( ✨ i loved you / dameron & frightened eyes )

[frightened eyes]

┌──────────────────────────┐

│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│

xx
and i’ll love you even when the stars go out
one on one between frightened eyes & dameron

│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
│
└──────────────────────────┘

[danheng]

how did this happen?

he felt trapped. needless to say, he was. but on a level more mental than that. from his restrained point in the shuttle, he couldn't see anything but officers and white-clad troopers. no viewport to track the stars outside, to watch jakku disappear- the village a mess of ash and bodies marring the desert planet. he had no idea where his droid was headed and no idea where they were taking him- either a hidden base or a star destroyer, neither of which sounded like somewhere he wanted to be.

poe dameron felt like the walls were closing in on him. with each lurch of the shuttle he felt sick to his stomach, anxiety and fear and regret bubbling over; but he would never let it show. even in defeat, he gave a bold facade, staring blankly ahead in the swaying craft. perhaps they were landing; the transition from vacuum to atmosphere could be the cause of the shaking. but artificial atmosphere, likely- there wasn't enough time in between the start of the shaking and the smoothing of the repulsorlifts for them to reach planetfall. so, he decided, this was a star destroyer, and he was probably going to die.

as soon as the craft touched down poe hear the hissing of hydraulics lowering some kind of ramp, and then the trooper gripping his cuffed arm tugged him forward abruptly. he retaliated by pulling back against their grip, lips curling in a gruff growl. this earned a curt sock in the jaw, the handguard of the second trooper making sharp contact with his skin- and knocking his head back. stars filled his gaze, and in that moment of momentary weakness he felt himself be pulled along again, feet stumbling blindly down the ramp until his head cleared.

he blinked both eyes open, and froze in wonder. all around him- tie-fighters racked up against the walls, upsilon and eta shuttles parked in neat rows, their dynamic wings folded neatly overhead like a pair of antennae. sf fighters with their hard cased shelling, red paint glinting in the low light, a deadly beauty that captured his attention instantly. they were an amalgamation of the classic empire fighters and the sleek aesthetic of the first order. he'd rarely had a chance to see these kinds of things. this could provide valuable intel to the resistance.... if he managed to make it out of here alive.

poe's daze was once more broken by a rough tug, and his vision flicked over to glare at the trooper. "alright- alright!" he grumbled as the trooper pulled him out of the hangar and toward whatever awaited him.

they took him down a couple of long halls, twist and turns all around, before their journey ended in a low-lit room, about the size of a large holding cell, with a single rack in the center of the room. poe was pushed right into it, restraints clamping down on his arms and ankles. testing them, he twisted his arms, but they didn't budge. a new sense of dread overwhelmed him, but once more he failed to let it show on his bold features.

he wouldn't fail the resistance again.

>> oof sorry this got long

[frightened eyes]

ooc: ahhhhhh no worries, mine are ridiculously long!

lor san tekka had been of no use to the imposing dark warrior. and, as a result, he had been the first to fall at his hand that night. rather, he had been the first to fall at the triple bladed, crimson saber that night. it was a shame, really. a pity. but, all in all, it did little to his conscience. and neither did the littering of bodies from the village that was burned to the ground in leaping licks of flame soon afterward. war was war just as death was death. but, what was most curious, was the knuckle-headed, foolish resistance member that had been thrown to his feet. he hadnt expected to return with the resistance whelp—but, the fact he was even there was of interest to him, and no doubt, in interest to his search for the map to skywalker.

he’d watched as the ‘troopers dragged the resistance away to the shuttle, brows drawn over his eyes, like it hadn’t quite registered with him yet that he, was now a prisoner of war, and being taken in custody of the order. a pair of troopers came by to report they’d destroyed an x-wing, which only furthered his interest—so. he was a pilot. interesting. he’d wondered—but, no, that was nonsense. so he inclined his head to the head of the mission and of the troops, a silver chrome-plated trooper with a black and red cape over one shoulder, before stalking with long, crisp strides up the ramp and into his own transport shuttle, his favorited weapon, his saber, belted at his waist, though one gloved hand never relaxed its grip upon it. to say he was looking forward to the interrogation of the pilot was only half of the truth. he had mixed feelings on the subject, but, as he reminded himself, his emotions did not define what he would or would not do.

the pilot would be interrogated, and he would use whatever means necessary to get the information he both wanted and needed. with skywalker gone, he had no doubt the path to victory would be clear. and then—then, the resistance would be conquered, and nothing would be left of them but the ghost of a memory, the memory of hope that had been vanquished at the hands of the order. the resistance would fall—they’d been alive for far too long, straggling by with what meager supplies they could gather, and with it, the legacy of the jedi, and the skywalkers.

kylo ren descended stiffly from the ramp once they’d landed in the docking bay, ignoring the hurried glances his appearance brought on as troops and officers alike hurried around. he stayed long enough to assure the stormtroopers escorting the hostage had a tight enough grip on him, before he turned sharply on his heel and strode down the cold, bare white halls, his eyes sliding over those he passed without interest. he reached his quarters, pausing, only to give himself a few moments to breathe, unlatching his mask and pulling it off with a strangled gasp, before he pulled it on again, heading out for the second time that day. but, then again—one never really knew the passings of time in space. long, measured strides quickly took him through the twisting halls once more, pausing at the door to the cell where the pilot was being contained to exchange a few hushed words with ginger haired general hux, disgust rippling through him. everything made him recoil from the general, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the sith.

the door hissed open, sliding shut as soon as he’d stepped foot into the shadows of the room. he gave himself a moment, letting his eyes rake over the prisoner—curled, messy ink black hair, strong eyes, and a defiant mouth. a whisper came to him. he’s familiar to you. but nevertheless he pushed those thoughts away to take a step, out of the shadow and into the light, and watched with pity as the pilot’s eyes snapped to meet his movement. ”I had no idea we had the best resistance pilot on board.” his voice was distorted, emitting from his mask, with the slick flavour of the disembodied, cold and cruel. contempt laced his unseen expression for a moment, before continuing. ”comfortable?”

[danheng]

the door slid shut, and poe was alone. save for his rapid mind, emotions contained under lock and key running rampant now that he was alone. he'd failed leia, he'd lost bb-8- and now he was going to pay in whatever cruel way the order had planned for him. but maybe- just maybe- with bb-8 gone, she'd be able to reach the next town over and get the map somewhere safe. maybe not to the resistance, but as long as it stayed out of the grip of the first order, the resistance would tread water until they could retaliate. he knew they would; they always seemed to find a way. hope, leia always told him. as long as they had hope they'd survive.

he wasn't so hopeful now. restrained, pride fractured, his jaw and head leaking blood at a steady rate. there might not be a way out of this, a reality he had to face. but dying for the resistance was what he'd always planned to do, right?

his attention was alert as soon as the door hissed open again, and his gaze- though spotty with darkness and red- focused on one looming shape coming out of the shadows, into the low light, mask glinting with an ominous threat. kylo ren; dreaded knight of the order, protege of the sith and killer of lor san tekka. even in his state, poe couldn't help the snarl growing in his throat. he hated this man. no. not man, monster. a thing of shadows that loomed before the pilot, every step a promise and a threat in one.

poe's vision wavered and blurred for a moment, a strike of pain echoing through his mind- but he blinked, refusing to show any of this weakness. ren was sadistic. he seemed to feed off of the pilot's weakened state as he stood close- but not too close- and a sickly sound emitted from his mask. guttural and distorted, obscuring anything human about kylo ren.

the best pilot in the resistance. that was a title he was ever-proud of. but hearing it come from ren only made it a resentful one. he couldn't even get his x-wing off of jakku- let alone think straight enough to not be captured and likely killed. and seemingly right in line with his rebellious nature, poe let his head tilt back, giving ren a nonchalant smirk.

"not really." the pilot spoke boldly, sarcasm and venom dripping in his tone.

[frightened eyes]

kylo’s lips twist into a sneer behind his mask at the pilot’s bland sarcasm that did little to affect him. ”the map to skywalker.” he speaks, simply. ”you know where it is. tell me.” when he refuses, he rolls his eyes. ”suit yourself, pilot.” he growls. but really, what does he expect? resistance are resistance, and this pilot is no exception. he shifts closer to where he’s being detained, strapped down and unable to move much, leaning close to him. for a moment—he catches it. beneath the grime, blood, sweat, and dirt is a scent so faint, but he recognizes it immediately. soap and air. his chest constricts, and he has to grit his teeth. it’s there, a memory probing at the edges of his mind, and he struggles to keep it at bay. but it comes anyway—laughter, sunlight, tangled legs and sheepish smiles. hushed words. i’ll wait for you. he resists the urge to jerk back, to get as far away from that scent in his nose as possible.

but he resists and leans closer to the trapped pilot, gloved fingers extending so his fingertips barely brush the pilot’s uninjured temple, forcing his way into his mind. the pilot lets out a scream, but he ignores it. he sorts through what he doesn’t need—and comes across another memory that has him frozen in his tracks. his lips are saying the words before he realizes it. ”bad news. i’ll live to be annoyed by you another day.” pain lances through him—impossible, his mind whispers. he jerks back from the pilot as if he was burned, the map momentarily forgotten as he squeezes his eyes shut, breaths shaking. his lips are mouthing the name. poe.

[danheng]

he only greets ren's prodding words with a smile. if ren's words were any more coherent to poe's injured senses, he would've spat back some charismatic sarcasm, get himself into deeper trouble than he already was. I'll never tell you, the words rippled through his head but never made it past his chest. try anything you want, kylo ren, I'm not telling you anything.

ren's hard extended toward his head, and suddenly he felt uneasy. like ghost pinpricks in his mind, pressing, gentle at first, but increasingly aggressive. like searing pain- pushing past all of the walls he tried to put up. all of the techniques he'd been taught to blank out to avoid caving in to pressure- all of it was torn down like nothing.

his head thrown back, neck arched as he bit his lip through the pain, he could feel ren stepping through each memory.

sitting in shara's lap, feeling her hands over his as she guided him in her old a-wing, teaching him how to be a pilot. best in the galaxy. just like her. coming home one day, having kes sit him down and tell him mom's not going to wake up. meeting ben solo- and at this he felt an especially sharp stab of pain- falling in love, laying together on the soft meadowed grass- laughing as they climbed the force tree outside of poe's ranch- whispering soft loving words- then a bittersweet pain. loss, abandonment, 'I'll wait for you-'

he came out of it with a start, shuddering, gasping for air, vision filled with stars as he threw his head back down and shut his eyes tight. somewhere through it, he hears ren's voice again- and the words sound odd.

"what-?" poe looks up again, breaths evening out by the moment. there was something wrong about it all- the way he felt while ren tore through his memories, the way he spoke- something familiar yet so far away.

[frightened eyes]

he remembered it all like it was yesterday, tried to fight them back but they just kept coming, like horde, each designed to hurt him, rip away the defenses he’d brought up to keep them at bay. because i love you with his hands twisted in his hair, foreheads pressed together and eyes squeezed tightly shut. he stumbled back, blinking in an effort to get them out of his head, and leaned heavily against the wall. ”nothing. i-i said nothing.” liar, a voice screamed inside his head. you know what you said.

he’d said it once before, one morning, when he had been weak and scrawny, to the boy he loved. poe. and he never saw him again. he shook his head, whispering, ”impossible,” underneath his breath. he looks up at the pilot, desperately, eyes searching his face—and realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s been staring him in the face. it’s poe, an older, recklessly foolish poe. because he knows everything about him.

he remembered how he used to run his fingers, over and over through his hair, tracing the line of his jaw with his lips. how poe used to kiss his palms, his temple, the corner of his mouth, and at the memory, he tried to push it away, shaking his head in an attempt to be rid of it. he could trace the lines of poe’s face in his sleep, knowing it better than his own. force, poe had been his greatest and most tragic, weakness.

but ben solo.. ben was gone. he’d ripped him from his soul, severed all ties he had with everyone. the galaxy was better off without someone as weak as he was. he’d destroyed him, because he was frail and emotional and he loved too much.

and it was as if the galaxy had put poe in front of him just to make him relive what he’d tried his hardest to forget.

[danheng]

it couldn't be true, the theory forming in his mind, betraying everything he'd ever known. ben solo died in a fire at his uncle's temple. ben solo had left poe that day and had never come back. this couldn't be what was happening- no matter what evidence presented itself, poe wouldn't let himself believe it. it hurt too much to think that ben, his ben had become...

"how do you... why did you say that?" poe watched ren warily as he backed up, pressing against the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. like he'd found something so shocking in poe's mind he couldn't focus, and needed to back up, to contain himself. poe felt the same way.

poe's voice faltered as he tried to form words, uneasy- fearful. please don't let this be true. "b-ben...?" the words were hoarse coming from his hesitance, biting his lip to keep from breaking down further. ben couldn't have survived. he was dead, burned up when one of luke's students went rogue. joined the dark side, shara had told him.

once more he put up mental walls, containing those thoughts. it hurt too much.

[frightened eyes]

he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to take a number of steadying breaths to calm himself, shaking away the memories, burying them for the time being. he had worked so hard to get to where he was, ripping and fighting and killing, destroying whatever stood in his path, and, destroying what had been known as ben. for the kid he had been—scraggly, weak-hearted and weak-minded, with a thin frame—he had destroyed. for months on end he hid alone, thriving off of what supreme leader snoke had told him, had promised him while he was at the temple. he hadn’t been willing, at first, to do what he’d asked of him—but when luke raised his saber against him, that was the turning point. so piece by piece he’d ripped apart the boy named ben, shed that part of him that he had been ashamed of. he’d buried those memories so deep within his mind so that they may never come back, and he flourished under the dark teachings of the dark side. he took up a new name, a new identity—there was weakness in the name of ben solo, but power in the name of kylo ren.

yet, with one look at that pilot—bloodied, bruised, and dirtied—had brought back the suffering he’d endured as he tore himself away from ben and immersed himself in kylo ren. because poe had been his one true weakness, had always weakened him. he’d made him soft, gentle, nice, and kind—the complete opposite of what he was now. vengeful, power-hungry, bloodthirsty, and cruel. he didn’t respond to him as he straightened, squaring his shoulders and flexing his fingers, hearing the sharp crack of leather as he did so, jaw locked as he took a deep breath and turned back to face him. he made each word as sharp and harsh as he could.

”no. ben solo is dead. i ripped him apart, piece by piece, because he was weak and easy to manipulate. he loved too fiercely, to deeply, and so i destroyed him. you made him soft and you made him vulnerable.” the words were spat from his lips, fingers curling in on his palms. ”he was useless, and the galaxy is far better off without him in it. there is kylo ren, and that is it.” he’s already said too much—poe had probably figured it out in that mind of his by now, but he doesn’t care, just wants to hurt him, and to show him that ben—the precious boy he might’ve loved, who might’ve adored him once upon a time—is gone, and he isn’t coming back.

[danheng]

there was a heavy silence, tension lighting the air like kindling ready to be sparked and set aflame. ren stood facing away from him but either way there was no way poe could tell what he was feeling, for his mask acted as a wall of emotionless deception and disembodied dread. a menacing symbol of kylo ren, and apparently, the destruction of ben solo.

he'd been so alone when ben died. his ben, his sweetheart, the light that lit every day. poe had consoled himself day after day that maybe ben would come back- maybe they'd made a mistake and ben was still alive... but he'd never imagined anything like this. not under these circumstances. him, a resistance pilot, trapped in the cold clutch of the first order and ben solo no longer himself, but a twisted, abused iteration. the dark side of the force consuming him.

but then something seemed to chance. like the sharp snap of a string, everything changed. ren turned, raising himself into a more looming shape than before, hands squeezed tight and leather cracking with tense of his fingers. he snapped each word, hitting poe like sharp stabs of pain. he found himself sinking lower, eyes shut tight of involuntary panic. trying to hide from the truth; that ben solo was not himself anymore.

"no- that's not true- th-that's not-" the pilot was reduced to a stuttering mess, too much information flooding past his mental barriers at once. if ben was still alive, if he was the one standing before him- "please, ben- what happened to you?" why didn't you come back? the question left unspoken, the one poe begged not to bleed through whatever intrusive force powers ren possessed.