“I’m just asking this one thing of you.” Her voice was calm, but it wasn’t enough to cover the storm that raged inside of her. He already knew what she was going to ask. To be frank, he’d been waiting for it, had thought it’d happen every time they locked eyes. But she’d given him the silent treatment, waiting for him to make the first move and explain. He hadn’t caved in, not to the coldness in her eyes or the stubborn tilt of her jaw. Yet. Apparently she’d run out of patience.
“Why do you keep pushing me away? Be honest with me.” Honest. That word alone drove a hundred needles into his skull. If there was one thing he sucked at, it was honesty, especially if it concerned people he loved. Especially if it led to him admitting to a weakness. Admitting to fear.
“Every time I think I managed to get through to you, it’s like you never heard me at all. It’s like you don’t even try to listen. You’re not making an effort.” How very wrong she was but that too was something she could not know. Something he could not say out loud because words had a funny way of backfiring and making things even worse.
“You’re right. I’m not making an effort. I don’t want to. I don’t care.” Her face fell and his heart sank. What kind of person was he to protect his own skin, to let her put her heart on the line and not give anything in return?
“I think you do,” she said quietly. “I think you see where this is going and you’re scared so you’re trying to make me leave on my own. But I won’t. I won’t leave you no matter how often you push me away.”
“You want me to be honest?” She nodded and straightened, throwing her shoulders back. Every inch of her was attentive.
“I fall in love hard and fast. It takes as much time for me to fall out of love. I open my heart, I get attached, everything is fine until it isn’t. Until someone ends up breaking my heart or I break theirs and it always ends in fights and screams and tears and I’m sick of it.” Without noticing his hands had balled into fists. Heat rose in his cheeks. Never had he meant to lose control like this. His tone softened. “If I don’t risk anything, I don’t lose. That’s it. It’s not your fault.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed, gentle but firm.
“But you don’t know how it ends before you start, do you? You cannot possibly know.” Every part of him wanted to pull away, had to pull away, but he couldn’t. He’d been running for so long, struggling so hard, twisting and winding and always escaping. But he was tired. His very soul was tired.
“Because if you don’t risk anything, you can’t win, either,” she whispered, pulling him closer and closer until the only thing he wanted to be was honest with her. Until he no longer wanted to escape.
Request: Taehyung fluff where you guys are both in college and Taehyung sits behind you in class but never says anything, but one day he sees u dozing off in class and he decides to buy coffee after class
A/n: So I was planning a one shot, but you guys asked for a mini-series instead, and I’m such a hoe for Taehyung anyways. most of the request is in this chapter, but I have plans you guys… stick around -Kaitlin
Genre: Fluff Members: Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 1219
Light of All Lights - A Fairy Tale in Five Parts (1/5)
Notes: This fic would not nearly be what it is without @caprelloidea‘s handholding, encouragement and keen eye. She’s the best, I think you all agree. Based on a picset posted by @bleebug, encouraged by @its-imperator-furiosa‘s enthusiasm for the idea, and written with @queen-mabs-revenge in mind. There is nothing explicitly dominate/submissive about this, but there are borrowed elements of that dynamic.
Summary: When his ship crashes onto a secluded island after a storm Killian “Deckhand Hook” Jones finds himself the unlikely companion to the dark “goddess” who inhabits it. A fairy tale in three parts.
Rating: Explicit for whoa smut in the later chapters. Some mild violence.
Thunder cracked in the sky above, the entire ship tremoring and shuddering with the force, and not a blink later purple silver lighting flared brilliant white in the crew quarters. The storm was upon them.
Starkey crowed as Hook threw up an arm, his hammock swinging violently, almost pitching him to the deck, the flinch happening before he could check himself.
“Oh no not the raaain,” came a high pitched mocking voice from somewhere in the black darkness of the cabin. Probably Evans. Loud raucous laughter followed, but Hook ignored it, their mocking jeers the least of his concerns as the thunder boomed again, the ship pitching with the force of another wave.
Hook squeezed his eyes tighter, his hand clenched at his side to still the shaking.
It wasn’t that he was scared of storms persay, but bumpy seas always meant no lanterns could be lit, all fires must be extinguished, and the crew quarters were pitch black save for the flashing lighting in the portholes. It wasn’t that he was scared of the dark either, but he definitely preferred the light. He was also quite sure they were all going to die, and like most things in his life, he was terribly afraid of death.
“‘Maybe ‘e’s worried ‘is hook will rust,” came another voice. “Then how’ll he lay about scratching his arse the useless twat?” The laughs came again, the pounding rain at least drowning them out a tad. Thunder cracked once more, and in unison the men all shrieked in mock terror.
“Not me hair!” Came a cry.
“B-b-b-bloody hell,” came another. They laughed again. It was an old game, the same old insults, the same mocking jeers.
Hook continued to ignore them, a decade and then some of practice helping him along, focusing on his breath, on maintaining his place in the swinging hammock as the ship rocked and swayed beneath him. If he fell on his face in front of them again, it would only make it worse.
Admittedly, Draco never thought he’d be so smitten over a girl like her. For as long as he could remember, he’d always imagined himself falling for a pureblood, someone with the same class as himself, but never a muggleborn. It started in his second year; the Y/H girl was seen studying by the Black Lake by him. Her sleek hair twisted in the wind as her eyes traced over the small print in her book. Occasionally, she would lean over to the boulder next to where she was sat and write something down for her own notes. He was staring- he’d never seen her before and he was enamored with her. Draco continued to adore her beauteous features from a distance, anxious of her noticing him. He was nonplussed as to how he’d never seen her for the previous two years- he was aware that he never acknowledged the students in different houses to his own but perplexion filled him as he watched her study for the millionth time. How had he not seen her?
T’əq’ədiʔac or kʷaləgʷac, in Lushootseed. (Or, tsuga heterophylla: the western Hemlock pine.)
I love this tree. Specifically this one. It’s right outside my window. Finches, by the tens and twenties (of different species), come to perch and chatter and visit in this tree during the spring. The deep green of their branches and needles practically shimmers on a sunny day, and the way they hang and twist in the wind always makes me think of long, intricate braids ended with equally intricate beads.
Honestly? A rollback. 10 years, at least. Release a brand new main Marvel continuity like the Nu 52 from DC. Basically end every book. Period. All storylines done. And reboot the entire thing.
So now you have this blank slate. You look at what people liked when people were reading Marvel 10+ years ago. You take some inspiration from the movies, you take the best of things from old 00′s Marvel, you look at Avengers: Earths Mightiest Heroes, and you put it together.
You roll back every decision that led you down the road to Shitsburgh. Female Thor? Gone. Spider-Woman’s costume change? Gone. New wasp? Gone. Falcon Captain America? Gone. All of it. The odd choice to focus on ‘webcomic’ style artwork, ala Squirrel Girl? Gone.
Then you start adding stuff back in. Some. Stuff.
Carol Danvers as Captain Marvel? You need it for the trademark and the movie is already set. So okay, she’s still Captain Marvel, not Miss Marvel, but you roll back everything else about her. She’s no longer your ‘feminist icon’ character, she’s back to being an alcoholic, she’s back to being a leader and primarily an Avenger.
Kamala Khan was doing reasonably well. Keep her. The Miss Marvel title needs to be picked up, so go ahead and do that.
Agent Venom? Perfect, keep that.
You use the last 10 years to actually see what worked and what didn’t. It might’ve been a shitshow but it was 5-10 years of throwing shit against the wall. Keep the stuff that stuck.
You now focus on your core, comic reading audience. Not the movie going audience. Not feminists. Not activists. You focus on creating excellent stories. No more pandering, no more politics. Superheroes being superheroes. That’s it.
Then you relaunch your core brand. Thor, Captain America, Spider-Man, X-Men, Iron Man, Hulk, Avengers. You put your best artists and best writers on those books. Hell, you go and fucking hire back some of the old artists and writers you LOST over the lat 10 years. Frank Cho,
Rick Remender, etc.
So now you have your ‘core books’. Start re-introducing some side books. Start with stuff people like; Daredevil, Agent Venom, Miss Marvel, Moon Knight, Punisher, whatever. But PROMOTE it. Promote it hard. Don’t just let it twist in the fucking wind and don’t cancel it immediately. Release new books in concert with movie releases to try and grab new audience members.
TLDR. Marvel needs to roll back the last 5-10 years of bullshit, keep the good, toss the bad, roll back everything and restart. They need to focus on good stories, meant for the comic buying audience FIRST, and use some of that MCU money to actually promote shit properly.
Could you fucking imagine if Marvel did a hard reboot and announced that Peter and Mary Jane were getting married again? Hooooooooly fuck, do you not think that might turn some heads and get ex-Marvel fans interested again?
Old Lion’s Arch was a city built from an armada of salvaged ships, with twisting, winding roads connected by a network of bridges. There were ruins, and alcoves, secrets hidden below the streets. Above us, amid a network of gangplanks, entrepreneurs built their dreams while serving drinks. Yet despite the immensity of it all , the word that came to mind was cozy.
This was home and you never grew tired of it because there was something soothing about it’s worn edges and labyrinthine passages. It created an illusion of privacy for those creating stories together, yet an all encompassing familiarity that gave the whole of it a sense of intimacy. All who entered were somehow friends.
So many memories were created there, on beaches, in tunnels, on bridges and light house ruins. I used to visit those places and remember what screenshots could not show.
The old Lion’s Arch was built with hope and compromise. When people reminisce, and lament, we are missing that city.
The cement used to pave over the devastation left by Scarlet’s attack is like a tombstone marking a grave. A chapter is closed that can never be revisited; the places that once served as reminders are now altered beyond recognition.
Basically, time is a big circle, a loop. Everything is predetermined, and the three-eyed raven knows all the events in this big loop and how they are connected.
So the three eyed raven knew Bran would make the mistake of touching the wrong tree root and will end up in front of the white walkers. He also knew that once that happens, his time will be up and Bran will have to “become” him. He knew then, that the white walkers will come for Bran, he’ll be killed by the wight king and Hodor will ultimately help Bran and Meera escape by holding the door.
So the three-eyed Raven takes Bran to Winterfell in the past, where Bran can come face to face with Hodor of the past. Time is a big loop, and by taking Bran in the past, the raven connects the present and past to each other.
Bran is somehow, in the middle of the past and present.
When the appropriate time comes, the three eyed raven encourages Bran to “listen” to Meera. So Bran does. He understands he has to warg into Hodor so that Hodor can help them. Bran’s act of warging into Hodor, connects Hodor’s past and present selves. Making the loop something like this:
So when the present time Hodor, hears Meera say “hold the door”, and starts to stop the door from opening, the past time Hodor can hear her too. And not just hear, but sort of experience it. Warging definitely has a toll on the person, but this warging is extreme, as it is across two different times. The extremity of it, screws up with Hodor’s brain in the past, who is somehow experiencing his last few moments without really realizing what is happening. He keeps hearing ‘Hold the door’ and the extreme experience of holding the door against the white walkers as they hurt him, has such a psychologically damaging effect on Wylis, that he ends up saying ‘Hodor’ for the rest of his life, and the growth of his brain stops, and he basically goes kinda insane.
The thunder and pelting rain drowned out every other noise, and emphasized the menacing black storm clouds that engulfed you as you continued to plummet to your untimely demise below. The empty pit in your stomach grew larger and larger with every second that you continued to free fall down to the foreign entity below you. Your arms grasped uselessly at the open sky surrounding you in a futile attempt to gain balance. The harsh strike of lightning was accompanied by the contorted flapping of your dead, birdlike wings, feathers being twisted by the wind. At most you had thirty seconds before you would be reduced to an undignified pile of blood and feathers on the earthen floor below you.
I’m going to die like this.
Tears combined with the relentless onslaught of rain to blind your vision. Your lungs began to fight for air as the chemicals in your brain were released to instill a fight for survival. The suffocation of panic quickly overcame your consciousness, and a shroud of darkness enveloped your mind as the world below you began to close the distance.
“I told you I don’t play games"
The grip around the man’s throat tightened as his attacker threatened him, baring his thin, sharp canines that identified him as a latent monster.
"I- I said I wasn’t lying. I- I swear,” the hostage choked out, clawing at his assaulter’s wrists in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure against his throat.
“You willingly came here, among the den of vampires, risking your life to tell me a shitty, useless piece of information like that and expect me to believe it?” The inhuman eyes narrowed as the attacker raised the man against the wall, his shorter legs kicking in desperation.
“I- s-saw her with my own eyes” the man strained his voice as he wheezed for air.
“Too bad for you I don’t believe something until I see it for myself.” His grip tightened in an attempt to fatally suffocate his victim, but seconds before the oxygen was cut off entirely, a panicked knock came at the metal door sealing off the abandoned, empty room.
The grip around the victim’s neck released as the taller man sighed disappointedly and ruffled his neon crimson hair.
“What in God’s name is it now?” The man turned away from the gasping heap on the ground as he walked to the door, “I thought I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed unless the place is on fire or money is falling from the sky."
"About that sir,” the recipient on the other side of the door croaked nervously. The red-haired man swung the iron door open as the henchman continued.
“we’ve found her.”
The vampire’s face morphed from one of mischievous anger to one of seriousness in an instant.
“We located the fallen angel.”
A/N:So this is my first series! I’ve written a few drabbles here and there that I’ve posted to my old blog but I’ve decided to begin anew! (rip me) Things are somewhat complicated/confusing in the beginning but I promise everything will be explained in due time. (Thought the world could be made better with s’more vampire!Chanyeol, and my brain decided to say “Why stop there?” and made reader an angelic being so ENJOY) <3
UPDATE: If anyone has any questions concerning the setting, I got the inspiration from the Monster and Lotto MV’s so feel free to watch those if you’re confused~
Summary: After Bucky’s night terror episode he is ashamed and avoids y/n. y/n, not liking to be ignored, makes Bucky talk things out with her. Bucky and y/n go for a walk through the park and get bubble tea and climb a tree in the middle of the night and have deep convos. They get closer as friends.
A/N: This is a story about two people building a great friendship and then slowly falling in love. y/n is a strong, independent, and smart scientist. She meets Bucky when she wakes him up from cryo sleep and they become friends. This is going to have all the angst / best friends falling in love / fluff / drama / & eventual smut ;) that I can possibly fit in it. This fic is going to be looong! So far my document is like 66 pages. So editing is hard If you catch any grammatical or formatting errors let me know.
Here's an angst riddled idea to throw around in your brain: Horror Sans vaguely remembers having a human mate, but they're gone and he doesn't know where they went. Via timeline shenanigans, Horror, Classic Sans, and Classic Sans's mate (who is therefore Horror's ex) meet up. During uncomfortable small talk, Classic makes a dirty joke relating to how his mate tastes, and suddenly Horror remembers their taste too, just not in the same way. (I'm evil I know)
( *Horrortale inspires me for some reason. I just love getting in the HT!bros’ heads! This was a great idea.)
There was a time when he was a different person.
Memories were fickle that way. Glimpses of a time when things were better–when he didn’t have the constant, gnawing pit of hunger in his belly; when there weren’t rules and curfews and an Overlord ruling the hellscape with an iron fist and a SOUL twisted with determined rage; when his brother’s dreams hadn’t been realized and shattered in the same, awful moment.
Those memories were lost in the wind, twisted and fragmented. There were things he knew how to do (equations he could answer by looking at them, but then not remember the steps, nor where he obtained such knowledge) and things for which he didn’t know the purpose (what was the strange machine in the basement and why could he occasionally read the strange symbols on the blueprints?). There were people he could briefly recall… a human whose name he couldn’t remember, one who escaped and took with them the hope of the Underground, scattering the gathered human SOULs as they passed through the barrier.
What happened then?
Undick took over, but those memories were sharp, ingrained into his skull with a firm hatred that stirred his SOUL.
A memory of Papyrus’s jaw, unhinged and hanging lop-sided. His boisterous voice, filled with pain as he struggled to speak: "N-NO, SANS–ST–“
Clouded judgement and that uneasy pit of hunger– always hunger.
Then–back to apathy, to boredom.. to repetitious days as a sentry. He was used to those; he wasn’t sure why, but it felt as if he had already lived the same day for a lifetime.
With every loosened or jagged tooth in Papyrus’s once vibrant smile, the anger roiled inside Sans. They were both starving; Undick’s Underground-wide rationing wasn’t enough. So… why give her the SOULs–the power to become a god–when the solution to their hunger was right in front of them?
The days were a blur, slipping through Sans’s phalanges are quick as the wispy tendrils of hair that could occasionally be found in Paps’s Special Spaghetti. As quick as the other locks he could remember between his fingers…
“hey pal, you’re doing the creepy thing again.”
The voice brings him back to the present–his voice, only lighter, with a hint of jovial mirth always lurking in the baritone. Sans realizes that he’s got his fingers curled into his unlit eyesocket again, firmly tugging the outer rim, and he slowly forces the phalanges to unfurl, grunting in response.
His mirrored self chuckles across from him, fingers laced with a human’s.
There was a time when Sans was a different person.
There was a time when Sans was that person, the grinning comedian sitting on the loveseat in front of him.
Sans suddenly smiles, though unlike his mirror, the smile is tight–humorless. "sorry bud. sometimes it seems like i’m not all there in the head.“
His smile widens as he watches the corner of his mirror’s smile twitch, the other’s eyelights momentarily flicking to the jagged, open crack in the top of his skull. He enjoys unnerving this candy-coated version of himself, the one that wouldn’t understand real strife if it bit him in his bony coccyx.
The version of himself that he can never be.
It’s easy to unnerve his mirror, for obvious reasons. However, his other self tries not to let it show for the human’s sake; he doesn’t seem to want his mate to be afraid of Sans.
Sans, however, doesn’t really give a shit one way or another. He just wants his mirror to hurry up and fix the machine so he can go home–back to his own hell. They keep telling him that he’s safe here, that he has food, shelter, and a chance at a normal life on the Surface, but…
It’s meaningless without Papyrus–his Papyrus.
(He can’t even look at the Papyrus here without nearly shoving his fist in his own eyesocket.
*oh stars, what happened to you pap? how did i let it get that bad?)
”eye got to hand it to you for that crack,“ the comedian shoots back, that smile back in place. The human beside him giggles, though ribs him with their elbow.
Sans can’t stop staring.
The human that went through the barrier took the entire Underground’s Hope with them, but…
They came back, through the same hole, years later.
More mature, begging for the chance to be the Savior they were meant to be.
(He had thought he was dreaming when he offered them a headdog and they actually put it on top of their head and cracked a smile.
"Do you remember me, Sans?”
And how his SOUL had ached with those words…)
They may have taken everyone else’s Hope, but… they had been Sans’s Hope from the beginning.
Long tendrils through his fingers, whispers in the night, dredged up memories of who he used to be–who he could possibly be again, with them there beside him…
Was that the same human sitting across from him, gazing at his mirror with unconditional, easy love? The kind of love that didn’t involve fear and flinching whenever he got set off or there was a knock on their door? The kind of love that didn’t involve hiding or getting thrown in the shed during his Bad Days?
He can’t remember…
His phalanges scrape across his face, skirting back toward his eyesocket. The habit is an impossible one to break.
“you hungry, pal?” His mirror asks him that much too often, even since he discovered what his diet consisted of Underground.
Sans could use the distraction of food. "yeah, sure.“
The human rises, playing the part of host–likely because they don’t want to sit alone with Sans. His creepy smile widens at that thought. "make sure it has the human touch, will ya?”
Their smile falters around the edges, and they hesitate as they rise from the couch.
(He can see their bottom lip quivering as they perform a backwards, flailing crabwalk through the snow, trying to put distance between them. Their gaze is riveted to something clasped in his hands.)
His mirror’s hand is still laced with the human’s. The other him chuckles, lifting that hand to press a soft skeleton kiss to their fingers. "i know i’d like to experience the human touch. maybe get a taste for myself tonight.“
Sans knows his mirror is trying to play off his own uncomfortable joke, to twist its meaning and make his mate feel comfortable again. From the curve of their lips and the way they squeeze his hand, Sans suspects it works.
His fingers dip into his eyesocket again, curling uncomfortably around the rim.
(He knows what terror looks like. He knows what their terror looks like.
He can see them laughing smiling flushed with ecstasy *paps is hungry, too…
He can see them crying begging sobbing in the snow *and so are they.
It was another one of his Bad Days.. only this one was the Worst Day. )
“hey pal, you’re doing that thing with your eyesocket again.”
He snaps back into reality and pulls his fingers out of his socket, but when his single dilated eyelight lands on the human again, his tongue begins slavering behind his humorless, unapologetic grin.
His memories have been fragmented, fallacious things, but sometimes… he remembers.
And now, he remembers what his mirror’s human mate tastes like.
The Raven Boys is wonder- old woods and changing and magic. It’s desperate, the world pulling you outwards when you want to be in. It’s waiting for the weekend, waiting for signals, for signs, for something different. It’s a beat that catches, that swirls in the air, that twists and turns and winds it’s way into spaces you never realised were empty. It’s wide eyes searching skyward, mouths ajar, feeling new. It’s the promise of something bigger, dust in your lungs, breathless, gasping, help me’s into silence. It’s being saved without wanting to be, reproachful, I don’t know what to do, abandoning somewhere you thought was home. It’s reaching out and finding nothing to touch, things you can’t explain, I’ve been dead for six years, that’s all there is. It’s whispering questions into freezing air and finding the world tumbling in your breath.
The Dream Thieves is smashed glass, blood splattered floors, dialling a number that won’t pick up. It’s sunlight falling through air, hiding hurt behind shaking hands and averted eyes, broken, shattered, fix me. It’s dark water, dark laughter, dark eyes, dark hearts- children dragged into existence, into life, into more. It’s smashed fists and dirt-caked finer nails, secrets kept and moments analysed. It’s creation, madness, impossible, longing, enchanted, I don’t want your pity. It’s brothers, the ones you choose, chaos and shielding arms, what would they do to me? It’s clenched jaws, blood stained smiles, hooded eyes, the world as a nightmare. It’s falling through broken air, claws at your throat, fire at your feet, engulfing, scorched rooftops, rain falling from the earth and up and back down again. It’s releasing the controls, open eyes, empty lungs, restless hearts. It’s darkness, I’m always brave- braver than that.
Blue Lily Lily Blue is a light kicking in after a blackout, flickering shadows, dancing your hand out the window. It’s circles under your eyes, aching, something over your shoulder, I will be your hands, I will be your eyes. It’s caught breath, suffocating, thoughts becoming things becoming fears. It’s light, the absence of dark, how could you ever be lonely again, wonderful, dreamful days. It’s talking in circles, dreaming in riddles, walking down tunnels that lead to nowhere. It’s hands on a steering wheel, fingertips on fingertips, this was not allowed. It’s flowers and rosebuds and ripped skin and you let me believe, tuning everything on it’s head. It’s eyes closing into exhausted knuckles, sitting alone in the dark, finding, changing, wondering, for your hands. It’s your heart stopping or beating too fast or not at all. It’s intention, wanting, desperate, untameable longing. It’s your voice cracking in the dark and knowing someone’s beside you, ready to heal.
The Raven King is maps spread out across the floor, pin points and coordinates that don’t exist. It’s decaying, losing your grip, your own breath in your ears, rushing, drowning, running, whimpers and putting your faith into the unknown. It’s secrets kept and facts pulled out of thin air, something’s wrong, something new, something different. It’s overflowing, raging, crashing into each other, the ocean would catch fire, magic. It’s a storm made of anything but rain, alcohol soaked laughter, futures beginning, reaching for something, fining something new. It’s trembling tears, grief choked sobs, dreaming cures for tragedies that haven’t happened yet. It’s dissonance, cracked sunlight caught on sharp bones, heaving, dreadful, wonderful, panting, make it save, make it safe, make it safe. It’s endings and beginnings and fearful happiness. It’s being sick of a world without them in it, thumbs pressed into soft skin, stop me, stop me, stop me- stopped. It’s saving yourself, bending truth, unmaking, undoing, unhinging. It’s holding your hand up to the sky, longing, do you dream of the stars, slipping quietly from existence, wake up. It’s hopeful, it’s forgiveness, an endless, unwilling war. It’s impossible light, beginning and ending, beginning and ending - make way for the Raven King.
Request: “Hades/Persephone: reader is the only friend Ben ever had at his uncle’s Academy. After the fall, the Knights of Ren hunted her and brought her to Ren, at his command. She chose to remain, seeing her lost her friend in Kylo, as much as he tries to deny that. Little she knows Ben had feelings for her and Kylo Ren is selfish enough to desire to keep her by his side.”
“An interesting concept could be a Hades/Persephone story with Hades as Kylo Ren and Persephone as the reader. For Demeter i thought about Rey,but instead of being Persephone’s mother, she could be her older sister.”
“Would you be cool doing a Kylo x reader fic where reader is force sensitive and can see the future? Her village is raided but she escapes because of her ability. Kylo eventually catches her though. I love your writing.”
“Could I request an Emperor!Kylo x reader fic where the reader is the princess of a planet at war with The First Order? He ends up taking her captive after her planet loses and asks her to be his empress.”
Summary: Emperor Kylo has conquered a good portion of the galaxy at this point in his life, has unsurmountable power, a far more advanced base, surpassed his mentor and completed his training, however it’s still not enough. Recalling an old friend, one who has haunted his dreams for years, Kylo calls upon his Knights of Ren to find her and bring her to him. Though he knows it’s selfish he can’t help himself, and he tries to keep her with him…eternally.
A/N: If you have ever wondered how many requests I can bundle into one fic, well here you go haha. Yay for Greek mythology AU’s! I tried to make this as relevant to the SW universe as I could but still kept at least most of the myth in there. Also song recs if you want a creepy vibe while you read haha “Night Time, My Time” Sky Ferreira, “Rolling In On a Burning Tire” Dead Weather, “Once Upon a Dream” Lana Del Rey. Hope you enjoy the fic! :)
Ben watched as (Y/N) sat in the tall grass, whirling a stream of small leaves around her with a smile beaming like the sun that was illuminating around her. Her (Y/H/C) was highlighted with a halo like frame from the streams of light around her. Their afternoons almost always consisted of this, sitting in the fields by themselves finishing their lunches, showing off to each other with tricks of the force.
Staring at her contagious smile, Ben sighed to himself. His brown eyes were focused on her, his expression dumbfounded. (Y/N) to say the least was a luminous being. Almost everything around her seemed to come to life when she strode through. Her smile could heal the sick, her laugh restore hearing to the deaf, sometimes it seemed as though her simple touch could revive life into things that were otherwise dead and dreary. Giggling (Y/N) turned to him with her same smile.
Suddenly shaken out of his admiring gaze Ben’s brows furrowed.
“Now you show me a trick!”
Pausing he tried to think of something that would impress her. The longer he pondered however, the more his aura dropped. All of the tricks he could think of were only destructive, chaotic, things created out of anger. The older he got, the harder it seemed to be to simply be appeased with himself using only forces of the light. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. The voice in the back of his mind kept encouraging him to seek out more.
“You do know a good trick don’t you?”
Staring at the fruit in his leather clad hand as he recalled the memory, Kylo rolled the round food around his large palm with the smooth motions of his thumb. The blood red exterior satisfied him greatly, especially with the stark contrast against his black leather gloves, as well as the all dark colorless surroundings he was engulfed with. A pair of Nexus deep in slumber lying at his feet, one at each side of his throne.
Soon after he had completed his training, Kylo had carried out the ultimate task of defeating his original mentor and manipulator Supreme Leader Snoke. Though it freed him of his mental prison forced on by Snoke, it did not eleviate his destined path. He was in far too deep to be anything but solely committed to the Dark side. Now he sat on the ominos black marble throne, rigid and harsh in its design, as Emperor. He was finally the highest ranking soul of power on the Dark side, after years of dedication and torment, he had come out on top.
Relishing in the fear he scattered across the galaxy, Kylo took it upon himself to make even more alterations to the First Order and its presence. Taking his Emperial throne, Kylo decided that a palace visible to the public would not be smart for his widely scorned kingdoms preservation. Sending out patrol after patrol, he searched far and wide for a planet, similar to Starkiller, to settle his kingdom onto. Snubbing Hux’s efforts with the newly improved base, Kylo wanted something, something far more impressive for his Empire. Finally, after months of scouting around every system known to the galaxy they came upon an otherwise scarcely populated arctic planet to make their new abode.
The rolling hills of snow covered rock were seemingly deserted, deathly silent aside from the howling winds, it was like a blank canvas. Though beneath the snowy white surface, within the rocky terrain of the planet laid expansive miles of caverns. Within these grey caverns, twisting and winding through the dark, Kylo built his Emperial abode. It not only kept him concealed and protected, it added to the eerie persona he had established for himself as well as his Empire.
Who would pay me for the last flicker of youth
Relentlessly wasted in the library
As if in a prison, between bookshelves?
Sometimes I find that
I act under an impression
That I am deathless
That’s what justifies anyway
A meticulous savouring of dust,
A goalless crawling
In an invisible glass jar
While in the sky a nonexisting shepherd
Or better yet a cowboy
Lashes clouds sheepishly drifting from the West to the East
With a twisted whip of the wind.
Who would pay me for all the time wasted,
And in what currency?
If only with glass beads,
If only with empty shells and rotten apples,
If only with stubs of pencils
Chewed while reading.
If only with all the precious stones in the universe–
And I will think
If I can accept it.
A parallelogram of the table
Covered with a white fabric;
A branch of pale purple lilac
Sits in a vase,
The glass is magnifying bubbles on the stems;
In the crystal-clear water, a beam is playing as a gold fish
And projects a dispersed rainbow spectrum onto the gray wall.
On the table there is a thin porcelain cup
With a tea trembling catching a reverberation of steps
Of a poet, a balding dandy;
A woman in a white dress, with a high hairdo,
Hugs her knees sitting on a low sofa,
And smokes a long-gone long cigarette,
Turning it slowly into ash;
The picture darkens on the edges and starts burning;
The movie ends; the tape abruptly tears;
The nineteenth century reaches its destination;
Trains are in the tracks; the rail road
Smells like iron, blood, and saliva,
And, as I leave the library,
The clouds are different.
You can leave and board a plane to France. Right now. You can get the wildest haircut you can imagine. You can go out in public dressed like you’re from the eighteenth century. When a song you love comes on in a store you can dance like you’re a twist of the wind, and smile as strangers watch.
You can pack up and live in a cottage on the highlands for the rest of your days. You can abandon everything and pursue that little dream that’s been in the back of your head since you were a child. You can open a restaurant and serve only blueberry pancakes, and nothing else. You can build yourself a gothic house complete with turrets and ebony paint and keep yourself locked away in a study gazing into a fire and absorbing words from ancient books.
You can ask out that cute person you’ve been admiring for weeks. You can change your diet completely. You can lose twenty pounds. You can wear high heels while you’re cleaning. You can refuse to wear makeup and still look absolutely gorgeous just the way you are.
Nothing is stopping you from doing these things but yourself.
You can do anything, be anything, go anywhere. It doesn’t mean it will be easy. It doesn’t mean you always have the proper funds or friends or resources, but it will mean that you will be free, you will be pursuing your dreams, you will be happy in a life that you made for yourself just the way you like it.
You are not obligated to the life you are living now. You are not tied to it. You can leave at any time. You are separate, you have choices. So many choices. So many options.
This life is your dream, and you are in control of it. If you don’t wish to stay locked in a drab, dull life for the rest of your days, you can leave at any time. Any time.