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ofcrownsandsnowflakes · 4 years

Text

Divergence

Pairings: Armitage Hux x Reader

Summary: Armitage Hux finds himself enveloped in a heated argument regarding their future with his childhood friend, now lover, Y/n.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pregnancy, angst, arguing, toxic relationship of sorts

From time to time, she enjoyed entertaining the idea that they were destined to spend eternity together. She enjoyed thinking that there was meaning to the countless years of having known each other, and the inability to remain apart even when common sense demanded so; but she was not blind nor oblivious to their circumstances.

She knew their childhood years were over, and she knew their political alliances pulled them in opposite directions. She knew their relationship was not appropriate, not rational. She knew he was aware of that as well, and yet, whenever they were together, neither of them could remember how to care about rationality.

Countless nights they had spent together, but none had been as fateful as the one yet before them. A slip in judgment now presented them with an unexpected complication. Before them stood a bifurcation of paths, decisions to be taken were forced upon them.

She had been pondering the subject for the best part of a week, envying slightly his blissful unawareness. The news, her news, were supposed to be joyful, but here she was filled with never-ending worry and dread. The fear of his reaction had kept her away from sleep, while the unavoidability of their political standings had cast a relentless shadow upon her happiness. Despite having always believed new life was to be celebrated, she now found herself unable to do so.

Leaning against the ruins of a former underground shelter, she observed as he made his way towards her. The redness of his hair contrasted wonderfully, at least in her opinion, against the green foliage and black sands of the planet. A small smile graced his features upon spotting her; he was glad to see her.

He had been worried ever since receiving the message asking to meet her quite urgently. Their encounters had always been carefully planned. Never had they tested their luck by seeing each other more than once every few months, or maintaining direct communication. That uncharacteristic message had prompted his fears of their relationship being exposed. However, seeing her standing amidst the white ruins, waving at him the same way she had done innumerable times, eased his mind and put most of his worries at bay. Whatever was wrong could be solved between them; the rest of the galaxy would take no part in it.

“Your hair is messy, Armitage. How atypical of you,” she said at his arrival, her smile unable to reach her eyes. A light blush tinted his cheeks as his hands combed through his hair, “it’s this cursed wind, haven’t found a way to fix it.” He took a step closer, cupping her face in his hands and placing a chaste kiss on her lips, “I’ve missed you, Y/n.” “I’ve missed you too.”

She turned around, breaking away from his embrace. Taking his hand, she urged him towards the rocks that had acted as a sitting spot for them so many times before. “Are you alright? Your message seemed quite distressed,” he began as he sat next to her. She lowered her head at his words, suddenly unable to utter the ones that weighed so heavy on her heart. “I’m…” her voice faltered as she lifted her tear-filled eyes. She turned away. She did not dare look at him while she told him. She did not want to see his anger, his disappointment.

“What is it, Y/n?” His voice, although stern, remained soft. He couldn’t avoid thinking that perhaps this was her attempt to inform him of her betrayal. He was well aware that betrayal, either personal or professional, was a possibility in their relationship, although not a probability. Or so he wished to believe.

She turned once again towards him. Immediately regretting her action, her heart ached at the sight of hurt in his eyes. Thoughts of betrayal were running rampant through his mind, she knew it, and she knew she had to fix it. She had to tell him, after all, it had been her who had called him there. “I’m pregnant, Armitage.”

Words could not begin to convey the myriad emotions passing through his mind once the information had left her lips. A pregnancy happened to be nothing short of one more item in his ever-growing list of problems. He was certain her life would be as inconvenienced by it as his would be, if not more, yet he knew her to be a sentimental creature.

Hurt, replaced by a veil of indifference, was long gone from his eyes. The rest of his face did a marvelous job of not giving away the turmoil in his mind. To her, anger now seemed a far better reaction than his apparent disinterest, for she knew such display had been reserved for his father and the First Order, never for her. The tears clouding her eyes made their escape across her face, her muffled sobs broke the quiet atmosphere.

Their relationship, and their friendship, had never been tainted by his ruthlessness. It did not mean she was oblivious to the nature of his work; she had seen first-hand the destruction of the Hosnian system and the expansion of the First Order. Yet, the atrocities had not been his decision, had they? She wanted to believe their love was stronger than their clashing ideals, even if the opposite evidence sat right in front of her. As she cried, she couldn’t help but think that, in the end, their differing allegiances would indeed separate them.

In spite of appearances, he was not indifferent towards her or the child. However, he hadn't found a way to reconcile his emotions with his background. He was a general of the First Order, involved in a sentimental affair and expecting a child with a Resistance leader. It was ludicrous. Still, he couldn’t deny the affection he felt for her. She had always been there for him, even when he joined the Order. She had cured the wounds inflicted by his father and by his superiors. She had loved him when he thought no one could, and, if he was honest with himself, he had loved her too.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, holding her shaking form in his arms, “it’s alright. We will be fine.” He would not abandon her, he would not commit the mistakes of his father. He would rather die trying to do right by her. “It will be difficult, I know, but we’ll find a way. We’ve always done.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to believe his words, but alas, she could not fathom a way in which they could be true. They could barely make it work for themselves as it was, bringing a child into the equation would simply escalate the fear and the longing. And it would not be fair on the child. She wanted her child to know its father, she wanted it to be happy, but keeping secrets and sneaking around would not contribute to that. “How?” she asked, reddened eyes reproaching his words. “How are we going to raise a child when we stand on different sides of a war?”

Surprised by the harshness in her voice, he was caught at a loss of words. He had no idea. He did not know the first thing about raising a child, nor did he know how their relationship had managed to last so long. Yet, he knew he was not ready to give her up, to give them up. “We’ll meet more often, or maybe we get a place on a far off planet where nobody knows us. I don’t know, Y/n.” He knew, of course, that there where details to work out, that it wasn’t so simple. At the moment, he was, however, more concerned with giving her immediate comfort; they would have time to make a comprehensive plan later, once she felt better.

“And no one in the First Order is going to notice your increased absences? Or we’ll continue, in the end, with the same sporadic meetings?” She broke away from his embrace. She had not intended for such sharpness to envelop her voice; she just couldn’t believe how readily he oversimplified their future. Could he not comprehend the complexity of every decision they both had to take from then on? The mere thought of provoking a rift between them made her heart ache, the last thing she wished was to drive him away. Yet, she needed to know whether or not she could rely on him.

“I said I don’t know, Y/n,” his words strained at the effort to remain calm, “we’re in no rush to figure it all out.” He looked at her, the tale-tell signs of the impending argument clear on her face. He let her continue, listening imperturbably to her rapid words, as he wondered what his next step should be. How would he show her his unyielding commitment towards her?

“What happens when I give birth? Or when I’m taking care of a crying newborn?” she asked, genuinely frightened of the possibilities. His presence during those moments was something she desired, and something she realized was too far beyond her reach. “Will you be there with me among the Resistance?” she was aware of the risk behind verbalizing such a thought, particularly in the demanding tone in which she had done so. His face, contorted in what she could only recognize as disagreement, confirmed the mistake she had committed. She took a cautious breath. “I need to know if I should make myself accustomed to the idea of doing it all on my own.”

He could see the struggle in her eyes. He saw her fear, her anguish, the inner debate of her mind trying to determine the worth of pursuing an argument. Long ago, they had agreed not to impose their ideals onto the other, not to pressure each other into changing loyalties. Her breaking of their rule showed him the agitation of her mind. His love for her, combined with a thoughtful analysis, brought upon a decision which, if correctly executed, could alleviate her concern and quell her distress. “Marry me, Y/n,” he spoke, chastising himself for his incompetence in any matter that involved his heart.

The abruptness of his proposal left her speechless, and it seemed it had left him in a similar state. A thick silence surrounded them. Nature stood still, awaiting her response. The wind, the waves, they all seemed motionless. To think she was not tempted to accept it would be deceiving herself. However, she couldn’t just pretend that marrying a general of the First Order would not turn her into a traitor in the eyes of the Resistance. Would she be able to cope with it? Could she tolerate seeing her child under the oppression of the Order? She grieved her inability to accept his proposal, but she would break her own heart if it meant sparing her child’s. “You know I can’t, Armitage.”

He had overlooked the probability of her negative. He had foolishly thought they would see eye to eye on the subject. He acknowledged the validity of her apprehensions, yet he deluded himself into thinking she would realize a life with him, within the Order, was in her best interest. “I’ll make sure both of you are safe and under the protection of the Order. You shall have anything that you wish for,” he took her hands in his, his eyes disclosed the hopefulness behind his statement.

“Except for my integrity, my freedom. I can’t just forget the Resistance and join the Order. I can’t condone their methods,” she tore her hands away from him. Expanding the distance between them, she settled her gaze on the shore. The waves, extraordinarily tranquil, appeared to portray the calm preceding the storm, they seemed to warn her of the imminent quarrel.

“Never mattered to you before, did it?” He was perfectly aware of the unkindness and accusations laced in his words, yet he was beyond exasperated by her unwavering loyalty to her principles. He could not understand how her concern could arise from the idea of becoming a traitor, after all, they had both been traitors to their respective organizations for as long as they had been together. “Are you unable to see how you betray your precious Resistance every single time you meet me here and refuse to shoot a blaster between my eyes?”

“What about you? Don’t you betray the Order in the same way?” her voice equally abrasive as his. “Or better yet, if you’re so unfazed by betrayal, why don’t you quit the Order and join the Resistance with me?” Her anger burned and consumed her caution. She would not be called a traitor, a hypocrite, by someone whose crimes equaled her own. Angry tears threatened to spill from her eyes, her fists clenched around the fabric of her gown.

He was in no better state than her. His narrowed eyes stared at her in frustration, his shoulders tensed at the effort of keeping himself from lashing out at her. He was angry at her, at the Order, at everything and anything in his sight. He walked closer to her, hating the way she recoiled from him. He closed the distance between them, grasping her forearms to keep her from walking away. “I will end this war for you, Y/n.”

His words, meant as a promise to her, carried with them a threat, not to her, but her ideals. He threatened to end everything she stood for, everything that had ever kept them apart. And he would do it in her name, in the name of their unborn child. Her breathing became shallow, her heartbeats erratic, at the unfolding implications of her actions. He still loved her, that much was clear, yet she had just ensured the destruction of the Resistance.

“Nothing will keep us apart,” he whispered, and with those final words, exact duplicates of the ones she had uttered when he had departed for the Academy, he left.

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some---words · 5 years

Text

falling out of love with you

I first heard you in the wake of a national tragedy, then rediscovered you a handful of months later in the midst of my own. I was sixteen and could already feel my world spiraling out of control in a hurricane of hormones and teen melodrama and the relentless march of time. Your voice pulled me out of the maelstrom, your words spoke to my core. I had never felt so understood.

Over the two long decades that followed, you became the soundtrack to my emotional evolution. I’ve lost count of the months spent listening only to you, poring over your expansive catalogue like a beachcomber with an embarrassment of riches underfoot. Where most artists gave only a handful of brilliance per album, yours were fit to bursting. I remember the year you put out the equivalent of four albums in a matter of months, and how the industry dismissed you as if each pressing didn’t contain multitudes. I saw you just before the first came out, at a surprise show--my fourth of yours, because every one of them was a gift and I had quickly become addicted. You sat down at a piano and sang about sinking into the ocean with a raw passion that made my heart weep with melancholy joy, like so many others that could only have come from you.

You were there each time I fell in love, and everytime I found myself scrambling to sweep up the scattered pieces of my broken heart. You were there when men used me and made me feel so very small. Time and time again, it was your voice that pulled me from the darkness. You were my sonic shoulder to cry on.

The last time I found myself obsessing over your work, I leaned into a fandom I had long resisted and through it met some of my closest friends in the world. Our lives couldn’t have been more disparate, our locations far flung, but we came together as women united by a common thread: a shared love of one man’s music--yours. We shared stories of heartache and loss, manipulation and trauma, and found that we all turned to you to get us through it. Sure, we’d heard stories that you weren’t who we hoped you were, but how could we believe it when your words and melodies made us feel the way they did?

And then something shifted, and it became ever harder to ignore the red flags springing up all around. Maybe it was the culture finally changing, opening our eyes to the abundant horrors that so many of our sisters had shared but never spoken aloud. Maybe it was your public meltdowns, and the growing pattern of you groveling in their wake as if throwing the tantrum of a child was dismissible in the light of day. I know that, for many of us, the last straw was your treatment of those you once claimed to love, unhinged reminders of experiences we all knew too well. Either way, one by one we found the veil lifted, and we hated what we saw.

So when the news broke and years of inklings were proven horribly true, many of us were saved only by the distance we had already created. But that didn’t save us completely. It didn’t save me. Not from the sharp pang of betrayal that hits anew each time a song of yours pops into my head. Not from the anger at myself for choosing to ignore the myriad signs that you weren’t worth defending. Not from the complex web of emotion that surrounds the realization that someone who was such an integral part of my life, my very being, now makes me ill.

I’ll never get my money back for the twenty-odd shows, or the albums I bought twice over after I’d worn the first copy out, or the books and magazines and posters and the like. I’m left with scores of memories I’d rather now forget, memories held so dear for so long. The times I watched you from the front row, spinning magic from your lungs and fingertips. The times we met and you were so much kinder than the rumors about you would have suggested. Like a love affair turned sour, these precious, joyous moments have been forever tainted by your monstrous actions, and I’ll never forgive you for that.

Years ago, I turned to one of your songs to help me finally let go of a man who had done me wrong time and time again. “I think,” you crooned over a delicate wash of guitar, “that I’m falling out of love with you.” Today I can honestly say that, when it comes to you, I have.

#words #writing #ryan adams #heartbreak #prose

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