#i fukin BITE YOU!!!! its not for YOU. its for ME and the other DEPRESSED SELF DESTRUCTIVE BITCHES who can appreciate that its TRANSCENDENT

[ayyponine]

few days ago i saw a movie reviewer rank all edgar wright films and putting twe dead last and im still low key simmering over that ngl

[i-lionheart]

IT'S NOT A WIP ANYMORE BITCHES!!!!!

Ok so i wrote a fic that's basically this post by the-modern-typewriter but i took the concept and some main elements and rewrote it as a kylo ren self insert because of course i did i wanted a comfort fic and i refuse to apologize its not plagiarism i cited my sources k thx

anyways this is a Kylo ren x fem!reader (but the only time reader's gender is referenced as when they're referred to as "good girl" so make of that what you will). Angst, torture mention, self harm tw, suicide tw, depression tw, safe for work but implicit nudity. Also there's none of that "y/n" or (name) shit because I just personally hate it. I made this for me not you but it totally fukin slaps so read on at your own risk lmao

Tell Me Why

“You’ve been astonishingly resilient,” Ren said softly. “What a shame it has to come to this.”

His gaze roamed over you lazily, possessively, drinking in the sight of you. You were bound, gagged, and strapped down to an interrogation table. In his personal quarters, of all places.

You would trade every star in the galaxy to be anywhere but here.

Ren picked up a syringe full of clear, thick liquid off the tray of wicked-looking instruments that lay beside you and held it in front of your eyes. “I’m expect you’re quite familiar with this," he said, voice deceptively casual. "The resistance undoubtedly trained you to resist truth serum as insurance against the unthinkable. Obviously,” he said, indicating your current predicament, “They are fools.”

So it would be truth serum. You could handle this easily enough. All you had to do was tell him the truth, but not the one he was looking for. Simple.

Some miniscule change in your expression must have given your hubris away. Ren chuckled. “You poor thing.” he said. “Do you really think that we haven’t made… improvements on this since my grandfather held your precious General captive so long ago?”

You swallowed thickly, blood pounding through your temples as your breath caught in your throat. What could he possibly be talking about? Truth serum had been perfected in the days of Old Republic and hadn’t changed for centuries.

What advantage could he possibly hope to have?

Ren lowered his face until his eyes were level with yours. Though every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, you met his gaze, trembling.

“You know as well as I do that the Old Republic, the Jedi, were weak. Fools,” he spat. “They were afraid to do what was truly necessary to meet their goals. The First Order has no such weaknesses.”

He lowered his mouth and whispered rapidly in your ear, his breath ghosting along your skin. “Unfortunately for you, I am not a Jedi, and this will hurt quite a bit. I only wish that I could remove that gag and hear every shriek that comes out of that pretty little mouth without risking you biting off your own tongue.” He clucked his tongue softly as he stood up. “What a shame.”

He replaced the syringe on the tray and selected a small pair of medical scissors, then began to methodically cut through the fabric of your sleeve. "I would apologize for the outfit," he said sardonically, "but I rather suspect that you have much bigger things to be worrying about at the moment."

Once your sleeve was split all the way to your elbow, Ren set the scissors down and set his leather-clad fingers to the task of spreading the halved fabric of your sleeve to fully reveal your bare skin. He was agonizingly gentle, as though trying to spread the petals of a struggling flower and help it bloom.

His work complete, his eyes and his fingers roved over your exposed arm, relishing your vulnerability. If you weren't paralyzed with fear, you would have squirmed, thrashed, done anything to flee his scrutiny.

Force, please, you thought desperately, don't let him see them. Please, anything but that. I'll give anything. Let him do what he wishes to me as long as they go unnoticed. Please.

As though sensing your frantic pleas, Ren's eyes locked onto your wrist, onto the unnaturally straight cuts and scars criss crossing your skin.

"What is this?" he said softly.

Shit.

It was the last straw. The spell of fear holding you in place broke. You twisted your arm as far as you could in the restraints, trying to hide what it was far too late to conceal. Instantly his hand shot out and pinned your wrist to the table as you writhed in his grasp.

"You know as well as I do that you cannot take back what has been revealed. The mynock is out of the bag, little one. Are you going to lie still, and let me finish what your own foolish actions have started? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Realizing it was of no use, that you were absolutely, utterly powerless, you stopped thrashing. Tears glistened on your cheeks. Your breath hitched as choked sobs pushed their way past your gag. You fought for every inhale and exhale, lungs crushed under the weight of your own rising panic.

But bewilderingly, inexorably, you were still.

"Good girl," he breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand from your wrist. When you remained motionless, even without his grip holding you to the table, his hands moved to your elbow and, abandoning those damn scissors, he began to finish what he had started.

He tore first one sleeve, then the other, and made short work of everything else until you were laid bare before him. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Kylo Ren's eyes roved over you, taking in every mark, every scar, every bruise on your bare skin. You wanted to fight it so badly, wanted twist yourself away from his agonizing scrutiny, but all you could do was shut your eyes and pray for it to be over. His burning gaze held you immobile like the galaxy's most powerful vice.

"I know what marks I've left on this body, little one," he said, voice unbearably tender. "I know what scars one gets from doing what we do. But this-" his fingers brushed your wrists, your thighs, your torso, tracing the bar code that you had marked yourself with in so many places- "this is not that." His voice, though still intolerably gentle, was taut, hinting at the tightly leashed rage that you could feel bubbling just below his deceptively calm exterior.

For so long, you had been terrified that someone would find out, would ask an unavoidable question, would see something they shouldn't have because you slipped up.

You hadn't expected it to be him.

What the hell was he going to do to you?

After another excruciating moment of consideration, he reached up and unbuckled the gag, carefully sliding it out from between your teeth and setting it on the tray beside the scissors and abandoned syringe. You worked your jaw, gratefully bringing a bit of relief to your sore muscles and parched mouth. You were so tired. So, so tired, too physically and psychologically exhausted to care what happened to you anymore. You had already been on this table for an eternity too long. Let him get what he wanted from you and finally, at long last, leave you for dead.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "Control? Punishment? Or something else?"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with fear and shock, only to find your gaze locked together with his.

"What?" The word came out of your mouth in a grating, dry rasp.

"You heard me," he said. "Why do you do it?"

How dare he. How dare he. The absolute nerve he had, to strap you to a table you and torture you endlessly, and then find out about this and pretend that he cared.

"Fuck off," you said.

"That's no answer."

"You don't even care." You glanced away, eyes flooded with silent tears that you were too embarrassed about to let him see. "No one does."

You flinched as you felt a leather glove hand touch you, then realized that he was caressing your face. Stroking your hair. Comforting you, exactly where you needed it. Holding you like your mother did, so long ago. Touching you the way you had been starving for for so long.

How could he possibly know what you needed so desperately, much less be doing it of his own accord? What happened to him?

You finally mustered up the courage to look back at him, despite the blinding tears and your fear of what you might see. When you finally wrenched your gaze up to meet his, you were shocked by what you saw.

Pity. Concern. Genuine worry. Anger, not at you, but at the people who watched you spiral so far down and did nothing.

All this he told you with his eyes alone.

How was this possible? Stars' sake, he was your enemy. He hated you. So why was he looking at you like he was trying to offer you a lifeline when he was supposed to want you dead?

"Why are you doing this to me?" you whispered.

"Answer me," he said quietly, "And I'll stop."

You took a rattling breath in, and shut your eyes.

You had no choice.

"It's everything," you said softly. "The control. The punishment. All of it." You opened your eyes again and looked back at him as a sob built in your throat. "It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

---

"It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

The words hit Kylo like a dagger to the heart.

So that was why you had never acted on the desires he sensed in you, why you wanted to join him so badly but rejected his offers at every turn. That was why, when he offered you his hand, his teaching, his service, a position by his side, you almost took it before you wrenched yourself away. The Resistance never understood you, saw you as nothing more than a tool for a job. And you didn't think you deserved the what he could provide.

The sobs he had watched you struggle against for so long finally spilled past your lips in a tidal wave. He shushed you as one would a frightened animal, brushed away your tears with his thumb, and quickly undid the restraints at your ankles and wrist. He slid his arms under you and lifted you as easily as though you were a child, one arm under your legs to support your weight, the other pressing your head to his chest as you sobbed, the Force supporting you where he couldn't.

"Easy now," he said, voice low and soothing. "Easy, easy, easy- there we go, come on, come on, there's a good girl. I've got you. I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe. Good girl, come with me. Come with me, now."

He kept up the constant stream of reassurances as he carried you to his bed, holding you with one arm and the Force as he pulled back the covers with the other before setting you in the bed. He kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, pulling you close to his chest, telling you what you had needed to hear for so long.

You were going to be okay, he told you. He promised. Vowed to keep you by his side and give you everything he had to offer, fulfill your every need.

He'd give you the galaxy, if you asked for it. But all you needed was him.

The two of you stayed there until your sobs subsided, his hand absently stroking your hair, your tears soaking his shirt. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew.

You were finally where you belonged. And you were here to stay.

[chriscastile]

Notes to Summatic Self

As you can’t read..yet, six days ago I woke at 2PM as usual and stream of consciousness flowed the state of my thoughts, life, mind. The epi-central theme was that I needed to work toward a 180 right now and I can honestly assert that I’ve summoned the Rocky Heart, mindset and motivation to transform my life, during the last six days at least. My most quintessential urgent prayer this morning as I did my essential stretches, mantra singing and meditating was that I keep running up this path—that I never go back to my old, depressing “life”style of being lazy, slothy, unmotivated, tredding water as I waste away my days, months and early adult years. I have faith that I can keep up this progressive pace and momentum, mostly because of how sublime I feel—how great and renewed my general psyche, affect, mood and brain chemistry feels and how necessary and important keeping up this concentrated, wise, Rocky-like effort is to myself, my family and wide circle of friends. I can say both truthfully and factually that my entry from 10.19 has served its intent so far, that it has been a catalyst to the urgent and beautiful changes I’ve made to my mind, body, heart and soul recently. And I have faith that the continued commitment to steaming the thoughts at the center of my consciousness will continue to be pragmatic as I work to achieve my most gorgeous, O-mazing dreams.

Last week, I had a live dream of myself running up to the peak of the Rocky steps—fit, joyous, strong as a symbol of my triumph over the obstacles that have been holding me back from an optimal life since 2004. Every fukin time I picture myself atop those Rocky Steps, live on Spacebook, my grandfather nestled at the top snapping awesome picks, my parents, brother and good friends rooting me on…I cry tears of joy and triumph. I have such a deep awareness of all of the sadness, failures, bat beats, regressions, and obstacles that have struck me for the last 13+ years and the images of me triumphing over them bring a deluge of joyous tears. That moment atop the Rocky Steps is a symbol of sacred triumph and is premium fuel that I know will continue to keep my engine running as I work towards an extremely difficult and long-overdue task of losing 100+ lbs and more importantly, returning to Level 10 Holistic Health. If I cry shweet ocean waves thinking about that Rocky Steps run, I can only imagine how triumphant and joyous I will feel when it actually comes true. “Up Goes the Tomahawk” will be the second installment of the Tomahawk series and a noice contrast, triumph comeback narrative to the funny, entertaining but ultimately, tragic tale known as “Boom Goes the Tomahawk”.

There is a still a colossal amount of work to be done before I get to the peak of the Rocky Steps but, so the fuck what? You eat an elephant one bite at a time and the best I can do is do the best with each moment and day. Committing, as I have been since my original entry, to daily progress, to X-Exercising with HEART, to practicing a lot more mindfulness, stretching, to feeding all parts of my being with + fuel…healthy food and drink, pragmatic reads, genuine and creative writing, impeccability with my word, optimal execution of my $work, positive moments, conversations, observations, exercise with my roommates is the ROOT of this elephant consumption task and will enable a daily, monthly and yearly Symphony of Splash (mostly metaphorically).

It’s 7am now and I’ve already done more progressive things than I usually had done by 7PM during a historical epoch I now dub, “the Blunder Years”. I am giving myself a few healthy down thumbs up then moving onto the next task—Straightening up my email and computer files—getting them organized and shedding the excess fat. The wave metaphor from “Up All Night” has been omnipresent lately---Surf the Wave of Your Fate with style and grace and remember that if you look around, gloat and concentrate on how sick others will see your surfing skills you will lose your concentration and fall off the board. So ima keep surfing with my mind on keeping the balance on my board, my feet rooted in my immediate setting, my body aligned straight and zen-like, my dreams on the glorious shore and the past way behind my vision as I strive to surf every moment and knuckle-curve like waves with style and grace.

To be continued…daily with wise and energetic effort.

Love,

Thomas