#red wine supernova supremacy

[borderlesbian]

i want to be her chew toy

[withloue]

mini skirt and my go-go boots !!!

[atomicjellyb3an]

he would’ve loved Chappell Roan (specifically pink pony club)😔

[kyluxcantina]

Out of the ashes

Prompt: greeting Phasma after she hauls herself like a phoenix out of the flaming wreckage

I saw the prompt and this forced its way out ;) Utterly un-beta-ed, written in my second language, and after a glass or two of red wine.

Rage. White-hot, all-consuming, pure, unfiltered rage. Bypassing pain, propelling her into clawing her way up up up, inch by excruciating inch. Her entire existence narrowed into one searing, bright focus point of rage, vengeance, justice.

And underneath it all the unquenchable need for survival.

She took in the fallen soldiers, the devastation left in the wake of the traitor and his accomplice, and her fury nearly choked her. They were her troopers, her responsibility, her family. She remained upright for a moment through sheer willpower and rage, but eventually her libs gave out one at the time and she collapsed slowly, like a dying star caving in on itself, her emotion a supernova around her leaving behind a black hole big enough to eat a galaxy.

Afterwards, all she remembered from the early days on the confines of a the medbay were the mixed, revolting smell of bacta and disinfectant, muffled words spoken by unfamiliar and familiar voices (she assumed one of the voices was Hux’s), and at her very core the smoldering embers of her anger, ready to flame out into a wildfire at a moment’s notice.

And then, light. Slow, painful return into the awful reality of her injuries both physical and mental – she did not want to think about the sheer amount of death the fall of the Supremacy so soon after the fall of the Starkiller base, and she did not want to think about how her survival when so many others had died made her feel. And there were other feelings, too, after the Starkiller’s demise, buried somewhere deep inside her, surfacing only in the small hours of the night, making her curl up in her bed, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, clutching her pillow and shaking uncontrollably. She had an awful lot of vengeance and justice to exact on the universe. She would not, could not, let her fury die down, she felt that it was the only thing keeping her functional, so she clung to it almost desperately.

So it was, that when first General Hux and then the newly minted Supreme Leader came to visit her in her convalescence she regarded them both with narrowed eyes and quiet contemplation. Something had happened between the two men, something huge and horrible but only detectable by the minute changes in their demeanor and words left unsaid. They had suffered a loss almost as big as her, and while it might have been due to the change in the balance of power. Phasma had known them for too long to write this off with a reason as simple as this. She had heard the words they thought were said in secret, had felt the frisson between them, had witnessed the kisses given when they could not restrain themselves. She had kept it all a secret, had covered for them and in her heart had wanted them to find happiness with each other because she cared for them both. She had always considered them as parts of her family, too.

There was also the certainty in her, never spoken out loud nor even hinted at in her actions, that the Leader Snoke would eventually be the downfall of the First Order. He did not care for the cause nor the people giving their lives for it, all he wanted was some twisted form of personal glory and gratification. Phasma had known for a long time that the only way for the Order to thrive was to get the two most cunning and powerful beings in its service to work together and for the same goal instead of being forced into petty squabbles and fights for scraps of attention and praise. And if the Order was victorious, so would she be. If the Order would rise, so would she, out of the ashes of her guilt and fury and loneliness, into something better and brighter and not so horribly broken.

Fix them, and by doing so fix the floundering Order. Fix them, and fix her, find a focus for the rage eating away her very soul piece by piece. She had lost too much; her sacrifice had been too big for Ren and Hux to let everything to slip away in their inability to find a solution to their personal problems.

So when one day she woke up to find a unusually subdued Kylo Ren by her bedside, she quelled the fire inside her, reached out her one good hand (her trigger finger was intact, something she regarded with great joy and satisfaction), and squeezed his large fingers.

“Supreme Leader.” It was still difficult to speak but she made the effort. “Kylo. Tell me.”