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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 months ago

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I Know the End | Vol. 2

I Know the End

Poe Dameron x Reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: You were one of the Rebellion’s greatest weapons in the Galactic Civil War, a Princess from a distant planet, a Jedi with wings. Now, you’ve found yourself in a new world, a new war, your old friends long gone.

When Poe Dameron was sent on a wild goose chase of a reconnaissance mission four systems out, he never expected to find the key to his heart…

Note: At long last, here it is. Thank you for your patience. I love you all. I honestly wrote this as a long-winded attempt to make Poe Dameron’s dumbest line “Somehow, Palpatine returned” into a gut-wrenching and emotional moment and it got way out of hand. I am no Star Wars expert, but I did a lot of research for this and consider myself waaaaaaay more of a SW nerd now than I was a mere two months ago. Could probably write a dissertation on it at this point (I say as I literally churned out a novel). It is my first time writing for the fandom, though, so, here goes nothing. I did make up a fair bit of stuff and a good handful of OCs for this. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, lightsaber and blaster wounds, alcohol consumption, war and the implications of it, gets a little steamy but no smut, reader has nightmares, misuse of the Force, Rewriting the Rise of Skywalker a lil bit…

Word Count: 82.7k total (Split into four approximately 20k chunks)

Reader Is: 24, a Jedi, a Princess, has butterfly wings

Vol 1. | Vol 2. | Vol 3. | Vol 4.

Charms in Trees

A few small battles came and went. It was pilot stuff, mostly. They’d go, blow up a First Order transport, and be back in time for dinner. You always offered your help, but it was never needed. Still, you’d take any excuse to go see Poe, especially in that orange jumpsuit. You weren’t sure what it was about it, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

Sometimes you thought about taking it off of him.

It was a growing problem, your little unspoken thing. You’d forgotten just how all-encompassing a crush could be, especially when it was as attainable as the one sitting in front of you right now. You shared a base, lived just down the hall from him. Maker, you could feel that he felt the same way about you, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to shatter the normalcy.

Part of you wanted him to do it, finally take that leap of faith. You were patient. You could wait.

So you did.

Supplies began to dwindle, so you put on a utility uniform and went with some of the others to get more, lifting boxes with your arms instead of your mind. You helped Aspen and some of the other mechs with repairs. You spent time with Soren, both training and not. He was fun to hang out with, a funny guy. Had your sense of humor.

He told you that Laesynda had taken him out to Mariposas a few times when he was growing up. They’d leave flowers outside your pod, light a candle for a while and tell stories. It was haunting, almost, the funerals people held for you despite the fact that you weren’t dead.

Poe had been refurbishing an old X-Wing in his free time, which wasn’t very much to begin with. Leia had been upping his responsibilities, clearly bracing for something. Whether it was an attack or a defensive move, you couldn’t tell, but it had him stressed out.

On a beautiful afternoon, you looked for him in the hangar, armed with some baked goods. BB-8 chirped to welcome you and Poe kicked a shelf in shock, a toolbox teetering for a moment before it started its descent straight on top of him. You caught it in mid-air. The tools floated out of the box, your arm outstretched, heart racing. You set them all down gently, safely away from that pretty face of his.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Dameron. Came here with a peace offering.”

“Peace offering?” He asked, rolling himself out from under the X-Wing. He peeled his work gloves off, dusting himself off as best as he could.

It looked pretty close to finished, you noted, looking it over. It would need a paint job, of course, but all of the major parts seemed to be accounted for.

“Finn said you’ve been in a mood lately…” You admitted. “Figured I’d bring you something to take your mind off it.”

He grinned, looking at the gift and then up at you. There it was, that infamous flyboy grin of his. “Sunshine, you’re all I need to take my mind off of it. But these are appreciated, too.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, handing him the container of sweets. “How’s it going in here? It looks good.”

“Thanks. Should be done soon.” He reported, busting into the box and biting into the sweet, berry-filled tart. “And then we’ll really be in business.”

“I’m sorry about your other one, by the way. I feel partially responsible for that.”

“It wasn’t my first. I knew it wouldn’t be my last.” He chuckled. “At least it got to go out with a bang.”

“And some flames, as well. It was on fire, last I saw it.”

“I am glad I got to take you for a spin in it, though. Think I could get you into this new one sometime?”

“I’m always down for a joyride.” You told him, eyes sparkling, words sincere. “Let me know when it’s done and I can try to fit you into my busy Jedi princess schedule.”

“You’re serious.”

“Always.” You nodded. “I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you.”

He pouted, gazing at you through those dark lashes, a little bit of fruit filling stuck to the corner of his stupidly pink lips. His tongue poked out to get it, but failed. “Wish I’d known that a week ago, I would have carved out more time.”

“Don’t worry about it, Commander.” You said, resting a hand against his chest. You reached up with the other hand, gently wiping corner of his lips. “I know you’re busy, too.”

He held your hand against his cheek, meeting your eyes. “Not too busy for you, your Highness.”

“Good.” You replied, thumb gently stroking his stubble.

He turned his face, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb. He met your eyes, gaze all innocent despite the way your cheeks were flushing. “Did you get it?”

“I did.” You nodded, making a speedy recovery. “Couldn’t let the best pilot in the Resistance walk around with jam on his face, could I?”

“Well, thank you, for the treats, for sparing my reputation, all of it.” His eyes scanned down your face as you finally removed your hand from the side of his. “You got anything going on today, (Y/N)?”

“Training.”

“Mmm. What time?”

“Soon.” You said, glancing at the watch around your wrist. It had been Luke’s, Leia had given it to you. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Could you move that panel for me real quick?” He asked, pointing up at the wing of his X-Wing, where a patch of machinery was exposed, a heavy piece of sheet metal leaning up against it.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

He set his box of tarts on the workbench and rolled a ladder over to the X-Wing while you lifted the wing cover into place, arms out in front of you, the heavy piece floating in mid-air. He stopped and watched for a second, chuckling to himself.

“What?”

“Still getting used to it, is all.” He confessed, gently pushing the piece into place, where you held it until he started bolting it into place. “This thing weighs like two hundred pounds, and you just…You’re amazing. You know that?”

“You think that’s cool, you should see what I can do with some pretty hefty rocks.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, the whir of his wrench stopping. “Oh I’m sure it’s phenomenal.”

“Anything else you need while I’m here?”

He shook his head. “I’m all set. Good luck with training. I hope you…you know, move things good.”

“I’ll certainly try.” You chuckled, turning and leaving the hangar.

Over and over in your head, you watched him turn his face and press the gentlest kiss to your thumb. You may have been the one with wings, but he was always the one that gave you butterflies.

***

Your final bits of training that day just so happened to be wing-centric. That morning, you’d flitted from tree to tree, hanging metal charms in the branches with lengths of twine. Rey had been given some other independent activities to work on, but it was clear you and Soren had some ground to cover, or…not cover, flight being the main objective here.

The two of you stared up at them. He looked at you for instructions, but you simply repeated what you’d already said.

“Go get them.”

“What, with the Force?”

“Nope. We’ve been using the Force for hours. Time to stretch those wings, little prince.”

He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up that high before.”

“That’s why I need you to be comfortable with it. If you go about it the right way, you can get some serious height. More, if you strengthen your wings with practice and exercise, and more yet if you use the Force for a little boost.”

“Could you…show me?”

You chuckled, hands on your hips, looking up, up, up at the charms. Yeah, that would definitely be a bit daunting if it was your first time flying. “Sure. I’m not gonna cut them down, though, because I’ll have to go up there and hang them all again.”

You spread your wings, shaking the accumulated dust and humidity collected on them from Ajan Kloss’ temperate ecosystem. And then you took off, running at a stump on the ground and using it as a springboard, wings carrying you to the first branch, where you hit the hanging charm sending it swinging.

You flipped from the first branch to the next, a few feet higher, touching that charm before heading to the next, and the next. You were like a dancer, graceful, fluid, gliding from branch to branch, using your limited flight to climb until you were near the top of the highest tree in your training grounds. You took a moment to look out at the camp, admire the Resistance crew bustling from building to building, doing their daily tasks to keep your movement up and running.

And then, doing one last somersault, you dove down, catching yourself with your wings and a burst of air, kicking up the leaves scattered on the forest floor.

Soren stared with wide eyes, Rey having joined him on the ground.

“And you expect me to do…that?”

“Not all of it.” You assured him. “That last jump is definitely something you’ll have to build towards. It’s a leap of faith. But that’s why I’m here, to catch you if the landing isn’t going so smooth.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “I can try.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.” You said, the words familiar, even if they weren’t yours. Sometimes the Force spoke through you; you could feel that this was one of those times. “Aim for five charms today. Any more than that and I’ll be impressed.”

Soren looked up at the first charm, on a low, sturdy branch, deceptively close to the ground. Like you did, he took off at a run, using his wings to get some height and land–somewhat shakily–on the branch, but he did it, youthful face breaking into a grin.

“There you go!” You encouraged, Rey smiling as she watched.

“It’s really great, what you’re doing with him.” Rey said, voice sincere. She reached for your hand and you gave it to her, just as you had that very first day you met. Long ago, you and Leia had shared a sisterhood, and now you shared that with Rey.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“I hope so. He’s…well, he’s my first Padawan. After you, of course, but you had a head start.”

“I wish you had been here when all of this started,” she confessed, squeezing your hand. “It would have been…nice to know I wasn’t alone in this.”

“You’re not alone.” You told her. “A long time ago…I was meditating, trying to find other Jedi out there. Luke and I thought we were alone, too. I found someone, another Jedi, a young woman. The Force works in mysterious ways, of course, because…it was you. You wouldn’t be born for another, what, eleven years? But I know it was you. We were meant to be here. I was meant to help you and…I plan on doing that. No matter what.”

Rey smiled, words failing her. She pulled you into her arms instead, resting her head against yours. You hugged her back, rubbing comforting circles in her shoulders.

“You know, I’ve always wanted a sister.” She admitted with a laugh, tears in her eyes.

“Well now you’ve got one.”

“I got seven charms, Aunt (Y/N).” Soren said, dangling them from their strings when you turned to look.

“How was the landing?”

“A little shaky, but…” He shrugged and then looked back up at the next charm, even higher than the last. “I think I could get another one.”

“Go ahead. Round two.” You encouraged, motioning him up into the tree.

Finn and Poe walked over not long after, chatting animatedly about something, BB-8 rolling alongside them. It was clear, even from that distance, that Finn was teasing him.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“She getting you up there next, Rey?” Finn asked, pointing up at the trees, where Soren had very clearly already gotten the hang of it, throwing a few flips and flourishes into his movements. You grinned, proud.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Rey shook her head. “I will after you do.”

“Fair enough.” Finn chuckled. “How’s it going, ladies?”

“Good. Really good. Good, productive day today.” You said.

“Good view up there?” Poe asked, shielding his eyes as he glanced up at the highest branch, a glittering charm still hanging from a thread.

“Great view.” You said.

“I thought you said you could only cover short distances, that looks like quite a height.”

“You have to build up to it.” You told him, pointing to all the shorter branches on the way up to that point. “I can’t just fly straight up there. Maybe with some strength training, but these things aren’t what they used to be.” You gave them a flutter, noting the way his eyes caught on them yet again.

“Well, it looked great, from what I could see.”

“That’s high praise coming from you, flyboy.”

“Well, from one flyer to another…you’re a natural. Literally. You were born to be up there, doing that.”

You smiled, voice soft and sincere when you said, “So were you.”

“That means a lot, (Y/N).” He said, head turning downwards for a moment while he thought. “Anyway, uh, Finn and I were wondering if the two of you would join us at the cantina later? Rose’ll be there, too. Things have been so tense lately, we thought we could all blow off some steam.”

“I’d love to.”

Rey nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

“Just let me get changed into something more casual.” You said, flourishing the skirts of your Jedi robes.

“What, the robes aren’t fit for a night on the town?”

“The robes aren’t fit for…much other than looking solemn and kicking ass.” You said with a chuckle. “Unlike your flight suit, which is fit for any occasion.”

“Back to that, huh?” Poe grinned, letting out a laugh. “If you really like that thing so much, maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You smirked. “I wouldn’t complain.”

“I would.” Finn chuckled. “It needs a good wash, buddy.”

“Alright, alright.”

You watched as Soren landed once again, wings powerful, stance strong. You gave him a nod, pride blossoming in your chest. He was getting there after all. Your training was working. You just hoped that, when danger came, he’d be ready for it.

You hoped you all would be.

Cards on the Table

You sat in your quarters with Rose and Rey, getting ready for your night out with the boys. You braided a few strands of your hair, tying them off with small gold rings at the end.

“This one?” Rey asked, holding the dress up against her frame, a sage green color. It was one of the ones you’d given her.

You nodded. “That color suits you. Brings out your eyes.”

Rey considered your words for a moment before beginning to change. Rose sat at your desk, looking through the accessories you’d pulled out. You plucked a pair of earrings from the collection, setting them in her palm.

“Are you sure? I’ve never worn a princess’ earrings before.” Rose said, staring at them. They were a pair of gold, dangling leaves. They’d go with the blouse she was wearing, a natural pattern on them.

“First time for everything.” You said with a shrug, turning your attention to your own outfit. A wine-colored top with a corset front, the back swooping just low enough for your wings. With it, you’d paired some dark brown pants with flared legs, a decorative gold belt made of metal hoops. You tucked your lightsaber into your bag, instead of displaying it at your hip.

“Oh this…” Rey struggled with the back of her dress. “I can’t get it to stay closed.”

“Here, let me.” You walked over and pulled ribbons from the sides of the dress, tying it closed above the large divot for where your wings went when you had worn it. “I sewed these in for Leia. She and I shared a closet during the Rebellion, more or less.”

Rey’s eyes scanned down her reflection, hands smoothing out the green fabric. “Thank you.”

“You look great.” You told her, words warm and reassuring. “You both do.”

“So do you!” Rose complimented.

A few minutes later, you decided you were ready, not that there was any pressure to be. This was just Finn and Poe you were talking about after all. But you had a feeling quite a few other members of the Resistance crew would be there.

The three of you arrived and it felt like time stopped. Poe and Finn were in a round booth in the corner and they both looked up, faces lit with anticipation at the sight of you. It felt good to be wearing something other than your robes or your standard Resistance gear, a luxury you did not take lightly.

They stood up and crossed the room, meeting you somewhere in the middle. Poe was wearing that leather jacket of his, the one you’d mistaken him for Han Solo in. Beneath it, a button-up that seemed to be missing a few buttons. You swore he was doing it on purpose.

“Hey, Princess.” He grinned. “Glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Several Resistance folks milled about, dancing, playing games. A few droids manned the bar, where there were paper lanterns strung from the support beams, casting the room in warm, ambient light.

The five of you shimmied back into the booth, Poe going almost out of his way to make sure he got the seat next to yours, right on the end. His arm settled on the seat behind you, that strong sandalwood scent drifting from his pulse point. Maker, you could get lost in it.

When the droid taking drink orders came around, you each requested something, settling in for a nice, casual night.

A song you recognized came over the speakers in the corners of the room and you smiled. It was familiar. A place like this, people like these.

The more things changed…

“I requested some oldies for you.” Poe confessed, just about causing your heart to melt. “Thought it’d remind you of the good old days.”

“He put ten whole credits in the jukebox.” Finn tattled, earning a pointed look from the pilot. “Stood there forever picking out songs.”

“Well that was very sweet.” You said, leaning a little closer to him subconsciously. “Not to sound incredibly old, but the new music is still…growing on me, we’ll say.”

“How old were you?” Finn asked. “I’m sorry if that’s rude. I don’t think we’ve ever asked.”

“I’m twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-five in…well, I don’t know when my birthday falls now. Four months? Three months? Something like that. Give or take thirty years, of course.”

“You’re younger than me.” Poe murmured, almost in shock of the fact.

He’d taken it for granted, he guessed, just how young you were when they’d put you in that pod. But you’d existed his entire life, etched into legends and stories told by anyone who remembered the war. To him, you’d existed forever. But he was older than you, by eight years.

“Were you…alive when I was?” You asked, running the numbers in your mind.

“I’m thirty-two.” He said, meeting your eyes. There was an odd look in them, like he was asking permission for something. He chuckled, covering the flash of insecurity with a smirk and a quip. “I know I hardly look it.”

“You would have been really young, then.” You bit your lip, letting out a little laugh at the new information. The whole situation was ridiculous. You doubted your paths had ever crossed, so it didn’t matter, ultimately, but still. “That is a little weird.”

“It is.” Poe agreed, eyes still ever-searching yours for some sign that it was still okay, the feelings floating around his heart.

“That means you really are the Han of the group.” You said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension that had blossomed in his chest. It worked. You could feel it instantly. “He was like thirty and the rest of us were in our twenties.”

“Does that make you Leia this time?” Rey asked, catching your eyes, a spark of mischief in her gaze. She knew exactly what she was implying.

“I think it does. Which means you get to be me this time. Congratulations, you are now a princess. Use the title well.” You joked, sitting back against the cushioned bench, also, coincidentally, against Poe’s arm, which was still there, perched on the leather. Warmth emanated from him, both literally and figuratively.

Eventually, the drinks came and you took a few sips of yours, loosening up. You all chatted and joked and laughed. Eventually, Rey and Rose got up to dance with the mechs over on the dance floor. Finn followed behind them.

Jessika spotted you and motioned you over, a broad grin on her face. Beside her was Aspen. Snap was there, too. They were hanging out near the holodart board mounted to the wall.

“Wanna play some darts?” Poe smirked, following your eyeline.

“If you’re ready to get your ass kicked, sure.” You teased, getting out of the booth after him and walking over to where his friends were waiting.

“You look great, girl!” Jessika said. “Give us a spin.”

You did a little twirl, showing off the top, the pants, the accessories. Your wings fluttered behind you like a cape, folded down and out of the way, as they always were.

“Dameron said he was gonna try to get you out here tonight.” Snap said, jostling his buddy’s shoulder. “Glad you joined us.”

“Do you guys do this often?”

“Not often enough.” Aspen said with a laugh, perched criss-cross on a barstool. “But our schedules have us all wound up tighter than a drum. I think we all needed to let off some steam.”

“How have things been for you guys? Missions running smoothly?”

“As ever.” Jessika said. “Thanks, of course, to our fearless commander.”

“Stop, stop, you’re too kind.” Poe said, playfully brushing off his shoulder. “It helps that I have the best team in the galaxy at my disposal.”

Snap motioned you closer, handing you a glowing dart. “Alright, enough chitchat. I want the Jedi on my team.”

“That is not fair.” Poe protested immediately. “It’s only fair if she’s on my team.”

“Sorry, Poe, I’ve been spoken for.” You shrugged, throwing the dart and landing in the outer ring of the bullseye.

Snap’s face lit up and he high-fived you.

“That’s gotta be cheating.” Jessika said, looking to Aspen, who was serving, apparently, as the referee. Pilots took their holodarts very seriously, after all. “Ref, tell her she’s cheating.”

“No, if I was cheating, it would look like this.” You took a second dart from Snap, covered your eyes with one hand, and threw the dart, using the Force to pull it through an exaggerated loop-de-loop on its way to the board, where it hit dead on in the center. You lowered your hand and shrugged innocently. “I just genuinely have pretty decent aim, as hard as it is to believe.”

“She’s pretty and she’s got a sense of humor. You’re a goner, Dameron.” Snap said, elbowing him while you were distracted, laughing with Aspen and Jessika.

Poe chuckled, crossing his arms, eyes teeming with tenderness. “Believe me, pal, I know.”

***

The night went on. You had a few more drinks, toeing the line between tipsy and drunk, but not quite getting all the way there. You and Poe continued to dance around each other, but he didn’t make a move. Well, any further than he already had. But after watching him interact with some of his friends, you’d come to realize that he was a touchy guy. It was definitely his love language.

You sang some songs at the karaoke machine in the corner of the room, sharing the stage with Rose, who had a really good voice, as it turned out.

At the end of the evening, when the crowd began to dwindle, Poe walked you back to your quarters. You, somewhat clumsily, punched in your code, the doors sliding open smoothly. You lingered in the doorway, turning to look at him.

“Thanks for taking me out, Dameron.” You said, breaking the warm silence that threatened to swallow your moment. “I had a great time.”

“Thanks for coming. I, uh…” He reached for your hand and you gave it to him, letting him fiddle with your fingers. It was comforting, his touch. You doubted you’d ever tire of the feeling of those calloused palms against yours. “If you were serious about that joyride…I’m taking it up tomorrow. Little test-drive, checking perimeters. Two porgs, one stone, you know. It’ll still be a tight fit, if that’s alright.”

“Well we both know I have no problem with getting close to you, Dameron.” You teased, giving his hand a squeeze. “What time are you picking me up?”

“After breakfast? Or…well, whenever works. I know you’re busy.”

You nodded, eyes glimmering. “After breakfast works.”

You could feel it again, that warmth sweltering in Poe’s chest. That desire laced deep in his eyes. He was thinking about kissing you. The fantasy playing out in your mind, you weren’t sure if it was yours or his, at this point.

Him, grabbing you by the hip, burying a hand in your hair, kissing you fiercely, passionately, lips exploring every inch of your own. Hungrily. Like he’d been waiting for it. You heard the way his breath hitched, felt his large, warm hand wander further up your back, towards the base of your wings as he kissed you. Cards on the table, heart on his sleeve.

But he didn’t. Didn’t move, aside from giving your hand another squeeze.

You smiled at him, still reeling from the images that had just flashed through your mind, but doing your best to hide the way your heart was racing. “It’s a date.”

These Haunted Wounds

You woke with a start not long after you drifted off. An hour or two at most. Nightmares. Figured.

This time, it was about a different saber. A red one, two little offshoots on the side of the hilt. It looked dangerous. Poorly constructed, if you were honest. One wrong move and the wielder would slice their own hand off by mistake.

No, the scary part was the guy wielding it. Long, foreboding figure, black cloak that drifted in the wind. He wore a mask over his face, voice deepened by a modulator of some kind. It brought back memories in all the wrong ways.

Despite the fact that you hadn’t seen him yet, didn’t know what he looked like, you could just tell. This was Kylo Ren. Had to be. That type of energy could only come from someone who was trying his damndest to stand in the shadow of Darth Vader, an entity you were still all too familiar with.

Luke had made his peace with the guy. You had never gotten that opportunity.

Kylo swished his cape and from his shadow came Insidia, still haunting you after all these years. She plunged her saber into your heart, the pain scorching and real, a scream tearing itself from your throat, and that was when you woke in a cold sweat.

You sat there, hands shaking, heart racing, collecting yourself before trying to lay down to sleep again. Just as you were about to lay back down, there was a knock on your door. Eyebrows furrowing, you swung your legs out of the bed, crossing the room and opening the door with a click of a button on the wall panel.

Poe was standing there in his sweatpants, panting, armed with a piece of a pipe. It was clear he’d run there. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Huh?” You asked, rubbing at your bleary eyes. You stopped, staring at his bare, toned chest for maybe too long before meeting his gaze. “I’m fine.”

He lowered the pipe. “Oh. I heard screaming.”

Had you screamed out loud? Maybe you had. Maybe you’d projected it on accident, through the Force.

“It was just a nightmare.” You reassured him. You chuckled when you looked at the pipe hanging from his grip. “Nice.”

“Hey, I could do some real damage with this thing.” He defended, giving it a test swing to demonstrate.

“Oh I bet.” You gave a tired smile, let out a sigh, that spot in your chest burning, where Insidia had stabbed you in this dream.

She’s dead. You reminded yourself. She can’t hurt me anymore because she’s dead.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Same old.” You shrugged. “Stabbed with a lightsaber this time. Right through the chest.”

He frowned, nodding. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll be okay.” You promised him. “But thank you for rushing to my rescue. Very daring of you, Commander.”

“Any time.”

You could feel that he wanted to stay. But you could tell he wasn’t going to ask. Ever the gentleman in the presence of a princess. It was kind of refreshing. You smiled at him. “Get some sleep, flyboy. See you in the morning.”

“You too. Goodnight.” He smiled. He held up the pipe in his hand. “I better go put this back.”

You laughed, watching as he walked back down the hallway. He glanced back at you, meeting your eyes before returning to the room he shared with Finn.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you lingered in the hallway for a moment before closing your door and walking back to your bunk. You sat there, wondering what it would have been like if you asked him to stay. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to, but…maybe there was a reason he was waiting.

Maybe he was waiting until after the war to get attached. That would be smart. You knew so many during the Rebellion who did just that.

Some hashed everything out in the heat of the war, sure. It was hard to get comfortable. It was hard to know which base would be your last, which fight would end it all. Some people chased comfort, wanting to get close to each other while they had the chance.

But others wanted to wait, to make sure they were going to make it to see the peace after the war, and whatever relationship, whatever life awaited them after.

You rolled onto your side, staring at the wall. You wonder if he knew the way he had his hand wrapped around your heart, a little X-Wing orbiting it around and around.

Tomorrow, you promised yourself. Tomorrow you’d say something, up in the X-Wing with him. Arms around you, chest pressed against your back, legs tangled in the cockpit. And one way or the other, you’d finally have your answer.

This time, when you fell asleep, the only thing you dreamt of were his lips.

The Crash

The next morning, Poe met you and the others for breakfast, already dressed in his orange jumpsuit, the collar flipped open. You could not keep the smile off your face at the sight.

“I can’t believe this is really what does it for you.” He laughed, drunk off the look in your eyes.

“It suits you.” You said, eyes lingering on the collar, fighting the urge to reach out and fix it. You rummaged around your mind for some quip to fire back, but came up empty. He’d stolen the words right from your mouth.

The group of you finished eating and Poe cleared your plate, leading you towards the hangar.

“I don’t have it painted yet, but the mechs checked over it yesterday and gave me the okay.” Poe explained.

“So we’re not going to crash, is what you’re saying.”

“Not with a Jedi on board.” He said, eyes meeting yours. “I still think about that transport you caught. I didn’t know you could just…do that.”

“Took a while to get to that point. Ships are heavy. It helps if I’m not fighting the trajectory. Laesynda’s ship was on its way down, I just…cushioned the fall.” You explained.

“You’re real humble for a Jedi, you know.”

“You think so?”

“More humble than I would be if I could lift spacecrafts with my mind.”

“Oh I’m aware, flyboy. If you were out here with a lightsaber, none of us would ever hear the end of it.” You teased, looking over his flightsuit, still enamored. “You’re already an ace pilot, you can’t possibly have all the skills.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by the harsh blare of a distress signal. The two of you looked at each other before booking it to the strategy table, where Leia was, hand still over the button.

“It’s one of our settlements. First Order troops on the ground, TIE fighters.” She made eye contact with you, Rey running into the room right after. “Kylo is with them.”

She dispatched groups of fighters, sent you and Rey and sent out the Black Squadron. Poe marched through the hangar, yelling orders, getting his team ready for battle. You forced your eyes away from him as he loaded BB-8 into his X-Wing, strapped your saber to your belt, and loaded onto a transport with Rey and Finn.

Soren walked over, saber at the ready. You stopped him with a shake of your head, something akin to a maternal look in your eye. “I need you here. It’s just Kylo. Rey and I can handle him.”

“I’m ready.”

“I know you are.” You said, hands on his shoulders. “That’s why I need you here. Someone’s gotta protect the base.”

He nodded, understanding. He took a few steps back, standing with the others as they saw you all off.

You made eye contact with Poe, one last lingering glance before he climbed into the cockpit and took off into the sky, blasting off at lightspeed with the rest of his squadron to clear way for your transport.

The ramp of the transport closed and Finn looked at you. “He’s like you. Soren.”

“Reckless?” You asked.

He shook his head, eyes serious and warm. “Brave.”

You smiled at the thought and put a hand on Finn’s arm. “So are you.”

The ride was short, but shaky. You didn’t like turbulence, especially in a craft that only had thin, tiny windows. It left you uneasy. But eventually, you touched down, saber in hand, leading the charge with Rey.

There were dozens of Stormtroopers, opening fire on not only the scattered Resistance members, but any civilians they could get their hands on. You put yourself between them, deflecting their shots with a few swings of the saber. The fighters that had come with you ran out of the ship, assessing the situation and adjusting as quickly as possible.

In the air, a battle had broken out as well, X-Wings and TIE fighters firing at each other, as well as the ground below them. You tried to identify which ship was Poe’s. You could feel him up there, but it was hard to get a lock. All you knew was that it was a black ship, an orange stripe painted down the side. Black Squadron.

Another trooper shot at you you and you shifted into battle mode. You used the Force to mow over a row of troopers, pushing them onto their backs in the dirt and leaving them scrambling to get back to their feet. One came at you with a melee weapon, electrified, but you did away with it quickly, using the Force to throw him at a tank, the force of it taking out the canon with a loud explosion.

More troopers focused their aim on you and quickly met the same fate.

Overhead, an X-Wing twirled around, almost drifting through the air and taking out one, two, three TIE fighters in quick succession, firing at a cluster of troopers on the ground immediately after. That had to be Poe.

Another turret fired near the civilians and you ran towards it, using your wings to get some height and jumping up the length of it, burying your saber in the metal paneling on the side and riding it back down to the ground as it was destroyed in a cloud of fire and smoke.

Finn ushered civilians to safety, taking out any troopers that got close with a well-placed blast. Rey worked with you to take out the remaining turrets, keeping the troopers at bay as more of them unloaded from landing transports.

You heard a boom overhead and looked, hoping to see a TIE fighter on its way down, but instead catching sight of an X-Wing, black and orange, one of its engines engulfed in flames.

You reached up and caught it with the Force, directing it away from the thick trees it was aimed towards and turning the nose, bringing it down gently in a clearing of grass and dirt, away from the immediate violence on the sprawling battlefield. You didn’t have time to worry if it might be Poe climbing out of it. Didn’t even have time to think before you saw him.

Kylo Ren.

His saber glowed red, contrasting against the lush green of the planet you were standing on, his kyber crystal obviously damaged, the way its blade was flared. He’d forced it too hard, been too rough with it. Maybe that was why the offshoots were there, to redirect the excess energy.

He was dressed like a shadow, long and sleek, all in black, face covered up by that helmet. It was better that way. You were afraid of finding too much of your friends in his broken gaze. Leia. Han. In another life, you may have been something like an aunt to him. Now he stood in front of you, a monster.

And he was headed right towards you, strides long and elegant.

“Mothim said you were awake, your Highness. It’s time to see if you really are the thing of legends.” He twirled his saber, voice distorted beyond anything human. An intimidation tactic, no doubt, in addition to the obvious imitation of one Darth Vader.

“Ah yes, my best friend’s biggest disappointment. I keep hearing about you, and I have to admit. You’re a lot taller than I expected.”

He raised his hand attempting to use the Force to…you weren’t sure. Grab you, choke you, but you had your shields up, always did, blocking out his attempt. “You’re good.”

“I have to be.” You replied, readying your saber, stretching out your neck.

He swung at you and you deflected, angling carefully to avoid the reach of the flares near the hilt of his saber. So that’s what they were for. One wrong move and it would be your hand he was slicing off. You countered, using your wings to spin into position, leveraging an attack that he dodged, his saber clashing loudly with your own.

“Tell me, did you really face Vader by yourself, or did you have Skywalker to help you?” He locked his saber with your own, mask uncomfortably close to your face. “Skywalker is dead now. I saw to that myself. I finished the work that Vader could not.”

You let out a cold laugh at that. “You’re not Vader. You’re not even close.”

That definitely pissed him off. He let out a strangled yell, running at you with full force. You dodged with a leap, spinning out of the way. He took the opportunity to take a swing at your wings, which flared in reply, flattening themselves out of his reach. Your foot swept through the dirt as you landed, breaking your somewhat clumsy fall.

That had been a targeted attack. Straight for the wings. Not your arm. Not your saber. Your wings.

Rey came over next, putting herself between the two of you, battling him with a rage you knew had to be personal. You could feel that they were connected. Always had been. There were layers here that you did not quite understand yet. But she still fought him, moves quick and deliberate and instinctual.

You jumped back in alongside her, red clashing against blue and pink, sparks flying. Some of the brush caught fire, but never fully ignited, instead filling the ground between you with smoke, partially obstructing the rest of the fight.

You landed a hit on his leg, slashing into the skin. Rey got him on the opposite arm and he let out a burst of Force energy that sent you both flying. You used your wings to recover, repositioning mid-air, an outstretched hand slowing Rey’s trajectory as well, just before the back of her head hit a tree.

“RETREAT!” Kylo screeched, his voice echoing through the trees, birds scattering at the loud, distorted cry.

You’d hurt him. Bad. You could see the blood pooling in the dirt as he stalked away.

The Stormtroopers and other forces retreated into the transports that hadn’t already been blown up. The remaining TIE fighters, few though there were, hopped to lightspeed. One of the X-Wings shot a few transports on their way into the atmosphere, but other than that, the fight was over.

You found Finn among the crowd, making sure he was uninjured. He was fine. There had been some injuries, but no casualties, even among the civilians, who were cheering and embracing, celebrating their safety for the moment.

You looked over at the crashed X-Wing, smoking at the edge of the field and ran over to it, wings carrying you farther and faster than you’d flown in years, just a handful of feet above the grass. You landed on one of the wings and used the Force to pop open the cockpit, the windshield cracked, the pilot still inside.

She tugged off her helmet, long brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Jessika. Not Poe.

You offered her a hand, helping her out. She looked up at you, awe in her eyes, her hand wrapping around yours. You used your wings to lower the both of you gently to the ground.

“Are you alright?”

“I swore I was going to crash. You…you saved my life.” She rushed into your arms and you held her, rocking her comfortingly. “How do I even begin to repay you for that?”

“You don’t. We’re all in this together.” You assured her, wiping some of the soot from her face with a gentle hand. “Now let’s get you back to base. I’m sure there’s lots of room for you on the transport.”

One of the Resistance members from the planet rushed over, putting out her smoking X-Wing engine with a fire extinguisher. “We’ll take care of this. Get it repaired as soon as possible.”

Jessika exchanged some words with the mech, arranging something of a plan to come get it before following you and the others back onto the transport.

“Are you alright?” You asked Rey, checking all your bases, counting faces and heads.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“I’m good. He…I don’t know what he knows about Mariposans, but he was locked in on my wings.” You said, shivering at the thought. “Someone must have told him to aim there.”

“You think the First Order has a Mariposan?”

“Maybe.” You said. “He…he mentioned someone named Mothim. That’s…vaguely Mariposan-sounding.”

You watched the sky, the X-Wings rounding up. Jessika had her helmet tucked under her arm, which started talking, Poe’s voice coming through the headset. You could have cried with relief that he was alright.

“Pava, come in. Are you alive out there? We don’t have eyes on your X-Wing.”

“I’m alive, Black Leader. Boarding one of the transports on the ground. They hit me in the right wing, but one of the Jedi caught me on the way down.”

He chuckled and you could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “That is great news. We’ll see you back at base.”

You watched as the X-Wings took off, hitting lightspeed in rapid succession. Your own transport followed suit not long after, once everyone was accounted for and all the systems had been checked for damage. You breathed, focusing on the quiet until finally, the ship landed and the ramp lowered.

You walked out, surveying the crowd of celebrating rebels when you spotted BB-8 whirring at you at full speed, beeping a mile a minute. He looked you up and down and then sped away, straight to Poe, who looked down at him. His little head swivelled to you and back.

“(Y/N)!”

Poe sprinted over, pulling you into his arms the second he was close enough. He let out a long breath, his gloved hand cradling the back of your head as he held you. You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his shoulder, wings twitching before relaxing completely.

“You…you’re alright? I saw him go after you. I wanted to shoot, but I couldn’t get a clean shot.” He said, regret in his voice, guilt on his brow.

“I’m okay, Poe. Really.” You told him, pulling away for a moment to get a glimpse at his face, check him over for injuries. There was sweat dotted on his forehead, wetting the curls at the edge of his hairline. “I thought it was your ship coming down. I was so scared.”

He shook his head, taking a moment to peel off his gloves so he could touch your cheek with his hand, skin impossibly warm. He rested his forehead against yours, the movement familiar and comfortable. “You saved one of my pilots. I…just when I think you can’t possibly impress me more…”

You wanted to kiss him so badly. So, so badly. Just surge forward and collect his lips as he uttered his sweet, flattering words. You could tell he wanted it, too. That victory kiss.

“Poe…” You murmured, mouth impossibly close.

“I’m right here, baby.” He whispered in response, voice gentle, eyes soft. Sparkling with anticipation. “We’re okay.”

Your breath hitched at the petname, heart racing faster than his X-Wing. You repeated his words. “We’re okay.”

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. He took a long breath and then hooked an arm around your waist again, pulling you close as he pressed a long kiss to your cheek. He buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling what was left of your perfume, diluted, you were sure, by the smoke from the battle.

Mood lightening considerably once he’d processed that you were actually okay, that you’d won, that you and Rey had fought off Kylo Ren, he chuckled to himself, remembering your original plans for the day.

“Sorry about our date, but…she’s probably gonna need some repairs before I take her up again.” He looked back at his X-Wing, untangling himself from you, but keeping an arm anchored around your waist, just beneath the base of your wings. It tickled, where his orange sleeve touched the soft tissue, but you didn’t dare move him.

BB-8 beeped up at him, agitated.

“I was careful, Bee, why do you think we’re standing here?”

He beeped something complimentary of your performance out in the battle.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He grinned, proud. “Really, you were awesome out there.”

“So were you, flyboy. I lost count of how many TIE fighters you took down. Are you sure you’re not Force sensitive?”

He smiled that prettyboy smile, reaching over to wipe some soot from your face, thumb moving deliberately, focused on one spot. “Pretty sure. I’ve just had a lot of practice.”

You saw Soren, ready to approach you, but giving you a minute with your pilot. You nodded at him, a promise that you’d be over there soon.

“I better check on my team. Make sure everyone’s in one piece.” Poe said, looking back towards the hangar where the pilots and mechs were conversing, figure out what all needed to be fixed after the skirmish. “Will, uh…would you grab dinner with me later? You know, since our date got rained out and all…”

You nodded, smiled at him. You put a hand on his cheek and guided him closer, pressing a kiss just beneath his scar. “Dinner sounds great. But when that ship is fixed, I better be first in line for that joyride you promised me.”

He laughed, nodding. “Absolutely, your Highness.”

You went your separate ways, his hand lingering on yours until the last possible second until you were finally pulled apart. And yet, as you met with the other members of the Resistance, talking over the battle, taking stock of everything, he was the only thing you could think of, the feeling of his lips still lingering against your cheek.

Vintage Diplomacy

After the battle, you spent the coming days doing strength training for your wings. Your flight across the ground had opened your eyes. If you could cover ground like that regularly, it could be lifesaving.

You’d spend mornings up in the clearing on the hill. Artoo found you up there once and asked what you were doing as you hovered, wings fluttering impossibly fast. You started with five second bursts, then ten, then twenty.

Artoo timed you, let you know when to stop. And that was how Poe found you one morning before a strategy meeting with the General, as well as her Admirals and Commanders. You’d been hovering for nearly a full minute, kicking up a small breeze in your wake.

You touched down when you saw him approaching, wings folding down with record speed as Artoo gave you the breakdown. Your longest yet. With more training, who knew? Maybe you could be the first Mariposan to rediscover the power of true flight. You could certainly hope.

You stretched out your back, hands on your hips stretching both ways. You hoped the soreness meant you were building muscle, if that was how that worked.

“Hey, Princess. Thought I might find you up here. You eat breakfast yet?”

“Yeah, I had something before I came out here.” You replied.

“Good. Meeting starts soon.”

“Thought so.” You glanced at your watch. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.” He motioned. He was wearing a leather jacket you hadn’t seen on him yet. It was brown, a rebel patch on the shoulder. Definitely vintage.

“Cool jacket.”

“You like it?” He asked with a smirk.

“Yeah. Is it vintage?”

“It is, actually. Good eye.” He rested his hands on his belt buckle. “Not as vintage as you, of course, your Highness.”

“Hey!” You elbowed him and he elbowed you back, both of you laughing as you strode into the meeting together.

A few eyes caught you, knowing looks exchanged between the other assembled people. You said some hellos, exchanged the necessary pleasantries. You greeted your sister, who smiled warmly when she saw you and Poe walk in together.

You were sure after your little, uh, victory celebration out in the middle of the base, that everyone there must have thought you were dating behind closed doors.

You wished they were right.

Poe sat with the pilots, but you could feel his eyes on you as you mingled with the folks filing into the seats around you. Rey, as always, took the seat next to yours. On your other side, Soren. There was always a certain energy to the room when the Jedi were all together. People paid attention.

Before long, General Organa started the meeting. The main topic of interest: Resistance allies, or the lack thereof.

Since the battle at Crait, Leia had been trying to get in contact with anyone she could think of, friends new and old, anyone the Resistance had helped, but responses were few and far between. The First Order had done their best to silence or…eliminate anyone who wasn’t loyal to them.

“What we’re running low on is hope.” Leia said. “The people don’t think we stand a chance against the First Order. They’d rather hide in fear than stand up and fight. And if we don’t find some allies soon…it’s a matter of time before they take us out. We’re already running on scraps here.”

Chewbacca roared out his support.

“More outreach.” Another Admiral suggested. “The people saw what we did for them in the Endor system, that we stand up for them when it matters. Hell, we got twenty new recruits from that battle alone. When people see the difference we make, they want to fight with us.”

“I think our next move needs to be diplomacy, General. It’s been a while since we’ve had representatives at any events raising awareness.” Your sister reasoned. “How are they supposed to know we’re still here if they never see us?”

“But who would go?” Leia asked, scanning the room. “Diplomatic training hasn’t been very high on our regimen, I’m afraid.”

“I can go.” You volunteered. The eyes in the room fell on you quickly, like they’d been expecting you to say it. “The First Order already knows I’m alive, our allies should, too. They think we have one Jedi, we have three. I think that would spark quite a bit of hope, General. Besides, I have the diplomatic training and I never get to use it.”

She smiled, eyes sparkling. “I was hoping you’d say that. I did catch wind of a gala. It’s…mostly safe. Former Rebel sympathizers, a formal event. It would be as good a place as ever to make a debut. You’ll need a pilot of course, to–”

“I’ll go, General.” Poe volunteered before anyone else even had the chance. “I’ll escort the princess. It would be my honor.”

Leia gave a small, professional smile that you could tell she was all she could do to keep from laughing at the sheer speed with which he offered himself up for the mission. She thought about making him fight for it, and she knew he would. Poe Dameron was nothing if not stubborn, ambitious. It was why she respected him so much.

And at the same time, she knew exactly what would happen if she sent the two of you there, together. Alone.

Maybe it was about time.

“Great. Get packed. It’s tonight, three systems out. Take the Falcon.”

***

After the meeting, you went straight to your quarters, shuffling through your closet for anything…formal. You had a lot of Jedi robes, that was for sure, which might have suited an event like this in the olden days, before even your time, but now…all it would ensure was that you would stick out more than you already did.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Laesynda said, standing in the doorway. “I might have something that’ll work.”

You followed her to her quarters. She opened her wardrobe and pushed aside some clothes, reaching for something specific. She pulled it out with a flourish. A long, midnight blue gown. Off the shoulder. It glittered like stars and truly did look fit for a princess to wear. With it, she had a silver circlet, some silver Mariposan cuff bracelets.

“Mom’s…” You remembered, a hand drifting down the sparkling fabric.

Laesynda nodded. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Maybe I knew you’d need it someday.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, let’s get you dressed. Sounds like you have a flight to catch.”

Laesynda helped you into the gown, adjusting the flowing fabric so it sat just so, helping to slip your wings through the slot sewn in specifically for them. It was nice, wearing Mariposan garb again, something you didn’t have to adjust in order to wear comfortably.

She put your hair in a simple style, braiding the front pieces back, setting the circlet on your head. You put on the cuffs, put on a silver belt and strapped your saber to it, the final piece of the puzzle. The metal tones clashed, but maybe that was okay. It would stand out, at the very least.

“How do I look?”

“Like a princess.” She replied, a hand reaching out to touch your face. “And like Mom.”

You couldn’t help but tear up a little bit when she said it. She carefully tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, giving a final nod. You were ready.

You stopped back into your room, packed a bag with some essentials. Among your things, you found your wooden box of Rebel memorabilia. Pins, cuff links, a pair of dangling silver earrings. You tucked it into the bag as well, along with another change of clothes for after the party. As gorgeous as the gown was, you doubted you’d want to be in it all night. You knew how these kinds of parties went. They were long and socially exhausting. You’d be longing for those Resistance standard sweatpants at the end of it.

There was a knock on the doorframe, your door still open. You expected it to be Laesyndra, having forgotten something. Instead, it was Poe, holding a garment bag that you assumed contained his formal wear.

“Tried to get the General let me take my flight suit out for ya, but she wasn’t having it. You ready for–” He stared, voice dropping off once he spotted you, dressed in a dazzling, midnight gown. “Oh. Wow…”

“Ready for…?” You raised an eyebrow, walking closer with slow strides.

“For takeoff?” He asked, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes half-lidded. “Chewie warmed up the Falcon for us.”

You smiled warmly, nodding. “All packed, Commander. Ready when you are.”

“Perfect. Right. Well, let’s…” He offered his arm and you took it, slipping your arm through his, your bag slung over the other shoulder.

You gave his bicep a playful squeeze, laughter bubbling out of your painted lips. “Loth-cat got your tongue, Dameron? It’s just me.”

He let out a chuckle, meeting your eyes. “That’s the problem, your Highness.”

This Changes Everything

Your friends saw you off, complimenting you endlessly. Rey and Rose demanded you twirl around, showing off the look, which you gladly did.

“You look dazzling, Princess.” Threepio complimented, giving a little bow, arms poised at their odd angles.

“Thank you, Threepio. It was my mother’s.” You said, a sad, proud glimmer in your eye. Poe caught it immediately.

Artoo came with, but otherwise, it was just you and Poe in that big ship. He put in the coordinates, lifted off the planet, and put it into hyperdrive, with you in the passenger seat. Once it was on autopilot, you were free to move around the cabin.

Poe took his garment bag from one of the other seats and moved towards one of the Falcon’s tiny bed cabins to change. In the meantime, you found a mirror and put in a pair of earrings from your box of Rebel trinkets. They were the Rebellion’s symbol, silver and dangling from tiny chains. They completed the look.

Poe emerged a few minutes later, wearing a dark blue formal tunic, dramatic diagonal trim highlighting his shoulders. It was paired with matching navy pants, some black loafers with silver buckles.

“There was a hat, too, but I thought it would be too much.” He said, standing stiff while you looked him over, eyes roving his figure.

“Covering hair like that would be a crime, I think.” You told him, earning a chuckle and that dashing smile.

Your eyes lingered on the ends of his sleeves and you dug around in your box until you found a pair of cufflinks. You walked over to him, grabbing his hand and inserting one of the cufflinks into the end of his sleeve.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” He asked, watching your careful movements as you switched sleeves, putting the other one in as well.

“I’ve had it. Held onto it after the war. Figured we’d wear them to…charity events or something.” You shrugged. You rummaged around the box for a lapel pin, focused as you pinned it to one side of his tunic, straightening it with a quick movement. “Never thought we’d need them for war fundraising, but here we are…”

“My parents were Rebels, you know.” He confessed, voice soft, eyes softer. He’d been holding onto it, unsure why he’d never found the opportunity to tell you until now. Maybe he was afraid the information would shift your already teetering dynamic.

“Hence the jacket.” You noted, meeting his gaze, fingers still lingering on the pin. The wheels turned in your head and your jaw dropped, finally seeing it in his face. Those brows. That nose. Those eyes. “You’re…you’re Kes Dameron’s kid.”

He chuckled and nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. I am. You knew him?”

“I did know him.” You laughed to yourself shaking your head. “Maker, I can’t believe I didn’t put those pieces together. He worked with Han and the pathfinders. I worked with Leia. It was kind of inevitable that our paths crossed. He was a great guy.”

“Is a great guy.” He said. “He still lives on Yavin. That’s where I grew up.”

You hummed, nodding. “That’s really good news, Poe. I’d…I’d love to see him sometime.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see you when all of this is over.” He said, eyes softening when he spoke of home, of family. “Mom was a pilot. Maybe you knew her. Her name was Shara.”

You gasped softly. “You’re…you’re Shara’s son? Shara Bey?”

Poe nodded, smiling. “I am.”

“Poe…I…” You teared up, studying him, dividing his features in your head, which had come from Shara, from Kes. You touched his face, laughed sadly, happy memories bubbling to the surface. “Shara was…so special. She was my bunkmate on Hoth. She and I kept watch together twice a week. We ate lunch together almost every day. We shared wine bottles at parties. I…I always thought there was something going on between her and Kes, but they kept it very professional. Didn’t know they were engaged until after the war.”

Poe got a little misty, nostalgia swirled in his warm brown eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry…”

He shook his head, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “You were there. I always forget you were there. I can’t believe you knew them…”

“Maker, I could tell you so many stories…”

“I want you to. I want to hear all about them when we get home.”

“Okay.” You nodded, shedding a single tear that he was quick to wipe away, pulling you into a hug instead.

He pressed a long kiss to the crown of your head, arms tight around your shoulders, yours wrapped around his middle. You listened to his heart, hammering away beneath his tunic. You felt his lips on your forehead again, lingering for longer this time before he rested his head against yours, swaying slightly with you in his hold.

Eventually, Artoo rolled into the room, beeping to let you know you were getting close.

“Thank you, Artoo.”

He complimented Poe’s pin with a series of beeps and Poe grinned and thanked him.

“Here, I’ve probably got a magnet in here you can wear.” You said, rummaging through your box until you found one. You knelt down and he rolled forward, letting you stick it to one of his panels.

He beeped and whirred in approval, asking how he looked.

“You look very sharp.” You assured him. “You fit right in, now.”

Poe wandered into the cockpit, standing between the back row of seats, watching as the stars flew by at lightspeed. You stepped in after him and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders without a second thought.

He was your pilot, you were his princess. That was all that mattered. You rested your head against him, watching the stars.

***

The gala was being held at a nice hotel, chandeliers glimmering above, painted portraits hanging on the wall and abstract sculptures sitting on pedestals. It reminded you of home, in a way, if Mariposas had been colorless and stiff. There was soft music playing, a band tucked into the corner of the room. Poe took your arm, escorting you through the room of senators and leaders, former Rebellion members.

It was clear that this gala was pretending to be something it was not. On the outside, it had been bolstered as an academy class reunion, probably to drive off any First Order loyalists, keep them off the trail, inside was a completely different story.

You knew these people. A lot of them, wrinkled and graying though they were. Pathfinders, pilots, ground fighters, comm techs…these had been your brothers and sisters on base, and a decent amount of them, seemingly, had bloomed into important people in their own right.

What was holding them back from helping, you wondered, scanning the room. Maybe it was just the fear of the First Order, of making themselves vulnerable just to be eliminated without a second thought. But as the eyes in the room found you, the whispers picked up, speculating how it was you were there, standing there, living and breathing after all this time.

“How’s that for a first impression…” Poe murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, watching the way these legends reacted to seeing you.

“Time to finally use these stares and whispers to our advantage.” You said, leading him over to a corner where some former fighters were standing. You picked one from the crowd, calling his name to your mind. After all, it had only been two years since you’d seen him.

“Y-your Highness?” He asked, looking you up and down. He glanced at the others, as if to make sure you weren’t some Force Ghost standing there in front of him, that they were seeing it too. “I thought you were…”

“Dead? Lots of folks seem to think so.” You replied, offering your hand, which he shook vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Lieutenant. How’s Marsha?”

That was how it started. You navigated through the room, a walking myth.

Once you made your rounds, Poe at your side, chatting with the people gathered there, you felt a tap on your arm and turned to find him. Lando Calrissian in the flesh.

“I was wondering if I might steal a dance, Princess. If you’re not too busy with the Commander here.” Lando motioned to Poe, whose mouth fell open at his sudden appearance.

“Lando!” You all but jumped into his arms, captured quickly in a tight hug. He swayed back and forth, laughing.

“Maker, Leia was right. You really haven’t aged a day.” He said, taking a moment to look at you. He spun you around. “Can’t say the same for the rest of us.”

“You look great Lando. I was wondering when I’d finally get to see you. How have you been?”

“Oh, same old. Leia tipped me off about this…reunion. Thought I could help finally win these stuffy old guys over.”

“No such luck, I’m guessing.” Poe said, scanning the room.

“Not yet.” Lando winked at you. “That’s why she sent her secret weapon.”

“Not so secret anymore.” You said, trying to ignore all the eyes in your peripheral vision.

Lando introduced and reintroduced you to a handful of old colleagues. One of them, a senator now, stiffened at the sight of you, looking you up and down.

“Leia…dressed you up just like her. It would be convincing, if not for the fake wings.” He said with a sneer. “Almost had me there for a second.”

You chuckled softly, malice creeping into your eyes. “Fake wings?” You repeated, raising them slightly.

“I’ve seen them in action, Senator. I assure you, these things are the real deal.” Poe said, expression guarded, tone painfully casual.

Artoo beeped something at him, agitated, but the senator batted a hand. “I don’t speak droid.”

“I can’t translate what he said anyway, it’s hardly appropriate for an event like this.” You said with a laugh. “Do you need another drink?”

“That’s not–” He started to argue, but you held out a hand, using the Force to pull a champagne flute from across the room. It glided smoothly through the air and hovered in front of him. He stared at it, dropping the empty glass in his own hand. He looked up at you in horror as Poe laughed. “You’re her.”

“Obviously.” You replied, plucking the drink from the air and handing it to him. “I know it’s hard to believe. It’s a long story, but I was saved by one very daring pilot, a Jedi, and a fighter after a long time asleep. Imagine my surprise at waking up to another war.”

He shook his head, brows furrowed. “What war?”

“The First Order. The Resistance. Are you unaware of the conflicts, or just too callous to care this time, elevated position and all?” You asked.

“The need for fighting is over.” He said, shaking his head. “I had my war, I’m sure we can all just live in peace.”

“Senator, I don’t know if you’ve been out there, but it’s bad.” Poe said, eyes serious. “What they did to the New Republic…”

“Was a horrible incident, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean we can all just…hop in an X-Wing and blow things up.”

You laughed at that. “You didn’t even do that the first time. You failed your flight test, if I remember correctly, Senator. Was it two times, or three?”

He scoffed, clearly offended. “Well, I–”

Poe’s eyes lit up, watching as you warmed up to take your shot.

“Don’t you remember what things were like? Under the Empire? Maybe it’s been too long for you. I know thirty years is a long time to hold onto memories, but…it’s only been two years for me. Two years since the Battle of Endor. Two years of quiet after. I remember how bad it was and this is worse. The weapons they have, the forces, the numbers. They have a Sith trying to outshine Darth Vader and Maker knows what else hidden on those Star Destroyers. They are taking children and ruining lives. One of our best friends is a former trooper. I wish he was here to tell you himself the horrors he’s seen aboard those vessels. They can destroy planets with a few button presses. Maybe you feel safe right now. Maybe you’re playing into their pocket, who knows, but someday, they’ll turn on you, too, and there will be no one left to protect you because you didn’t help the Resistance fight back.”

The room fell silent, every ear tuning into your fiery words. Lando let out a proud little laugh.

Someone across the room stepped forward, meeting your eyes. Wedge. Wedge Antilles. One of the best Rebel pilots there was. He’d been great friends with Luke, so you’d known him pretty well. It was good to see he was still around.

“Well, your Highness, where do we sign up?”

***

After a few more hours of networking, of Poe handing out tokens for further communication, taking pledges and handing out contact information for any people they knew who’d like to enlist in the Rebellion, the three of you–you, Poe and Artoo, that is–said your goodbyes and headed back to the ship.

As soon as the ramp was closed, Poe’s face broke into a victorious smile and he took you in his arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. Laughter bubbled from your lips.

“That was insane!” A triumphant laugh escaped him. “You flipped that whole room in less than a minute! I…I…” He set you down, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “I can’t believe that just happened. This changes…everything. We’re gonna have so many new recruits. We’re gonna be able to get so many supplies…”

“New pilots?” You asked.

“New X-Wings. New ships. New blasters. Kriff, new uniforms, even.” He smiled, grabbing onto your arms, just above the flowing, off-the-shoulder sleeves. “Wow, I dunno, I had my doubts when Leia sent me four systems out for a shiny rock, but…I don’t know what we’d do without you here.” He met your eyes, took a step closer, dipped his head down. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here…”

You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t dance around him and pretend your heart wasn’t on fire just looking at him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, lips capturing his easily, as you had in your fantasies so many times. He gasped into your mouth, arms winding around your waist and pulling you against him, lips passionate and experienced. Poe held you there with one arm, the other traveling up into your hair.

Your nose brushed against his as he twisted, getting an even better angle, teeth nipping at your lip. You reached up and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing through the stubble accumulated there.

He pulled back, forehead against yours, breaths ragged as his eyes searched your face, looking for some evidence that that had happened, that it was real this time.

“Say something,” you whispered, hand still anchored against his cheek, eyes sparkling with insecurity. “Please.”

“Give me a second. I’ve never kissed a princess before.” He murmured, kissing your forehead, then your cheeks, pressing another long one to your lips. Soft, but filled with so much passion. He let out a breathy chuckle, meeting your eyes. “Maker, you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of doing that.”

You bit your lip, a guilty little smile twisting your mouth. “Actually, about that…”

Poe’s eyes widened, jaw dropping before the shock melted into an embarrassed grin. “You…you could feel it, huh? The whole time?”

“More or less.” You confessed. You pulled him back into you and he didn’t resist, nose brushing yours as you whispered, “I couldn’t tell if they were your fantasies or mine, to be honest.”

He stepped forward, cupping your cheek as he captured your lips again, hungrier this time, lit up by your words, by your confession, that you had felt this way about him for just as long as he’d been drawn to you.

Another step forward and your exposed back touched the cold metal of a wall panel, one of Poe’s hands taking yours, fingers interlacing as he held it up against the wall. His other hand tugged your waist closer, closer, closer, like he was trying to fuse the two of you into one person.

You crooned, hooking your arm around his neck, keeping him there.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, lips trailing down your neck before crushing against yours again. “Use one of your Jedi Mind Tricks or something.”

“I can’t.” You laughed against him. “They wouldn’t work on you anyway and…I don’t want you to stop.”

“Well good, because I don’t think I can…” He said with a chuckle, nose smushed against yours. He kissed you again, movements tender and slow, smiling against you when he heard your breath hitch. “I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to fall in love. I would have done this so much sooner…”

You laughed. “That’s what was stopping you? I thought you weren’t afraid of bending the rules, Commander.”

Poe let out a breath, smirking. “Well yeah, but…you’re a princess. I thought you might not be so keen on rulebreaking.”

“Well the good news is, there aren’t any rules against Jedi falling in love anymore.” You murmured, resting your forehead against his, hands tugging on the trim of his tunic. “But if there were…I would break them for you, Poe Dameron.”

He grinned that flyboy grin, going in for one last kiss, then another, then one final, lingering kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs, the butterflies in your stomach flying loop-de-loops that rivaled any maneuver he could pull off with his X-Wing.

Soon, you knew you’d have to fly back to base, update Leia on the progress you’d made, return to your schedules and duties.

But now, you shared your breaths with him, heart racing as he cupped your cheeks, whispering sweet words against your lips, promises to steal away more time together as soon as the Maker would allow.

A Little Rebel Spirit

Poe slept in your bed that night.

Your mattress was hardly big enough for one of you let alone both of you, but he didn’t mind, changing out of his formal tunic, carefully returning your Rebellion trinkets to their special little box, and laying in your bed, watching you, hands folded on his toned tan chest, the chain around his neck glimmering against his skin.

You’d changed into some sleep shorts and a tanktop you’d modified for your wings. When you turned to face him again in the dim bedroom, he gasped, eyes falling on your thigh. More specifically, the large tattoo piece stretched across your skin.

“You have a tattoo?” He asked, almost scandalized. “Princess, I knew you were a Rebel, but I didn’t know you were so rebellious.”

“You wanna know what’s rebellious…Leia did this.” You said, fingers skimming over the artwork.

His jaw dropped. “No fucking way.”

“Yes way.” You nodded, walking over to the bed and sat beside him, propping your leg atop his so he could see better.

He ran a large hand over the tattoo, the sheer warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. “When?”

“Three years ago.” You answered, before correcting “Thirty-three years ago. We were on some planet, there was a market and she got a tattoo gun for like…twelve credits, which should have been the first red flag.”

“And you let her do that?” He asked, laughing.

“Well yeah. She’s my best friend. I knew it would drive my parents nuts, their second in line for the throne defiling her skin, but…I didn’t really expect to survive the war, to be honest. Besides, I was the spare, what were they gonna do about it? I knew I was never going to be queen.” You said with a shrug. “It’s not half bad anyways. She’s a talented artist.”

“This is…that tree, isn’t it. The one on Mariposas.” He said, studying the lines, the shading. It was a large, sprawling tree, branches thick, covered in flowers. Roots twisted down your thigh, headed towards your knee, and in the roots, were a few stray butterflies. Above it, three moons, their shaded crescents in various stages of their cycles.

You nodded. “The Monarch Tree. From which, all life on Mariposas bloomed, or so the legends go.” You guided his hand further down the art, to where the roots curled into a subtle version of the symbol of the Rebellion. “This was by special request.”

His features glowed with recognition and he met your eyes, reaching up to smooth the hair out of your face. “Wow, that’s…that’s really hot, I’ll be honest.”

You giggled, shifting your body towards him. “Yeah? A little Rebel spirit is what does it for you?”

“You’re one to talk. You’re into that silly orange jumpsuit of mine.” He teased, hand hooking your knee and tugging your leg to the other side of his hips, so you were straddling him, hovering inches from his face.

Your wings twitched behind you as you cupped his face with both hands, nose pressed to his. Tenderly, slowly, you inched in, grinning when he got impatient and chased your lips, hands wandering up to your waist to tug you closer.

“You know, honestly Poe, it’s not so much the jumpsuit as it is the thought of…taking it off of you. How easy it would be to just…reach out and unzip it a little.” Mischief glimmered in your eyes. “With the Force.”

He let out a broken groan at that, throwing his head back towards the wall. “You can’t just say that when I’m not wearing it.”

You smiled, coy. “Next time, perhaps.”

“Oh, there’s no question about that, sweetheart.” He had fire in his eyes when he pulled you towards him, crushing his lips to yours, tongue teasing at the seam between your mouths. You let him in, the taste of him rolling across your tongue, minty fresh from his toothpaste.

You threaded your fingers through his curls, letting out a whine when his lips left yours and started trailing down your neck, stubble rough against the sensitive skin. His hand ghosted up your back, finding the base of your wings, calloused fingertips brushing against the spot between them.

Tingles shot through your limbs like firecrackers and you crumbled against him.

He froze, the panic setting in. “Woahhh, sorry, sorry, is that not an okay spot?”

You took a deep breath, reaching up to cup his cheek, turning his face towards you as best you could from your spot tucked into his shoulder. You laughed sheepishly, cheeks flushed. “S’fine, Poe. I’m okay.”

“No, if it’s not fine, you need to tell me. Baby, I’ve never…touched a Mariposan before, I don’t know what I’m doing.” He confessed.

“It’s…that spot is the most sensitive spot on my whole body.” You said through laughs, pulling his face down to meet yours. “So we just went zero to a thousand all at once.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “So it’s a no-go zone.”

“It’s a ‘we have to work up to that’ zone.” You amended, pressing a kiss to his lips, adjusting yourself so you were a little more upright. “You can touch it, but…it has to be featherlight. Unless we’ve gotten there.”

“Okay.” He nodded, nose brushing against yours. “So, do they…have feeling in them?” He asked, hand hovering just above the crest of one of your wings, still a little afraid to outright touch them, despite the fact that he already had, that night in the kitchens.

“Mmhmm.” You spread one out for him, an invitation. “You can touch them. Just be gentle. Like before.”

Poe reached out, running the palm of his hand down the length of one wing, tingles running down your back as he did.

You let out a contented sigh, lulling against his chest as your muscles relaxed.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” You kissed his cheek, then the corner of his lips, hand resting against his chest. “It’s like…having your hair played with.”

He smiled at that, continuing the gentle movements while you were curled up in his arms. He kissed you again, lips impossibly soft, like silk, the fine royal satins your sheets on Mariposas had been made of.

“You’re the only one allowed to touch them, though.” You told him.

“Just me?” He asked, absolutely enamored.

“Just you.” You punctuated it with a kiss that he readily reciprocated. “It’s…seen as a romantic thing, on Mariposas. Wing-touching is…very personal.”

“So when you let me touch them that night…”

“I was making a move, more or less. I knew you wouldn’t take it that way, though. It doesn’t mean much to outsiders.”

“It meant everything to me, Princess.” He whispered, kissing your forehead. He basked in the proximity, of the feeling of you in his arms, the way you slotted perfectly against him, like you were made for him. “Should have done my research. Would have saved us both some time.”

You laughed. “I doubt Laesynda would have told you that.”

“True.” He went quiet for a while, thinking over something before asking, “Do you…miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Just…the way things were, before you went to sleep.” He asked.

You could tell it had been weighing on him. If you missed people from before. If you missed the relationships you’d had. If you missed Luke.

“Sometimes. I miss Mariposas a lot. I miss my family. I didn’t even get the privilege of losing them, really, I just woke up and…they were gone. Had been gone for decades. I miss Han. I miss Luke…but…He left me there. He just…left me there to sleep for thirty years, so…” You let out a breath. “I try not to miss him more than he missed me.”

He nodded, listening quietly, hand still gently passing over your wing, the sensation soothing in indescribable ways. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. If he kept at it, he would lull you right to sleep.

“But I like this life, too. I like training with Rey and Soren. I like making a difference again, fighting for something important. And someday, when the war is over, I’ll get to figure out what that peace looks like for me again.” You reached up, thumb gently grazing the skin beneath that tiny scar on his cheekbone. You pulled him to you, locking in a slow, sensual kiss. “I like you most of all, Poe Dameron.”

He smirked. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” You shook your head, eyes earnest. “You saved my life. You found that pendant. You woke me up. And every day since then, you’ve been finding little pieces of my heart I thought I’d lost decades ago.”

His lips captured yours again, breathing into it. They wandered, down your cheek, past your jaw, down to your neck again. You laced your fingers through his curls, relishing in the burn of his stubble against your skin.

“Maker, I’m so glad we found you…”

He whispered against the sensitive spot he’d found on your neck, the words echoing off the caverns of your mind. That voice. Those words.

It was him. Obviously it was, but the realization still struck you to your core. You’d dreamed of this, dreamed of him for years, and now he was finally yours.

Your pilot. Your Poe.

Can’t Change the Past, Starlight

You and Poe walked down to breakfast separately the next morning. He slipped out of your room carefully, watching for any techs that might be walking by, and hurrying from your room to his to change into some real clothes, as all he had in your room was the formal tunic Leia had loaned him.

You timed your exit about fifteen minutes after, and ran into Rey and Finn in the hallway.

“How did it go?” Finn asked. “I was kind of worried. I never heard Poe come into the room last night.”

“Oh it was great. I’m sure we’ll hash it all out in the meeting later. Lots of new pledges, hopefully lots of new recruits, too. Ran into Lando Calrissian. He’s…an old friend.”

Rey’s jaw dropped. “The Lando Calrissian. Is he joining the Resistance?”

“He’s thinking about it.” You said with a smirk. “He’s always been hard to pin down, but I have a good feeling he’ll come around. Maker knows we could use his help.”

The canteen was bustling with folks, starting their day. Poe was sitting at the usual table with Rose. You grabbed some breakfast and slid into the seat across from him. A calculated move. He slid you a cup of caf, just the way you liked it.

“There you are. I was worried you’d gotten lost on the way to our room.” Finn said, searching Poe’s face. “Where’d you end up last night?”

“I…slept on the couch down in the lounge. Didn’t wanna wake you, we got back really late.” Poe lied.

Alright, you were officially doing this. You were officially hiding your relationship. It was kind of thrilling, you had to admit.

“Mmm.” Finn nodded, not buying it in the slightest. “Well, how’d it go?”

“Fantastic. (Y/N) has a real way with words.” Poe said, eyes sparkling. “Flipped the whole room, had everyone all fired up. We got so many new pledges and allies. It’s gonna take the droids forever to get all the files sorted.”

“Like I said, diplomatic training I never use.” You said with a shrug, taking a sip of caf.

“How’d you sleep?” Poe asked, meeting your eyes.

“Slept alright. Like you said, we got back late, so I didn’t get much of it.”

“Mmm. Sorry to hear that.” He said through a grin that he hid behind his mug. “I slept great.”

You kicked his leg under the table.

After breakfast, the group of you filed into the meeting, where you were somewhat surprised to see Lando, chatting with Leia. Once she spotted you, she motioned you over, hugging you tightly.

“I never doubted you, (Y/N), but I have to admit, I didn’t expect results like these. This changes everything.”

“I’m glad I could do my part, General.” You said, eyes glimmering. You turned to Lando. “Didn’t expect you to head here so fast.”

“How could I not? You need help. I should have been here a long time ago.” He said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. Just like old times. “I’m here for whatever you need, ladies. Just say the word.”

“Well right now, I need someone wrangling the new recruits. They need to be rounded up from outposts in the Outer Rim.” Leia said.

Lando saluted. “Just give me coordinates and a ship. I can make it happen.”

You left the two of them, turning to sit in your usual seat with the other Jedi. This meeting was a little more broad, more of the operatives from the middle ranks present in addition to the higher-ups.

Laesynda walked past, letting her hand brush on yours as she passed, a knowing smile on her face.

You avoided Poe’s gaze purposefully, but you could feel it on you from across the table. Business as usual, you supposed. He was always giving you those lovesick looks, but now there was something more in those warm brown eyes of his. You loved the feeling.

Leia started the meeting, opening with words of congratulations, the numbers from the previous night broken down in the projection on the holo in the middle of the room. The team burst into applause, several congratulative whoops and hollers sounding. Snap jostled Poe’s shoulder and he finally met your eyes, giving you that charming flyboy wink, handsome features illuminated in the teal light.

Leia moved to the next order of business, the intel Lando had been hard at work gathering. About Mariposas.

“The attack on Mariposas…I believe it was an inside job.” Lando said.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, ears ringing. You looked at Laesynda and she shared the same grim expression you were sure was on your face. You felt Poe’s eyes on you, watching as the rug was torn from beneath your feet.

“I don’t mean to impede on our celebration, I just…With three prominent Mariposans among our ranks, I think it’s a logical conclusion that…two of them were the targets of the original attack. So whoever tipped off the Empire splinter cells, if they’re still alive, could be interested in…”

“Finishing the job.” You said, suddenly exhausted.

“Yeah.” Lando nodded.

He brought up some diagnostics, a map of the planet, a breakdown of the attack. He talked those who were unfamiliar with it through what had happened. You watched as red bloomed across the Healer’s Temple, right where you were, blaster fire taking out the Refuge, where the Healers had retreated. A light attack up front to scare them, a heavy attack on their hiding spot to finish them off.

Immediately, you knew Lando was right. It was an inside job. Only someone who knew the innerworkings of the palace would have known the Healers retreated there in the case of an emergency. Someone who had grown up there, perhaps.

You bristled, watching as the attack continued, further details selling his point further. This was an attack that had been planned and executed by someone intimately familiar with your home. And someone who wanted you dead. Or at the very least, didn’t want you to wake up.

“Maddox.” The name left your mouth coated in venom. “My brother. Had to have been. Only the royal family would have known all of this, to exploit every weak spot in order.”

“Why would your brother…” Poe started, finally daring to speak up.

“He was jealous.” Laesynda said, the memories of him weighing her down, too. “Always jealous. He was the oldest, the heir to the throne. It still wasn’t enough for him. He was jealous (Y/N) was the Jedi of the family. Wanted it to be him.”

“Couldn’t have been our parents. I was asleep, Laesynda was ten. It had to have been Maddox.” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Maker, if he wanted me dead so bad, I don’t know why he didn’t just destroy my pod and kill me himself.”

“Because we were there.” Leia said, voice soft. “We were too late to stop the initial attack, but…Han and Lando got the shields up. I guarded your pod. Luke handled the cultists.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding. “Thank you.”

“By the time the fight was over, all of the Healers’ Pendants had been destroyed or…lost. We tried to use the Force to open your pod, but they were designed with that in mind. Only a healer could open it and they were…all gone.”

You took a long breath, nodding as she explained.

Lando looked at you, features apologetic. “And if he is indeed in the First Order, alive after all this time, it stands to reason that…he wouldn’t be happy that you’re awake again, your Highness.”

“Right. Do we have any…intel that he is? On either account, alive or currently working with the First Order?” You asked, adjusting your posture. Your wings twitched. Rey reached for your hand and you gave it to her, the touch comforting, albeit simple.

“Not yet, your Highness, but…We’re working to figure that out. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.” Lando said, turning the holo off with a click. “Wanted to make sure we all kept our guards up.”

Leia ran the team through a few other things, mostly preparation for new Resistance members she was anticipating. New quarters would have to be prepared, they’d have to arrange supplies and prepare to train dozens, maybe hundreds, of rookies.

After the meeting, you met Poe’s eyes for a moment. And then, you walked back to your quarters, paces brisk. Uncharacteristic of you to just leave one so early with no discussion of meal plans, no chatter with your peers, to just…disappear. Anyone who knew you would know there was something wrong. And Poe knew you.

The door slid shut behind you and you sat on the mattress, letting out a strangled yell, head in your hands, knees tucked up into your chest and wings flaring out behind you.

Your heart raced in the silence after the scream. The force of it, the Force of you had rattled the trinkets sitting on your dressers. You took a few breaths, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling panel, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The door slid open again and Poe slipped inside, closing it behind him. He melted when he saw you there, looking utterly pathetic, you were sure.

“Hey, baby. You okay? That was some heavy stuff.” He crossed the room, sitting on the bed.

You shook your head and reached for him. He pulled you into his arms immediately, a large hand cradling your head, the other wrapped tight around you, legs draped over his. You buried your face in his shoulder, sobs muffled by his warmth.

He started tracing comforting patterns in your back, letting you get it all out before attempting to talk you through it.

“I feel so stupid, crying about it. It happened so long ago…” You confessed, voice soft and broken.

“Not for you.” Poe reasoned, pressing a kiss to your hairline. One gentle hand found your cheek and he used his thumb to gently wipe your tears away. “Everyone here knows it’s still fresh for you. Of course you’re torn up about it, I would be, too.”

You nodded, sniffling. “I always knew he hated me, but…I guess I just never knew how much. I thought after Endor, everything would cool off. But it doesn’t sound like that’s the case. It was quiet for a while, sure, but…I wasn’t here when things started getting bad. I wasn’t here to help when things got worse…”

He listened, empathy rooted deep in his warm brown eyes. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What happened, happened. We can’t change the past, starlight.” He said, readjusting his hold, one arm cradling you while the other nestled against your cheek, still gently dabbing at your tears as they fell. “I’m just glad you’re here now. For selfish and unselfish reasons. Rey needs you. I need you. You’ve got a lot of good to do here, and you’ve already done so much.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. He was right. He always seemed to be. “What do you have going on today? Is there somewhere you need to be?”

“It can wait. I’m needed here.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your nose, gentle smile turning mischievous with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Besides, they’ll never find me in here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Poe never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you were feeling like this.

“It’ll be alright, baby.” He reassured. The name still made your heart do flips in your chest. You much preferred it to your stuffy royal titles.

You sat further upright, kissing his soft pink lips. He kissed back, hand tilting your face just so with passionate precision. “I know it will. We’ll make sure of it this time.”

Rise of the Resistance

It wasn’t long before the new recruits started showing up. Lando ran what was akin to a shuttle service for a few weeks, running back and forth in a tiny transport, trying to avoid as much attention as possible. So far, it had worked.

The new folks were a bright bunch. Among them, Wedge Antilles, who had left behind his flight school, taking most of his pupils with him to help the cause.

“You know, as weird as this sounds, I missed it, Princess.” He admitted, hands on his hips, looking around the base, where soldiers ran in neat columns for their morning workout.

“Missed that Rebel air?”

He grinned. “Exactly that.”

Snap walked over, hugging him tightly and that was how you found out Wedge was Snap’s step-dad. Maker, it was a small galaxy after all. You and the other Jedi took a break from training, trying to help everyone get acclimated. You helped with giving tours, showed rookies where to get their breakfast and sleep, teaching them emergency protocol.

You set up a meditation room in an empty storage shed. It left something to be desired, but it was dimly lit, had some soft music playing, various toys and activities for Force training, cushions on the floor for those who could not float in the air while they meditated.

Aspen led some of the new recruits through while you were organizing your books.

“And this is Princess (Y/N) (L/N) of Mariposas, one of three Jedi we have on base.” She motioned to you. “If any of you think you might be Force-Sensitive, this is who you want to come to with questions.”

“We are always looking for new Jedi.” You said. “But this room is for everybody. If you need to get away for a bit, feel free to come here, do some meditation, read. It’s here for you. It gets rough out there, you need to take care of yourselves.”

Hours later, you had a tour group of your own, leading them through the comms center, then the mech workshop, droid repair, where BB-8 was getting a fresh paint job and beeped and whirred at you excitedly.

You led them past the hangar, where there were pilots milling around, about to head out on a perimeter check. Poe was there, stretching in that orange jumpsuit of his. You couldn’t fight the grin that formed when he spotted you, lighting up. He walked over, introducing himself to the group.

“Any pilots?” He asked, scanning your recruits, standing right next to you, hands on his hips, but his elbow brushing your side.

Professional. So, painfully professional.

“Reggie there.” You pointed him out and Reggie volunteered himself with a proud hand in the air.

“That’s the spirit. Welcome to the team, Reg.” He looked at you, glancing at your holo to take a peek at your schedule. “They’re not giving you too much trouble, I hope.”

“Nope, I’m all set with these guys. Bright bunch.” You replied, meeting those warm brown eyes, where mischief always seemed to sparkle.

“Right. Good. So, you don’t have anything penciled in after lunch?”

“I do not.” You confirmed.

“Alright. Well, uh, I’ve gotta hop in that X-Wing for perimeter checks. See you around, your Highness.” He promised, eyebrow quirked. He turned to Reggie. “Nice to meet you, Reggie. I’ll make sure you get acclimated.”

“Thank you, sir.” Reggie replied, starstruck.

You gave Poe a parting smile. Once the group had turned away, you glanced back. He motioned to the zipper of his jumpsuit, then looked at you with over-exaggerated expectation. Your jaw dropped and you rolled your eyes, laughing. Here in front of all of these people was not where you intended to use the Force to unzip his jumpsuit.

Still, you pinched your fingers together, focusing for a moment as you tugged it down the tiniest bit, just enough to tease him. He gasped, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. The way his eyes lit up, though, you could tell he was into it. Perhaps too into it.

The group didn’t notice, too busy buzzing about their future roles. Some of them were buzzing about other topics, like how hot your boyfriend was.

You moved them along to the next spot on the tour, but one of them pushed.

“Who was that?”

“Who, Commander Dameron?”

“He’s a Commander.” She giggled with the girl beside her. They couldn’t have been older than nineteen. It was kind of cute, admittedly. Harmless.

“Wow, he is something.” The other one agreed.

“Best pilot in the galaxy, in fact.” You chimed, heart surging with pride at your overly casual words. “I do think he’s seeing someone though, ladies.”

They both let out dramatic sighs. “Well, whoever they are, I hope they know how lucky they are.”

You chuckled, watching as his X-Wing pulled off into the air, doing a barrel roll right above the group. Now he was showing off. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you. “Oh she does.”

***

You ate lunch with Rey and Soren, welcoming a few of the new recruits to your table. Finn was busy with tours, too, training people to do various upkeep tasks around the base, keeping everything running smoothly. Poe was standing in the doorway and Rey looked up at him, then glanced at you, then back at him again.

“I think he’s trying to get your attention.” She chuckled, stabbing at the remains of her salad with a fork.

“Oh, is he?” You replied through a smile, still trying to keep up the act.

“I think he’s into you, you know. Finn and I talk about it sometimes.” She said, tone encouraging. “And he is his roommate. And his best friend.”

“Are you implying Finn has some information I should know?” You asked.

She laughed. “I very well may be. Honestly though, you should just go for it. I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. May as well give it a shot.”

“Yeah.” You smiled at that. “Maybe I’ll go see what his deal is.”

“Good luck.” Rey said, watching as you crossed the room to where he was waiting in the doorway.

You met him with a cordial, professional smile. “Commander Dameron, is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes, there is, Your Royal Highness.”

“Woah, busting out the big title? What’s the special occasion?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk down the hall with me.”

“Down the hall.” You said with a chuckle, pushing past him and leading him in that direction. Once you were out of earshot of the canteen, you muttered, “How romantic.”

“Oh I’ll show you romantic, Princess.” He replied, tugging open a closet door and grabbing your arm, pulling you inside. He locked the door with a careful click and then he was on you, calloused hands on your cheeks, lips fluid and hungry.

“Poe,” you mumbled into his lips, taken aback, heart revving like an engine.

“You wanna unzip it the rest of the way?” He asked, the rasp in his voice alone telling you he had been thinking about it all morning.

“That did something to you, huh?” You giggled into his mouth as he latched back on, his steps pushing until you hit the wall behind you.

“Sure did.” He agreed, releasing you and holding his arms open, orange jumpsuit there and ready for you, zipped nearly to the top. “Do it.”

“You sure?” You asked, raising a hand, wiggling your fingers with a coy smile on your face.

“Quit teasin’ me, baby.” He warned.

You bit back a laugh, focusing the zipper. You pinched your fingers together and pulled downwards, the zipper falling at your will without either of you touching it. He stared at it for a long moment, that dangerous spark in his eyes again before he surged forward.

“That is…wow.” He murmured, fire behind his words. One hand cupped your cheek, the other holding your waist as he stepped closer, closer, closer, slotting himself between your legs.

You grabbed the sides of the jumpsuit, pulling it open, working it down his broad shoulders to reveal the thin white undershirt beneath. On top of it, the silver chain he always wore, a simple silver ring threaded through it. A ring you recognized as Shara’s.

“Rey and I had a…conversation…at lunch.” You said between kisses.

“Mmhmm, ‘bout what?” He asked, tilting your head and kissing down your neck. His other hand roamed lower, brushing across one of your wings, sending tingles up your arms.

You let out a shuttered breath, head tilting back against the wall. “She thinks…” another sigh escaped you as he continued to kiss the spot, jaw movements clouding your vision with stars, “you might be into me.”

His lips curled, poised over the vein on your neck. He paused for a moment. “Oh she does, does she?”

“Yeah, she has it on pretty good authority, apparently.” You said, daring to look down at him, at those dark, sultry eyes.

“Yeah, well, she’s not far off.” He breathed, going back in for your neck, determined to leave a mark in the short window of time you had before you and Soren were doing your ground perimeters. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, starlight.”

You moaned at his passioned ministrations on your neck, fingers threading through those lucious curls and giving a gentle tug. His hands hooked under your thighs and he hoisted you onto his hips, your back pressed against the wall of the tiny closet.

You met his eyes, breathless, wings fanned out behind you. “I can’t believe I get to have you, Poe Dameron.”

“Believe it.” He asserted, nose brushing against yours on the way to your lips. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, kissing all over his face before returning. “Kriff, I still wake up every day in disbelief that I get to do this in a closet with a Jedi Princess.”

“We won’t be in closets forever.” You whispered, eyes locking on his. It was a promise. Someday, everyone would know. It wouldn’t have to be a secret anymore.

He nodded, grinned. “Yeah, but…it is kinda thrilling, right?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

His eyes drifted down to your neck and he pulled a plush pink lip between his teeth, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Hey, uhhh…you have a turtleneck you can wear, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “You did not.”

“I might’ve.”

“You might’ve?” You shook your head. “Poe Dameron, what am I going to do with you?”

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips ghosting across yours as he whispered, “More of this, I hope.”

***

Another week came and went. More recruits arrived, but things had hit something of a plateau. Still, your numbers were excellent, a far cry from the shell of a Resistance that had been left after Crait.

Poe was giving the new pilots a walk around the base, all of them suited up in their bright orange jumpsuits, having been fitted for them for the first time. You and Soren were out and about, dressed in your Jedi robes, lightsabers clipped to your belts. You must have just finished some training, he rationalized.

He noticed how some of the pilots in his group stared, watching the two of you with interest. He figured many of them had probably never seen a Jedi before. Hell, he hadn’t until Rey had moved those rocks from the mouth of the tunnel they’d all been trapped inside on that blasted salt planet.

“Is that one the Jedi Princess or the other Jedi?” one of the new pilots asked, voice hushed, as though you could hear his very thoughts at that distance.

“That one is the princess. You can tell by the wings.” Snap explained. “Poe’s good friends with her.”

Good friends. He thought to himself with a chuckle. Just like you and Karé are “good friends.”

“Is she single? Could you put in the good word?” another asked, earning elbows and enthusiastic hollers from his teammates.

Snap laughed out loud, glancing over at Poe, who could feel his ears burn. Cheeks, too.

“Oh, uhhh, Jedi actually aren’t allowed to fall in love.” He lied through a charming smile. “Believe me, I asked her myself. Breaks some ancient Jedi code or something. Sorry, fellas.”

The rookie pilots let out noises of disappointment and Poe couldn’t help but laugh to himself. There. That’d keep them off of you.

“They’re not, huh?” Snap asked, voice quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear. He motioned to you with his head. “Might want to tell her that.”

Snap was right. Poe glanced over and you were looking at him with that starry-eyed gaze. So lovesick he lost track of his footing, tripping right over BB-8, who had been rolling in front of him.

“Poe!”

Bee let out a series of disgruntled beeps and buzzes and he chuckled, embarrassed. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Bee. You okay, buddy?”

Bee beeped up at you, seemingly unharmed. He was a sturdy little guy, after all.

“I agree, he needs to watch where he’s going.” You said, hands on your hips. You offered one, helping him to his feet. “You hear that, Dameron?”

“Loud and clear, your Highness.” He chuckled, brushing himself off.

“No serious damage?”

“Not that I can find.” Poe blew the hair from his eyes.

You reached up and plucked a single leaf from his curls, handing it to him. “There. For your collection.”

“Thanks, I’ll put it with the rest of ‘em.” He said with a smirk. Poe turned to the assembled rookies, who were murmuring amongst themselves. “Pilots, Princess (Y/N), Princess (Y/N), our new crop of pilots. Get acquainted with her. If you crash in the middle of a fight, she’s the one that’s gonna catch your X-Wing.”

“If it doesn’t blow up before that.” Snap added, earning a few unsettled laughs from the group.

It was a dangerous job. You’d always known that. You liked to think that you helped protect them when you could. When it was possible to. But Poe was always taking a risk when he climbed into that cockpit, even for something as simple as checking perimeters. He knew it, too, which is what made him so damn brave.

“Right. That.” Poe agreed with a bitter chuckle. “How was training?”

“Good. Making progress.” You said, shrugging. You and Soren hadn’t done anything groundbreaking, just sparring. But still, it felt good, like you were both making habits, challenging each other and learning little quirks of battle.

“Good. Good. Well, see ya around.” He gave your arm an awkward little touch.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you returned to Soren, who had a knowing look on his face. You knew then that he knew. That that Jedi intuition had finally clocked what was going on. But he didn’t say anything. Saved you the trouble of explaining yourself, why you were hiding it.

The Resistance had enough going on. They didn’t need the drama of one of the Jedi entangled with their ace pilot. Especially if something went wrong.

Tags: @cap-lu20

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars #sequel trilogy #star wars sequels #jedi!reader #poe x reader #poe imagine

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toxifoxx · 3 months ago

Note

I ask you questions about William ^_^ !! Answer however many you'd please, I'm just dumping random things atp lmao

♡ would William consider having any pets? if so, what and be as free as a bird of explanation !!

♡ if he didn't major in business and engineering, what would he do? what would've life been like if he had taken another career path? would Henry still be present?

♡ what's something William likes to collect?

♡ if Henry knows William is trans, how did that occur?

♡ if William could choose any other animal besides a rabbit, what would it be?

♡ prior to completing transition, had William thought of other names? in what ways was he discreet of being a boy/man without questions from his parents?

♡ if William were to know of his future, what things would he change? what would he say to/do for his younger self?

YAY YAY THANK U :3 (late answer because i can FINALLY see this now)

1.obvious answer is a bunny since william loves rabbits. he would want to have one and he would most certainly name it bonnie. but perhaps he doesn't have the time to be caring for one, so his secondary choice would be a cat. they're cute and quiet and not too high maintenance :] i don't think he likes dogs all that much. envisioning him as the 'dad and the cat he said he didn't want' meme actually

2.first thought is theater, the motherfucker loves performing & acting he basically does it 24/7 and it gives him a good excuse to be flamboyant and silly and weird. he'd want to be an actor or something. its possible for henry to still be present given that william's circumstances probably wouldn't change and they'd still end up in the same dorm.

3.BUNNY-THEMED ITEMS. i've actually mentioned this one before but he totally has some of those novelty bunny-shaped phones. definitely collects little bunny figures. he has an entire shelf dedicated to random bunny shit he's gathered over the years. no one questions it any more hes just Like That

4.they fucked . thats how it happened they fucked. i mean henry probably saw william shirtless once or twice beforehand but just assumed he had bigger than normal man-boobs (and william could easily play it off as such) but the first time he really learned william was trans was fucking him for the first time and being like huh….. why does he have a pussy…..

5.i almost skipped over this one oopsiesssss. can i answer this with hare /j. uhh truthfully i dont have a good answer but it would have to be something that also looks harmless and disarming since that's the way william likes to portray himself. id say sheep for the wolf in sheep's clothing metaphor but i think he wouldn't want to choose a farm animal.

6.hmmm. good question… think he always wanted to go with some proper sort of name. maybe he considered vincent because i think its very funny and for no other reason. perhaps he just took the name of william from a relative or something. as for being discreet… he brought it up once and never again <3 for the years he lived with his parents he was just dedicated to hiding the fact he was a trans man. feeding into his whole shtick of constantly wearing a mask and pretending to be someone he's not.

7.this one is also a good question. hrm. there's a lotta stuff william internalizes and never ever unlearns so there's only a few things he can really say. honestlyyyyy. maybe he encourages his younger self to just go to fucking therapy. maybe he just says some shit about making the springlocks far far safer than they were (preventing evan's death & his own springlocking incident). but most of all he would try to discourage his younger self from murder (seeing as charlie's death is where everything truly started falling apart)

thanks for the ask!!!!!!!! ^_^

#asks #toxi.txt #toxi fnaf lore #william afton

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 year ago

Text

Day 8: Sensory Deprivation

(Disclaimer: neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Both Phantom and Bones are the property of Nathan Sharp/Give Heart Productions.)

(Trigger Warnings: implications of illegal business, implied chronic pain, mentions of death/dying, descriptions of water/floating, skin-flaying, exposed bones, blood, similarities to an out-of-body experience, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Out of habit, Bones cracked his knuckles as he wandered down the hall.

He had no idea why he’d developed aforementioned habit; it wasn’t exactly uncommon for his joints to crack with enough volume that you’d expect them to start glowing in the dark. Then again, he’d had more than enough time to learn how to tune out those noises. Even when he found himself in areas that managed to be eerily quiet.

Like this one, for instance.

A decent amount of time had passed since coworkers and customers alike had vacated the club. All the lights had been turned off. Now, had Bones still been fully alive, that would’ve caused problems (mainly him getting an excuse to fuck up someone else’s night due to tripping over the decor a few too many times). However, Bones was not fully alive. Death was strange—yes, it took a lot of things away, but for whatever reason, it also ended up having a few things to give.

Not like that made it any better, mind you.

Having supernaturally heightened senses didn’t make up for having fragmented memories, for having to operate under a nasty mixture of exhaustion and restlessness, for having to know that you’re part of the proof that something is fundamentally wrong with the world—

“Boooones,” a familiar voice called from elsewhere in the building. “While I always appreciate lurking for dramatic effect, I don’t have all night.”

“. . .Yeah, because you’ve never taken your sweet damn time on things,” Bones snapped back, knowing that his terse tone wouldn’t hide how he’d flinched.

“Touch’e, but that’s only when I know I can get away with it,” Phantom replied, sounding much closer than he actually was. “C’mon, you’re gonna want to see this.”

Bones rolled his eyes, but still turned on his heel and started traipsing in the direction of the sound. “Sure I am.”

Despite there still being a few good employers out there, any relationship between worker and boss would always be just a tad strange. Especially if the boss in question was an outer monstrosity in disguise.

While Bones didn’t exactly fear Phantom—as a revenant, Bones was typically one to be feared—he still knew better than to just let his guard down around him. He wasn’t about to try calling himself a saint, but seeing some of the things Phantom had done to “take care of business” made him a bit relieved that he couldn’t sleep anymore. Other times, Phantom’s eccentricities just got on his nerves.

Bones knew things could’ve been much, much worse. Yeah, it was a complete and total bitch to have hollow pain thriving inside him like a colony of parasites, but part of him still understood that he was making the best of his circumstances.

Eventually, Bones found himself behind the bar counter, facing the huge cabinet that had been built into the entire fourth wall of this room. He paused, having to dig through the duffel bag of stuff he’d been instructed to bring tonight. It only took a few muttered profanities to convince said bag to let him fish out a silver key: its bow was adorned by a picture of a flower with an eyeball in the center of its petals.

Bones ran his fingers along the bottom of the center shelf, quickly finding a well-hidden hole that the key’s biting cuts fit perfectly into. A loud CLACK rang through the empty room as he turned the key to one side, prompting the cabinet to perform an amateur recreation of The Red Sea. The organized collection of bottles rattled on their shelves, but not a single one went shattering to the floor.

Bones hovered in the familiar, freshly-revealed hollow doorway. It wasn’t imposing to him; he’d done this at least a hundred times by now. This hidden staircase was just so fucking steep. He knew for an absolute certainty that it would be impossible to run up or down it without tripping on one step and bashing your head against another.

Dull pain flared around his ankles and raced up to his kneecaps. Bones ground his jaw, putting a deathgrip on the railway as he began descending. The halves of the cabinet reconnected behind him, but that didn’t leave him in total darkness. Colorful light flickered at the bottom of the stairs, casting shadows that danced similarly to those of a fire. They seemed to be trying to reach up along the steps. . .

Though he didn’t stop walking, Bones felt his hackles raise. They didn’t lower when he realized that soft music was slithering into the air.

The club’s basement was in a state of functional chaos. Chests and crates that came in a plethora of sizes almost outlined the room, stacked on top of one another and pushed up against the walls. It always felt like there was a different amount each time Bones had to venture down here. (It also wasn’t one of Bones’ responsibilities to keep track of them all. He’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t just open them.)

He immediately discovered Phantom in the center of the room, his trademark claw-handled cane softly thudding against the floor as he paced around. . .something.

The unfamiliar object seemed to be eight feet long and four feet wide. It was coated in a silver finish, shaped similarly to a snake’s egg. The top half of it hung in the air, supported by simple hinges on either side. It glowed from the inside with that same color-shifting light. It was the source of the music, too. Bones’ instincts told him that those gentle notes were being produced by whatever was in there. Like a monster’s voice echoing from the bottom of a well.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Bones called, feeling his brow furrow as he loomed by the foot of the stairs.

Phantom came to a halt on one side of the glowing object, turning his head to offer a cryptic smile. “I sent a message about having something in store for you earlier this week, didn’t I?”

“The novel-text you sent me was just rambling about how I needed to keep your clients in line because you’d be busy rearranging the reality in this part of the building,” Bones replied pointedly.

Phantom clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “This is a sensory deprivation tank. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about them by now.”

“I have,” Bones argued, “but unless you’ve cooked up some weird plan to turn this place into a spa, I’m not sure why we suddenly need one.”

Phantom beckoned Bones to come closer. “I mean, what we calculated as your deathday is coming up.” His grin slightly widened to showcase how his teeth were slowly but surely becoming sharper. “And I’d be a real jackass if I didn’t get you a present, right?”

Bones scoffed as he wandered over, hoping his aggravation would mask his reluctance. He made sure to keep some distance from Phantom, standing by the opposite side of the tank. “Not like that would stop you from being a jackass every other day.”

“Meh, fair point,” Phantom confessed. “But don’t worry, I won’t say I told you so after you see how great this thing is.” He reached up to pat the tank’s lid as though it was the hood of some snazzy car. This helped Bones finally realize that the tank’s exterior wasn’t smooth. Rather, it was covered in symbols that looked like animalistic mouths and eyes. He couldn’t tell whether they’d been carved into or sculpted onto the original material.

Before he could stop himself, Bones peered at the tank’s interior.

His stomach immediately sank.

The color wasn’t beaming from a light further inside. No, the tank’s liquid itself glimmered. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve assumed that a bunch of bathbombs had just dissolved in there (and that the combination of all their colors miraculously wasn’t reduced to some ugly shade of brown).

The liquid also looked fresh, clean. And while that wouldn’t be something to complain about. . .it meant that Bones could see the bottom of the tank. The longer he stared, the more the tank just seemed to keep going down, down, down into a gaping black pit. Even with how far away it appeared, it still looked so much larger than the tank itself.

“Pretty sure these things are only supposed to hold ten inches of water,” he muttered, unable to take his eyes away from the hole.

“First of all, the stuff in there isn’t water,” Phantom casually mentioned. “Second of all, that capacity is only the standard for the tanks that humans use.”

Bones’ neck gave a sickening cRiIiCk as he turned his head to stare at Phantom. “. . .If that stuff isn’t water, then what the fuck is it?”

Phantom shrugged. “Not important.”

“I’m inCLINED TO DISAGREE.”

“There’s no hydrochloric acid in the elixir,” Phantom tried. At the way Bones snarled, he continued, “And even if there was, you know it wouldn’t kill you.”

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t hurt me in a way that might make my limbo even worse!”

“I never said anything about hurting.” Phantom sighed. “Look, as much as I’d love to infodump, I literally can’t tell you how I managed to whip it up. It’s just one of those types of knowledge that only certain species can process.”

“Oh, so you think calling me an idiot in a roundabout way is just gonna reassure me?!”

“Hey.” Phantom growled, a newly-forked tongue flicking out of his mouth. His voice seemed to grow, as the air now shook when he spoke. “It’s not my fault that so much shit doesn’t make sense. I didn’t write the rules for these kinds of things. I could’ve used the past few days and nights to get plenty of other shit done, but instead, I focused on building this because I wanted to try and help you out.” He took a single step forward, thin columns of smoke beginning to drift out of his eyes. “So don’t put any fucking words in my mouth, alright?”

Bones’ mouth opened and closed with nothing coming out. While the eye-vapor didn’t actually float near him, the smell still had quite a bite to it. Not to mention how it made his throat feel like sandpaper. He subconsciously straightened his back, though he was still stubborn enough to keep grimacing. He dipped his head for just a second or two to get the point across: Fine, I get it, you can stop emitting surreal dread now.

Phantom responded with a short, low hum. The smoke stopped pouring as he blinked. “Anyway,” he pronounced. “There’s a reason sensory deprivation therapy is such a hot topic. Several reasons, in fact: at first, it was thought to just help with psychological problems. Now, it’s been proven to have plenty of physical benefits, too.��

“Thanks for the reminder that I have a lot of problems in general,” Bones snorted. “But like you just said: that stuff applies to tanks made for humans. So what does that mean for this tank?”

“It means,” Phantom replied, exasperation seeping into his mischievous calm, “that this tank will work even better than the ones made for humans. Because I’ve designed it to give its user an experience that human bodies can’t handle.”

“It’s kinda impossible to list all the things humans can’t handle.” Bones glanced back down into the tank. The dark cavity at the bottom seemed to be stirring the liquid all around it. The odd, subtle movement almost resembled breathing.

And yet. . .a voice in his rotten mind started begging him to touch the elixir, to dive into the tank headfirst. Another voice popped up, snidely quoting, This is my hole! It was made for me! (It made more sense than the vibes the tank was giving off, since manga was one of the few things that actually didn’t frustrate Bones these days.)

“What makes this experience so special?” Bones inquired before any vague euphemisms could barge their way into the strange compulsion.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself,” Phantom answered. “I’ve already given it a test run, but I’m pretty sure it can’t have the exact same effect on whoever else uses it.”

“Wow. That’s not concerning at all. This sounds so damn promising,” Bones deadpanned.

“Oh, c’mon! It’s functioning safely!” Phantom contended, slightly throwing up his arms. “Think, Bones: you’re my right-hand. Why would I want to hurt one of the most capable people on my payroll?”

“Why are you obsessed with harvesting the souls of your contractors?” Bones retorted. “You pretty much never have a reason to do something, but that doesn’t exactly stop you.”

“You’re just complimenting my work ethic, y’know,” Phantom smirked.

Bones huffed an agitated sigh, feeling the bags under his eyes actively grow wider and darker. A splintery sensation stabbed into his brain (a tiny part of his skull had probably tried to cave in).

Phantom tilted his head, taking a few steps closer. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Don’t you remember the voodoo dolls we started selling last year?”

“How could I forget?” Bones murmured, holding back a shudder at the images of Phantom’s body contorting in time with that first test doll.

“Well, those have proven to be pretty good painkillers for you, right?”

“. . .Right,” Bones relented.

Phantom nodded. “That’s what this tank is meant to be. Another type of painkiller for you.” By now, his demeanor had returned to its usual levels of smug and shit-eating. But Bones was quick to spot something else in Phantom’s eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t seem malevolent. “I’ve adjusted the tank’s settings; your session will only be fifteen minutes long. Plenty of time for you to see how you like it without feeling trapped. Just try it out, okay?”

Bones felt his lip start to bleed before he’d even began chewing it. He paced around the tank, inspecting every part of it that was in eyeshot. There was no lock on the top half, no hidden compartments anywhere. The only parts of it that didn’t look normal were its depth and that chasm. . .

Then again, Phantom was a chaos deity. Bones was the living dead. Normal wasn’t really an option for anything that involved either of them.

“Fine,” Bones eventually proclaimed. “But if this does end up doing something I don’t like—”

“There’s only so much you can do to me, and even that won’t stick,” Phantom interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

As he spun his cane in his hands, his skin started burning from the inside. . .Well, it quickly ended up burning on the outside, too, since flames erupted from his eyes and mouth. The fire enveloped Phantom, then spent the next few seconds coiling around in the air. At least twenty eyes stared at Bones. Bones stared right back, folding his arms across his chest. Leave it to Phantom to go apeshit with dramatic exits.

The monstrous display surged up through the ceiling, leaving an assortment of blisters to spread along the paint. Even after it completely vanished, that still didn’t stop Phantom from calling, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

And with that, Bones was suddenly alone in the club’s basement. His ears rang as he paced a few more laps around the tank, still searching for any threats. Or, his ears tried to ring, at least. That soft music crawled through the tank’s liquid and up into the air. He still had no idea what could be producing it, but he couldn’t deny how...grounding it felt.

Having cameras down here would’ve just been a complete idiot-move on Phantom’s part. Still, Bones retreated to the darkest corner of the basement, dragging his duffel bag along. A couple minutes passed before he trudged back over, letting the tank’s glow stretch over him and the bleach-dye trunks he was now wearing.

Bones stood before the tank, pursing his lips, giving it one more tense stare. When the tank failed to reveal itself to be a mimic or spontaneously combust, he carefully lowered himself to sit on the lower rim. He instinctively grit his teeth, bracing himself as his feet dropped into the elixir with a soft splash.

He didn’t touch the bottom of the tank, obviously. The elixir seemed to softly churn around his legs. It felt. . .just like water. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. Bones gave a few experimental kicks. Ripples were sent shivering throughout the tank, but that was pretty much it. It didn’t start boiling. No swarms of piranhas manifested.

After a few more seconds, Bones finally barked a resounding, “Fuck it.” He reached up to grab hold of the tank’s top half, pulling it closed over him as he pushed himself off the rim.

Due to no longer needing air in his lungs, Bones didn’t automatically float like a human would. Despite all the things he’d forgotten about his former life, the basic necessity of swimming clung to his mind like a stubborn leech. He stared down at the chasm so far beneath him. The chasm stared right back, not really contributing unless you counted whatever creature could potentially be lurking in its darkness.

The music got a bit louder, now that it was more contained, but it somehow didn’t bounce along the tank’s ceiling.

Curiosity wormed its way into Bones’ paranoia. He swam a few laps around the tank’s perimeter, still testing, still waiting. The thought of circling like a shark made him feel a bit more secure, a bit more in control.

Even so, he eventually got bored of it.

If he wanted to see what this tank could actually do for him, then he’d have to stay relatively still.

So, Bones paddled into the center of the elixir.

He maneuvered himself onto his back, letting his arms unfurl and reach toward nothing.

He let his head roll back. And as he felt the elixir filter into his hair and creep around the corners of his face. . .he realized how the music felt solid. Tangible.

As though it and the elixir’s ever-changing color were part of a living mass.

Bones swallowed a lump in his throat. He’d sink if he stayed like this, but he wouldn’t drown. He could always just swim back up to the surface.

His dry, sore eyes drifted shut as the elixir washed over his skin. He just barely felt the cool air disappear.

But his vision didn’t turn black. He could still see the colors of the elixir.

As a matter of fact, he saw a blurry shape somewhere in the tank.

Bones immediately wanted to panic, to start thrashing his way up to the surface. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was listen to the music and watch the shape as it got closer and clearer. . .

Bones’ mind didn’t turn blank when he realized that the shape was himself, that he was somehow looking down on his own body as it kept capsizing. At first, his anger and fear threatened to make his head explode (mainly to spite Phantom, since having to clean bits of brain and skull out of the tank would not be very fun). It felt like at least an hour had passed before confusion finally attempted to take center-stage. Though he saw his eyes refuse to open, he also saw himself grind his jaw, saw himself carefully wave his arms.

Bones was still in control. He was just. . .having to watch.

He expected his spine to take the drifting as an excuse to contort. He expected his lungs to shake with a chorus of awful snaps and pops. He expected his abdomen to start bloating like that of an actual drowning victim.

Nothing like that happened.

The music wasn’t letting any of those things happen.

The music didn’t give him a chance to start questioning what this meant.

The

Music

Was

The

Only

Thing

Could

Feel

There was no pain or panic as the music actively crept into Bones’ head. It was lapping at his skull, oozing down his spine, spreading along his ribcage.

The numbness was, miraculously enough, a good kind of numbness.

Bones wanted to swim, to move along in time with the music’s notes. But the music told him that he needed to stay still right now, that things would be easier if he did. So, he obeyed.

The elixir must have wanted to obey the music, too. Because, right as Bones’ body got within five feet of the chasm. . .he stopped sinking.

The thought of opening his eyes barely even occurred to him. He could still see himself. And even if he couldn’t, he was still listening to the music. As long as the music kept playing, nothing bad would happen. He was sure of that.

The elixir began to churn, but Bones remained perfectly still.

Thin lacerations began opening up on his skin. They started at his fingers, then proceeded to grow longer and longer. They stretched over his hands, up his arms, around his neck, over his face and chest. (This wasn’t really anything new, but for the very first time, there was no stinging sensation for Bones to wince or hiss at.)

The spreading cuts grew deeper and deeper, prompting Bones’ blood to begin seeping out and leaving misty trails in the elixir. It almost looked black against all the colors. It didn’t drift up to the surface. Instead, the blood glided around Bones like a school of tiny fish.

Once the gashes managed to carve themselves over every square-inch of his body, now resembling a network of tree roots, Bones’ skin began to twitch. Almost like a hangnail, a corner of skin lifted away from the tip of Bones’ index finger. That particular strand became longer and wider as it continued peeling itself off in a spiral. This set off a chain reaction: more and more sections of flesh shivered as they detached. Blood was now spilling out in clouds that nearly hid the entire scene.

But Bones could still see everything.

Threads of skin started slithering off of his face. Even as his eyes were forced open due to their lids peeling away, his perspective didn’t change.

The music was still keeping him company, so he didn’t start thrashing or screaming.

It took a little over five minutes for his skeleton and organs to be rendered bare. His blood continued circling around him in a lazy whirlpool, but his skin apparently had other ideas. One by one, the fleshy strands moved downward, wavering like eels as they vanished into the darkness of the chasm.

Bones almost felt like he was asleep.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept.

Had his heart just twitched? Were his intestines shuffling?

He couldn’t be sure, because as he kept staring, the gore slowly grew blurrier, fading in and out of eyeshot. . .

Far too quickly, the music came to a halt. The new silence only lasted for a second or two. Then, a low, buzzing alarm droned into Bones’ ears.

A loud gasp tore its way from Bones’ throat as he sat up, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms. He blinked, watching as the tank’s lid drifted open above him with a soft, electronic hummmm.

Air collided against his skin, feeling cool considering how he was soaked in the elixir.

Bones froze, immediately reaching up to touch his face and neck, craning his neck to look at his torso. All of his skin had returned to its rightful place. One top of that. . .he couldn’t see any bruises or scabs or leaking cuts.

The pleasant numbness was gone. He scowled; a headache was just starting to blossom beneath the bridge of his nose.

But it wasn’t on-par with a migraine.

In fact, it was nearly overshadowed by how. . .clean Bones was now realizing he felt.

He didn’t feel healthy (he was dead, after all), but the feeling of a hot shower and a deep-tissue massage combined. . .it was enveloping him.

Inside and out.

Bones’ expression shifted so quickly he almost got whiplash.

He stayed floating for another moment.

Then, he clambered onto the tank’s rim, heading for the basement stairs, not caring one bit how he was dripping and leaving wet footprints everywhere.

He needed Phantom to show him how to adjust the tank’s settings.

He needed to spend some more time in there. He needed to have another session—he needed to have at least one hour-long session per day. . .

@that-bat @sammys-magical-au @ineedallofthehugs @th3w00ds @captainrose35 @nwtbobsessedemo

#the thirteen days of goretober 2023 #goretober 2023 #my writing #my stories #bones nwtb #phantom nwtb #nathan sharp #natewantstobattle #tw blood #tw exposed bones #tw body horror #tw implied chronic pain #tw implied illegal business #tw mentions of death/dying #tw water/floating #tw skin flaying #tw out of body experience #(kind of?)

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sarasilverspring · 5 months ago

Text

Redamé

Fandom: Outer Range (Amazon Prime)

Summary: A singing cowboy, the adoptive Abbott daughter, and too much damn free time after the Colter Wall concert goes south. What could go wrong?

8.0k words. Childhood friends/family enemies to lovers. Self-indulgent Billy Tillerson/poc!OFC.

Smut with feelings, breeding kink, unsexy use of a knife. Marriage epilogue. Spoilers for Seasons 1 and 2, but not in great detail.

Saw the gifs of this man in the bathtub and went feral. Good and absolute mercy.

I’m way too horny over this damn boy. I’ve been talking about this fucking fic on my main blog but I’m too cowardly to post it there. Oh well. Enjoy, folks.

Cross-posted on AO3 at terraincognita777.

TW: narrowly avoided harassment/assault.

A young woman sways at the counter, covered with sandwich materials next to the farmhouse-style sink, singing along with Juice Newton, “just call me angel of the morning, angel.”

The exterior door into the parlor shuts. The woman at the counter, making herself a sandwich, quickly turns the radio off.

“Hey there, Abby,” Royal says, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook row in the kitchen. The young woman turns around.

“Hey yourself, Dad,” she said, walking to him and embracing him. She bends her wrists to make sure she doesn’t get mayonnaise on his shirt. “How was the game?”

“Oh, good. Amy scored a couple of goals on the other team. I’d reckon she outplayed all the other girls on that field.”

“That’s amazing. Wish I could have seen it. Where’s she now?”

“Gone for a hike. She’ll be back for supper.”

“Okay. You can have her sandwich, then.” She stacks three turkey sandwiches onto a plate, setting it at Royal’s place at the table. He sits.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome, Dad.” She presses a kiss to his temple.

They are silent as Abby works to clean up the lunch mess. She climbs the stairs, changing from her tee shirt and girlfriend jeans into bootcuts, a black tee, and a maroon flannel, pulling on her nicer pair of boots and heading down the steps, going back into the dining room to speak to Royal.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I’m headed into town, needta pick up some stuff at the general store and then Colter Wall’s playing at the arena. I’ll be back around nine or so. Don’t wait up for me, I already told Mom I wouldn’t be home till later.”

“Okay, then.”

“I’ll see you tonight before you go to bed.” Abby smiles at him, pulling her jacket and hat off the hook and heading for the front.

She puts on her hat as she shuts the door behind her and struts to the square-bodied old Ford.

The radio blares as she turns over the ignition. “…highs in the low 60s and lows in the low 20s today, folks, with a cold front coming in overnight to drop the next few days’ temps to the high 30s during the daytime—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Abby says, queueing up her driving music on her phone as she turns the radio off. The engine sputters and hums, idling the truck under her.

The opening strains of Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon” begin, and she shifts the gear into drive, peeling out down the long, long driveway and speeding toward town, singing of supernatural women, believing herself to be a Rhiannon all her own.

“All your life you’ve never seen woman, taken by the wind, would you stay if she promised to you heaven,

Will you ever win?

Will you ever win?”

—

She’s pulled into her usual parking spot in front of the store when she feels something distinctly off in the air. It’s a normal afternoon, and everyone is running their various errands. Abby’s hackles are raised more when she steps out of the truck, shutting the door behind her.

She walks into the store, greeting the clerk with a “Hey, Mae, how’s your mom and ‘em?” and heading straight for the personal wellness aisle. Abby picks a few boxes of light cotton pads off the shelf, and two bars of chocolate in the candy aisle.

“$11.11,” Mae says when Abby’s at the counter. Thank God she's a woman, she thinks absently.

“Cash or card?”

“Uh, card.” She hands her First National Bank of Wyoming card over, and is returned it quickly. The older woman bags the items. “Thank you very much, ma’am, have a good day,” Abby says with a wide smile. Mae returns the farewell, and as Abby leaves the store, she still can’t shake that oddly sinking feeling.

There’s a red Ford behind her sky-blue one. She tilts her head and peers at it. Also square-body, also old, longer bed, single cab. That damn Tillerson boy.

Billy Tillerson has just left Wabang Drug, and is crossing the street to his truck, when he sees a young and heavily muscled brown woman, not Indian or Mexican, just brown, grocery bag in hand, staring at his Ford.

Their eyes meet. Hers widen. Seeing a Tillerson outside their territories of the family ranch, the bank, and the town bars is almost a sin.

Billy tilts his head down at her once he’s at the drivers side door. This isn’t the first time she’s locked eyes with him since they were about eighteen, and if he has any say in the matter, it won’t be his last, especially tonight at the Colter Wall show.

Her brown eyes are white and wide as saucers and she’s rooted to the spot. Move, goddammit, she’s chanting to herself. Stop looking at the boy and move. Who cares if you were friends back when.

“Hi, Billy,” she manages, twitching her fingers in a little wave. Her coiled dark brown hair shakes with the motion of her arms.

“Hey yourself, Abby,” Billy says. “Ma’am,” and he touches his hat, getting into his truck.

He’s chugging off down the street when Abby comes to again, shaking her head and hauling herself into her own truck.

She pulls out of the parking space and heads to the library, where she devours a sci-fi novel in just over five hours curled up on the floor in a nice back corner, away from where the majority of patrons tend to congregate or browse the shelves.

She checks her watch at last, the silence having grown to a fever pitch. It’s nearly sunset, from the dust motes swirling by the windows in golden light. Abby rises from the floor, dusting her jeans off and reshelving the book.

—

The opening act is already going strong by the time that she arrives at the arena, tires on the truck kicking up dust, but Abby’s only come to see the main event.

Which she does, alone, swaying in the crowd of people and stamping her feet. Alone like Royal and Cecilia would probably narrow their eyes a bit at because she’s been in their lives long enough to be their daughter, essentially. the gray soil fills her nose as Colter declares the last song of the set; the opening notes of her personal favorite, “The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie” play out.

A couple of yards behind her, Billy Tillerson is watching her coily hair move with her, slowly, simply, as if to tease him. He’s mouthing the lyrics to the song and sipping off of a beer when he remembers it’s there.

His peaceful night’s watch of Abigail “Adoptee” Abbott, family enemy and forbidden interest since childhood, is interrupted when she’s pulled out of her spot by a bullrider he’s seen around town, mostly at The Handsome Gambler during the day and The Pit at night, when he’s deigned to go to either or dragged out by Luke or Trevor.

Where did they go? he asks himself, and sets out to hunt her down. He’s a tracker, and while he can’t identify her like a bear, he knows how to find whatever animal he’s after - including the one that took Abby.

—

Fifteen goddamned years of martial arts training, I can wrassle wolves, and I can’t get rid of this weirdo? Abby thinks as she’s yanked off toward the parking lot. Second location is the only phrase running through her head.

She’s practically short circuiting, but she catches just a hint of his cologne on the wind. Brian Riggins, one of Rhett’s friends, bullfighter. I can’t shake him easily, the music is loud, but maybe it’s still early enough to where someone’s out.

“HEY!” she shouts. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BRIAN?!”

She can’t figure out in the darkness where exactly in the parking lot they are, but the arm she’s being yanked by is used to swing the rest of her body around, pinning her back against a truck.

So it’s definitely a power display and he doesn’t give a shit I know who he is, great. Which means he’s probably at a higher risk of killing me. Even better.

“Hey, Abigail,” Brian mutters, “I know you’re pretty damn smart, so I don’t know how you ain’t gotten this through your thick little skull yet, but there ain’t no one out right now, and that concert’s too big a noise for anyone to hear the two of us. Which means, sweet thing, you’re all mine and I don’t have to worry about getting interrupted.”

Abby can see the light glaring off his eyes as tiny pinpricks bounce off of them in the night. Bastard.

Her yanks are proving ineffectual, and no number of obscenities or amount of spittle she can fling at him is working to keep his filthy lips off her neck, when her savior comes around in the form of a man in all black from head to toe.

Abby is frozen in fright. Still stock straight against the truck and still clothed, she can only listen in horror to the sickening crunch of bone and subdued groans of pain as blow after blow lands.

The man straightens from the ground at long last. “Hey, Abby. You alright, there?” He says, gently, so gently.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think,” she stutters, voice evening eventually.

“Are you wanting to go back to the concert or would you like me to drive you home?”

Abby can tell by the soft edges of his voice it’s that neighbor boy Billy Tillerson, but damn if he didn’t come in just in time.

She needs the softness.

She welcomes the pad of Billy’s thumb against her cheek, wiping away a stray tear and bringing it to his mouth. “You’re too pretty to cry, Abby Abbott.”

The young woman snuffles, wiping at her nose with the cuff of her flannel. “Thanks, Billy. I don’t really agree, but thanks.”

He smiles at her without teeth in the night. “You’re welcome. Concert or home?”

“Uh, home, please.”

“Okay. That sounds good. Let’s get you home,” Billy says, offering his arm to Abby. She wraps one hand around it, and then the other.

The stars are bright, and forgiving in their light, and she is happy, oddly, in the warm and lax half-embrace of this protector.

It’s only a couple of minutes, she reckons, for them to reach the truck, a fine layer of dust coating the red paint, dull in the darkness. Billy opens the passenger door for her, offering her a hand up.

“Really getting the princess treatment tonight, huh?” she asks.

“You deserve it.”

He shuts the door, walking around to the driver’s side and getting in. “Do you want to play any music? I usually don’t, but if you want to, you’re more than welcome.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” There’s a hint of a smile in her voice, Billy notices.

“Okay, suit yourself. Let me know if that changes.”

They’re silent for a long time, and Abby’s lost in a thought from earlier that day when she begins to absently, quietly, sing “Rhiannon” to herself. She’s about halfway through the second verse before Billy picks it up, just as delicately. His voice echoes a millisecond after hers like a feather-light touch.

They finish the song and are silent for a couple of minutes more, until Billy begins to hum the beginning of “Dreams”.

“Big Fleetwood Mac fan, are you?” Abby asks.

Billy laughs. “You could say that, I guess. I just love Stevie’s voice.”

Abby lets him sing the rest of “Dreams” alone, and just as he’s finishing, she notes the big Y-split driveway for their respective homes coming up.

She feels terribly nauseous in a half-second; that gut instinct everyone tells you about, forces words up into her throat: “Take me back home with you. Please. I have a bad feeling.”

Billy nods silently. “You got it.”

Abby takes her phone out of her back pocket, tapping at the screen. She curses at it when it fails to illuminate. “You kidding me?” She sighs.

“What’s up?”

“My phone’s dead. Not the end of the world. I was just thinking about calling my parents and letting them know I’m not going to be home tonight.”

“We can charge it once we get up to the house.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

They roll up the gravel and park in front of “the house”, which by Abbott standards could only be called a mansion.

“Yay,” Abby says weakly, opening her door.

“Need any help getting out?” Billy asks.

“No, thank you.”

Billy waits outside the truck for Abby to get out, and once she does, her heavy breathing is quickly evident to him. In the front floodlights of the house, he can see her breath creating mist in the air.

“Hey, you okay?” Billy asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get in the house, I’m really cold,” she laughs, shaking more than before.

Once they’re inside, Billy takes Abby’s jacket from her. “Dad? Luke?” he calls out.

“In here,” Abby hears Wayne Tillerson’s voice from the study.

“Your dad’s here?” Abby hisses. “Jesus, I can’t be here. He’s gonna flip out.” She throws up her hands in frustration, but Billy can sense her panic.

“He won’t. You’ll be fine.” He smiles at her, pure and genuine.

And then he offers her his hand.

She feels that nauseous sensation roiling in her stomach again. Her underarms prickle with nervousness. She takes his offered hand, and Billy leads her to Wayne Tillerson, the one wolf her father told her never to wrassle with.

Wayne Tillerson, ranch hand and owner, has no tolerance for bullshit, and certainly not in his own house, so when he sees his darling, blessed youngest son, a fully-grown man but famously devoid of genuine women, waltz into his bedroom hand-in-hand with the only Abbott daughter, all he can say is an impeccably accented “Well, shit.”

Both Billy and Abigail are praying that Mr. Tillerson is in a good mood. It seems like it’ll be the difference between her life and death.

Abigail’s eyes widen, and she bows a little. “Hello there, Mr. Tillerson, sir,” she says with hopefully unevident fear and trembling.

“Boy, what are you doing bringing the damn Abbott girl home?” Wayne growls.

“I—” Billy starts.

“And you better explain real good real quickly. You got about fifteen seconds left of me toleratin’ this.”

At that deadline, Abby steps forward, head low, and when Billy tries to pull her back, she snatches her arm out of his grasp.

“Sir, your son Billy here was gracious enough to lay into Brian Riggins. He was trying to run off with me and wasn’t having my trying to put up a fight against him. Billy offered to drive me home after he put the son of a bitch down and I got a real bad feelin’ when we were about to split off for my parents’ and so I asked if I could stay with him tonight and he is very kind to let me sleep here overnight. I know you and my daddy don’t get along well, sir, but—”

Wayne nods. “Well, alright then.” Billy’s almost startled at the benevolence in his father’s voice.

“Sir, you don’t—” Abigail begins. Wayne holds up a hand.

“I understand, Miss Abbott. I’m proud of my boy. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it here so much your daddy’ll be willin’ to trade you for that strip of land off the west pasture.”

Abigail is rather shocked, but then, this is Wayne Tillerson, who bore a dynasty out of fire, blood, and toil. She wouldn’t put it past him to keep her there, for as long as any of the Tillerson men wanted. Alarm bells rung faintly in the back of her mind–but then again, they nearly always did.

“Only if I’m worth that much, sir,” Abby laughs with little mirth. “Only if I’m worth that much.”

Wayne leans back in his chair, recrossing his evening robe over him. Then at the sight of Abby still with her head bowed before him, his face breaks into a smile– closer to a smirk, but close enough to a smile.

“Well, then, I don’t suppose I have any more questions for you. Y’all go on.” He pauses a second. “Darlin’, I hate to ask you to leave without your host, but I’d like to speak to my boy just a minute in private.”

“Yes, sir,” Abby says. Billy opens the door of the room, and Abby murmurs her thanks as she leaves. The click shut echoes through the gargantuan house, thankfully still lit by chandeliers and recessed lighting. All she can hear is one baritone and one tenor voice, both very low and calm.

After minutes, likely, the door opens again. Billy exits, shutting it behind him.

“Should I ask what that was about?”

“Hm, probably not.” He half-smiles.

“I won’t, then.”

“Better for your health anyways.”

She follows Billy down the hallways back into the main room, and down another hallway.

Billy opens the door on the right, and the scent of cedar already prevalent in the house is supplemented with pine and mixed with incense as she steps into the room.

“How about that phone charger? I’d text my dad soon.”

“Yeah, I would, too.” He unplugs a charger from his bedside. ”Here. Plug it in wherever you’d like,” he says, handing it to her.

“Thanks.” She crosses to the wall with windows, plugging the phone in and setting it on the will. Billy drapes her jacket over the footboard of his bed. “So. Um. Where do you think I can sleep? I’m not expecting to take a guest room, or. Yeah. I don’t know. I think I’d rather stick around you, honestly.”

“You can take my bed,” Billy says nonchalantly. “I can go sleep out on the couch.”

Something in this strikes her as still wrong, as being separated from him even in sleep as wrong. She can’t stand it.

“I’d actually prefer for us to sleep in the same room. If that’s okay with you, of course,” she adds quickly, nervously fiddling with her fingers.

Billy nods then, like his father. “I can do that.” He takes a seat on his bed, one leg up to turn his body toward her.

The silence hangs uncomfortably between them.

“You know—”

“You’re really—”

Billy and Abby laugh at the same time.

“You go first,” Billy says, waving a hand at her. She leans against the wall, crossing her arms.

Abby chuckles. “You’re really not how I expected you to be. I thought you’d be more of a womanizer like Luke. Seems like he goes around dippin’ his wick in anything that moves.”

Billy laughs with his stomach. “He sure as hell does, doesn’t he!” This is the first time this city-looking boy has sounded country, and it suits him better, Abby thinks.

Abby suddenly pictures Luke as an anthropomorphized candle dipping its wick in other candles.

She begins to laugh too, doubling over. “Oh, Jesus,” she says between fits of hooting. “Oh, mercy, this is too bad. Oh, that’s just too bad.”

She comes to, through her laughter, heat growing in her stomach and blooming up to her face as an idea rotten as an onion takes root in her mind.

“What’s too bad?” Billy asks, leveling his gaze at her.

She looks like a moonflower to him, or the moon itself, by the window, palatial, regal, and delicate, and he can taste the iron in his mouth as he bites back desire in his tongue.

He can practically feel blood draining out of his head, out of his legs and fingertips. Could he smell her from here? How could he catch her perfume on the wind of the ceiling fan?

He’s being consumed, he imagines, by fire, just as she is. The only way that she can rationalize her own reaction is that her brain is trying to overlay the near-assault with something good, something positive and beautiful, but why does she want it with her family enemy?

“Abigail.” Billy says. Shit.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His blue eyes are dark across the room as his body is backlit by the bedside lamp, but she knows he watches her like a hawk.

“What were you asking?” Abby’s fidgeting again.

Billy rises from his spot on the bed, ambling towards her in that not-quite-city, not-quite-country cowboy manner he’s so fond of.

“What’s too bad?” he nearly whispers, coming to a stop about half a yard from her, and she has to look up just a tad– but before she can, he is lifting her chin with a pointer finger.

“I know that we just got into it with Brian, but is this alright with you?” he asks gently. She is hallucinating the moon in his eyes.

She nods, blinking her eyes to their closure and swallowing confused phlegm out of her throat.

“Yes.”

It takes so much of her self-control not to keen, and she’s already swaying toward him as if they’re magnetized.

His hand inches up to her cheek, and he steps in until he’s fully in her space. They are sharing breaths, warm and heavy near the exterior wall, near the autumnal night.

“What’s. Too. Bad.” He says, making sure to enunciate fully and punctuating the words with miniscule kisses to her cheeks and nose. Abby’s body shakes, so close to him. “Hm?” he murmurs.

Abby only stutters.

“Don’t make me have to get it out of you, sweet thing.”

A half-cried moan is out of her mouth before any intelligible thoughts, and his cologne is in her nose, his thumbs pressing against the pillowy flesh of her full mouth, and his other hand trailing down her side, crossing her hip to the dip of her jeans, where his middle and ring fingers press gently, but insistently.

Abigail bucks against his initial light touch, and she grins, opening her mouth to sigh happily.

“If I get really quiet, keep going until I make noise, okay? I’ll say red if I want you to stop.”

Billy bends over her, cages her smaller body against the wall. “I’ll keep that in mind, little girl.” He presses into her again.

An instantaneous “oh, fuck” escapes her mouth. “I’ll tell you. Fine.”

His hand lessens its pressure.

“Billy, I’ve been meaning to say it’s just too bad that I want you like I do. I mean, Christ, our parents hate each other and your dad’s trying to take my dad’s land and we really only met alone for the first time this afternoon, but that damn hole take me if I don’t want you right now.”

Billy wraps his arms around her, hands rubbing her back gently.

“Yeah, Abby. I don’t know if I could really call it love, but I want you too, and I don’t just mean it in a physical way.”

“I think I get what you mean.”

“Would you let me love you, Abigail Abbott?”

“Can I call you William?” she says, smiling up at him.

“It makes me feel a little old, but you sure can.”

“Then yes, William Tillerson, I’d let you love me tonight and or as many nights as you’ll let me love you back.”

“All I needed,” Billy murmurs, and he lifts her by the backs of her thighs. Instinctively, Abby wraps her arms around his neck and locks her ankles behind him, just at his upper thigh.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to treat you like I saw you, like the Abbott princess you were instead of the Abbott trash my family kept preaching about.”

“Likewise,” Abigail utters. “And I’m not expecting you to be rough, but if you want to, go ahead. I can stand to be tossed around a little.”

He takes that in stride and upends her onto his bed, so she’s on her back, at his mercy.

“You’re telling me Little Miss Abigail Angel likes to be a dirty girl?” He bares his teeth at her, laughing darkly. “Honestly? It doesn’t really surprise me.”

He takes off his jeans, unbuttons his shirt, climbs onto the bed.

Abby takes her flannel and undershirt off, leaving her bra on.

“Oh, it doesn’t, huh? Well, I’ll tell you, I sure as hell didn’t expect the baby Tillerson boy to grow teeth.”

They’re face to face, Abigail under William, and he rakes his hand over her hair.

“Did you, now,” he murmurs low, words ghosting past her ear.

Voice heavy with lust, his tenor has sunk to a baritone, still sweet but ready and dangerous, like a pointed candy cane.

“Did you expect to be in bed with the boy you snuck off with to play in trees out near the rez?”

She laughs at the memory. “You got me; I sure as hell didn’t.”

“I know I wanted you, though. I always thought about singing to you. Singing for you.”

“Me too, actually. Together.”

Billy laughs. “Not to sound corny, but,” he says, taking her jeans off, “I’d love to make you sing for me, tonight.”

“I’m— I’m not on the pill. Or anything. Just so you know,” Abby blurts out.

“Who says we need to have sex for me to make you sing, sweetheart?”

“But I have–hair.” She whispers the last word like it’s a sin.

“We all have hair. I have hair,” Billy says, with the same intonation. “It’s fine, darlin’, don’t worry about it.”

His hands trail up Abby’s muscular legs to her underwear. He places kisses onto the soft skin there, working his way up from her knees to the heat between her thighs.

He was dragging the breath out of her with every press of his lips, and he knew it.

“Billy, we– we shouldn’t be doing this. Jesus fuck,” she says, curling her fingers into his hair.

He feels the scratch of her fingernails against his scalp, pulling at the soft waves there, insisting that he move higher, and he does, mouthing against the bone through the cotton of her underwear.

“Still think we shouldn’t be doing this?” he asks. “We can stop whenever you want.” A string of saliva runs from his mouth to her clothing, she sees when she props herself up on her elbows.

“Billy, all due respect, I don’t think I could ask you to stop at this point, motherfucker.”

“Can I take these off, then?”

She drops back, slackly, onto the bed. “Yes. God, yes,” she breathes on the exhale of a heavy sigh.

She didn’t think the fleshiness of his torso gave way to any strength whatsoever, but that faulty assumption is alleviated when he picks her up by the hips with one arm, using the other hand to pull her underwear down her long legs and toss them away, and between the two of them maneuvers her up until her head can be cradled by the bevy of pillows on his bed.

Jesus Christ. Her stomach flips.

His mouth moves back to the juncture of her thighs to kiss there, gently.

“Please don’t try to eat me out, okay,” Abby asks.

“Okay. Certainly ain’t a requirement,” he says, and begins to lick a delicate stripe up her body, to her chest. Chills run through and over her bare arms, and she twitches under him.

Billy hovers over her chest, looking directly into her eyes. He is peering into her with those baby blues, reaching around her to unclasp her bra.

He’s flipped the noise switch in her, she thinks. He’s blown her corruption wide open and left her wanton.

Abby mewls under him as he latches onto one breast, nipping lightly at her areola as his tongue runs over it. He uses his hands to greedily grasp and knead what flesh his mouth doesn’t cover.

She wraps her legs around him, forcing him down to her chest by digging her heels into his lower back. His cock, still covered, is so close to her body that all he wants to do is ram up into her, dry-humping her unclothed sex.

But he wants to be a good boy for her, and so he behaves himself and moves to her other nipple when she makes an animal, guttural noise in her throat and tugs his head there, steering him like a horse.

“Thank you,” Billy groans, between the wet, sucking noises of his mouth on her. At the title, desire that’s almost painful emerges in her upper abdomen, just under her sternum.

“You’re such a good boy, Billy,” she growls. “Rich fucking Tillerson boy worshipping a filthy fucking Abbott. You belong like this, pleasing this worthless fucking gardener.”

He whines, and Abby feels the bed and his body move, as he begins to fuck the mattress, desperate for relief. She thumps a foot against his back, pulling him up by the hair to make eye contact. His mouth is covered in his spit as he gapes at her.

“Did I tell you you could do that? Don’t do it again,” Abby bites out sternly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Sorry.”

There’s some sadness, some genuine pain back in that sweet voice he used, to the point that she smiles at him a little sadly. “It’s okay, baby. I’m sorry for hitting you in the back.” She strokes through his hair with her fingers, deftly.

Billy nods, smiling innocently before he begins to kiss her across where her bra’s underwire sat against her ribs and made deep red marks. He looks up at her with adoration in his gaze after each one. She can feel how much he loves her. She hopes he knows how much she returns the sentiment.

“You’re being so good right now,” she says lovingly, until he bites her nipple, and her back arches, forcing her stomach into his chest. “Fuck, Billy!” she grunts.

“Did that feel good?”

“Yes, do it again, please, mercy,” she begs. He bites the other one, this time, and she cries out a moan, holding his hair tighter in her hands. He slips a hand off her chest and down to her pubic bone, where he pauses, she exhales, and he begins to rub firm circles against her clit.

She tosses her head against the pillow, overwhelmed by the dual sensation. “Fuck, stop,” she pants.

He does.

“Nonono,” she rushes out, “stop means keep going, please keep going,”

He resumes his double work, moving up from her chest to her mouth, and their lips are on each others’. It’s a messy kiss, sloppy and more open-mouthed co-breathing than anything, but they would call it a kiss, recounting it to their siblings.

She takes her hands out of his hair, bringing one to his back, trailing the other down his chest, dragging it down with her nails, and he hisses lightly, laughing after she does.

She brushes his cock through his underwear, and he jolts, highly sensitive to the one touch.

“Oh, we need to get you harder than this if you’re going to fuck me.”

He nods, swallowing.

“Words, William,” she says lowly.

“M- yes, ma’am,” he says off of the back of a moan, the start to a string of half-muttered curses when he begins to jerk him off through his briefs.

“I love you, William,” she says moments later, when her hips are rocking against his hand on their own, and he’s forgotten to stop kissing her.

“I love you too, Abigail,” he breathes. “So much, pretty Abby, so much.”

She can feel her stomach bunching and unbunching like a spring that needs a windup, and when it tightens this final time, her knees snap together, locking Billy’s hand in place as she comes, annoying her when her walls clench with nothing to resist against.

Her body undulates with her breathing, and their body heat feels holy to her as it mingles. His hand is still working between her thighs, stimulating her through her orgasm.

She’s only breathing now, her body still working. She can feel how puffy her pussy lips are when he pulls his fingers away, finally freed from the iron-vise grip of her inner thighs.

“Sorry I didn’t make you come, Billy,” Abby says mournfully, running a finger along the outline of his cock.

“It’s okay. I’d much rather it be inside you anyways,” he says, looking down at her with what’s left of his delicateness he can muster.

She shudders out an exhale. “Do you mean that?”

He kisses along her neck, biting at her collarbone. “Mm, yes. S’what my daddy told me to do, was breed you full of Tillersons.”

“Oh, you’re gonna give me your babies, now, is that what we’re doing?” she breathed.

“I fully intend on doing that, yes ma’am.”

She slides her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging downward. “Just doing what your daddy tells you to, hm?” Abby can see the beginning of light brown curls under his hipline. “Is that all who you listen to? Just your daddy, your daddy, your daddy,” she says mockingly.

Billy’s brows furrow. “What? No.”

“Just big bad Wayne Tillerson, huh? That’s who controls you, that’s who owns you.” The curls are there, certainly, soft like Billy is.

His face drops into neutrality, almost innocent, but there is a hard edge, flinty in his eyes, Abby notices. “You’re treading on some dangerous ground, Abbott.”

“Oh, so I’m Abbott now, daughter of the enemy,” she nearly cackles. “Would you look at that.” Her wicked hands have pulled his briefs down just at the top of where his cock begins, and while he wants nothing more than for her to touch him, she’s also being a real brat.

Billy slaps her hands away from his torso. “Cut it out, little girl.”

She pouts. “Why should I? I’m just trying to help you out.” She moves back to his underwear, restarting her attempt to debrief him, literally.

This time, he grabs her wrists, leaning over her just slightly to pin them above her head with such force she laughs breathlessly. “You’re not. Fucking. Helping. You’re just trying to piss me off.” There’s no joking in his voice.

She smirks. “Well, obviously it’s working, then.”

“A little too well, yeah,” Billy says, with a smile more wolfish than strictly characteristic of him.

Abby is scared now, of what he could do to her. This is not the boy she knew. This is a man, who wants to take her as his rightful property.

She does not mind the prospect of belonging to him entirely. This betrayal of her family kills her, a little, inside.

“It’s working well enough that I just want to fuck you into this bed,” he says, biting at her lower lip, “until you scream my name,” he leans over her to his nightstand, pulling out a knife – Abby watches the motion out of the corner of her eye and they go wide – “so loud that my father hears. Maybe even your father,” he says, making no eye contact with her, as if it’s just another Thursday night for him. “Maybe even your whole family. But I’ll make goddamned sure everyone knows,” he runs the blade along the outsides of his underwear, “who you belong to.” He tears the underwear away and tosses them over the bed and the knife onto the nightstand. She is frozen between fear and arousal, her breath catching in her throat.

He takes his cock in one hand and moves the other hand that was for her restraint to her ankles, placing each one of her legs over his shoulders. “William.”

“Gage.” She can feel the tip of him rubbing against her pussy, still a bit overstimulated, but slick nonetheless. He brushes her clit accidentally, and her pelvis jerks.

“Tillerson.” He pushes into her, fully and deeply, letting himself get lost in the feeling of being inside her, at long last.

She is warm. She feels like home to him, more so than Luke or his mother or Trevor, and maybe even more so than his father. She’s warm like sunlight, like the fire they built in her parents’ north pasture the winter when they got frostbite and couldn’t tell anyone. She returns emotion to the marrow of his bones when he feels the velvet of her walls around him.

Abby feels at home with him inside her, finally, filling her in the ways she only daydreamed about, in the last days of the summer before they turned fifteen, hanging from the pine trees just onto the Shoshone reservation. She feels normal. Even. The chaotic sea within her is not simply flat, the sun is shimmering across it, and it is a clarion Caribbean blue, she’s seeing for the first time. She’s full of his wide cock, not long but girthy, and the stretch borders on unpleasant.

“I wonder if I can make you a Tillerson tonight,” he says, making shallow movements into and out of her. “Would you like that? To become one of us?”

Her breathing is dysfunctional. She only nods.

“Baby, I can’t move until I get an answer out of you,” he says, pushing her to verbalize what she needs. He halts his motion but doesn’t withdraw, waiting for her.

Abby only makes a minor quivering noise, shaking, scrabbling her hands at the surface of the quilts covering his bed, needing him, needing that which Billy wants to corrupt her with.

Her teeth show, and she grits them together at him. “Please,” he makes out of the tortured hiss she emits.

“Please what?” he says, tilting his head to the side.

“Please make me yours.”

“Oh, not just mine, baby — my family’s. A Tillerson through and through, once I’m finished with you.”

“No. No, please. Don’t do that to me,” she says, and she knows it isn’t genuine. She knows how dead that ranch is, save the hole in the west pasture. She knows she’s too old to still be living in the same place, same as Rhett. Someone’s gotta leave Royal and Cecilia sometime.

But her? To the Tillersons?

“Darlin’, it’s too late for that. I’m gonna breed your cunt full of my come, gonna make everyone else sees you’ve got my child in you.” He begins to thrust into her, slowly and shallowly. “Now I’m gonna need you to make a lot more noise, here, so my daddy knows how good a girl his daughter-in-law is, okay?”

She nods vigorously. “Please just fuck me,” she pants.

“Oh, baby, do you really mean that?” he says in a mockingly saccharine tone. He touches her chin chillingly and brushes a stray lock of curly hair from her face. The kindness of the gesture isn’t lost on her.

“Mm, Billy, I do.” Her tone’s become a whine, the country accent slipping back into her voice unconsciously.

“You gonna make me happy and scream nice and loud for me?”

She chants “yes”, eyes shut. He leans over her, pressing her knees towards her chest, grabbing her face and squishing her cheeks. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, missy. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

“Okay,” she says. He pats her cheek. “Good girl. Good girl,” he says, lifting his hips and driving them down into hers. She wraps her arms around him, curling her fingernails into the tender flesh of his back, dragging in long trails to leave welts.

“I can’t- I’m sorry—“ she interrupts her sentence with a high wail.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry about the words now, sweet thing.”

She’s lost inside her mind, out on a different plane of her existence. She is twisting, dancing with him and dancing with time. Vaguely, out in this space, she is aware of Billy fucking her. She wants to be alive to him, for this.

He hits her cervix; he’s not long, but he thrusts deep, especially with her legs over his shoulders. He does mean to breed her, no doubt of it.

The noises that come from her throat over and over again, short choking punched moans, don’t sound real. But this is her, this is her reality. Her childhood friend is inside her. He wants to marry her.

“Billy,” she says, her tongue wading through her confused mouth like it is full of peanut butter. “Billy, I love you.” Her nails simply dig into his vertebrae now, no movement save from that through her body as he fucks her pussy, rhythmically shaking the bed. They are together upon the sea, full of endless motion, creating the waves in it. He creates the wave, generates the heat, driving her to completion with one hand between their conjoined sexes and one hand cradling her head at the base of her skull. In the violence of his thrusting, he treasures me, Abby thinks, brokenly. She thinks fragments of words, woven into the tapestry of their conjugation.

“I love you too, Abby. I do treasure you,” he says heavily. “Wanna treasure you for the rest of my life, baby. Wanna give you my children.”

She chokes on a word and a breath at first. “I’m— I’m gonna—“

“Me too, baby. Me too, you gonna come?”

“Down from five?” she asks.

“Yeah, yeah. Five.”

“Mhm, five.”

“Four.”

“Fuck me, I want your come inside me,” she whispers.

“Three.” They lock eyes, now.

“T-two,” Billy says, and cries a stuttered “fuck” through his bottom lip.

“One—“

His hips falter against Abby, her legs shaking, and they cry as one a wordless word against each other in a singular orgasm, breaking the Wyoming night apart.

“I—” Billy starts, then sighs with relief, rolling away from her before he collapses onto the bed. His bones ache with his love for this woman, with all he’s given up to her in sweat and blood. He is entranced by Abigail, chest heaving mightility as she stares at the ceiling, breathing with her mouth open.

“Thank you.”

Billy props himself up on his side. There is a thin sheen on her high cheekbone that he brushes with his thumb. “Thank you.” He presses the finger to his lips. “You’re more beautiful than a full moon, you know that?”

Abby shakes her head. “No. Not really. I don’t agree with you.” She huffs a chuckle.

He crawls over top of her. “Don’t say that, Abigail. Promise me you won’t again.”

“I can’t and I won’t.”

Billy’s fingers run down her sides to her waist. “Oh, really, now?”

Her knees draw in first. “Don’t… don’t tickle me,” she laughs.

His fingers move over her, brushing the skin delicately. “Not my fault you’re ticklish!”

She pulls his hand away, bringing it up to her face. “No, it ain’t. But it’s your fault I like you so damn much.”

“Your fault making me likewise, Abby.”

She is all smiles at him. “Let me up,” she says, beginning to lift herself off the bed. “Gotta pee.”

“Me too.”

“Could I possibly have some water?”

“Got some snacks, too, if you want ‘em.”

Abby slides off the mattress, walks to the bathroom. “Yes please, and thank you much.”

“You got it.”

She holds her head in her hands, sitting on the toilet. “This does not feel real.” Did we really just have sex?

Shit. Apparently so.

There’s a knock on the door. “I got water for you,” Billy says softly through the heavy oak.

“Thanks.” Abby groans, sighs.

“You okay?” It comes out as more of a mumble.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Dude, just come in at this point. It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen yet.”

He opens the door, handing the water to her. “How are you doing? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m amazing, just trying to pee.” She drains the glass quickly. “Thanks. I needed that.”

He smiles at her, taking the glass back. “Head hurt at all? You looked like it.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Thank goodness.” She tilts her head at him. “You really are cute as hell, you know that?”

He looks down shyly. “You don’t have to say that,” he says, scuffing his foot on the tiled floor.

A moment.

“What about you? How’s your back? I feel like I scratched you pretty bad.”

“Feels okay.” He leans against the door. “Obviously not too badly.”

“Can I clean your wounds? Just in case.”

“More than welcome to.”

“‘Kay.” She flushes, washing her hands.

They are sitting on his bed upon two new comforters (at Billy’s plea – “I’ve never had to share a bed with someone before, and I move a lot”), Abby treating the shallow pink scratches on the pale skin of his back, when she finds herself speaking.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said you loved me?”

“Well, I’ll remind you that you said it first. But yes, I did mean it.”

“Yeah, I guess I did say it first. Thanks. I meant when I said it, too.”

He turns around suddenly. “Would you marry me?”

Abby’s eyebrows dance in confusion. “I– that’s an interesting proposal,” she laughs nervously.

“I meant it when I said I’d make you a Tillerson. And I mean properly.”

“You got a ring?” she jokes. “Not that I’m expecting you to have one.”

“No, not yet.”

“I just—I.” Abby sighs. “I know we were friends when we were younger and all, but I’m not sure you’d really want to marry me. There’s so much—” Billy interrupts her with a chaste kiss on the mouth. It is full of love, this time, no lust in it whatsoever.

He pulls away to speak. “There’s so much I want to learn about you. I can’t wait to make up for the years we’ve lost, to both our families. To college. To the ranches.”

Tears well up in Abby’s eyes, and she smiles at him. “I think you mean that.”

“Better believe it,” he says, laying a gentle kiss on Abby’s damp cheekbone. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They tuck themselves under the covers, and Abby’s back is pressed to Billy’s chest. He mumbles against her shoulder, just before she succumbs to unconsciousness, “we can go look for a ring tomorrow, there’s a place in town.”

She dreams of a beautiful wedding on the mountainside, in a tranquil clearing among the pine trees. Everything is shrouded in snowy white, including the boughs of the trees. She is warm, as well as all in attendance, and she sees her father and her new father-in-law, arms around each other’s shoulders, proudly looking on at Abby and Billy’s union.

She wonders, in her reasoning outside this dream-body of hers, whether this could come true.

A whole season passed where a girl named Autumn raised hell and it showed itself out, and Billy had his fair share of arguments with Abby. But Amy was returned back to her grandparents’, and Billy resurrected by the odd magic of the time-hole in the west pasture.

Five months after her dream, it came true. Abby became Abigail Hendry Abbott Tillerson, and while the feud between the two men took two years to subside, it was much shorter than it would have been without the marriage.

When they are sitting on the porch swing five years after that, watching Hendry Gage Tillerson and Anna Marie Tillerson playing in the yard of a plot of land in Texas that they bought, Billy asks Abby, “Have I made up for the lost time yet?”

Abby smiles at him, a careworn, motherly-exhaustion smile, but full of love all the same. “I could stand to spend the next few decades letting you find the definition of redame.”

He tilts his head at her. “What’s that?”

“To love in return.”

“Of course you’d say something like that,” Billy snorts. “Only my Abby.”

She leans against him. In this, he knows he won’t ever be able to prove it, but he knows the definition of redame to his core when he feels the weight of her soul on his own.

#outer range #billy tillerson #fanfic #outer range fanfic #billy tillerson/ofc

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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year ago

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Hi again :D

Can you share with us a few of your favorite scenes so far from either of your fic? Stuff that really brings out the characterization of Dahlia and any of the others?

What are some things you've learned from writing these scenes, or writing in general? What is the next thing you'd like to work on improving in your writing?

and lastly -- I asked this of Para, too, and I'm interested! -- what advice would you give to your younger writing self now that you're where you are in your journey?

Hiiiiiiii friend! <3 Ooooh, let me go digging a bit here…

I think I will feed you a couple of snippets which exhibit a few different states of Dahlia’s being. (I am sure there are others or even some better ones somewhere, but this is what came to mind at the moment.)

1.) As she listens to the quiet crunching of snow under her feet, she thinks about all of the things she has done recently and all of the things she will need to accomplish. Where is she going, and what is her role in all of this? Is it truly Akatosh and the Divines who push her forward, and is this where she is meant to be and what she is meant to be doing? She often wonders about the invisible strings of fate and how it seems like they constantly drive her onward. This frequently leads her to contemplate how much of her own life choices are really hers, and how many were preordained or destined. Maybe it sounds lofty and self-important to think that the Divines have taken so much interest in her life and what she does, but she can’t help but wonder. And she is indeed Akatosh’s chosen.

As much as she has grown and enjoyed the adventure, she resents the heavy burden which seems to constantly sit like a weight on her shoulders and the feeling that her life isn’t her own. Sometimes she wishes she could reach out and talk to Akatosh like a father. Perhaps this is something she should have expressed to Paarthurnax when she was still at the top of the mountain. Dahlia sighs deeply. Having decided that she has caused herself enough of an existential crisis for the time being, she glances at her surroundings, taking it all in before she sucks in a deep breath and lets loose WULD NAH KEST.

2.) Well, that was certainly close.” Dahlia says in relief as she reveals herself from her hiding spot behind the bookshelf Ulfric is standing by.

Ulfric turns around quickly with surprise. She was here the whole time? How could he have missed her?

Dahlia puts a finger up to her lips to signal to the Jarl not to give up her location. As soon as Lydia’s footsteps are no longer echoing through the halls, she sighs and slumps against the shelf behind her, finally relaxing.

“Are you hiding from your housecarl?” Ulfric asks. “Maybe I should call her back.” He grins at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“No, please no!” She waves her hands in front of her frantically, and Ulfric chuckles. “She wants to put me through all sorts of torture with hair and shoes which I find thoroughly unnecessary and rather tedious.” She pleads with him. “She is very bossy when she wants to be, and I have no intention of participating any further in her schemes. I’ve already indulged her enough.” She states as she creeps carefully to the library’s door and pokes her head outside.

3.) Waves of pain and anguish at what she has done begin flooding her system. She can still feel her hands tingling with the phantom sensation of lingering shock spells. She shakes them as if that will dispel the feeling and clean her conscience of what has transpired.

Nothing. She can still feel it. She will always be able to feel it; there is no escape.

Everywhere she looks, and especially inside herself, all she sees is darkness. What is this beast, this monster she has become?

She is nothing. She is cold. She is darkness.

In her need for protection, domination, and revenge, she had forgotten herself and who she is.

She was not Dahlia in this moment. She was Ysmir, Dragon of the North, and her only thought was how dare anyone think they could touch what is hers.

Dahlia roars with an inconsolable despair, words she never knew in the dragon tongue falling like water fluidly from her lips.

Alone.

She needs to be alone. Deserves to be alone. There is nothing good about her anymore. The darkness swallowed up all her light, and it is all she can see now.

Alone.

She needs to run. Needs to hide. Needs to disappear.

Alone.

Because no one should want to be with someone like her.

Dahlia looks down at her hands again and seeing the blood coating them, she lets out a sob. She is horrified. What has she done? And what would Ulfric think of her? Her mother? The Greybeards? Colette? The citizens of Skyrim? She is supposed to be a hero, and she is anything but.

What are some things you've learned from writing these scenes, or writing in general?

Oooof, well, I have definitely learned a lot through the whole experience of writing in general. Specifically, I think I learned to just let things flow and try to draw from the gut and trust my instincts. I was extremely cautious at first when I started writing (for many reasons.) And now it’s just nice to kind of let things find themselves and have fun in the process. I won’t say that I don’t still sometimes stress over the things I write, but I think what I write now is more natural now because of this—and I have more fun with it.

What is the next thing you'd like to work on improving in your writing?

Is everything too broad of an answer? I know a lot of us creatives suffer from the “we’re too hard on ourselves” syndrome, I am not immune. I know there are a lot of things I could go back and improve upon when I have time later. Right now, I think my focus is on making sure I am not using too many participle clauses (I love them, your honor) and trying to make sure I am showing and not telling too frequently. Yes, yes. I know that it’s the standard advice and complaint of many who give writing advice, but I try to follow it anyway. I think if I had to mention one more thing: trying not to get wrapped up in my own love of self-indulgent drama.

What advice would you give to your younger writing self now that you're where you are in your journey?

Relax, have fun, and don’t be afraid of what you’re creating. It’s all wonderful. The journey is an enjoyable one, and you’ll learn and improve on a lot of things on your way. Don’t stress about the mess and that everything isn’t “perfect”. It doesn’t need to be. (Actually, I should also take this advice for myself right now. It’s always needed tbh.)

And I think as much as you are aware now that I am a hybrid pantser/plotter, I might argue that perhaps I should do a little more of the plotting thing. (Just a smidge. I still do love discovery writing.)

#these really made me think #I did have to do quite a bit of digging #I'm trying not to give too many spoilers #thanks for the thoughtful asks as always #winter answers asks

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ice-cap-k · 1 year ago

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Heads Will Roll Ch2

Cross-posted to AO3 here: Heads Will Roll Ch 2

You can read CH 1 here

You can read CH 3 here

You can read CH 4 here

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Monsters are dangerous.

Martyn knew this. Skizz, Etho, and BigB knew this. Everyone in Dogwarts knew this. Monsters preyed on people. They were the stuff born of nightmares and darkness and spread trouble in their wake. Even monsters considered weak and relatively less threatening, like zombies, could be deadly if they caught an individual traveler unawares or had the advantage of numbers on their side.

Martyn thought he knew monsters well. He had seen almost as many men lost to monster attacks during the battle with the desert dwellers as had been killed by the enemy themselves. They were the kind of thing that swooped in with no regard for personal safety in the hopes of leaving you nothing more than a crater in the ground. They were the kind of thing to rise out of the dust with weapons drawn to strike you from a distance. They were the kind of thing that attacked your best friend in the woods and then left him for dead.

The Kingdom of Dogwarts had always taken a hard stance against monsters, even before Ren had assumed the throne. They were to be handled with extreme prejudice. Exterminated, even. Up until now, he never really thought much about that.

With all of this in mind, Martyn was having a hard time believing what he had just seen.

He sat in a private lounge that the King, the Counsel men, and he often visited at the back of the castle to relax. Skizz, BigB, and Etho were all there as well. All of them looked equally bothered by what had just happened and expressed it in their own ways.

Skizz relentlessly tidied up the fourth and fifth bookshelves on the wall. Again. He was avoiding his thoughts by losing himself in the act of cleaning. On the other end of the room, BigB was curled up in an overstuffed chair with a steaming drink of some kind. His fingers tapped against the glass as he stared at the contents of his mug with such intensity, that Martyn wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes could bore holes into its bottom. And then there was Etho pacing back and forth in a line from one corner of the room to another. At this rate, he was going to wear through the carpet. Not that Martyn was faring any better. He was currently fiddling with his eyeglass. The telescoping tool clicked in and out in his hands. In and out. In and out. In and out. The overworked bearings would probably wear out at this rate. The telltale click of the moving parts was already starting to sound dull. Nobody seemed to mind the incessant noise, though. Or noticed for that matter.

He hadn’t really kept track of how much time had passed like that. The four of them were too quiet. At some point though, Martyn fumbled halfway through opening his telescope for the umpteenth time. The copper casing slipped from between his fingers, sending the tool clattering to the floor. The sound was like a shockwave through the room. The others froze as it rolled into the leg of Martyn’s chair. Three sets of wide eyes went straight to the little telescope on the floor.

“Sorry,” Martyn mumbled as he reached down to retrieve the eyepiece. “Just a little distracted, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Skizz sighs. He finally puts down the books in his hand and pulls away from the shelf. “This whole thing feels like one big nightmare. Like, it can’t actually be real, can it?”

“How else do you explain what we saw,” BigB chimes in. He sinks deeper into the armchair. “That Scar guy even had scratches on his wrists from when they fought. Human nails don’t do that.”

Skizz narrows his eyes at that. “Hey, what happened with Scar anyway? I, uh, wasn’t really paying attention after the guards took…” He trailed off, not wanting to say the King’s name out loud. Martyn was glad that he didn’t. It might feel like it actually happened if they addressed it directly, and none of them were ready for that yet.

“The guards took him to the east wing to get looked at by a physician,” Martyn answered. “They’ll probably set him up with a room to stay the night. The advisors are looking to him for, I don’t know. Advice or something. Since he’s the primary witness, they’re putting him up on a pedestal while this whole thing gets sorted.”

“Sorted. You mean when they execute him,” Etho scowled.

Martyn's falling eyeglass may have shocked the group back into reality, but Etho’s words practically bowled them over. Martyn found himself gripping the telescope so tight his knuckles went white. BigB and Skizz visibly flinched, almost dropping their tea cup and bumping into the bookshelf respectively. “Yeah. That.” Martyn’s voice cracked.

There was a long moment of silence. “Does that mean,” BigB started with a wavering voice. “That Martyn will be King next?”

“No,” Martyn snapped before he even had time to think about the statement. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that.”

“But you’re the King’s hand,” BigB said. He sounded so small. The teacup in his fingers was shaking as he held it. “There is no named heir. Wouldn’t the title go to you next?”

“That’s not how that works,” Skizz butt in. “If there’s no heir, then the decision for next in line will be decided by the council of advisors. The Hand and the Counsel have nothing to do with it. We’re just personal advisors. Martyn’s the only one here with an actual political position, and that’s not going to mean much in the face of the group in charge of the decision.”

“Oh…”

It got quiet again as all four of them mulled that thought over.

Gods above, what would Martyn do when they called him in for that meeting? Would he even be capable of discussing such a thing? It seemed silly to think that he would be capable of anything once his liege was gone. That the world would still keep spinning as it always had and life would simply move on. Didn’t seem fair now, did it?

“I think…I think I should go talk to him…”

All three sets of eyes shot to Martyn in disbelief. “Y-You want to do what,” BigB stammered.

Oh. Had Martyn actually said that out loud? Whoops.

“I don’t know,” he sputtered, not sure whether to backtrack or stick to his guns. “I just… I mean… It’s Ren guys. Ren!” There was a lot going unsaid but understood by everyone in the room with that statement. ‘Ren, whom we practically grew up with. Ren who broke down crying after killing a man who had tried to kill him first during the war. Ren who hates monsters.’ None of that needed to be said for them to understand. “I feel like I need some sort of explanation.”

Skizz looks down at his own shoes, not wanting to look Martyn in the eye. He scowls. “I mean, that sure sounds nice, but there’s no way.”

“And why not?”

“Because he’s in the dungeon, dude. There’s no way they’ll let you go down there, even if you are the Hand. Especially now that you’re technically the Hand to someone who’s actually a monster of all things. Think about it, Martyn. They might start suspecting you of knowing about this and colluding with him. They could accuse you of treason.”

“Of course I didn’t know,” Martyn hissed. “That’s why I want to understand.”

“But that’s not how people are going to see it,” Skizz shoots back. “You know that, Martyn.”

Thoughts whirled through Martyn’s brain at high speed. Again, Skizz was making good sense. But he wasn’t about to let this go. Backtracking wasn’t an option anymore. He wanted to dig into this idea now. “Well, what if I snuck into the dungeon? Nobody sees me go in or come out. I could pull that off, I think.”

“But what if you get hurt down there?” BigB sounds nervous. His fingers are winding around themselves. “Nobody will know to come help you.”

“How on Earth would I get hurt?”

“Ren,” Etho said plainly. “Ren could hurt you.”

The others winced at Etho’s bluntness. Honestly, Martyn even got a little mad about it. “I already said, this is Ren we’re talking about. You know Ren wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Etho’s one good eye narrowed at Martyn. “People and monsters alike are capable of anything when cornered. Ren’s cornered right now.”

He reached up and pulled down the mask covering the lower half of his face. BigB and Skizz look away respectfully. Skizz’s eyes go to his own scars lacing across his arms. The angry little ember in Martyn’s chest fizzled out. Etho made it clear he wants him to see his full face, now on display. He doesn’t dare turn away.

Ren hadn’t been the only one who had been lucky enough to survive an attack.

“I’m not going to stop you if you do this,” Etho said, pulling the mask back up over his nose. ‘But after what I saw in that throne room earlier, I wouldn’t risk it myself. Don’t let your guard down if you go.” With that, he pivoted on his heel and made for the door.

BigB sat up straighter in his chair. “Etho? Etho, don’t go… Please-”

Martyn wanted to say something as well. But he couldn’t think of anything good enough. Before he could come up with something, Skizz raised his hand sharply, cutting BigB off. He shot Skizzleman a concerned look, but the other man only shook his head.

SLAM!

The books rattled on their shelves. Some of the ones on the end tipped over where there was open space between them and the enclosed end of the shelf they sat on. They clattered to the floor in a mess of pages.

“Let him go,” Skizz said gently. “Give him a minute on his own. I think he might be taking this harder than we thought. ”

“Yeah...” Martyn swallowed the lump in his throat. None of them were handling the situation particularly well, were they?

“Well…” BigB speaks up. His voice is so small when he turns back to Martyn. “I think it’s a good idea. I want to know why he didn’t tell us.”

Despite what had just happened with Etho, Martyn couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his lips when he heard BigB’s words. ‘Why didn't he tell us…?’ Not ‘Why didn’t he hurt us’ or ‘How long has he kept up the charade’ or ‘What had he been planning to do?’ All of those were still valid questions. Ones that probably needed answering as well. Ones that were probably playing at the forefront of Etho’s mind before he had stormed out. But those weren’t what BigB was focused on. Why didn’t he tell us? Well how about ‘why didn’t he trust us? Why didn’t he trust me?’ Those were the most pressing questions on Martyn’s mind.

“I’m going to do it,” Martyn says with a nod. “Later tonight after the sun has set and things start to settle down. I’ll talk to Ren and see what he has to say.”

BigB sighed in relief.

Skizz nods. “There will be fewer guards then too. How do you plan on getting through the dungeon door without being seen, though?”

Martyn’s smile widened to a mischievous grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m a master of all things sneaky. ”

_______________________________________

The first thing Ren was aware of when he finally came to was that everything hurt. Especially his head. His guards were trained to measure their hits. To only lash out when necessary and make every hit count. The one that had knocked him out had clearly taken that training to heart. Just the act of turning his head sent a wave of nausea rushing through him. It turned his stomach, not that there was anything to throw up. When was the last time he had eaten anyway?

That raised another question. How long had he been unconscious?

It took a massive amount of effort, but he managed to open his eyes. The movement was slight enough that it didn’t bring on a rush of pain or queasiness. Still, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. He could make out dark swathes of dull colors, and something bright and orange glowing to his left. There was no definition to the color, though. Only blurry shapes that bled together.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. It made the back of his skull ache, but eventually, the blurry edges became sharper. Everything was finally becoming clearer, only for him to realize that there wasn’t much here for him to see.

This was the dungeon. Or at least one of the cells. The ones intended for holding prisoners temporarily. It had been dug into the castle’s basement when it was originally built. He hadn’t bothered updating them when he inherited the castle. They had seen so little use during his reign. How ironic that he was now its sole occupant?

Aged stone brick walls boxed him in on four sides. The old masonry was cracked and growing mold and mildew along its mortar borders. No windows. Just blank walls. That meant they would have taken him to one of the lower layers. The ones below ground where there was no sun to shine in. The ones reserved for the most dangerous inmates.

The fifth side had black iron bars stretching from ceiling to floor. A perfect barrier for fae, and anyone else for that matter. It gave any guard walking through the hall outside the cell a clear view of the occupant and the entire room they resided within. He couldn’t see it without moving his head, but Ren knew that there was a door set into the bars. The steel framework boxed it in and kept it standing.

Nor could Ren see the floor he was lying on without rolling over. He didn’t have to see it to know that it was laid with worn cobblestone left dusty over years of disuse. When he twitched his fingertips, he could feel the trails they left in a layer of fine grey dirt.

The orange flicker he had seen turned out to be a torch. Someone had been kind enough to leave a long burning tallow torch in one of the burners set along the sides of the hallway. It was his only source of light down here.

He tried to move his arms first. He wanted to rub at the lump that he must have had on the back of his head, but when he tried shifting his right hand something tugged on the left. He heard clattering every time he tried to move his arm. When he felt along his hands and wrists, he traced along the edges of metal cuffs. Simple iron bands and links. A short chain connected his right wrist to his left. They had put him in shackles.

He let his hands drop back down against his stomach. “Fantastic.”

If they had chained his wrists, what about his legs? Tentatively, he rolled his feet back and forth. Sure enough, there was a heaviness to his ankles. The telltale clink of metal chimed with every move.

He was going to have to sit up. He didn’t want to. His head already hurt enough. The knuckles on one hand were sore from when he had punched that fairy… That fairy!

Ren shot upright in an instant and regretted it a second later. Black spots danced across his vision. It felt like his head was spinning. But that didn’t matter right now. How he was feeling doesn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a fairy up there. One that somehow knew how to manipulate people’s perceptions. His friends were in danger. His kingdom and its people were in danger.

Were they still under that Scar fellow’s spell? Ren didn’t know enough about fae to understand what it had done to them. He wasn’t even sure what kind of fairy it was. Just that it meant trouble. Monsters only ever made things more complicated. He should know.

When he closed his eyes he could still see that vacant look in his friend’s eyes. They had just… stopped what they were doing…

There was no way he was just going to sit here moping while that thing continued to terrorize them.

It took some time for his vision to fully return back to normal. When it did, he scanned the room he was stuck in.

There really wasn’t much here to work with. The chains on his feet ran longer than the ones on his wrists. The ends were fastened to a loop of metal bolted into the wall near the entrance. The tether gave him enough leeway to reach the far wall where a simple cot was lying on the floor if he so desired. But alas, he did not desire.

And that was about all there was to see.

It wasn’t much, but he could work with that. Hopefully. There had to be some sort of plan that he could come up with to get out of here and warn the others. Mortar was supposed to be weaker than stone, right? If he worked at it hard enough, he could wear a bit of it away until a stone came loose. That would take some time, though, and he didn’t have anything to dig with. They hadn’t even bothered to leave him a last meal and a spoon. What about the bars? If he could slip through them somehow, then he could find a way to leverage the chains on his ankles to break a link. His hands would still be in a bind, but he could figure that part out as he ran. Unfortunately, that didn’t look like it would be much of an option either. The bars had been criss-crossed and embedded in concrete, prepared for potential prisoners far smaller than him. There was the cot, though. If he could find a loose thread he could pull out some of the stuffing and hide inside. But where would he put the material once he hollowed it out? There was nowhere to hide anything here.

The torch burned on as Ren sat and pondered his options for a while. The same handful of schemes replayed over and over in his head, each time tweaking some sort of detail and hoping that it would make for a sensible escape plan. What felt like it could have been an hour dragged on until eventually he huffed in frustration and shook his head. The motion still hurt, but at least it didn’t make him feel like he was going to be sick anymore.

None of these plans would work. Maybe eventually, if he had plenty of time to work at it slowly, but he had no clue what time it was. It could be the middle of the night for all he knew. No matter what, they would be coming back for him tomorrow. The law was very clear on the procedure for dealing with monsters.

Oh yeah… That.

He blinked, every muscle tensing as he slowly raised both hands to where he could reach his face. He ran his fingers over his neck and jawline, half expecting to feel the soft brush of fur. To his relief, whatever magic had made it appear before was no longer in play. There were no claws at the ends of his fingertips to scratch at the exposed skin. “I’m normal again,” he said softly and the words were actual words. Not growls.

Did that really matter anymore?

They thought he was a monster.

His eyes took in the whole room, looking at the grim stone in a new light as the full realization of his predicament finally sunk in.

They thought he was a monster. That hadn’t been something that Scar fellow had faked. Regardless of whatever power the fae could exert, the fear and hate in their eyes when they had looked down on Ren had been genuine. The sense of royal duty melted away as he couldn’t focus on anything other than that fact. Forget his subjects for the moment. Right now, he was just another man trembling in fear.

His own friends were afraid of him. They hated him. Even Martyn. Martyn who had vowed to serve as his right hand until the day either of them died. Martyn who had saved his life on more than one occasion. Martyn, who had supported Ren long before he took the throne.

And he honestly couldn’t blame them. He would have hated him too if he had been in their place. He was going to be sentenced to death. That was going to happen. It was already happening, and the people he cherished would watch with that same fear and hatred in their eyes. The same fear and hatred that once haunted his nightmares.

In a moment of weak-willed self-indulgence, tears started streaming down Ren’s cheeks. And then his breathing hitched into sobs. He let himself cry. And he cried for a long time until there weren’t any tears left and all that came were dry sobs. When he eventually lifted his head from his folded arms, he could see that the torch was beginning to burn itself out. The light it gave off had started to grow dim.

Slam!

Ren’s heart nearly skipped a beat as he heard footsteps pounding against the stone above him. He sniffed, straightening up as if that would help him hear whomever it was more easily.

Slam!

Another loud noise followed close behind. Even more footsteps echoed down the halls, this time accompanied by the clatter of armor. Guards.

Ren shifted back in his cell. Chains rattled as his feet scrambled to push him back into a corner. His legs protested against the movement. The sudden motion made his head pound and his throat was now sore from crying, but he gritted his teeth and powered through the pain. There was nowhere to hide, but he wanted to. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the door to his cell as he could. He wasn’t sure how much of a fight he’d be able to put up with his wrists shackled together, but he wasn’t prepared to just go along willingly to the fate they had prepared for him.

When his back pressed against the wall and he couldn’t move another inch further, no matter how much he wanted to, Ren noticed that muffled words were echoing down the hall.

“Which way did they go?”

“I lost sight of them after they went through the door.”

“Fan out. Check all the cells. We have to find them.

“Weapons at the ready! We don’t know who they are or what they’re capable of.”

“Cut them down if you have to. Drag them back for interrogation if you can.”

Odd. That sounded like they were talking about an intruder. Or escapee. But who could they possibly be after?

From the cell, Ren could hear the guard's footsteps fan out across the floor above. One or two sounded like they were going in the same direction as that very first set of footsteps. It didn’t take long for the noises to fade away. The only sound left was the crackle of the torch. He waited. He listened so hard that his ears hurt. What was happening up there?

A moment passed before echoing voices reached his ears.

"Why you-"

"Gonna have to be faster than that, mate. Whoa ho ho!"

That voice… "Martyn?" Ren breathed, not quite sure if he believed what he was hearing.

"Stop that. Hey!"

Crash!

Ren nearly jumped out of his skin as something down the hall rattled and clattered. The torch flickered with a passing breeze.

"Well, that works in my favor," Martyn’s voice drifted closer. Now Ren could hear footsteps coming closer and closer. A shadow passed through the bars of his cell as a cloaked figure stepped into view. Their hooded head turned, and Ren recognized those blue eyes framed by light blond hair.

Ren tensed. He found himself gripping at the chains hanging from his wrists. The cold metal bit into his palms. His mouth went dry as he opened his mouth to speak. "Martyn. It is you…"

"Ren!" Martyn threw the hood off his head. A bright smile stretched across his face that made Ren's stomach twist. "Oh my gosh, Ren! I finally found you."

"Me Hand-" The smile dropped off Martyn's face the moment he used the title. Ren found himself wincing. Martyn didn’t seem comfortable with that familiar greeting anymore. So Ren tried again. "Martyn, what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you…" He trailed off, looking over the King cowering in the corner of his cell. Ren felt so small under his friend's gaze. What a sight he must be, with the blood drying in his messed up hair and dirt smeared on his everyday clothes. The intimidating king from this morning was gone. His gaze lingers somewhere above Ren’s eyes. "They took your crown?"

"Oh!" Ren reached up with both hands to the top of his head. His fingers met strands of tangled hair, but no gold and silver crown. Martyn watched the swing of the chains hanging from his wrists with widening eyes. Ren hadn't even noticed the symbol of his status was gone. Made sense, he supposed, since his status as King was basically gone now to. "I suppose so. Not like I really needed it anymore."

"Ren…"

"Well, you said you were looking for me," Ren said, his throat tightening around the words. He didn't like the sad look in Martyn’s eyes right now. "I can probably guess why."

“I just don’t understand, Ren. What we saw up there-”

“I’m sorry.” Ren screwed his eyes shut. It hurt to see Martyn look at him like that.

“It was real, Ren.”

“It was.”

“How could that be?”

How could they see it? Or how had he become what he was? Neither question had a pleasant answer. Gnashing teeth and wicked claws tore their way to the forefront of his mind. The scars on his side started to itch.

“Do you remember that evening when you found me by the river? After the attack…?”

Martyn nodded. A small, sheepish smile appeared on his face. “How could I forget? It was the one time I had been anything but useful to you.”

“That’s not true,” Ren said immediately. Even though the pain hazed fog of memory, he had known Martyn had found him. Could remember the press of his friend’s hands against his ribs when he was struggling to breathe.

“I still have nightmares about it,” Martyn added a little more quietly.

“Me too. For a couple of different reasons. It, uh, it started after that. That was when things changed. That bite did something to me and I couldn’t undo it.”

The first time Ren had a panic attack after he recovered had been hell. Luckily enough, he had been on his own at the time. Too busy working himself up over another hunt gone wrong for the beast that had caught him unawares in the woods. Two hunters had been killed and several injured, and it was his fault they were going after the monster in the first place. He had been the one foolish enough to travel the path alone the day he was attacked.

One moment he was trying to keep his hyperventilating under control, the next he was scratching at the door to his bed chambers with claws half as long as his fingers.

When he came to, he half expected the whole episode to have been a horrible nightmare, until he saw the marks on the back of his door. And then it happened again one week later on the night of a full moon. And then again the month after, and so on, and so on. It took three months for the realization to set in that this was to be his new normal from then on out.

Martyn’s eyes were wide with horror. His fingers wrapped around the bars of the cell. He pressed against them as if he could push through to get to Ren on the other side. “Then?!” he hissed, voice sounding strained. A shadow of guilt crossed over his face, knuckles white as his grip tightened. “You aren’t human anymore because of then?!?”

“It’s not your fault Martyn.”

“Sure it is. If I had just been there-”

“Then the same thing would have happened to you as well. Or worse,” Ren said sternly. And Ren wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if something like that had happened. Before Martyn could protest again, Ren continued.

“I didn’t know what to do afterward. I thought about turning myself in, but I hadn’t hurt anyone. I felt in control on full moons when the fur and the claws came out. Not sure if it had something to do with me starting out human first, but… I just thought that if I could keep myself in check, maybe I could just keep going. See how long it lasted. There are a few enchantments I know. Wards that can keep that side of me from being detected. What you saw up there earlier, that’s what I look like on the night of a full moon.”

“This is insane.” One of Martyn’s hands went up to grip at the hair hanging along one side of his face. The fingers buried themselves in as he fretted. The hand still gripping the bars of Ren’s cell was shaking. Blue eyes looked wildly around, then snapped to Ren's face. “I can’t… This isn’t… You… Was it you?”

Ren blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The tower. And the cows. Damage done by a weapon and claws and teeth. Was it really you?”

“No,” Ren spat, voice growing bitter. “I didn’t do it. I honestly had no clue what did.” But now he had a good guess.

“Listen, Martyn,” Ren snapped, forcing a sharp edge into his tone. His friend jolted, giving him his full attention with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. Ok? I really am. I never meant for any of this to happen. The last thing I ever wanted was to freak you guys out. But you have to listen to me. The reason why all of you saw me like that was because that Scar guy saw through my wards. He knew what I was the moment he laid eyes on me. That whole trick with the crown shouldn’t have been possible.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Silver and gold don’t just turn me into a monster. If that was the case then any time I touched my crown you would have seen me with fur. Scar did that.”

“How could he do something like that?”

“Because Scar is a fairy.”

“What?!?”

“I swear it’s true! The rumors of fae that have been running through town. They have to be because of him. I saw his wings when he stripped my wards away. He’s a fairy and is using a glamor to look human. Fairy magic. That’s why he could tell right away what I was.”

The entire time he spoke, Ren had been inching further and further away from the wall. He had been drawing closer and closer to Martyn. His poor friend looked overwhelmed. Now Ren stood a foot away from the bars. He wanted to reach out and squeeze Martyn’s shoulders. To hug him through the bars, but he was sure that a hug from a monster was the last thing Martyn wanted right now.

“I think I get it now,” Martyn said. He froze, eyes widening, finally understanding. “No wonder I felt so weird in the throne room when he went for your crown. I… I think you’re right.”

Ren’s legs wobbled as a wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized how heavy the worry that Martyn wouldn’t believe him had weighed down on his shoulders. It was both freeing and oddly exhausting.

Martyn looked worn out himself as he let his shaking hands drop to his sides. With a sigh, he instead put them into his pockets. The moment he did so, his eyebrows flew up and he nearly leaped back from the bars. “Gods above! What the hell?!?!”

Confused, Ren flinched away from Martyn and his shout of surprise. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re-” He pulled his hand from his pocket to point at Ren’s chest but cut himself off as soon as he did so. Eyebrows furrowed skeptically as he narrowed his eyes at Ren, who had no clue what was happening.

Why was Martyn acting like this? Ren turned to look behind him, thinking maybe Martyn had seen something strange. There was nothing there but stone walls. “What’s wrong, Martyn?”

“I don’t know.” Slowly, he put his hand back into his pocket. When he did so, his eyes flew wide once more. But he didn’t shout this time. “So that’s the real you...”

“What do you mean?” Ren brought up his hands, thinking maybe the fur and claws had somehow come back. Shackles clattered as he pulled them into the dying torchlight. No. His hands were still normal. There were no claws or fur, and when he ran his knuckle against his cheek he didn’t feel anything more than the scratch of his beard.

“Your fur. And the tail. And your ears. And your eyes,” Martyn said. Ren found his shoulders rising up against his ears uncomfortably. He shrunk away from the bars and Martyn, wishing there was someplace he could hide. It sounded like his friend could see everything Ren hated about himself. At first, he thought maybe that fairy was close by again, tearing down his wards and making things worse. But then Martyn pulled his hand out of his pocket once more. Wrapped between his thumb and forefinger was a small green stem with a few red smudges weighing down its leaves. It was a four-leafed clover. “Huh. I guess what they say about these things is true.”

“Oh.” No wonder Martyn could see him.

Wait a minute…

“Martyn! That’s it!”

“Huh? What’s it?”

“That clover. I don’t know how you got it, but that’s perfect. If you’re holding that next time you look at Scar, it will keep his magic at bay. You could see his wings. You could expose him before he hurts someone.”

“I can?” He looked at the little green plant in his hand, shocked. His hand moved out, holding it further away as Ren’s words sunk in. “I can! But wait a minute..,” Those blue eyes turned back on Ren. “What about you, M’Lord?”

A warm feeling filled Ren starting from his chest to his toes to hear Martyn call him that once more. He was the only one who ever did, and it made him happy to know that despite everything he had just admitted, Martyn still used the title without a second of hesitation.

“What matters is making sure that some fairy doesn’t hurt you guys up there. What happens to me doesn’t matter much as long as you’re alright.”

“But that’s not true. And it’s not right. You’re still human as far as I’m concerned. You were born human. Who cares if you look a little different when I hold this.” Martyn waved the clover in his hand. “You should have told us. You should have told me. We could have figured this out together.”

“And if we didn’t,” Ren said calmly. “And if you knew, then what would have happened when the rest of the world found out? They would have blamed you as well. You’d be in this cell beside me.”

Ren had wanted to tell his friends. He had wanted to tell them so badly. Ever since the night after the panic attack when he saw those claw marks in the door. Heaven knows how many times he had almost broken down and told Martyn when he felt overwhelmed. But just like how Ren was glad Martyn hadn’t been there when he had been bitten, he also was glad that none of them had to worry about this for so long. He would never have put them in a position where they could be blamed for knowing what he was. As far as he was concerned, he was lucky enough that the charade had lasted this long. There was no way he was going to drag them down with him.

But Martyn was too stubborn to be content with that. "Baloney. If what you're saying is true, then it's Scar who should be in there. Not you." He pocketed the clover and gripped the bar with one hand. The other reached out and snatched at the chain hanging from Ren’s wrists. For a moment, Ren was afraid Martyn was going to pull him against the bars, but instead, Martyn's hand ran up the links until it wrapped around Ren's own hand. It was warm and the cracks in the skin scratched against his palm. Ren gripped it, afraid to let go. "I'm telling the others, and we're going to expose him. And then we're getting you out of here."

"You can't change what happened, Martyn." He has to be strong. Be the King he no longer was. Martyn was offering him false hope to cling onto. He wasn’t sure he should take it, even if he wanted to.

"No." Martyn’s face brightened with a grin. "But I'm gonna change the future. Just watch me."

The warm hand disappears from Ren’s own. His fingers stay outstretched, not moving, still reaching after Martyn’s hand as it goes back to the other side of the bars. Despite his better judgment, Ren’s heart swells with hope.

"Thank you, Me Hand."

Martyn nods. "Of course, M'Lord."

He looks away, casting a glance back the way he came. "Hopefully that guard I knocked out won't wake up soon. I'm gonna go back and tell the guys everything you told me. Then we'll find Scar. Hang tight until then, okay?"

"I can do that," Ren said, stepping back from the bars. "And you be careful. That clover should make you immune to magic as long as you're holding it but even without their magic fae can do some pretty wicked stuff."

"Good to know." Martyn shoots one last look at Ren. It's torn, and reluctant. He clearly doesn't want to go, or at least doesn't want to leave Ren here, but then he pulls the hood of his cloak up. The fabric covers his head and hides his blue eyes out of sight.

"See you soon."

With that, he takes off back down the hall. Ren watches his back as long as he can from his cell. And when the wall blocks his sight he strains to hear Martyn’s footsteps until they fade away.

The torchlight finally dies out once they do. Ren is left sitting in the silence and the dark with a smile on his face.

_________________________________________

“And you’re sure this will work?”

Martyn shrugged his shoulders. “Of course not. But it sure beats moping around in the lounge, biding our time ‘til the sun comes up. Now are you coming with us or not?”

BigB raised his hands, fingers spread open and palms facing out defensively. “I’m with you. I’m with you,” he said hurriedly. “Just, you know, wanted to be clear.”

Skizz shifted against the wall he was leaning on. The back of his head bumped against the stone slightly as he screwed his eyes up with frustration. "If there’s even a chance that what you’re saying is true, then I’m all for this plan. I love it, even. But I still think we should tell Etho.”

"You saw how he reacted when I mentioned going to see Ren. Do you really think he would appreciate it if I knocked on his door in the middle of the night just to say, 'hey Etho. I know we just found out earlier that our friend is a dangerous beast with fur and claws, but I really think that we might actually have a fairy crisis on our hands and it's probably Scar?!"

"I know," Skizz huffed. "I know. But I still don't like it."

BigB reached over to pat Skizz on the arm. "Let’s try this first. If Martyn’s right then we'll go tell him. If it turns out to be a false alarm, then we shouldn't go making him worry about nothing."

Martyn’s fist tightened at his side. BigB wasn't calling Ren a liar, but the implication was there. Ren had never been much of a liar. He would embellish and maybe blow things out of proportion but never lie. Etho’s words nagged at the back of his head. 'People and monsters alike are capable of anything when cornered. Ren’s cornered right now.'

His hand goes to the clover in his pocket.

"Alright. I can do that," Skizz says, pushing away from the wall. There's a newfound confidence in his voice now. "I'm ready. Let’s do this.”

"I've got the clover," Martyn says with a nod. He can see the light pouring out through the gap between the door of the guest room Scar is staying in and the hall floor. "I'll pass it around once we're in there, so keep a hand behind your back at all times where he can't see. Remember, no matter what we see in there we can't react any differently from normal. Got it?"

"Got it."

They could do this. And when they exposed this Scar as the monster he really was, people would be willing to hear them out about Ren. Screw the law. BigB and Skizz already agreed they wanted to get their King out of there. They weren't happy about the secret Ren had kept, but they weren't interested in holding their friend's other side against him and neither was Martyn.

If the law said that someone like Ren was better off dead, then Martyn would find a way to get the law changed or tear down everything in his path trying.

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 21 #“see the chains around my feet”#life series #third life #creative writing #fantastic racism #imprisonment #rendog #martyn inthelittlewood #ethoslab #skizzleman #bigbst4tz2 #goodtimeswithscar #dogwarts #alternate universe - fantasy #creatures and monsters

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vro0m · 2 years ago

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vro0m’s rewatch - 163/310

2015 Russian GP

Oh ho ho. Nico got the pole again. Interesting. The momentum is shifting a bit although Lewis still won last time. It's not just that he went off in his hot lap, Nico was ahead in all three quali sessions so it's not just due to a mistake.

Carlos Sainz crashed heavily in FP3. He hit a barrier with his front left which tore the whole wheel off so he went off and hit the tepco head first. He was taken away on a stretcher but he's okay. He's there that Sunday, up and walking and fine. He might even race.

So here's the grid's top 10 : Nico, Lewis, Valtteri, Seb, our usual suspects. Then Raikkonen, Hulkenberg, Perez, Grosjean, Verstappen, and Ricciardo. Also Nico is ahead by 0.3 which is way more than in Japan.

On the truck, Sainz confirms he'll be racing and is feeling absolutely fine and in no pain whatsoever, although a bit stiff. He says he thinks it looked more frightening from the outside as they were waiting for news about him than from the inside. Ted says the crash was 46G which tells you how violent it was though. Remember that the sensors go off at 25G. They also say he did have to take a couple of painkillers for his neck. He did however pass the medical check.

It was again raining on Friday so they didn't get much testing done here. Also they have softer tyres than in 2014 so degradation might be more of an issue this time.

There's talk about Renault's return to F1 and we get a Briatore interview which I'm definitely not going to listen to. Ah wait. He's talking about Lewis. The journalist says he's had the privilege of taking two of the greatest drivers to world championships : Schumacher and Alonso. Where does he place Lewis alongside them? Briatore says Lewis is very, very strong now. "Lewis, you know, was always quick driver, but a lot of mistakes," he says with his thick accent. "Now he's very solid." They're sitting in this very expensive Monaco living room with golden stuff on every shelf and a pure white couch. The journalist asks about his opinion of Lewis off-track and his lifestyle. Briatore shrugs. "He's a star, you know. We need more people like Hamilton. Michael is, was a champion. Fernando is a champion. Hamilton is a star." Surprisingly accurate take, actually.

Let's hear from Lewis. Johnny always speaks to him way too close, it's uncomfy af. He says you never expect to be second because you're always trying to be first but he's excited about the race although it might not be the most exciting race for the public but he hopes they'll put on a good show. Eeesh the video is glitching. Lewis is sitting down so Johnny is bent in two and the cameraman ends up standing back up. Lewis laughs "you have to do squats right?" I did not understand the question Johnny asked because the video was lagging badly but Lewis answers that the good thing about racing is you never know what's gonna happen. The exciting part is you don't know which line you're gonna take, you have to be spontaneous. He doesn't know how it's gonna go but he'll try to get away as clean as possible. The start is truly where you can make the big difference in this race cause it's generally a 1 or 2 stops so we'll see. Johnny says he can win this one though, can't he? Lewis says he won last year so it's not impossible but it's gonna be hard, Nico was quick. He'll give it everything he's got.

Ahhhaaa if Mercedes scores 3 more points than Ferrari today they win the constructors' title right here and then. Important stuff.

Because the Russian GP is cursed af we also get a Bernie interview that I'm also not listening to. I think the gist of it is that Redbull is looking for an engine supplier, and Toto flat out said no when the journalists asked if they would be it but I don't know if there was actual talks of it or not. Because I didn't listen.

Formation lap.

And they're racing!

Nico gets away well and Lewis slots behind him to defend against Valtteri. OH SHIT. THERE'S A NUMBER OF CARS INVOLVED IN AN ACCIDENT BACK THERE. The racing is still going at the front. Nico keeps the lead but Seb overtook Valtteri. The safety car is out and everybody calms down and lines up. Eesh. Yeah. There's damage there. Oh WAIT ACTUALLY WHAT?! It's not Seb ahead of Valtteri, it's RAIKKONEN?! how? When? What?!

Anyway, back to the accident. Two cars are cleanly lined one against the other, each one facing a different direction. It's Hulkenberg and Ericsson. They’re embedded together like legos. So Hulkenberg spun in the middle of the pack and Ericsson collided with his side, after Verstappen spun avoiding the same fate. He was able to go again though apparently, but he has a puncture and pits. Grosjean also pitted, getting a new nose and new tyres. It's a long stop. Probably not a strategic one. Max also gets a new front wing and he's back out.

On the start replay we see Lewis went completely off track at some point and then possibly made contact with Nico's rear when he slowed down because the safety car went out. Not a big shunt though, just a touch. The safety car is coming in. And here they go again.

Valtteri overtakes Raikkonen! He's back in P3. He's congratulated by his race engineer. I like when they do that it's like they're saying "good boy". I wish someone told me I did a good job regularly. Oh ho. Nico says his throttle pedal is broken. He's asking what he should do if it sticks. And Lewis overtakes him for the lead! He got a bad exit out of a corner and Lewis just swept through. And Valtteri is ahead as well! He's told he just needs to adapt to the situation and they'll tell him if they can think of anything else that could help. We might get that podium I wanted? Lewis and then Seb and Valtteri in whatever order? I would enjoy that. Just two guy hearteyeing Lewis as he lifts his trophy, please. Nico is in the pits. Yeah. He's out of the car. It's over. That pretty much settles the WDC as well. They're taking the nose of the car off trying to see if they can free the pedal. So he's not yet out of the race officially. I mean he is but he is not. They're still trying to fix the car but it's the garage and Nico has taken his helmet and gloves off and he looks distraught, understandably. Then Bono confirms to Lewis his team-mate is out.

And it's lap 10, Lewis is only 2.2 ahead of Valtteri but he was fuel-saving. Then it's Raikkonen ahead of Seb, Perez on P5 followed by the RedBull of Kvyat and Daniel, then we have Nasr and Massa, and finally Maldonado in P10. OH FUCK. THERE'S A BIG CRASH AGAIN, it's Grosjean. I hope it's not as bad as it looks right now but it seems like a wreck. There's debris everywhere and a tyre rolling around… Oh my god, no, it is bad. Really. Fuck. He's not getting out of the car...

He's moving...

The safety car is obviously back out. Marshals run out to him, he's still not out. Oh here we go. He's hoisting himself out. Perez and Ricciardo pit. Bono warns Lewis of the debris. A lot of other people pit. Here's the replay of the crash now. Oof. He lost the rear and smashed into the barriers. No way to catch that or slow the car down. It was a lateral hit. Actually the car seems to have slowed down when going off track but then it hit the barriers with the rear side which swung it around, I mean you can see a lot of kinetic energy going into that. Must be painful on the neck. Maldonado is told Grosjean is absolutely fine.

On the transcript I read they asked him if he was okay and we didn't hear an answer but maybe they did get one. Seb also asked if he was okay and was told he was out of the car.

Lmao the guys are fixing the tepco barrier with tape. Clown sport.

Lewis complains that the safety car is going too slow and he can't keep the tyre temperatures up. Nobody at the front pitted. Valtteri is told Lewis is complaining and so he might struggle at the restart. The safety car is coming in. Oof Valtteri almost ran into him. And here they go again, again. Seb attacks Raikkonen come on give me that podium baby! OOOH IT'S CLOSE I'M GRITTING MY TEETH Seb pushes Raikkonen wide and he rejoins a bit ahead. Now Seb is under pressure from Kvyat! HE ATTACKS RAIKKONEN AGAIN YESSS let's go HE'S AHEAD! Phew. Good racing. Lewis set the fastest lap. Daniel overtakes Sainz for P10 but Sainz gets back ahead they're wheel to wheel and Daniel is ahead again! Ahhh that's nice. Some actual overtakes. Lewis sets another fastest lap.

It's lap 20. Lewis is 3.4 ahead of Valtteri already. Then Seb, Raikkonen, Kvyat, Nasr, Massa, Perez, Maldonado, and Ricciardo, then. A few laps later Seb is quickly closing on Valtteri… Sainz is under investigation for crossing the line at pit entry. Verstappen pits. He's been struggling. Sainz gets a 5 seconds penalty. Valtteri complains of his tyres, he pits. Brundle thinks it might be too late. He's out in P11. Come on, I want my podium. Seb is told to push. There's movement in the Ferrari garage. Raikkonen is told to push as well.

And that's lap 30. Lewis is 15 seconds ahead now. Then we have both Ferraris, Kvyat, Nasr, Massa, Perez, Maldonado, Ricciardo and Sainz. Valtteri is closing on him though. Come on boy. He overtakes him for P10. Seb pits. Let's see… he's ahead of Valtteri. Bono : "So Vettel in the pits now. We expect another two laps, let us know you're happy to do that." Lewis : "OK." Bono : "Good man." Not "good, (comma) man", right? "Good man." Raikkonen pits. He's behind Valtteri but he attacks. Stay back, I want my podium. Lewis is in. 3.1. Their pit stops aren't quick enough still. Seb overtakes Perez for P4. So Lewis is still in the lead, Kvyat who's currently P2 is called in, then we have Nasr and then Seb. After Kvyat's pitstops, Perez is P4, Ricciardo P5, Valtteri P6, Raikkonen P7, Sainz P8, Kvyat is out in P9 and Jenson is P10. Nasr pits and is out of the top 10. Valtteri and Raikkonen are racing for P5. The finn stays ahead (Yeah.) (That’s literally the stupidest thing I've ever written in these reviews lmao.) (I'm drafting them now, re-reading myself, correcting typos, thought of just deleting it but you know what here ya go. It’s funny.) (So : Valtteri stays ahead. Obviously.) They're hitting traffic. Lewis sets another fastest lap ahead. And another one.

On lap 40, he's 12.5 seconds in the lead. The current order is Seb, Perez, Daniel, Valtteri, Raikkonen, Sainz, Kvyat, Massa and Nasr. Ricciardo has just been told they don't think he'll need to stop again. The battle for P4 is brewing. Perez is struggling in P3 as well. I might still get my podium. Seb sets the fastest lap this time.

10 laps to go. Valtteri is told Perez has started to struggle. Come on. He overtakes Daniel for P4. Raikkonen overtakes Daniel for P5, but he goes wide and Daniel is back ahead. Ohhh but Sainz spun! He's resting against the barriers but is able to get away again. As he does so he loses a piece of his rear wing on the track. He stops again, in another run off area, near a crane. He's out of the race. Meanwhile Raikkonen is going for Ricciardo again. And he's ahead. Valtteri is also less than a second behind Perez now. Oh my god. Terrifying. A marshal ran out on the track to retrieve the piece of rear wing and a car was right there. It's Seb : "Now it's clear but we've got a very brave Russian running across the track." Oh and Ricciardo has stopped as well! Damn that's a lot of retirements in this race isn't it? It might be a broken suspension in his case.

3 laps to go. Valtteri, come on, please, my favorite funny guy. Give me that podium. It'd cheer me up. Bono tells Lewis there's 3 laps remaining and they still see something suspect performance-wise from the rear wing? Lewis says he can feel it. They suggest he does not use DRS if he gets it. Eesh. Seb is less than 10 seconds away now and he just set the fastest lap. Surely the rear wing issue isn't bad enough that it would cost Lewis the win by itself but he can't afford mistakes. It's the last lap. Come on Valtteri. OH SHIT RAIKKONEN CAUGHT UP TO HIM AS WELL AAAAAAH I don't care about Perez on the podium please give me a good one YESSS HERE WE GO BABY they're both ahead actually! Woooohooo! Just one more lap now

NO OMG NO! Oh the cry I let out IRL I can't believe this shit.

Raikkonen took him out. Fucking hell. Valtteri is out in the barriers and Raikkonen is limping with damage. Perez is back in P3. I'm so disappointed.

It's the end of the race.

Lewis wins ahead of Seb!

Massa finishes ahead of Raikkonen. Mercedes hasn't won the WCC yet. "What the fuck did he do?" was Valtteri's reaction to the collision. Calm and collected as he usually is.

Also : 6 retirements.

Lewis crouches down beside the car and pats it.

Let's hear what Niki has to say. He says the issue with Nico's throttle was bad, for the constructor championship and for Nico especially. Ted says if Raikkonen gets a penalty they might still win the WCC. Niki bobs his head from side to side. He doesn't want to win it like this, he says. Ted says of course Nico had an issue but Lewis did everything right today. Niki says he drove as he always does : perfect race from beginning to the end, nothing wrong. He shrugs. He's so unimpressed lmao. "No worry, so really fantastic."

Aw fuck. Bernie and Putin are there again. Lewis goes to shake his hand. Doesn't make him wait this time. (Remember 2014?) He also shakes the woman's hand, I think she's the interpreter. "Good to see you," he says to Putin, which is so weird. "Good day." I think Putin says "for you!" and he hugs him. All the cells in my body are screaming out of discomfort. Lewis walks past him to get to the table.

Perez just shakes his hand and joins Lewis. He taps his back. "Hey man!" Lewis exclaims, and they shake hands and hug briefly. Seb shakes Putin's hand as well. Putin congratulates him as he did the others and Seb says "thanks for a great event" before he shakes the rest of the party's hands as well. They're standing between him and the others. You can barely ask Putin to scoot aside to let you pass... Perez and Lewis are talking but we can't hear them well enough for the same reason. Just get these people out of here. The cameraman actually doesn't care and pushes his way through to them, thankfully.

Oh fuck no. The caps have been replaced by fur beanies? (I felt this was an inappropriate way to call them so I looked it up and fyi they’re called ushankas) Seb finally makes his way to them. "Heeeey!" he salutes Perez. They hug. Lewis is asking for Putin's opinion on how the ushanka fits him. Lewis please stop. "I'm wearing it right?" he asks the woman.

Seb turns his head and smiles, Lewis chuckles. Someone is telling Putin's group they're gonna go and take position. "Hey you're getting quick during the race uh?" Lewis tells Seb while pulling his race suit back on.

Seb put his hand on his shoulder, squeezes it. "Who's the quickest lap?" he says with a smile in his voice. "Who's the quickest lap?" and he

Jesus christ

He does the gayest thing I've seen them do so far to the point I had to take a few seconds.

They turn to the screens and he's holding him by the shoulders from behind.

I mean. It seems like nothing but the way they can't keep from touching each other and the gesture is so. Domestic. Fuck. It's like they forgot there were people in the room, istg. They touch each other with such ease, so naturally. They're looking at the times, Seb turns to Lewis with a big stupid grin. "What was your quickest lap?" he says, his hand resting delicately on his Lewis' shoulder blade.

"I don't know!" Lewis says. Seb says he did forty something. "Did YOU do forty[something]?" he asks playfully. "I don't know," Lewis repeats. "I don't think I did a forty[something]," he shakes his head. Seb puts his closed fist against his cheek.

As Lewis turns to him with a smile, he pretends to punch him. "I don't think I did!" Lewis exclaims.

It's unfortunately time for the podium. I was enjoying this interaction, obviously. (And yes, it earned its own post, don’t worry, I’ll post it later)

Ew. Perez just hugged Putin. Lewis shows off his hat, touches both drivers who touch him back and here we go for the anthems.

Putin kisses Lewis on both cheeks as he gives him the trophy. Lewis seems kinda uncomfortable. He throws the trophy up in the air again, twice.

They all get kisses on the cheeks with their trophies but it's weirder when it's Putin obvi.

Ah Perez' dad is there and very happy of course.

Oh god it's Eddie Jordan doing the interviews. Lewis says a few words in Russian and it's nice but also I always find it a bit cringe when he does it for some reason. (Not just in Russian, right, just, generally.) It's Lewis' 42nd win. He equaled Seb! Jordan says they wanted to see a fight between him and Nico. He says him too. Jordan suggests he surely missed him there as well because they were starved of an exciting race at the front. Lewis nods all the while. Lewis agrees and he says he was excited because they were close at the beginning and it's a shame for the team to have lost one of the cars. Once he knew Seb was behind him he wished for him to be able to race him. But he doesn't take what they have for granted and the team has done an amazing job. Proud and happy to be there.

Seb says he hoped at some point there was a slight chance to catch Lewis but he had too much pace and he wasn't really pushing at the end.

Oh the broadcast went black. We didn't hear the end of Seb's interview. Lewis and he are chatting during Perez' interview of course.

Back to Lewis. Jordan asks about his tyre problems. He says there wasn't much of an issue. Jordan says we could hear him complain. He says the safety car was a little bit too slow but it was okay. He thanks everybody again.

Alright then let's wait and see if Mercedes gets the title, I guess. Raikkonen thinks it was a racing incident, of course Valtteri doesn't. The whole broadcast agrees Raikkonen is completely at fault. Valtteri is so disappointed his eyes look wet in his interview. Poor boy.

Toto calls it an "optimistic manœuvre" but doesn't want to comment further because it's not one of his cars. He says it's a shame for Valtteri because he would have been on the podium. He says about Nico's problem that the sport is cruel sometimes. He had a brilliant weekend. He also agrees the Ferraris are becoming really strong. He points out they had an issue on Lewis' car though with a rear wing instability. He says they expected Ferrari to be very strong in the next year but they've proven themselves strong earlier than anticipated. (He's towering over Simon, Johnny and Hill and it's actually such a funny image these three men – and Simon and Hill aren't small – on one side of my screen looking up at him on the other side of it. Such presence.) Simon asks if he talked to Nico. Toto says he's obviously gutted with the situation, and it doesn't make much sense to try and go calm him down right now. He needs to come back, he's a strong fighter, he'll be with them next year trying again. He also says as for the WDC, Lewis needs to finish 11 points ahead of Seb to win it in Austin so… And he makes the universal sign for 'calm down' with his hand. Simon asks how he keeps everybody's emotions in check now, with the titles so close. He says you have to keep control of your emotions and your feet on the ground because it's not over until it's over. "Let's wait until mathematically it's not possible anymore to lose it."

Here's Lewis. He's all smiles.

He says the rear wing issue was a bit of a concern at the end, so he took it easy. Even though you're in front it's still a hard race and there's a lot of opportunities to make mistakes. You have to stay in the zone.

He knew they were one-stopping so if you damage the tyres, you have to stop again. He had to make a lot of changes along the way and everytime Sebastian picks up the pace you have to answer. He felt like it was a massive challenge for a race even though he was in the lead. It's a shame he didn't get to race with Nico, he was excited about it. She asks how close he got to him in the first lap (remember? I said he surely made contact with his rear). His eyes widen. "Yeah! Well… I mean, what happens is when the VSC comes out you've gotta stomp on the breaks," he says.

Then he says the real safety car came out so he actually didn't have to do that, and they "were on it" and Nico braked.

So they nearly took each other out, but fortunately Kimi didn't hit him, although he nearly lost it and spun (he did have to take evasive action).

She explains what the situation is with the WDC and asks how it would be to win in Austin, which he loves so much. He doesn't understand. "Win the race?" he asks, confused.

She explains again. If he wins 2 points ahead of Nico and 11 ahead of Seb in the next race he could get his third title in Texas. "Wow… I didn't even… I didn't even know that, so…" She hints at him, not quite in the mic but we hear anyway, that the place is pretty special to him. He looks aside as he thinks. "I don't know really what to say!" he cracks a big smile.

"I just gotta take a step back and enjoy what is going on now." And push as hard as he can in the next races, there's still loads of points available.

But it's the best position he's ever been in in his career "I don't really know what to say about it," just that they've been fortunate on his side of the garage with the reliability and he hopes that as a team they'll be able to rectify the issues they did have "and uh…" he smiles, "yeah."

He says it might not have been the most exciting day for the viewers today (it was far from the most bored I've been this season though) but you have to take it when you have it.

It's funny how he reacted. You know he must have been thinking about the title, even though he might say he didn't, you know, his usual spiel of one race at a time. Like I'm not saying he calculates the points and all, I don't think he does, but he must have known he was in a very, very good position for the title. Still, when she brings it up, it's like it finally dawns on him. Like he had this notion that, sure, he was leading the WDC standings for ages if not from the start of the season, actually, but he only right there and then actually understood that he might, that he would, surely, get it. He has a different smile then, a different look in his eye, a less controlled emotional expression. You can tell it truly drives him, truly excites him.

For some reason we later get a second interview with Lewis. Not complaining. He's with Hill. He says he's getting close but not letting himself get ahead of himself and asks what he does now when he goes home, "count the days to Texas or what ?" He answers of course definitely not, he enjoys every day, he tries to make sure he lives life to the max. He says he's learning a lot in his spare time. He says they're going to the factory the next day and he wants to make sure he's always improving when he's in the car. (Did I not answer an ask once saying his best or most important quality was his willingness to learn?) (Yes I did.) He says there's still room to improve this car, for example quali wasn't perfect this time, and that's his goal. Hill brings up the rear wing issue and says there's always nervous moments. Lewis says yes, towards the end, he felt weird things at the rear, it felt like it was getting a bit loose. He repeats again he was excited to race with Nico, as he thinks many people were, but maybe in the future (be careful what you wish for...). Hill asks if he was to win the title in America, would it be special for him at all? He sighs heavily. "To be honest… I mean…" and then says he won't let himself think about it. There's still 100 points available, "is that right?" Hill counts : "there's still five– four races left, yeah." So he's gonna focus on doing the job, he can never ever get ahead of himself. He's gonna enjoy the moment. He says "you've been there before, you know what it's like!" And Hill goes : "I– Lewis, I have ONE world championship so…"

Lewis shies away with a smile. Hill points out he's close to being the best British driver, and so they're all holding their breath and it's good to see and, and, and. Lewis thanks him. He says he's proud to wave the flag, to stand on the podium beneath it, he's proud when he hears the national anthem, he hopes he's representing all the Brits the best way he can. Hill says he definitely is and congratulates him for the win.

Uh… He's walking away like he shat himself. Mmh. Let's move on.

They're now waiting in front of race control for the final word on Raikkonen's investigation.

They're still waiting after Ted's notebook. Here we go… Raikkonen gets a 30-second penalty : MERCEDES WINS THE WCC! Too bad it's happening that way though, I would have liked to see them celebrate properly. Alonso also got a 5-second time penalty for exceeding track limits. In the next GP post race interviews, Raikkonen said he would still do the same thing, though.

Oh. I also read Seb criticised Lewis for going too slow at the restart after the safety car and that Grosjean said his seat broke upon impact in his accident.

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2015 #2015 russian gp

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