reel world

Past Lives

Originally posted by pleasegiveusreyloinepisodeviii

Request: @waiefu : “ok so reader is going to college away from home and they need a room mate so theyre looking at possible people they see kylo but misread as kylie reader sees they have a lot in common and assuming its a girl picks them anyway they show up at the dorm and see a dude”

Summary: Soulmate AU: Kylo Ren, being the man that he is, loses a lot of things in his life. One of those things being his only shot at ever having love. As centuries pass however, in another galaxy on a planet known as Earth, an unexpected turn of events brings him another possible chance. Though he never could have predicted it would have come around in the way it does.

A/N: Ok so I combined a request with an AU I had brewing in my mind for a long time (even before I started this blog hah), and hopefully you all enjoy it! And in case anyone was wondering, yes “Past Lives” by Borns is the song rec for this cause well, ya know. Feedback is welcome, and of course all credit for the triplet AU goes to @crylorenlo

Warnings: Language

Laying motionless in the snow, with flakes daintily dropping onto his pale flesh, Kylo stared up at the night sky. Blood matted his raven locks and smeared across his full lips, starkly contrasting his appearance. His body was spent, his mind reeling as the world around him seemed to fall into an unnatural silence. No matter how much his ears strained, there was nothing to be heard, nothing to be seen.

Left to his thoughts alone, Kylo slowly felt them consume him. Though there was nothing to be heard physically, Kylo’s psyche seemed to take on its own consuming presence, forcing him to acknowledge it.

So, this is what you received.

Kylo sighed faintly, the breath feeling heavy in his lungs.

A slow, painful and a depressingly lonely demise. Was it worth it?

Despite his inability to move or react, his eyes began to pool with tears. It was your voice. A voice that had disappeared into the furthest corner of his mind for years. Years he had lost to his poor decisions, including the one of the last night he ever laid eyes on you. 

Was taking the countless lives worth it? Destroying what the force created…was it worth it?

His eyes winced shut as his soiled body began to tremble. Slowly the tears started to slip down his cheeks, accompanying the flakes of snow.

“I’m sorry.”

He practically whispered, sounding much like a passing breeze. Lip quivering he choked out the words as he spoke again with his broken tone.

“I’m sorry…I-…it wasn’t worth it.”

His trembling grew fiercer as his body grew even weaker, seeming to ignore the creeping frigid temperature.

“I’m sorry…so sorry.”

Aside from his dying whimpers, the atmosphere was eeriely silent. As if he had suddenly gone deaf to the world around him, there was nothing. You weren’t there, his family was long gone and there was not a soul he had to lean on. In his demise, he met his fate. To be entirely alone in the end, no one to have beside him aside from the snowy terrain beneath him. Slowly as his body grew weaker, almost incapable of continuing to sob the way he had been, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Drooping lower and lower over his blood shot, glimmering eyes, the world around him slowly started to fade.

Centuries later in a far away galaxy…

Staring at the screen before him, Kylo looked over the Craigslist ad he was about to post, assuring everything was correct. Typos would not be accepted and he had to assure not a single detail was missing. Though anyone else would have thought he was doing it as a service to his soon to be roommate, he truly was doing it for himself, unwilling to live with certain types of individuals. He knew what personalities melded well with his, and he would do everything to assure he got just that.

Narrowing his eyes to the screen he read over the bullet points he had written once again. Walking up behind him, Ben appeared. Rolling his eyes Ben shook his head faintly as he watched Kylo hunched over the computer desk.

“Why are you so dramatic?”

“Why are you so obnoxious?”

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anonymous asked:

Idk if you already know this but here's some unnecessary information for the prompt with judas: there's actually a theory that judas only betrayed jesus because he believed in jesus the most and thought that it would make the whole process faster, thought that jesus would then perform a huge miracle that'll make everything better. That jesus just needed a little push, kind of like: the worse the situation the greater the outcome. Anyway i love heartbroken judas who just trusted a little too much

my favorite judas theory is the one where his betrayal is an unavoidable fate, and jesus approaches him ahead of time to the effect of ‘this needs to happen and i trust you to do it,’ and judas is essentially like 'i love you with every atom in my body so of course i’ll help you achieve this resurrection,’ because it allows him the agency we don’t often give him, even though it doesn’t change the tragedy of it all. but oh man, that theory is fascinating! it makes his hurt feel so palpable. i appreciate the idea of a judas who trusts so much that it sends the whole world reeling

feverfetish  asked:

Maybe hunk taking care of really sick Keith? If you'd rather do shiro I'm all for that too but Keith and hunk is a favorite friend combo for me (love your stuff as always!!!)

There’s a weight crushing his chest, hot and thick and cloying like smog. He struggles to breathe past it, oxygen clogging in his lungs with every choked inhale.

His throbbing head lolls against the chilly floor, too woozy to try and lift it up. A tingling shiver starts at the base of his spine and travels up in one convulsive, rolling shudder. His stomach squirms, protesting the jarring movement as he wraps his arms a little tighter around himself, curling his limbs into a ball. His body feels like it’s been turned into a gigantic block of solid ice.

He needs to get up. Needs to get dressed and go outside. They’ll wonder where he is, soon. Probably come looking for him. Won’t they? Will they care?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the bathroom floor, doesn’t even remember stumbling out of bed. An hour, maybe? At any rate, he’s wallowed long enough. If he can’t accomplish the simple task of getting his body under control how the hell is he supposed to be the leader of jack-shit?

There’s that word again. It’s been tumbling around the recesses of his mind for weeks now. Always present, taunting him with its inevitability. He needs Shiro. Needs to ask him what to do.

But of course that’s impossible, isn’t it?

Three goddamn weeks and he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around their new reality. This nightmare he can’t seem to wake from.

He slams his fist against the tile, frustrated tears trickling down his cheeks as he hauls his uncooperative limbs into a sitting position. He sways as the floor tilts beneath him, but he refuses to fall. He blinks away the tears and inhales a deep, shuddering breath. Good. Making progress.

Then his lungs sputter, choking on the oxygen and he clutches at his throat, coughing and wheezing and hacking up a mouthful of something that makes him gag. He groans aloud, swiping the back of his hand beneath his leaking nose. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

Gritting his teeth, he reaches up to grip the edge of the metal sink; forcing his legs underneath him takes far more effort than it ought to. It’s slow going but eventually he’s hovering over the basin, weak but finally upright.

His fingers tremble as he cups a handful of water; the droplets turn lukewarm the moment they touch his skin. His reflection wavers in the small mirror, gray and distorted; fleeting because he ducks his head and shuts his eyes tight so he doesn’t have to look.

The anger resurfaces; coiling low in the pit of his stomach and working its way up until his vision flickers blood-red. It’s familiar; comforting in a twisted way. He needs the rage. Needs it to push himself forward like he needs the air in his lungs. He braces his weight against the wall, panting through another surge of dizziness.

He’s thirsty. He wants to go back to the faucet for a drink but the claustrophobia is waiting for him. The kitchen, then. No mirrors in there.

He’s standing in the middle of the mess-hall, uncertain of how he made it downstairs. He can feel a bruise forming just below his kneecap but can’t remember when he fell. He doesn’t bother trying to find a cup. Instead, he staggers over to the sink, fumbling blindly with the handle and dipping his head to gulp down mouthfuls of the icy water. The liquid splashes all over his face, down his chest and onto the floor. He doesn’t care, just keeps lapping at the stream until he can’t hold anymore.


He jumps at the unexpected voice, wincing as a light switches on. He spins around and straightens, ignoring the nauseating shimmer of the walls surrounding him, making it difficult to keep his balance. He’d been freezing only moments ago; now his clothes feel damp and clammy with sweat.

“What are you doing up so early?” Hunk is still in his pajama pants and robe; hair disheveled and sticking up in all the wrong directions. He gives Keith an odd look, reaching up to rub his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith rasps, feeling an uncomfortable tickle crawl up the back of his throat. He coughs in his mouth a few times, as quietly as possible.

“You too, huh?” Hunk offers a sympathetic smile and starts digging through a cabinet, producing a tin can. “I was gonna make some tea.”

It’s an obvious invitation but Keith is barely paying attention. It’s a little difficult to hear through the high-pitched buzzing in his ears and the gurgling in his stomach. The water isn’t settling; in hindsight, maybe he should have gulped a little slower.  

“Why don’t you sit down,” Hunk suggests, eyes narrowing with obvious concern. He’s frowning, now. 

“We’re scheduled for training in an hour,” Keith murmurs, throat bobbing with a few convulsive swallows. “I don’…don’t have time for tea.” For some reason that strikes him as funny and he lets out a snort of laughter.

Keith doesn’t think he can even make it to the chair. The room’s spinning too fast to move away from the sink, anyway. He feels himself tilting forward, watches as the floor rushes up to meet him and then a pair of strong arms hauling him back up just before he smashes his face open.

“Keith,” Hunk says right next to his ear; his voice is low and gentle. “Come sit down.”

And he really doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Hunk helps him over to one of the chairs and Keith immediately slumps over the table, pillowing his head in his arms.

“I don’t think training’s on the agenda for you this morning. You look like hell.”

“Jus’ a cold,” Keith slurs, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’ll be fine.” He means it, too. He has every intention of powering through what promises to be a grueling morning. 

Hunk crouches down beside his chair. Keith watches with vague curiosity as Hunk rests one hand on his back and the other brushes underneath Keith’s bangs. Hunk’s large hand feels cool against his forehead. Even so, Keith feels the need to shrug Hunk off before he gets too comfortable up there.

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s definitely more than a cold,” Hunk obligingly pulls his hand away from his forehead but lets the other hover over Keith’s back. Keith coughs into his crossed arms and feels Hunk’s hand stroke up and down a few times. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“So this is why you didn’t show up at dinner, huh? You’ve been feeling lousy since last night?”

“I was tired,” Keith insists. It’s harder to focus.

“You’re sick. I mean, you’re practically cooking in your own skin, dude,” Hunk rises from his crouch and crosses his arms.

“Jus’ need to sleep it off,” Keith insists, pushing up from the table. His stomach lurches with the unexpected movement and he muffles a wet hiccup into his fist. “You can’t tell the others.”

“Keith,” Hunk sits down beside him. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs. When he glances back, his eyes are unnervingly intense; full of a profound sadness that Keith recognizes as buried grief. “It’s okay. No one’s going to think any less of you because you need to take a day off. You don’t have to prove anything to us. You know that, right?”

The gentle sincerity, the goddamn earnestness makes Keith want to scream. He raises his head, swallows hard and glares back, fists vibrating against the table.

“I have everything to prove,” he growls, gripping the edges of the metal, trying to hold on to his reeling world.

Hunk shakes his head, resting his chin in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment.

“You know who you sound like,” he says quietly, a fond smile forming at the corners of his lips. 

“Don’t,” Keith spits, shaking with fury. But the damage has been done. “Don’t talk about him like he’s…like -” 

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth, shoving away from the table and tripping over his own feet in his haste to make it to the sink. His shoulders roll with a deep gag and all at once the water comes gushing back up, splattering violently into the metallic basin. He retches a few more times but there isn’t anything left to throw up. He must’ve emptied out his stomach when he first woke up. He doesn’t remember doing that, either.

Keith coughs and spits, resenting the tears that manage to slip free. Suddenly, he realizes he’s no longer holding his own weight. Hunk has one arm wrapped around his waist, the other supports Keith’s back as his body shudders through the aftershock and he struggles to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk whispers when Keith’s calmed down a bit. He sounds devastated. “I didn’t mean for -“

“Don’t. Please,” Keith pants, slumping against the broad chest. “It’s not your fault. ‘M just…really fucked up right now. Everything’s so f-fucked up.”

He doesn’t mean for his words to get tangled in a choked sob but Hunk immediately pulls him close, hugging him from behind and holding him steady. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

After a few minutes, Keith wipes viciously at his bleary eyes and hangs his head. Hunk peers down, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles against Keith’s shoulder, silently asking if he’s all right; if he’s ready.

“Don’t tell Lance,” Keith hiccups, finally glancing up. “I think I’d have to abandon ship.”

Hunk smiles softly, readjusting his grip around Keith’s waist and easing the sick boy’s arm over his own shoulders.

“Yeah, you’re definitely getting funnier.”

“Not kidding,” Keith slurs, feeling himself being lifted up as if he weighs nothing at all. That’s strange because his head feels so heavy he’s afraid it might just roll right off his shoulders. He thinks maybe he passed out since one minute they’re in the kitchen and the next Hunk’s easing him down into bed, tucking his aching body into the warm blankets.

“You don’t need to prove anything right now, Keith,” Hunk’s voice is surprisingly soothing, fingers brushing lightly through the damp strands of Keith’s hair. “Just sleep. We can handle things for a while.”

Once again, Keith doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

She Is Brighter

Submission for MariChat May Day 10 - What If.  It’s a little early but whatever!


Whirling around, he focused in on the small, red and spotted creature blinking up at him over the lip of Marinette’s purse. Submission for MariChat May- What If. Takes place during the Evillustrator.


Plagg once told him that Chat Noir was walking destruction.

At the time Adrien was too fascinated by this new, unexpected escape from his father’s increasing restrictions to pay much attention.  The earth could crumble to dust with every step so long as he could move beyond this house of perpetual mourning. It wasn’t until he first felt the dark, pulsing energy of Cataclysm humming through his veins that he understood it just might.

He didn’t care.

Not when it meant he was running free across the rooftops of Paris like he was born to be wind. Not when every leap and tumble and fall would catch a flash of bright, bright red.

For the first time in years, he felt the aching thrill of not knowing.

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The Game- Bad Boy Taehyung (Part 13)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

Originally posted by myeong-su

The next few days felt like a blur. You were empty, you were breaking even further, and everything seemed to be spinning out of control around you. You didn’t talk, you didn’t eat, and you barely slept.

Jimin kept calling you for a while, trying to ask why you weren’t showing up to class, but you never picked up. You didn’t want to tell him you had failed. You didn’t want to tell him you had let down his friend. You knew you were being an asshole. You knew you had just played with Taehyung’s feelings, and tossed them aside as if they didn’t matter, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to let him in.

You didn’t want him to love you. You didn’t want to love anyone, because every single time you loved someone, they ended up leaving. You didn’t want Tae to break your heart too. You didn’t want to reel him into your world of chaos and darkness. How could you explain to him everything that had gone on in your life? All the hours you spent a week with a therapist? How could you tell him your only family left was stuck inside a metal hospital? You just weren’t right for him. You couldn’t give him the normalcy he deserved.

You heard a rock ricochet off your livingroom window. You tried to look outside, but you couldn’t see anything from your spot behind the sofa. Another rock. You sighed, pushed the pillow and blanket aside, and walked towards the front door to yell at whatever annoying child was bothering you.

“Yah! I’ve been throwing rocks at your window for 10 minutes! If you’d taken any longer I would have thrown a brick.” Suga scolded you, as he showed you the brick he had rested beside his foot.

You smiled weakly.

“You break my window and you pay for it Min Yoongi.” You sassed him.

“Can I come in? I just wanna talk.” He said. You knew Yoongi was not the type of man to just beat around the bush. You sighed, and signalled for him to come in.

You showed him to the living-room, and he quickly made himself at home by sitting on your sofa with his legs crossed.

“Would you like a drink?” You asked him but he shook his head and patted to the spot beside him. You shyly complied and sat beside him.

“I think you need to stop fucking about and talk to Tae. He hasn’t been the same since that talk you both had, and it’s really fucking with him.” He said. I guess he believed with things like these, you have to treat them like ripping off a band-aid.

“I can’t.” You snapped, shaking your head. He grabbed your face with his right hand, and forced you to look into his eyes.

“Stop being a fucking pussy Y/N. Do you know what I’d give to have the girl I love tell me she loves me back? I’d sell my soul just to have her speak to me. But she won’t. You don’t know how lucky you are, and you are willing to throw it all away. If you are this much of a pussy, I honestly don’t want anything to do with you.” He snarled at you. You could see he had been drinking lately, and he still reeked of weed. His eyes were bloodshot. And somehow you could still see the pain behind them. It must have gotten especially bad with the girl he had feelings for.

“I don’t love him.” You said, making an effort to look away from his eyes.

“BULLSHIT!” Yoongi growled. His pupils began to shrink with rage.

“I don’t! I could date anyone else, I don’t care who I get with. I don’t love him.” You replied, this time trying to maintain eye contact with him. You didn’t want to give in, you didn’t want Yoongi to convince you.

“Are you sure of what you said? You’d enjoy getting with anyone?” He snarled. You nodded.

Without letting go of your face, he pulled you towards him, and forcefully kissed you on the lips. This time, it was nothing like the first time. You could feel bitterness instead of longing. You didn’t like it. You began to push him away with your hands on his chest, and struggled to pull your face away from his. Yoongi let go, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“I call bullshit. You aren’t happy with just anyone. You want Taehyung, but you are being a pussy, and a selfish bitch. Taehyung is breaking. He won’t eat, or sleep. He won’t talk to us. He’s failed every test. He locks himself in his room, and refuses to come out. You need to at least give him some sort of explanation or closure if you don’t want him. But he deserves more than just this.” Yoongi spat, before getting up and walking out of your house.

You curled up onto the sofa with your knees against your chest. Tears began to fall from your eyes, clouding your vision. He was right.

Your fingers toyed with the cellphone in your hands. Thoughts swirled around your mind, screaming at you. You needed to do something. You picked up the phone, pressed your most recent call, and held the phone against your ear. It rang twice.

“Hello?” You heard Jimin’s voice.

“Jimin, I need you to help me.” You begged him.