it comes to you,” he agreed. His milky blue eyes searched her face. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t intentional.”
An unfamiliar feeling squeezed Dedra’s chest. “I’ll tell you, if you want.”
Syril didn't ask what; he simply nodded and waited for her to speak.
“When I was eleven, I informed a teacher that my dormmate had stolen a datapad from the supply closet. The girl’s friends cornered me and slashed my abdomen with a scrap of metal.”
Syril paled. “I’m sorry that happened. It sounds like you were doing what was right.”
She nodded slightly. She didn’t like the way her heart felt, sore and straining behind her ribs.
“Dedra, I think I would’ve liked you if we’d met as kids.”
She turned around to look at him directly, appreciating the change of topic. “What was little Syril like?”
“Fastidious,” Syril said immediately. “Imaginative.”
Those were interesting adjectives, but as Dedra inspected his face, she decided they still fit. “I think I would’ve found you tiresome.”
“What about now?” He risked a smile.
Dedra took in his rumpled curls and tidy pajama set, and she found that her venom had run out. “No,” she breathed, closing the distance and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not now.”
Prompt: I loved your fic where Dedra reacts to Krennic's death, so a drabble where she reacts to her own interrogation would be great!
For @dedra11 — I’m so glad you enjoyed that other fic. I’m always so happy when people read my older stuff. I hope you enjoy this drabble!
……
Dedra keeps track of Krennic’s mistakes.
(Professional interest, she tells herself, nothing more. She’s disciplined enough to get through the interrogation without cheap distractions.)
She’s counted twenty-six mistakes by the time they announce the transfer.
She knows it’s Narkina by the context clues. You’re in for the shock of your life, Krennic says with a droll wink. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it’ll be just like a kinderblock.
Three mistakes later, Dedra is hauled out of her cell and into the turbolift. The dim yellow light reveals new bruises on her arms. She decides there’s no reason to look at them. She refuses to notice that they are hand shaped.
For the past few hours, her eyes have been streaming water, disconnected from any particular emotion. Dedra finds this strange and wonders if she’s sustained a head injury.
When the shuttle takes off, Dedra doesn’t look back. The ex-ISB officer who was tortured to the edge of her sanity will stay here. Dedra has no use for that version of herself.
(Years later, Dedra still sees her in her dreams.)
Prompt: Dedra is feeling chuffed that she's managed to learn another impeccably neat hairdo from watching holo-vid tutorials, and wants Syril to notice and compliment her. She's bad at communicating this, of course.
For @fandom-fantasy-fuel — hope you like!
……
Dedra hadn’t expected him to notice her hair immediately. The dubiously-named Ghorman twist had taken her nearly an hour and three holonet tutorials. The pins tugged at her scalp in an unfamiliar way, the weight of her hair distributed more evenly than with the bun.
She’d been ordered to attend a Vesty Week reception — civilian dress only. She’d dug an old dress from the back of her wardrobe, where it had sat in a garment bag for at least two years. Its chief virtue was the modest cut that hid a pocket for her comlink.
Syril stood in the kitchen, where he was preparing some kind of vegetable stock. He fretted over the pot, lifting the lid every few minutes to peer inside. A towel was tossed over his shoulder.
“Dedra,” he greeted, hearing her footsteps. “Is it time?”
She nodded curtly and stuck a stray pin back into her updo. “I will return very late. Do not wait up.”
Syril looked crestfallen, but he said nothing.
“Duty calls,” Dedra justified.
“I know that. It’s just that you spent all afternoon shut in the bedroom. I’m not criticizing,” he clarified quickly, “I know your work is vital and often sensitive. But—”
“—It wasn’t all afternoon,” Dedra corrected. “And I wasn’t working.”
“What?”
“I was attempting to style my hair.”
Syril abandoned the pot to take a closer look. She watched him take in the smooth roll of hair and the ends tucked neatly underneath. She knew Syril had a particular fascination with her hair, and treasured the rare occasions when she’d let him touch it. He circled behind her, and she felt his breath tickle her neck.
“It looks wonderful,” he declared, and Dedra knew he meant the compliment. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”
Dedra extricated herself and went to the entryway to put on her shoes. For the hundredth time, she wished Senator Organa’s soirée had permitted dress uniforms. All of this fuss was taking valuable time from her Axis investigation. Stars, even visiting Syril’s mother would be a better use of her time.
“Apology accepted, provided you help me take it down when I return.”
Syril blushed. “I’d be honored.”
Would you accept a Star Wars/ Game of thrones fanfiction request?
Honestly, I know nothing about GoT (other than that acronym), so I don’t think I could manage it. My humble apologies :)
Please send me your Dedra-centric drabble requests, and I’ll (probably) write them! It can be any ship/ no ship at all.
I’m very bored on a work trip, and I need something to do.
Excerpt from Chapter 34 of Claws Scratching the Surface
……
Vel finally ended up with kitchen duty two weeks after landing. Mon had added her own name to the rotation, and she stood beside Vel, elbow-deep in a sink of cold sanitizing solution. She’d removed her intricate rings, and Vel noticed that her nails were short and uncolored.
Vel sat a tray on the drying rack, shivering as the cold air hit the wet skin of her arms.
Mon looked at her sidelong. “I’ll need Meero for a few hours tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”
“I’m not her secretary, Mon.” Vel moved to the next pan in the stack. “You’ll have to ask her directly.”
“We’re having trouble narrowing down the list of grave sites.” Mon pursed her lips, reaching for the scrubber she’d left by the sink.
“And you think she can help?”
“Yes.” Mon was still staring at her, eyes sharp and narrowed. “Meero was in command, after all.”
Vel stared into the middle distance. She tried to avoid thinking about what Dedra had done on Ghorman. It turned her stomach and made her pulse tick up in panic. She glanced around and found the kitchen empty.
She took a deep breath. “Do you remember that summer you showed me how to lighten my hair?”
Mon blinked. “I…yes. I haven’t thought about that in years. We used citrella juice, if I recall correctly.”
“You asked if I was trying to impress a boy. I told you the truth, and you didn’t even flinch.”
“You wanted to look like you’d spent the summer on Niamos.” Mon’s lips twitched as she scrubbed at a serving tray.
“I thought Lyddi Getha wouldn’t be able to resist my sun-kissed locks.”
They shared a smile, and then Vel took another breath. “I idolized you when we were kids. I could come to you for anything, and you wouldn’t judge me.”
“I hope you still feel that’s the case.”
Vel chewed her lip. Outside, a snowstorm was brewing, rattling the transparisteel windows on the opposite wall. Vel’s comlink was blinking from its place on her belt, but she ignored it. “Mon, what is wrong with me?”
“What do you mean?” Mon’s brow furrowed.
“I lost people on Ghorman. Hells, I lost Cinta.”
“Yes. I lost people, too. I imagine it’s still painful for you, as it is for me.”
Vel nodded in confirmation. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, unwilling to cry. “I understand that Dedra’s…involvement should be a dealbreaker for me.”
“You’ve never been concerned with should, Vel.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Dedra Meero was no longer a lieutenant, but she was still fit for service. They’d kept her alive. She was still of value.
Post-canon.
Chapter two is now published!
Chapter three is published!
Chapter 4 is up!
Chapter five!
Chapter six!
Chapter seven!
Chapter eight!
Chapter 10!
Chapter 11 is finally posted!
Chapter 12!
Chapter 13!
Chapter 14!
Chapter 15!
Chapter 16!
Chapter 17!
Chapter 18! We’re finally getting into some shippy stuff ;)
Chapter 19 is up!
Chapter 20!
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23!
Chapter 24!
Chapter 25!
Chapter 26!
Chapter 27!
Chapter 28!
Chapter 29!
Chapter 30!
Chapter 31!
Chapter 32!
Chapter 33!
Chapter 34!
