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thetorturerwrites · 1 year

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Lamb Ch 15 - Dathomir

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

A/N: Well hi there. It looks like this beast still lives. I am unendingly grateful for your patience.

C/N: None

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Fourth man bled to life. At the fracturing of all that was, heartbreak and misery begat a new age. From the ashes of the gods came the greatest of Grandfather Sky Walker’s gifts. Mercy.

The world was red.

The red that is death.

But you did not want to leave him…

From dark déjà vu, you jolted awake. This time, however, it was not to the eternal gloaming of Hosnia but a jagged terrain cast pallid and somber. Pain radiated from the middle of your body, but you forced yourself to sit and then stand. You took stock, just as so many times before. Fingers and toes moved. Your back stretched and arched, though your muscles groaned for it. Whole…

…Mostly.

You looked around, finding only gray-scale badlands, a nothing landscape that boasted no defining features at all save a black cobblestone path stretching in the cardinal directions for as far as your dry eyes could see, though there was none here to walk the road. Panic gurgled. You could hear the bubbles in your throat because the quiet here was absolute, so absolute as to be terrifying. Nothing here lived. Even the air was dead, thick as smog.

Not for the first time since you crossed The Demarcation, you wondered what this meant for you. Devoid of hope was a feeling with which you were intimately familiar, but even the last time you’d felt its clutch, you’d been nestled safe within the rocky honeycomb Kylo made into his home. You winced at the very thought of him, lips trembling as you fought not to fall into all you’d surely lost. Closing your eyes, you let yourself wallow in the days gone by. Somehow, it filled you with something new - a determination to get back there to him.

“Over here, beloved.”

Your head swiveled so quickly you threw yourself into dizziness. You knew that voice, but it was off, just the wrong side of memory. How was that voice - how was she here ? Was she here at all? Or had you descended so fast into paranoid madness?

Turning, you found her seated upon a stack of round, flat rocks. Rocks that had not existed a moment ago. Amazed, you fell over yourself getting to her, filled with equal parts relief and dread. The back of your head buzzed that this wasn’t right, but she had been your salvation too many times before for you to forsake the chance to bury your woes in her arms again. You ran as best your bruised body could carry you and collapsed at her feet. The swish of purple fabric she so loved, the smell of flowers that soothed the yearning in your heart. You erupted into great heaving sobs because she was all you'd wanted since the day you dreamed the first dream of your planet's destruction. Her weathered hand cupped your cheek, and she smiled. Great Father, she smiled, and you felt young again, free and untroubled.

She was everything you remembered. You could face anything - any darkness, any fresh hell - so long as she was here, even if you did not know where here actually was. You pressed kisses into the wrinkled palm, willing your mind to accept this. Don’t break it. Don’t see the cracks. Your stomach, though, lurched. If she was here, and you were here, that made here…

"Nona? It's you, yes?"

But she was not simply she, and when you took a breath, a pause, you saw it. There was a sheen to her face, an inky ring around the irises that glowed in a way so strikingly similar to eyes you couldn't bear to picture. Those kind eyes you'd known since childhood had a depth to them now that gave you pause. Had it always been there? A vastness of knowing you’d never noted before. Were you only now old enough to see?

"Yes," she said, "And no."

Her voice was richer. No, that wasn’t it. Her voice wasn’t… solitary. Its timbre layered one voice upon another - one you remembered, and one that made your very cells pulsate. You knew confusion had taken over your features, changed wholly by anxiousness because the details of your most treasured relative were so, so close to right. But where her back spent a decade crooked, she sat upright without difficulty, and though her hair was as silver as it had ever been, it floated around her shoulders, fuller and star-touched like she'd swum in waters made of light.

Carefully, committed to the facade, not-Nona unfolded herself from the precarious perch and stood. In your lifetime, her soft body sagged over, keeping her at eye level with you. Now, she stood straight, a full head taller than you. She bent forward to help you up, and finally, the feminine facade fell away. It was his hand that clasped yours and drew you to your feet once more.

“You…”

A novel mix of horror and wonder churned in your heart. You dropped his hand as though it burned like ice, hissing and taking a step back. You refused to accept this truth, a stubborn line drawn in the sand because this was too far into the territory of gods. You vaulted from one insane explanation to another to explain the predicament - demon, hallucination, death fugue, Solo in disguise. Anything but what you knew to be the answer, but it was futile.

Silently, he waited, allowing you the time to argue with yourself. In response to your scowl, he smiled, but where it should have offered comfort, it made you angry. His stillness made you angry. His face, the way he clasped his hands behind his back patiently, the twitch of his mouth inside of the white goatee - all of it infuriated you because what you wanted - what you deserved - was the face he'd stolen.

That was the truth. The face you deserved to see, the one you’d endured so much to find in whatever version of peace she achieved, did not stare back at you.

"Did you wear her face for me, Great Grandfather? Or are you cruel like your son?"

You didn’t recognize your voice when it came. Lower and more indignant than ever before, it frothed in your throat, sizzling like acid. Beyond frustrated, ready to murder at the next contrary word said, you curled your fingers into fists, nails gouging at the tender flesh of your palms. The real Nona would roll over in her grave if she knew you spoke to the Maker of Heaven in such a manner, regardless of how deserving he was.

He, however, said nothing in response to your barb, though his eyes narrowed slightly. He knew which son you meant, which monster you compared him to, and he did not like it, though you doubted you were meant to know it.

“What is this place? Am I finally dead?”

If you asked him questions, maybe you wouldn’t unleash the years of pain you’d squashed into the bottle that was your gullet. Maybe you wouldn’t gouge his eyes out or fashion a weapon of your own tibia just to find out if he had a heart to stab. Somewhere in the middle of that tidal wave of rage, though, it occurred to you that you were doing the exact thing you’d done to Kylo daily since the moment you’d met him. The thought of your twilight god strangled the breath out of you, heartbreak shooting up into your temples and switching on the faucet behind your eyes. Your palm instinctively sought your belly, brow furrowing as fresh grief took root.

Wherever you were, Kylo was not, and you felt untethered from reality without him as your foundation.

Sky Walker cautiously pulled you closer, holding your shoulder to the center of his chest. You were so entrenched in your distress you allowed it. Who knew how long he’d give you this solace before disappearing to do whatever it is supreme beings do to pass the years.

“So many questions.” He chuckled, softly and obviously not meant maliciously. This time, you forced yourself to not flinch away. "I knew it would draw him like a moth to flame."

Coaxing you to walk, he led you along the eerie road.

“No, you are not dead. This is Dathomir. Many, the nuns for example, think that the demarcation is the line of Balance, but Dathomir is the true convergence of light and dark, life and death.”

He spoke as though this was a lesson and you his pupil. He gestured around as though he showed you the secrets behind the curtain, but you keyed on the only detail that mattered.

"You knew? Knew what?"

Your thoughts jumped so erratically that it was hard to fix one in the center of your mind long enough to spit it out. He’d known you would draw Kylo out? Had he sent you? Did Nona know? Your eyes must have been round as moons because when he looked back at you, Sky Walker chuckled again and patted your shoulder. But rather than offer you anything of value, he continued his lesson as though it was the only thing that mattered.

“He brings the dead here, and they decide if they will be born again or return to the chaos some other way to rest.”

Blinking rapidly, you decided that the only way to get the answers you wanted was to play along, play his game.

“Some other way?”

His face lit up at your sudden participation. His eyes twinkled, and his lips twitched in suppressed delight, an animation you recognized as a trait of Kylo's. You'd often wondered if they were born in Sky Walker's image, and the similarity in expression seemed testament to that fact. But where Kylo and Solo wore haloes of ebony, Sky Walker was adorned by an almost iridescent crown, a glow to his hair that stretched down into his beard as well. The smattering of freckles across his nose winked like stars, and though he was weathered, it was impossible to discern his age or even his general age range. His body was old, his face wizened, but he stood true, and he had no limp as he walked.

“There is no energy that exists that is ever wasted. The galaxy is one, chaos and peace, conscious and not. Everything that dies can live again, though awareness is not a requirement. Flowers are alive, but they are not mindful of it. Those choices are made here.”

You glanced around, seeing not a single soul, and tried to decide if Sky Walker was a liar or a lunatic. Pursing your lips, you tried your luck once more since this particular deity didn't seem to hate questions as much as your own. You pushed the thought of Kylo away because, if you meant to get back to him, you had to figure out where the fuck you actually were.

“Where is Dathomir? Hosnia is a physical place. Chandrila, too. But I’ve never heard of Dathomir nor where it could be located.”

Sky Walker smiled, clearly pleased with your logic. Leaning towards you, he outstretched his aged hand towards what a sable sky, shimmering to produce a picture of a place you knew well. High, vaulted ceilings. Stars trapped to dance inside wall sconces. A magnificent throne made of stone. You knew it all - only it was backwards. The answer clacked in your head like thunder, and you gripped the man’s shoulder probably far harder than you should.

“We’re inside the mirror!”

He laughed, more vigorous than his earlier chortle. The sound drew your full gaze, and you canted your head slightly to one side at the new puzzle he presented. His voice was heartier than before, if such a thing were possible, and he looked younger, too. The patchy goatee from only moments ago was fuller, more perfectly framing his filling-in face. Was it possible that he was de-aging? Is that a thing gods do?

“Mm. You may think of it that way if you wish. The obelisk is a doorway to Dathomir, yes. It lets me…” His face clouded, and he looked away. “It lets me be close to him without interfering.”

It was only one insignificant detail, a kernel of knowledge that should have skipped away like a pebble on smooth water, but it stuck in your craw. Your brow knit, and you paused. Sky Walker did not meet your eye, which only emboldened you to speak freely. You had literally nothing left to lose. What more could he take from you?

“Are you telling me you’ve been here the entire time? In Dathomir, whose doorway is in the fucking throne room?”

Your voice rose to a shout by the end of your inquiry, and Sky Walker’s face gave you all the answer you needed. Maybe it should have produced another emotion - awe, perhaps, at knowing a different world lay on the other side of the smooth obsidian - but the anger you’d momentarily misplaced came screaming back to the surface, and you were fresh out of reasons to be reserved.

“You’ve watched him search for you for generations. You watched him hurt? Watched him grow more and more weary? And you did nothing! You’ve let him stretch death across the galaxy as he hunted you, and you hid here like a coward in the goddamn throne room?!”

You beat your own thigh to keep from outright punching the Allfather. What right did he have to rest so easily while his son suffered?

“You left him! Alone and lonely, you left him to himself for all this time!”

Where your shrieks should have produced echoes, there was only a muted thud. The vacuum of Dathomir sucked up the emotion, leaving a lingering hollowness you felt in your joints. Doorway or not, your anger battered against the inside of the mirror but could go no further.

“I did.”

Sky Walker nodded somberly, pulling his shoulders back to stand fully upright. His chest expanded wide as he drew in a great breath, growing into his prime as he seemed to steel himself against your ire. He clasped now muscular hands behind his back and faced you. You felt compelled to shrink before this new version of him, but you forced yourself to keep the ground you’d gained. This was no old man. This was the Leader of Heaven - solid, capable, resolute - but you were a perpetual idiot, as Kylo enjoyed telling you, and you’d be damned to nothing if you let this man skate over his sins.

“Of my sons, Kylo has always been the stronger. Solo is impulsive, prone to hubris. He lacks scope, you see. But Kylo…” The Great Father smiled, clear fondness softening the lines of his face. “Kylo sees all. He saw even what I did not.”

“Impulsive?” You screeched and threw a hand out, motioning to what he’d clearly seen. “Try murderous? Genocidal? He wants to blot out the sun and replace it with himself. That is a bit more than hubris, and you damn well know it.”

Sky Walker sighed and turned towards the skyline mosaic more fully. You followed his line of sight as the picture shifted to show your body slumped against the base of the obelisk and Kylo mid-roar with half of Hosnia blasted into oblivion. You were the epitome of powerless, forced to watch as the picture moved, turning from snapshot to live reel in a blink.

It was pure agony.

Horrified, you watched as Kylo gripped his brother by the collar, barely acknowledging that half of the man’s head was gone. With a haggard face devoid of everything but hate, he gripped a bloody collar with bloodier hands and dragged Solo to The Demarcation and threw him out, purging the land he’d so meticulously curated of Solo’s uninvited pandemonium.

When Kylo returned to stand over you, jaw ticking and hands balled into fists, tears rolled in fat tracks down your dirty cheeks. You lifted a hand as though you could reach for him, but recoiled and turned away. Instinctively, you knew there was no going back. Dathomir offered only one choice - rebirth. Regardless of what form it took, you would re-enter the cycle and be separated from him forever.

“I can’t do this.”

You doubled over, crumpling to the ground amidst such sorrow you could not even sob. The tears flowed unchecked, but your chest and throat could produce no sound, no heaving. This was shock, absolute loss, and utter, utter failure. You’d only just told him you’d take up his place, but you never got the chance to even try.

“I’m not like them,” you wheezed, lifting pleading eyes upon the creature you suspected set all of this in motion. “Not like you. This is too much. Please…” Admitting defeat, you bowed your head, a husk of the fiery fighter you’d only just been. “Let me go.”

Sky Walker came to crouch beside you, gently placing his hands on your shoulder. Part of you hated that his nearness was peaceful, but you had no battle left to give this war.

“Something happened with you, sapling. Something I did not expect, but that offers us the opportunity to reshape the cosmos and, maybe, unbreak his heart.”

Your eyes throbbed - both from crying and trying to not - but you lifted them to his face and gaped in surprise. He positively was growing younger by the moment, for now he looked like a young man in his twenties, robust with full cheeks, red tinting his beard, and clear, calculating eyes.

He tipped his face up again, enticing your gaze to follow his to the new shapes swirling and coalescing. It was Kylo reaping, red vapor trailing after him, and you, curled up alongside a dying boy, whispering your prayer hoping to calm his panic. You remembered that day and the fantastic lack of control you had over your body at that moment. Even knowing the danger, even knowing Kylo might tear you to pieces for disobeying, you were compelled to do everything in your power to soothe fears you understood all too well.

“Look there,” he gestured to another patch of sky and a new chapter to the story.

Beyond that boy stood two men, not much older than the lad on the ground. Spontaneously, you knew they were his brothers, and they whispered the invocation in exactly the right pace with you. Each cried, but they did not try to shake their brother back to life. It was as though they could see you lying next to him, and they feared interrupting. They finished the prayer with you, knelt down beside their now lifeless loved one, and whispered thanks…to you.

Sky Walker smiled at your astonishment.

“They pray to you now, you know. They and their wives. Their mother. Their children. Everyone to whom those brothers shared the tale of Mother Death, who comforts the dying before her consort, The Ren, comes to claim them. Those whom he left untouched; they speak of you."

If your jaw were once attached to the rest of your face, you’d never have known it. Your mind tried to smash these mismatched shards together, but it was too much.

“No. That’s absurd.”

Sky Walker shrugged, dropping to sit next to you, cross-legged and lanky. His clothes sagged around his slender limbs, and his hair hung shaggy around a smiling, carefree face. It occurred to you that you were running out of time to ask him what the hell was happening to him. He was a teenager now, no older than the dying boy on the hill and unbecoming with every second that passed.

“Maybe,” his adolescent voice cracked - half youth, half rich - the blending of boy and man. “But there was a time when nobody prayed to my sons, and then one day, they did. Faith changes.”

He touched your shoulder again, and his boyish features were so earnest you nearly wept.

“And now, faith includes you.”

You blinked. And blinked again. And again. Because none of this made any sense. You searched Sky Walker’s face for answers he didn’t seem rushed to provide and found it curious to be seeking galaxy-sized guidance from a child.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the Second Age of Gods is here,” he grinned as though he’d single handedly caught it in his own hands, like a fish. But when you only stared at him, he shook his head as though you were the daft one and he wasn’t talking foolishness. “It means that if you agree, you will take my place.”

He was practically giddy, and you could do nothing - absofuckinglutely nothing - but stare at this genuinely unhinged almighty. But if you did this, maybe that meant you’d get to go back to Hosnia, to Kylo. The possibility made your palms itch, and even in this temperate atmosphere, your neck sweat.

“Agree? Agree to what?”

“Balance is not so simple as light and dark, is it?” The voice talking to you now was eerily young, a ghost-child who knew untold secrets but died far too early. It was haunting. “It took me too long to learn that, but it is too great of a burden, is it not? We must stretch it throughout space and time.”

The Great Father was now desert brown hair hanging over clear blue eyes, chubby cheeks tinted rose at the high points. He was grabby fingers curled into your sleeve and the echo of forever hidden in his child’s tone. He was almost…almost undone.

“You will bear him many children, sapling, and each one will carry a piece of me - no you! That is the agreement. You will help him with his task, and care for the dying until he can put down the saber. And we will bless the cosmos with a new generation of caretakers.”

What he offered was beyond comprehension. It was massive and complex. You had a million questions, but there was no more time. You understood that as Sky Walker de-aged, that was the clock on your decision. You had this moment - and this moment only to choose. You could choose to re-enter the fray of life, try to find peace as something simpler and let Sky Walker devolve into nothing. Or, you could choose a different chaos - one that was frenetic in the most exciting way and came with intimacy you’d never dreamed possible and kisses that held the very meaning of life, the point of everything.

Your spirit suddenly felt too big for your body, and you thought for sure you’d combust or learn to fly any second because there truly was no choice at all, was there? All he had to do was tell you where to leap.

“What do I do?”

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #lamb

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juuls · 1 year

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Juulna’s 2021 Multi-Fandom Fanfiction Rec List - Part Three

(Yes, I realize this is a year late, but this year's been a bit nuts. I still hope you enjoy these fics anyway!)

Based only on what I’ve read with my own eyes this year!

Follow me on my journey into what, at times, was…

…actually rather calming! Perhaps you can find some comfort and entertainment, fluff and angst and romance and friendship, smut and a distinct lack of it, space adventures and fantasy and modern adventures, serial killers and good guys, redemption and reconciliation and learning to become someone completely different — there is so much here I read that stuck with me over the past year, and the 2021 Fanfic Reading Challenge ( @fanfic-reading-challenge ) allowed me a new way to keep track of all of my favourites. So props to that event! Definitely participating again (considering I run the event, yeah, that's probably a given lol, but full disclosure).

Without further ado, here were my 2021 fic favourites!

Fandom: Star Wars

Kylo Ren/Reader:

Love Is Blind by @elmidol

After having been temporarily blinded due to an injury, you learned new skills. These you continued to hone after you had healed, and so you took to wearing blindfolds.

Supreme Leader Snoke deemed these skills useful for the Knights of Ren, which led to your quarters changing to those beside Kylo Ren's. Slowly you came to understand him. And, in his own way, he came to know you as well.

Reylo:

Gambits by bitterbones

In which an attempt is made on the life of galactic senator Ben Organa-Solo, and Rey is assigned to be his personal bodyguard. Their biology makes them fast enemies, and Rey struggles to balance her duty as a Jedi with the rivalry forming between them. Perhaps they even hate one another. Until suddenly they don't.

*Then he was moving through the darkness, and for all the training she had endured, Rey froze when faced with his shadow. He caught her jaw in his hand, and Rey shivered at its breadth. His hands were soft, his grip firm. That confusing scent assaulted her again, stronger this time as its source breathed in her face.

“But understand this, little Jedi, you are a guest in my territory. Any omegas I bring back are mine . I am larger than you, I am stronger than you. You listen to me , are we clear? I am dominant, between the two of us. I am the alpha .”

With a few steadying breaths she managed to dampen her alpha response enough to speak, “Get out of my face.”

The Stormtrooper's Handguide On How To Handle An Insufferable Boss by riffraffes

“We... have a favor to ask,” one of the Stormtroopers says slowly, almost sheepishly. The blank white faces of the masks stare back at her, but Rey can feel waves of embarrassment and fear rolling off of them.

Rey doesn't have all day to pander to them, so she lets out a low growl, daring them to continue.

“Can you please fuck Kylo Ren, already?” comes out desperately, and it's got to be the absolute last thing that she had ever expected to hear.

The Escort by @grlie-girl

Rey, a college student living in Chicago, gets roped into the world of high-end escorting. It’s Thursday night and she is on her way to meet her newest client: a man named Kylo Ren.

Delicious Ambiguity by Juulna

Rey and Kylo Ren repeatedly encounter each other in battle over the years, fighting desperately for the causes that they believe in even as they both grow in strength - and fight off growing curiosity. Yet when Kylo tells Rey that she's pregnant via the Force, will that affect their interactions? And will it change Kylo irrevocably?

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ― Gilda Radner

They say that only the dead have seen the end of war by Juulna and @cuthian

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.”

Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all.

“Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.”

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

The Shadow Knight by six4au

There are worse things than being a ghost. Walking through walls is kind of fun, and eavesdropping on conversations is certainly convenient, but how do you get the attention of someone who can't see you? Ineptly, it turns out.

Fandom: The Witcher

Geraskefer:

A history of dragons in popular culture by @deputychairman

“I wanted a point of comparison,” she said. “Because he looks at me like he really – loves me, or something.”

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, resigned. “He does that sometimes. Isn’t it a bitch?”

They were half way through the second bottle by now, and their shoulders were touching. She could feel the hard line of Jaskier’s thigh against hers. She was very aware of the chest hair visible at the open neck of his shirt, and how he could probably see down her dress from here. She hadn’t moved to put any distance between them and neither had he.

“Why are we still talking about him? I don’t care about Geralt of Rivia any more,” lied Yennefer.

“Nor do I,” Jaskier lied back.

A Twist in Time by didoandis

When Jaskier looks over the witcher has his eyes shut tight, his whole body seeming pained. Jaskier realises he wants to soothe him, and the strength of feeling surprises him. He’s been too long without company.

“What happened?” the witcher says finally.

Jaskier blinks. “That’s quite a big question. I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

“With Nilfgaard,” the witcher clarifies, growling slightly. “It shouldn’t – it didn’t happen like this.”

In 1240, Jaskier the bard leaves Posada earlier than planned because of a devil in the mountains.

In 1263, three years after Nilfgaard conquers the north, Julian Pankratz, viscount of Lettenhove, hires a witcher and learns about the path his life should have taken.

This is not an AU.

Smother by @funkzpiel

The first time it happened, Geralt was alone. Not alone as he once had been. Not alone because he chose to be alone. Alone, because he drove them away. No one would have a man who used ill-gotten wishes and spewed nothing but poisonous barbs from their mouth when you tried to comfort him. Alone, in a tub of water to scald the ache from his muscles, he wondered why it did little to relieve the pain. Why still he ached. Why it coalesced around his lungs like a thorn bush.

And then the coughing started.

blood on the marble walls by @ghostinthelibrarywrites

After being ambushed during a hunt, Griffin witcher Yennefer wakes up in a cell with two other witchers— a Cat named Jaskier and a wolf named Geralt. Held captive by a mage who wants to use them to create more witchers, there seems to be no chance of escape. But as Yennefer grows closer to her cellmates, she realizes that she’ll do anything to get the three of them out of this alive.

Series: buttercup by bloomerie

Jaskier might run with witchers and witches, but she is, in the end, human.

Constellations by @penny-anna

"I know how soulmarks work. If a person has two names writ upon them by destiny, then one is to guide them to their true love and the other to their worst enemy. Everyone knows that." / "That’s an old wives’ tale."

When Jaskier was fourteen, two names appeared on his skin: 'Geralt' and 'Yennefer'.

Rumor Has It by @cardamomdaydream

The school staff can't help but wonder about Ciri's stupidly hot parents.

The Tale of Jaskier's Grudge Against Historians (and how they gave him his happy ending anyway) by notebooksandlaptops

[Text Sent From Ciri] Is there a reason why a love letter to Yen and Geralt is in the British Museum signed from you?? -C

[Text Sent to Ciri] Because Historians are nosey pricks. Do NOT tell your parents. -J

[Text Sent From Ciri] ;) – C

The winking face of a semicolon and a bracket stared up at him, composed of unforgiving pixels. She wouldn’t, would she? No. No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

-///-

Or, an exploration of the reason (immortal) Jaskier hates historians (hint: it's because they keep stealing his shit and putting it on display)

Geraskier:

The Witcher Soldier by @avoidingaverage

Geralt barely managed to slam the pommel of his sword up in a glancing blow that shattered the metal latch holding the Soldier’s mask in place. The Soldier rolled into the movement with a dancer’s grace and came to his full height just as easily. For a moment, his hands reached up to run over the exposed skin, before he slowly turned to face Geralt once more.

The Witcher froze in a mixture of horror and near-frantic hope.

He stared into the eyes of a dead man and whispered, “Jaskier?”

The Soldi--the bard frowned at him in confusion and spoke with a voice rough with disuse,

“Who the hell is Jaskier?” ___________________________

Or, the Winter Soldier AU.

Series: Meet Death Sitting by @bomberqueen17

"OK this series has been going on for 2 years now and I should summarize it better.

The first part is several decades of, largely, Geralt and Jaskier's interactions, as they both fumble together toward some kind of meaningful understanding. That section largely concludes with a Jaskier/Geralt/Yennefer endgame.

Then there's a time jump, and the series picks up after the events of the Witcher 3 games. I follow Lambert as he copes with grief, and Keira as she learns new things about herself, and the lives they make.

I decided to tell the story of how Ciri became Empress after W3, which intersects with Keira and Lambert's adventures; I read the books somewhere in this and got invested in some of the themes they brought up. And entangled with this, I got interested in the politics of the North, especially the Upper Aedirn Free State and the threads laid down in the Witcher 2 game that didn't exactly get resolved in Witcher 3, and so I have several stories dealing with that thread, which will intersect with the other stories in the same timeline."

Fandom: Hannibal (NBC)

Hannigram:

Philia by @gweezle

Getting into Jack Crawford's Forensic Psychology class was a dream come true for Will Graham, until he learns that his final assignment is to attend twelve interviews with the notorious serial killer, Hannibal the Cannibal, in order to unravel his mysterious past.

Even as he grows closer to the truth, he also grows closer to Dr. Lecter, and the doctor is very eager to get to know this young man who thinks like a murderer.

The Unknown Prince by HissyTheDangerNoodle

Will Graham has days to find an alpha or he's done for. As if his life could be any more like a tragic opera.

Dévorer by @tauuuriel

He's always intense, always focused, but this is different. He's looking at her, and not just at her skin or her dress or hair or face or even the necklace he so lavishly doled out to her - he's looking at her soul, and she knows, just as she knows that yesterday someone died at the hands of an abusive husband, that he sees the way she's opened up like a flower in the sunlight, chasing off the dark shadows and revealing her true self.

A Perfect Set-Up by purplesocrates

Hannibal leans in slightly now, apparently intrigued. 'Well, the killer attacks single omega’s usually after being seen with someone high profile, many of them psychiatrists, as I’m sure you’re aware, Doctor. That’s the MO.' Will feels a sudden, very strong desire to run out of the room, maybe even the building. 'You would like us to be bait,' Hannibal states with a ghost of a smile that Will decides to ignore. 'Yes, quite frankly. You’d both be wearing a wire, and we’d have eyes on you at all times,' Jack explains to Hannibal, who is now actually smiling. ‘I thought this would be a good move and also allows us to keep an eye on you Doctor, after all, he may escalate to hurting alpha’s,’ Jack reasons. ‘At this stage, all we’re asking is that you have dinner.’ 'I’m sure we can manage that,' Hannibal says, looking at Will with a smirk that makes Will blush bright red.

Bright Hair About the Bone by MissDisoriental

Trapped in a system where omegas are little more than trophies to be bought and sold, Will Graham has done the unthinkable by escaping a forced bonding. Already in high demand as a profiler, Will's determined to find freedom on his own terms.

For Hannibal Lecter the outlook is far more straightforward: a slow, systematic seduction of the most uniquely captivating omega he's ever encountered.

As the shadow of a new and terrifying serial killer falls over Baltimore, the stage is set to redefine all accepted meanings of passion, temptation, horror and beauty – and to discover the ecstasy of a genuine love crime.

Mark me not a Savage by @katherinekrawl

When Will opens Hannibal's letter, it wakes something primal locked inside of him. He doesn't understand it, but what he does know is that he has to go to Baltimore hospital for the criminally insane, and he has to go now.

Dear Will. He could still see the words, written in the curly elegance of Hannibal's hand, burning behind his eyelids. He breathed deeply through his nose to try and calm the unsteady flutter of his heart. A deep breath. One that clawed at his nose, one that penetrated his nostrils like a liquid, a smothering sting he felt intruding behind his eyes.

One. Deep. Breath.

And then it took him.

The Borderland State by @nekosmuse

Three years after Hannibal's arrest, Will Graham stands on the front porch of his Georgian seaside home and watches twin headlights navigate the winding stretch of his lane. There is only one reason Jack Crawford would travel all this way, in the rain: Hannibal Lecter has escaped from prison, and no one knows where he is.

Written for the Hannibal Kink Meme prompt: Will figured out Hannibal was the Chesapeake ripper, resulting Hannibal's imprisonment and a complete breakdown for Will. A few years later, Hannibal escapes from prison. Despite the risk, the first thing he does is go after his Mongoose. Give me obsessive, possessive, creepy as hell Hannibal who still wants Will for his own.

Series: When the Devil Smiles Back by @fancybedelia

Four years after his escape, Hannibal Lecter is once again imprisoned at the hospital in Baltimore. He's the same as ever, except that he refuses to discuss Will Graham, who there hasn't been a trace of in years. When the Buffalo Bill killings start, FBI trainee Clarice Starling is sent to interview him, and Hannibal has his interest piqued. But it’s not for reasons anyone would suspect, and as usual, his motivations are all about Will. A remix of Silence of the Lambs, where Clarice finds herself occupied not only with catching Buffalo Bill, but with unraveling the mystery of what exactly happened to Will Graham. And Hannibal knows more than he’s letting on about both.

Molly & Freddie, background Hannigram:

TKO by @sidnihoudini

Molly deals with the aftermath.

Frowning, Molly turns to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard. As she slides them from the cupboard she asks, “You think they’ll come back?”

“It isn’t likely they’ve left,” Freddie explains, eyes trailing over Molly’s hands as she sets the mugs down and pours their coffee. “Jack Crawford is looking for them in Florence. Hannibal’s ex-psychiatrist turned up a week ago missing a leg. You tell me what continent they’re on.”

The mug Molly is holding clatters against the counter top loudly, and coffee sloshes everywhere.

“Excuse me?” Molly finds herself laughing, sharp voiced and flabbergasted. She turns again, enough to see Freddie, smirking and staring back at her from the kitchen table.

Fandom: Humans Are Weird

Humans are Weird: Shorts by @thewildwaffle

What if when we get to space and we find out that all our movies, stories, etc. where humans are weak and (honestly) pathetic compared to most of the species in the galaxy, were wrong. What if we are actually the strong ones? The crazy ones? The hard-to-kill ones? The dangerous ones? Or maybe even the adorably cute ones? The ones that will out-progress most other species because we take seemingly too big/stupid risks and it pays off? Or we are very good at looking at problems from different perspectives. etc. You get the point.

Humans are my favorite mythical creature by @xandurielx

Short stories about humans on the galactic scene, some from alien points of view and others about these mythical tiny juggernauts. Brought over from tumblr and added to when possible.

Boldly Go by @cheezygoddess

[this was originally written as a fanfiction for Ultimate Spider-Man, however after much consideration and input from readers I believe this reads better as an original work] (dedicated to Audio and WebKat for giving me the idea). --- Sehmal and his fellow 'guards' were hand selected. Mainly for their ability to be surprised or alarmed without going into shock and dying. Secondarily because they had no bonded partners to distress if they died anyways. And only lastly because they studied aliens.

He just wished he'd been told before volunteering for this expedition that it was for the study of humans.

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/SG-1

McShep:

Decade by canis_lupus

Ten years ago, an expedition left for Atlantis. They were never heard from again.

Decreasing Radii by @cathalins

An alien device forces John and Rodney to do something they wouldn't do otherwise. The aftermath is not easy. But sometimes, not-easy leads to good things.

Happy by crysothemis

"Wait," John said, because this had to be a joke, didn't it? "You know Ronon, but you don't know me? What the hell did that thing do to you?"

Weddings, Plural, and a Yak by @cesperanza

By the eighth time John Sheppard married Rodney McKay, they were old pros at the wedding thing, having weathered not only an Ouishan blood wedding, but also a twelve-hour Avalonian handfasting, a Malanese necklace exchange, and a Thurtu joining ceremony that invoked a fire god and featured seven kinds of cake.

Series: The History of Rome by @indygodusk

From Part One: When the IOA task General O’Neill to find a command staff for Atlantis, he delegates the selection to SG-1. On paper, they’re the best of the best. Unfortunately, the IOA won’t go for it because there’s one big problem: they’re all women.

Dr. R. Meredith Mckay is the leading expert on Ancient technology and a genius. Being a woman is merely incidental, or at least it should be. Major John Sheppard is a disgraced pilot. He doesn’t want any excitement in his life, but alien spaceships and hot scientists are hard to resist, especially when that scientist is Rome.

Written by the Victors by @cesperanza

Caroll, Franklin R. Atlantis Revisited. New York and London, Routledge, 2011. Chapman, Denise. Several Kinds of Genius: The Life of Rodney McKay. NY: Harper Perennial, 2015. Croft, Rosalind. City of Spires: A Memoir. Toronto: The Mercury Press, 2009. Dugan, Paul. A Political History of Atlantis. Oxford: OUP, 2012.

Fandom: Julie & the Phantoms

AlexReggieWillieLuke & Julynn endgame:

Series: An Anchor, a Port in the Storm by @cuthian

"Home should be an anchor, a port in a storm, a refuge, a happy place in which to dwell, a place where we are loved and where we can love." Marvin J. Ashton

From Part One:

“How do you even know you wanna kiss a guy?”

And later, Alex wouldn’t be able to justify, even to himself, what made him say it, but the words that came out of his mouth were, “I don’t know. Just kiss me, see how that feels.”

Reggie’s eyes snapped open.

--Alex/Reggie prequel to Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure OR How Two Himbos Explored Their Sexuality Together

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mortyvongola2-0 · 1 year

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I saw the the template and had to try it~ I drew the Naruto OCs of my discord friends, who I love very much~ please forgive my bad handwriting 😅 (and how bad I draw men, I need more practice)

Rukia Hatake belong to @justmyownreality

Kurono Uzumaki and Mitsu Uchiha belong to @therantingfangirl

Hotaru Sarutobi and Yukine belong to @hashira-mal

Riza Yamamura belongs to @elmidol

#mortyvongola2 art #mortyvongola2 oc #mortyvongola2 moots #naruto art #naruto oc #naruto oc art #Naruto

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maybe-your-left · 2 years

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🌻 If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog 🌻

i love angst :)

i have 2 doggies that i love with all my heart!

i have 3 cardboard cutouts of Adam Driver and 2 of the Bad Batch clones in my home office! :)

im a v boring person with random things that sometimes people find interesting. Thank you Elmidol! miss you babe!

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 2 years

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Tagged by @butterbabyflapjack here's a list of my ten favorite characters!

1. Han Solo (original)

2. Yue from CardCaptor Sakura

3. General step on me Hux ft boyfriend Kylo Ren

4. Lahabrea

5. Emet-Selch

6. Dante Sparda

7. Ranni

8. Khonshu

9. Rowan

10. Hythlodaeus (no i dont have a type)

Tagging: @elmidol join meee

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bitacrytic · 2 years

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This is not an ask for kinnporsche but the thing is that this series triggered a memory in me. I know that the og material of the series was a fanfic of some sort and the VP thing reminded me of another fic I read some years ago. I don't know if you like star wars or if you are into reader insert stories but there is a fic by author elmidol that kind of has the premise of the novel vegas/pete had in the beginning.

This fic doesn't brush aside the violence, it doesn't excuse anything, it is very very dark, intense and not in a sexy kind of way, "bdsm" kind of way. No. It is something that kind of raws you emotionally with a relationship dynamic that had a horrific start, is horrific in general, which constantly addreses the shit, but the characters involved do mirror each other. So if you aren't disgusted by kylo ren, not icky about female Y/N fics, and want to read a very mature take on the captor/captive stuff. You can give it a try. It's named three blind tooke and it is on ao3 by author elmidol. 10/10 would reccomend (for those who want to read shitty ship dynamics).

#kinnporsche #vegaspete

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eddiesfaerie · 3 years

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Pet

Summary: You accompany the Supreme Leader to one of his meetings. Unsurprisingly, you become desperate for attention. (2.2k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, noncon/implied noncon, f!reader, exhibitionism, memories of sex lol, thigh riding, canon typical violence, violence against reader??, Kylo Ren is not nice, choking, slapping, mentions of blood, bondage i guess (let me know if i missed anything!)

@elmidol: Kylo + “Tell them to fuck off.” okay so maybe i went off with this request... i literally couldn't help myself so i hope you enjoy!!!

The transparisteel of the throne room is always cold beneath your knees, you flinch anytime your thighs come into contact with it if you shift your position too much. It often left you with purpling bruises on your kneecaps, ones that never seem to fade anymore.

You accompany the Supreme Leader in any and every meeting he wants you in, which as of late, has been to every single one. If he asks for you, you’re there. At this point, you assume it’s just some form of punishment; because as much as you’re expected not to speak, you’re expected to stay awake and attentive.

Half the time you let your mind wander off into some fantasy. Sometimes it involves the Supreme Leader, remembering how he fucked you the night before, wondering if he’d do that thing with the Force again.

Other times it was about escaping. You were punished by him for both sorts of daydreams. Now you just try to keep your mind as blank as possible. Sometimes you almost manage to reach a meditative state if the meetings are long enough.

The air of his throne room is cold. Everyone else is dressed normally, of course. You don’t doubt that you’re the only one shivering in your own flesh. The thinnest scrap of useless silk cascades down your body, completely see-through and hides nothing of your body for anyone who dares sneak a glance in your direction.

Besides the scrap of material you think someone referred to as a dress once, the only other thing you wear is your collar and chain - a heavy, thick metal, one they definitely use on the ships and TIE fighters, you’ve concluded. It’s sturdy and basically indestructible to anyone who wasn’t Force sensitive.

The metal was branded ungraciously with anything but fancy letters or delicate swooping and curling. No, your Supreme Leader didn’t care to spoil you with niceties. Thick capital letters branded on to the front of the collar spelt out R-E-N.

Ren.

You're his. His thing, his object. Whatever he wants you to be, you became that. You belong to him. And you’ve long since accepted that. Once you stopped struggling, it became easier and at times… enjoyable.

You also think that the Supreme Leader’s become more comfortable around you as time has passed. He’s not as harsh with you anymore, not nearly as cruel as your first few weeks with him. He was nowhere near easy, or nice, or kind, or loving. He was none of that, but you were starting to like how sharp his edges were, how cold he could be.

It became a little game of yours; seeing how long it could take for you to crack him on certain nights, how long until he let you massage his shoulders, his arms, his thighs or let you suck his cock on your own accord. It’s rare but it actually works sometimes. Sometimes he lets you in.

If he’s tired enough, fucked out enough, or just had enough, he’ll let you do as you please, like a little fish cleaning up after the shark’s mess; he’ll let you have some scraps.

Sometimes, he hand feeds you the scraps. Like right now.

Your head is resting on his thigh as he sits back extremely reclined, leisurely, unbothered yet so, so bored. And his hand is on your skull, fingers scritching at your scalp.

It was intoxicating, he was intoxicating. You could fall asleep just like this -

But you can’t. The rule. The rule! You have to stay awake even though he’s visibly slacking right now, probably dozing off to some fantasy as he mindlessly scratches at your head.

You sneak a peek up in his direction only to find his eyes already on you. You nearly squeak as you look away, back at the people congregating in his throne room for whatever ‘important’ reason.

His eyes burn like suns, they welt and blister your skin and you try to clear your mind, making it a place of disinterest to him so he doesn’t feel the urge to go swimming in and around your thoughts as he so often does.

A quiet murmur resonates throughout the room, coming from no direction in particular, it’s just simply there. It’s the incoming of his voice through the Force, you know this now, you’ve become accustomed to it. It ripples towards you like tiny waves in a pond before you hear his voice clear and deep in your head.

“Come.”

His hand steadily leaves your scalp, coming to rest gently on his thigh; his way of asking you to come sit on his lap. He’s never asked this of you while in a meeting before, he never really cares to give you that much attention, fearing it'll give you an ego, make you think you're special or something.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, uselessly debating over something you have no say in.

Having already wasted enough of his energy on asking you politely, the Supreme Leader pulls on your chain, sending you hurling up off the ground and straight into his lap. You make an ugly noise, one of surprise and fear as you fall into him almost gracefully thanks to the tiny invisible touches of the Force along your skin.

He steadies you against him with one hand on your waist and the other pulling your chain tight, pinning your back to his wide chest. You straddle only one of his enormous thighs - bare cunt pressed flushed to the rough material of his pants - and he keeps you there, holds you still while you try to regain your breath from being moved so quickly yet so effortlessly.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out the several pairs of eyes that are taking in the scene before them, trying to tame your nerves and swallow down your shame and embarrassment. You're so visibly flustered, no doubt the Supreme Leader's getting a kick out of this.

You hear more rippling murmurs approaching you. Then a smooth leathered hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh tight in his crushing grip.

“Eyes open, pet.”

You hesitate too long, still trying to regain your breath. That same hand on your thigh comes down hard, smacking your skin and letting the sound of slapped flesh and your wanton cry float through the room.

You try to curl towards him, to hide yourself in his broad frame but he holds you and your chain tight. His voice fills your head.

“You do as I say.”

You begin to answer him with a nod of your head but he cuts off your attempt.

“Out loud.”

You close your eyes and take in a deep, shuddering breath. Nothing could have prepared you for this unique type of degradation today. “Yes, sir.”

Only a few heads turn, no one daring to stare at you for too long. Like he had called you, you were his pet, that granted you some level of security.

The Supreme Leader makes some sort of contented sound with his throat. Whoever was speaking continues on with their speech while you finally manage to come down from such an overwhelming ordeal.

His hand stays on your thigh, tenderly massaging the flesh where he had hit you, emphasizing the sweet sting and letting it resonate throughout your body until it finds its way to your clit. The little pearl buzzes, needy for attention but you refrain from begging for mercy, for him to finish you off.

It's too easy for him to get you worked up. He must have been experimenting on you or something, like Pavlov's dogs or whatever. Anytime he touches you, even in the slightest, it sends you reeling for more, it turns you into some desperate whore, needy for whatever he would give you, whatever he deems you worthy of. Whether it was his spit or his flaccid cock in your mouth, you take it and accept it eagerly-

“Quiet.”

His sudden booming voice fills your head and sends you squeaking a silent apology back to him, your hips involuntarily jerking on his thigh. He pulls on your chain again, your back becoming flush with his chest, the length of your pussy dragging along his thigh leaving an embarrassingly sticky trail in its wake. You keen at the sensation, wondering if he was doing this to you on purpose.

“Doing what?”

You huff out a non-response, telling yourself you would roll your eyes right now if it wouldn’t get you-

“Punished.”

You audibly groan, rocking your hips onto his thigh on purpose this time. Fuck, he was so infuriating, so difficult to deal with. You’re thankful you’re just his plaything, not someone who has to deal with him professionally. He’s impossible.

You ignore the heads that turn in your direction this time and focus on the unsatisfying clench of your pussy around nothing. You know he feels it, feels the way your pussy is throbbing with its own heartbeat for him right now. He knows how desperate you are, he must…

Silence.

No response from him.

Maker, you could cry right now. He's usually so easy to rile up. So easy to frustrate, to annoy, to anger.

Yet he gave you no bruising grip on your thigh or waist, no warning for you to stop. Nothing.

His hand retreated from your thigh and now lounged on the armrest of his giant throne. His other hand doing the same. You feel the warmth radiating off of his chest leave you as he leans back against the throne. He was spreading himself out so wide and so far away from you.

You know he must still be wandering around in your mind, he has to be. There was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose.

So you project.

You imagine all the ways he’s taken you, all the places and surfaces he’s bent you over just to relieve his tension, his anger, not caring if you came or not. You often did but it was never with any special care from him, just the pure shock and intensity of his fat cock, impaling you over and over again until you couldn’t help but cum all over him and sob from overstimulation, begging for more despite the pain, despite the blood-

The lights in the room flicker and whoever’s speaking stutters at the sudden distraction, but then continues on discussing… whatever it was they’re discussing.

You continue as well, remembering all the different way he’s punished you: for accidentally chanting his name as if in prayer when you’ve become so cock drunk and fucked out that it was the only thing that you could possibly think of.

Kylo, Kylo, Kylo.

You remember how he’s slapped you, hit you with the unforgiving and weighted metal of his lightsaber hilt. How he’s bruised you, burned you, marked you with his teeth, his lips, his weapon. You remember it all and you shamelessly rut yourself against his thigh, the building pressure in your clit making your mind blank to anything else except getting yourself off on him.

Fuck, you need him. You need him so badly, need him like the moons need their planet, like a planet needs their all devouring sun, a celestial body to rotate around or else they become meaningless, drifting off into space without a serving purpose.

Your body withers against his, your back threatening to arch off his chest if it weren’t for the death grip he’s got on your chain right now, keeping you in place like an obedient dog.

The lights continue to flicker. The muruming waves return and you scramble for what’s about to come next.

“Tell them to leave.”

His voice is steady yet it crackles with hopeful embers threatening to combust into something fiery and deadly.

What?

The lights in the room buzz loud and shine brighter than they ever have, like the stars in the sky before something magnificent happens. They shriek with strain until they burst, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room as they burn out, no doubt cutting people in the process.

A figment flies by your cheek and slivers your skin. You hiss at the contact, feeling something hot and thick roll down your cheek in its wake.

“Tell them," his voice booms, "to fuck off.”

“L-leave.” You speak, voice small, unsure and terrified. You’re not certain if anyone even heard you based on the minimal reaction you got. A few heads turn, surprised to hear the timid voice of the Supreme Leader’s pet.

Yet no one budges.

Your Supreme Leader’s hand snakes its way up to your throat, resting above your thick metal collar and crushes your windpipe in warning. You try again, this time, like he asked.

“F-fuck off.”

Someone, an idiot, dares to speak up with a voice quivering worse than your own, “S-Supreme Leader?”

“You heard her.” It’s the first time he’s spoken in hours. His voice is terrifyingly calm and sickeningly deep, you feel it resonate throughout your entire body, landing in the depths of your belly. You whimper pathetically, anticipating whatever storm is about to come.

Everyone stands, chair scraping against the floor and they file out through the giant throne room doors, letting the thick and heavy material seal you two away until your Supreme Leader is through with you.

#ummm why am i really happy with how this turned out #kylo ren x reader #reader insert #smut #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #my writing #request #elmidol

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loki-hargreeves · 2 years

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8, 22, 42 (for the weird asks)

Thank you!

8. have you had water today?

Yes, I have. I constantly drink water. I have this cup with Kylo and Poe on it, so it keeps me motivated.

22. do you have a collection of cool rocks?

I have one cool rock somewhere in my closet that my first boyfriend gave to me when I was younger. It's been there for so long now that I don't have the heart to get rid of it.

42. earphones or a speaker?

Earphones. I like to blast music into my ears until I can't hear my own thoughts 😌💚

#fun #ask game #elmidol #<3 #weird asks

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saamanthaaaxx · 2 years

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#adam driver #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #my love #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren x reader smut #kylo ren x reader #multi chapter #multi chapter fanfiction #kylo ren smut #daddy kylo ren #elmidol #Three Blind Tooke #love this so far!!!#excellent writing #♥️xx

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thetorturerwrites · 1 year

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Lamb Ch 14 - He Comes

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

A/N: Heyo. I'm not dead.

C/N: sexual assault; physical violence; forced abortion (there's no nice way to say that)

“Stay here.”

You repeated his instructions out loud but winced when your voice bounced off the icy walls. The echo didn’t stop you from arguing with yourself, though.

“Stay here. Stay here in the house? Or here in the room? FUCK! Yes, stay here.”

Heaving a frustrated breath, you wiggled your fingers and toes and fidgeted like a child, trying to think of anything other than the terrible idea cooking in your brain.

Stay here stay here stay here. You can do this. Just goddamn stay right here where it is safe, and he will not murder us as punishment.

You stared at the doorway, willing Kylo through it, but the blasts still sounded outside, and you had no way of knowing if he was in the keep at all. It wasn't until the walls of the very room you tried so hard to stay in shook that your willpower faded.

Whoever was coming had already arrived, and you shot out of bed so fast you fell face first onto the floor. Forcing yourself into stillness, you waited on held breath to determine if someone was here and had heard you and your fumbling foolishness. Long minutes passed with you pressed to the cold floor until you could handle the numbness no longer. As quietly as you could manage, you crept out of the room and down the hallway, plastering your back to the wall and hoping against hope this would all be over soon.

All the pathways inside Kylo’s home led to the throne room. It had taken a long time for you to map it all out, but he lived in a stone honeycomb with his portal to the beyond in the very center. Anxious in a way you’d never known before, you tiptoed to the threshold. Seeing the black clothes and wide, hulking frame, you expelled a breath and let your flat feet touch the floor. With his back turned to you, you were unable to see around him. Still ill at ease, you inched further into the room cautiously.

“Kylo? What’s happening?”

There were a hundred other questions crowding your mind, but they all died when the god before you turned. He was beautiful. He looked so familiar but still so wrong. He had muted his shine, and he even wore Kylo’s clothes, but he couldn’t tamp down his essence for too long. Facing you, the tainted radiance you remembered from the forest erupted into the room, casting it into too much light.

Settling his gaze upon you, Solo grinned.

“There she is,” he said, his gravelly voice causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. “I thought I would have to come searching for you before too long.”

Your brow furrowed, and you took a step back, feeling too naked and vulnerable. You wished, for the thousandth time, that Kylo would give you some damn pants once in a while so you weren’t standing here in only his stolen sweater while his brother leered at you and your bare legs.

“K-kylo,” you tried to swallow the nerves down, but it wasn’t working. “Kylo will be back soon. He went to check on…” You realized you didn’t know what he was doing. “... something.”

You took another step back, intending to flee when you’d lined yourself up with the hallway, but Solo’s gaze turned lethal.

“If you make me chase you,” he said, low and threatening, “I will make you regret your every breath.”

On reflex, you gulped down the very next gasp. Maybe it was all the time you’d spent in Hosnia, afraid of Kylo’s capabilities, that made you plant yourself right where you were. You pressed your shoulder against the obsidian mirror and let your eyes dart around the room, praying that the blasts would stop soon, and your dark knight would come.

When you stilled, Solo’s face smoothed into a version of placid. He smiled, but it looked wrong on his face. Manic in the most dangerous way. He strode around the room as though it was his. His fingers brushed the throne too fondly, and you despised him. He was little more than a false god seeking a kingdom that didn’t belong to him.

“Do you remember what I said to you when I visited before?”

He took a step towards you, and you shrank away from him, which made his lips curl in distaste. He clearly was unaccustomed to someone who didn’t want to be in his presence. Rejection wasn’t something this god endured in any sense of the word. When you didn’t respond, he turned that golden gaze upon you again and closed the distance between you so fast you shrieked.

“Yes!” You trembled, hugging yourself and leaning away from his sickly-sweet breath. It was honey when you wanted belladonna. It made your stomach flip. “You s-said I would do d-d-damage.”

Again, the features of Solo’s face changed so abruptly it was alarming. He smiled and placed his hand upon your shoulder, rubbing in gentle circles that made you sick.

“And yet, here you are.” He leaned in again, dragging a knuckle along your jaw. “Willfully disobedient. I can see why he likes you.”

The last bit was softer, a muse it felt as though he didn’t mean to share with you. He tracked the slow path of his knuckle along your throat to the jade collar and pressed his thumb into the center of your thundering pulse. He was too near, too hot, and the drastic rise in temperature made you sweat.

“Yes, well…” He heaved a dramatic sigh and slithered his fingers beneath your collar, gripping it tight and ensuring you knew you weren’t going anywhere. “Much has changed since I saw you last, pet.”

The pillow-talk name was revolting, as was the way he kept you pressed right up against his chest. Trapped between a literal rock and a hard place, you kept silent. Anything could set off this bomb.

“He killed three quarters of the galaxy, did you know that?” Solo traced his index finger along the shell of your ear as he ogled your wide eyes and open mouth. “And then he just stopped. Pop!”

He made a gesture to accompany the last word, showing how Kylo’s vengeance bubble burst. You understood that this wasn’t another visit to plead for the galaxy. This was something else.

“And now…” His palm slapped against your rounded belly painfully, fingers digging in, causing you to yelp and jerk. “I see why. A little woman at home and a family of his very own. At long last.”

He inched towards you until his nose nearly touched yours. His voice dropped an octave, disturbed and menacing.

“That. Will. Not. Do.”

Eyes wide, you surged up onto your toes with the realization Solo had come here to set his brother back on his deadly path, and the only way to accomplish that was to take away the reason he’d quit. He meant to end you and the darkling you carried.

“The bombs,” you chittered, pushing against his chest, “It was you.”

He cocked his head to one side, the corners of his mouth tipping up. His pride at his ploy was clear, and it lodged a boulder in your gullet.

“A game from our youth,” he offered. “His idea. We would see how fast he could undo a supernova before it exploded. But with him,” he eyed your cleavage and then your mouth, “distracted, it was easy to set the game to a greater difficulty level.”

The hand on your belly traveled lower, taking the long way around its swollen curve towards its target. Your fear doubled on itself and then doubled again. You struggled against his hold, but it was a futile attempt. Solo was every bit as strong as his brother and, now, just as determined.

“He will unmake the universe if you do this,” you whispered, voice faltering as the emotion grew and grew. Every time before where you’d thought you’d die at Kylo’s hands paled compared to this. You saw the delusion and hubris in Solo’s brilliant eyes.

“Yes, I'm counting on it,” he grinned again. “And from that a fresh canvas upon which I can create a new life, a better life! Life that…” he faltered, not wanting to give too much away, but you saw it in the cut of his jaw, the insanity dancing across his now gleeful features.

Whatever Solo's intentions were with you the first time, he'd seen Kylo's rampage through the cosmos as an opportunity. He didn't want to create a more perfect man. You could feel it rolling out of his pores. He wanted an age of man over which he was king, revered and worshiped. He wanted all traces of knowledge of Grandfather Sky Walker gone so he could take up that mantle of supremacy.

“Fret not, little one. I will make sure your name is known and your sacrifice honored. The life I create next will never know my brother. They will remember you for eternity.”

His smile was unbalanced, but he did not move. He did not make to hurt you as he so obviously wanted, and as he stared at you, filled with the passion reserved for the insane, you understood that, even now, locked in Solo's grip, you dangled precariously in the middle of things.

“By your hand, a new age will begin.” He whispered it, but it landed like one of his supernova bombs.

In the flash of a second, you understood that Solo and his brother were neither omniscient nor omnipotent. It was only Sky Walker who held the power to both create and destroy, and though his children were gods in their own right, they were lesser beings than he. He had relegated Kylo and Solo to their specific roles alone. They could change the map of the galaxy in only one way - through violence. Kylo's ability to create life was an unforeseeable act, an outlier to his existence. It was his duty to take, to end. Nothing more. And being opposite his twin in every way, Solo could only give life. He couldn't snuff it out. He couldn’t kill you.

True Balance, it seemed, was a thing Sky Walker kept to himself.

"You can't do it, can you?" Your defiance shot to the surface like a rocket. The deranged deity snorted in your face, but you’d never been known for rational thinking. "You've gone to all this trouble, and you can't do the one thing you came here for. You need me to do it for you."

You huffed, skirting the edge of lunacy yourself with a laugh that turned Solo’s grip to a vice, but you looked him dead in the eye, unblinking. His sinister stare scared you before, but now all the bombast behind it was gone. He was as impotent as a babe in this situation.

"No, I can't kill you, pet." The gentle tone, the shushing cluck to soothe you, made your skin crawl. "But I can make you long for death."

Terror took root, and the smug smile fell away from your lips. Solo couldn’t end your life, but he could shatter it all the same.

Your mind conjured all the ways Solo could accomplish his goal without murdering you, and as though he could read your thoughts, he crowded you further, filling up your field of vision as he slid one knee in and forced your legs apart. The other knee pinned you in place by bracing against the center of your thigh, and before you could take another breath, his burning fingers found their mark. You had only a second to understand his intention.

You crowed, long and wounded, as Solo's thick fingers forced into your sex, ripping and tearing. Unchecked tears flowed, bubbling and sizzling from the heat that radiated off of your assailant. He pumped his fingers into you despite your ill-fated attempts to squirm away, working and working until he'd carved enough space into your cunt for him to fit two fingers to the knuckles.

When he vacated your body, you sagged, weight slumping against the obsidian rock. But your respite was short-lived.

"Is it always so cold here? Let's chase away that chill, shall we?"

With each word, Solo's temperature rose, his body almost vibrating from the heat roiling under his skin. Your tears evaporated. The fine hair on your arms and legs singed away. Again, long, thick fingers shoved inside you, but where they were only painful before, they now began to burn. And each thrust had that heat going deeper and deeper into you, chasing the true target. With three fingers lodged inside you, he edged near incandescence, too hot and too much.

As your skin and muscle and bones heated, you did the only thing you could think to do.

“KYYYYYYLLLOOOOOOO!!!”

You screamed with everything you had, hoping the Hosnia moon, always so comforting to you, would carry your plea to its Master. Every fiber of your being roared and strained, and somehow, your hands pushed and flailed and fought. You grasped for him, reaching and reaching as though he was right there. You weren’t ready to die. You weren’t ready for any kind of afterlife that left Kylo behind. And the darkling inside of you wasn’t ready to be ended before it could truly begin.

You scratched and ripped at Solo’s face with your left hand, trying with all of your might to carve out his eyes. On another pained wail for Kylo, your right hand shot up into the air, seeking the only creature in existence who could save you. What found your hand, however, was not the being you called for.

It was his weapon.

The saber shot in through the window and into your hand, snug in your fingers as though it belonged there. The soul vessel that had served Kylo for eons latched itself to your breast, bolstering your resolve. You heard it speak to you, a radiating echo that thumped in time to your thundering heartbeat.

He comes. He comes. He comes. He comes.

As you curled the weapon to your chest, the wall opposite crumbled. As though the keep and the mountain he built it from were nothing more than toy blocks, they blasted away and levitated in the sky piece by piece to reveal their creator, bathed in a vermilion haze. He stood upon a jagged rock, the fabric of his shirt and pants burning away as he himself ignited, a divine blaze in the form of a man.

Kylo's inky black eyes locked with yours, seeing you pinned to the obelisk with his brother’s igneous hand between your legs, and the entire bustling, breathing universe halted upon its axis. You saw hate in his eyes the likes of which you never had before. He was a beastly harbinger, annihilation made firm, the Holy Host of Death come to lay waste.

“NO!”

Solo shouted, surprise written clear across his features as the brother he thought he knew and could contain drew unfathomable power to himself, an inferno that would pulverize the universe to nothing but ashes should he so wish it. The planet, the cosmos, the very scope of existence bowed to his will. He would accept nothing less. Ren had the preternatural fury of eons spent alone at his whim, and he called on it all.

Behind him, Hosnia erupted. Thick, gray smoke obscured the sky, broken by flashes of brilliant white and crimson lightning. Mountains splintered, and all the water in the land evaporated. The tectonic plates underfoot heaved and buckled, serrating the ground into haphazard pieces. Every star in the sky thrummed impossibly bright, fighting to be seen through the ghostly fog, and it looked as though the moon bled, bathed in so much red mist it may never be white again.

This was The Ren. Resolute. Unconquerable.

Sneering at his brother, seething with his own wrath, Solo doubled down on his task, swiveling his head toward you, but it was too late. Kylo distracted him for only the briefest of moments, but that was all you needed. The saber sat half an inch beneath his godly chin, and it was now your eyes that burned with righteous rage.

“Forgive me, father,” you ground out between gritted teeth, hoarse but victorious, “I am sin.”

Solo gasped, face awash in shock, but there was no stopping it. You didn’t know how to work the weapon in hand, but the weapon itself knew what to do. A fiery arc of energy exploded into being and shot upwards through his head. As though it reached for the heavens, the saber’s length burst through the crown of Solo’s head, rendering the beautiful face asunder.

In the middle or not, you were only human, and the saber was a god's tool. As it lit to life, a horrible bonfire scorched a path up your forearm. Black spots and electricity that glowed carnelian warred for real estate on your body as the power chased every nerve and synapse until it reached your brain. Your mind splintered with an audible crack, too much immortal power inside your too-mortal skull. A spine-rattling seizure took hold, sending your eyes rolling back into your head, lashes aflutter. Your fingers contracted, spasming and curling into bloody palms, clutching the saber in a death grip. Your skin burned off in patches, leaving blisters and rapidly forming eschar in its wake.

And though you screamed again, shot through with more pain than you could ever even conceive of, your tattered throat produced no sound, only a ragged yowl as your body gave up the fight.

You had nothing left to give, and the universe faded away…

Third man knew heartache.

He knew strife and terror as the gods warred.

Their battle bleeding into the world and

Turning all that was to dust.

#kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #lamb

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