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crowsent · 5 years ago

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👶,⭐,💘, and💻. Love you!!

thank you for ask anon! writer ask game is here if yall wanna send in something. still taking asks for these btw

👶- advice for new writers =

yall this is hella fucking generic but PRACTISE. theres a reason almost literally every writer on tumblr gives the advise of “practise practise practise” and that reason is it works. practise doesnt mean ‘oh just write bc youll automatically get better over time’ it means ‘write bc if you dont, you wont figure out what you need to improve.’ did yall know that i literally had no sentence variation in the past? i started every sentence with [character name] or [character pronoun] and i didnt realise until i was 15/16 and i only realised bc i started writing a lot.

i think there’s a fear of failure with new writers. there’s this lingering doubt of “what if its not good?” and boy howdy i will answer that question right fucking now. it wont be good. when i compare my current work to my earlier work, my earlier work sucked fucking shit. i spelled soldier with a fucking ‘j’ and i had no idea what the hell a point of view was. and thats okay. whoever tells you that youre going to perfect writing is a fucking liar. there is no perfecting writing. 20 years from now, imma look at the writing from today and im gonna think it sucks shit. writing is a process. its a craft. you get better and better over time and the way you get better is by experimenting w different styles, different genres, different ways of writing.

and the only way you can experiment and improve is through practise. in video games, especially rpgs (which are my favourite kind of video games), you struggle in the early game. youre at a low level, you dont have good equipment, you have a hard time moving to the next area. but the only way you progress is by grinding, gaining levels, and getting stronger. same w writing. if youre a level 1 writer, just starting out, no idea what to do, just experiment. fuck around a bit. write crackships, write rarepairs, write niche self-indulgent reader/character fics. at the end of the day, you should write for yourself. its good and cool if other people like your stuff and validate all your hard work, but at the end of the day, the one who should enjoy your writing the most is yourself.

you WILL mess up and you WILL struggle, but thats the only way you can improve. i struggle with pacing the most. still do. but others might have pacing down pat and struggle instead with word choice or pov or something else. cant figure out where you need to improve if you dont write, so just practise and worry about all the fine print later

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration? =

this is definitely not universal, but i just sit on my bed, close my eyes, and meditate. cycle through all my emotions and thoughts and filter them out. then i just toss everything out the damn window. like. id just meditate for a while, focus on breathing, on experiencing the present, picture a field and a tree and myself and breathe. thoughts fly by and i let them happen but dont focus on it.

meditating gives me some semblance of emotional control bc i normally have none, and it gives me kind of this space. this safe space that only exists for me and me alone. so i use that space to let the world drift away. just me and my thoughts and sometimes, those thoughts end up being good writing ideas. but i usually meditate for a set amount of time. like 15 minutes or 30 minutes so i dont write until i finish meditating.

then when i get out of my headspace, i open up my laptop and see what i remember. thinking too hard about something causes it to muddy up. same with art. in digital art, artists flip the canvas to refresh their eyes, see if there’s anything weird or wonky about the illustration that they normally dont see bc theyve gotten used to it. flipping the canvas is like giving our eyes a jumpstart and lets us see what we could do better. in traditional art, its turning the canvas this way and that or repositioning yourself. meditating is like that. a break. a cleanse. a kind of pause where you dont think about anything and just try to process what you already have. you relax and kind of let yourself float down a river of thoughts and sometimes, a fish would jump out of that river and youd go “hey, thats a good idea. i should try that” so when you get out of the river, youre refreshed and ready to go.

same principle with showers. more ideas come to you in the shower when you dont have anything to write with bc youre not thinking about it. youre not focusing on finding inspiration or motivation so ideas naturally flow through you. you know that feeling when you want to do x then someone comes along and says “hey you should do x” and suddenly all motivation to do x leaves? same w your brain. focus too much on “i should be writing” or “i want inspiration” and its never gonna come. just let things happen. at least, thats how i do it. some people might get inspiration by reading or watching tv. everyones different so if thats not what works out for you, dont feel pressured to try my method

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite? =

magic au. specifically fantasy au set in like a pre-modern era. shows like avatar where theres all this magic and fantastical beasts and so on and so forth. semi-modern like six of crows and nevernight are great too. i want that magic to be woven into people’s lives. harry potter is okay but there’s like this separation between magic and muggle. there’s this feeling of “magic” but like as a tool. like a spoon or a gun or a shovel. i want magic au’s that are INTEGRATED with the world its set in.

like in atla, earth kingdom people have trains they move with bending while fire nation people have machines powered by heat and steam. both correspond to their bending and makes sense for the world they live in. but if your plot is like harry potter and its less worldbuilding and more action, then there’s this book series called seasons rising (read it. so good) where there’s a bunch of spells but the spells have character. the people using the spells GIVE it character and it feels much more intimate. pokemon does the whole fantasy mixed w reality better. give two trainers the exact same pokemon and by the time that pokemon reaches lvl 50, its gonna have a different moveset, different fight style, etc bc it was shaped by the world and people around it. i like harry potter but tbh it could have been so much better

for the least favourite au, it’s A/B/O i dont like the whole “omegas are only good for breeding hurr durr” and “alphas are violent and aggressive and cant control themselves around omegas” thing and it squicks me out. major squick. i read the original harry potter squick (THAT one. yeah. you know the one) and i still hate a/b/o more. i get why people like it, and there are one or two fics set in a/b/o au that i enjoy reading, but as a whole, i severely dislike a/b/o fics.

the themes are squick, the character dynamics get so messed up, and shipping dynamics (bc a/b/o fics usually have shipping) just get so blown out of proportion. there are so many a/b/o fics that turn ooc or the character interpretations radically change or something else. no hate against a/b/o fans bc yall are amazing for writing/drawing yalls au. there are things that you can only do in this setting and exploring those things can be incredibly fun for people, but for me personally, its not an au i like to visit.

💻- three works of yours that are must reads =

i. dont know what fandom youre in anon or your genre preferences. so ill just rec you one fic for a different fandom each with kind of different genres. ts masterlist is on my side @hufflepuff-deceit and regular fanfic masterlist is on my writing blog @crownonymous

(BNHA) Viper. its my first serious attempt at fanfic in YEARS and its my baby. currently has 7 chapters, i havent updated it in a while bc im hyperfocused on ts rn, but i love it to bits. its just all of my fav bnha fics crammed into one fic. quirkless kind of villain izuku with stain as a mentor as they work together to bring light to the injustices of hero society and where bakugos bullying has visible and long-lasting repercussions? sign me the fuck up. you can read it on ao3 HERE bc its not on tumblr. kind of fast-paced, has a lot more action scenes than anything else ive written. heavy plot-wise but has a lot of humour and comedy to break things up

(Kimetsu no Yaiba) I Pray To God He Hears You. not related to my other kny fic oleander which is a multichap retelling au. iptghhy is a standalone one-shot and kind of a character study on one giyuu tomioka. i love him so much. giyuu is my baby and i adore him. so of course i wrote a sad fic focusing on him. well technically, the fic focuses on giyuu AND his relationships. SPOILERS for chapters 130 and 131 of the manga. focuses mostly on giyuu and sabito, but there’s a fair bit of giyuu and tanjiro and urokodaki. you can read it HERE bc this is also not on tumblr. also deals with heavy things but more emotion-wise since it doesnt have that much of a plot. loss. grief. moving on. survivors guilt. that kind of stuff. very sad. hurt but with comfort, especially at the end.

(Sanders Sides) Logan’s Birthday Fic: Logicality. just what the title says. i wrote 5 different fics and published them all on logans bday but the logicality one received the most feedback and honestly? the cutest of the bunch. its gonna be crossposted onto ao3 but for now, you can read it HERE on my ts sideblog. theres no plot since its literally just domestic and relationship fluff. and puns. patton is in the fic, theres gonna be puns. nothing but good things and warm feelings bc logan deserves it.

thank you so much for such interesting asks anon! i enjoyed answering these. have a lovely day!

#crowsas answers #kny #bnha #sanders sides

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years ago

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Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 09: OUR SPIRITS, KINDRED

QUEST SUMMARY:

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske’s obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske’s games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

CHAPTER 1: GRIP OF THE GODS

High above the clouds, Armadyl and his avianse were housed in a temporary cloud fortress that they had erected upon their return to Gielinor. The Empyrean Citadel was unsuitable for housing their numbers, after all. That, and it had been tainted by Sliske’s presence. So, they had to build themselves temporary lodgings, for you can’t exactly spread the avianse across the bed and breakfasts of Misthalin. It helped that the avianse were known for being skilled carpenters. One wouldn’t think that upon looking at them, but never judge a book by its cover.

Looking out towards the horizon of a new dawn, Armadyl stood in quiet contemplation. He’d been trying to work through the turmoils of the last few years in solitude, taking to meditating at the break of day. While doing this, he’d organise his current stresses and plan ways to deal with them by prioritising the most pressing issues and working backwards. He didn’t want to worry his generals by showing just how much it was eating at him to be back on Gielinor. When they’d first arrived on Gielinor in the Second Age, they were escaping their homeworld of Abbinah, looking for peace and community in a pure world that was rich in resources, a world that would allow them to prosper without the threat of constant storms and hurricanes raging above, a world that didn’t require ritual sacrifice of the elderly to relieve the burden on the young.

Gielinor was that perfect world.

Now, it was being ravaged by war, just as it was many centuries ago. Those who forget the past were doomed to repeat it, and Armadyl was not going to let what happened to his avianse on that fateful day ever happen again.

Now, new issues had arisen, namely his ‘prize’ of inheriting the vast majority of Bandosians after he’d slain their god. Honestly, he didn’t expect that to happen. Not that he didn’t welcome the challenge of teaching a new group that there was a way of life beyond war, a way of life instead driven by peace and justice. But undoing eons of Bandosian indoctrination had left him with his hands full. Understaffed and unprepared, Armadylean forces had been stretched thin.

And then, Armadyl had heard about the fate of the Dorgesh-Kaan.

The guilt of being unable to prevent this genocide, one execuated in his name, was clawing at his heart.

Kree'arra entered onto the balcony, tentatively calling out, “My lord?”

Shuddering, Armadyl tried to briefly take the Dorgesh-Kaan out of his mind. Turning to the general, he attempted a warm smile. “Come, Kree'arra. What news do you bring?”

“Nothing positive, my lord,” Kree'arra regretfully admitted. “The situation in Ardougne is growing worse by the day, and our scouts are no closer to finding Sliske and your Staff.”

Armadyl wasn’t disappointed. Not really, anyway. In both matters, he’d expected as much. The reports had plateaued, and he didn’t expect much of an improvement anytime soon.

“Kree'arra,” Armadyl’s tone was resigned, yet resolved. “If the situation here on Gielinor continues to deteriorate, I am not putting my people in harm's way by remaining. We shall depart this world and find somewhere else to nest, with or without my Staff. Power is nothing if my people are lost, like I thought they were all those years ago.”

“But where would we go, my lord?” Kree'arra asked, softly. “We cannot return to Abbinah.”

“Of course not, but I have an idea… it may be a long shot, yes, but we might be able to save those left behind on Abbinah, and create a new home for all of the avianse. Say, Kree'arra… what do you know of Tarddiad.”

Furrowing his brow, Kree'arra replied, “The homeland of the elves? Little, my lord. It is known as a land covered in trees.”

“And mountaintops, waterfalls, lush vegetation…” Armadyl added, growing in excitement. “I have a plan. Seren cares a lot for her elves - she’s a compassionate being, kinder than all the other gods I have encountered. Our people are skilled craftsmen and healers, so we could help her people in numerous ways. If I can persuade Seren to share the skies of Tarddiad with us, we needn’t ever want for resources or stability ever again. We would be safe, Kree'arra!”

His frown deepening, Kree'arra averted his gaze from the diety’s. Armadyl had always been a dreamer, but Kree'arra found himself to be a pessimist by nature, always hating to ground the idealistic musings of his god. “That would be wonderful, my lord… but do you really think Seren would give up part of sovereignty over Tarddiad to us?”

“It would take some convincing, yes,” Armadyl accepted. “But I shall discuss the idea with her upon our next encounter. Hopefully she will see the merits in my proposal.”

Turning back towards the horizon, Armadyl’s tone was wistful, yet determined, as he said, “I will find a home for us, Kree'arra. I will save the avianse…”

***

It was a dreary Essianday in Lumbridge, but as Essianday was the Saradominist holy day of the week, church was in service. Father Urhney, an irritable priest, was leading the congregation. Never in a good mood, the wild-haired priest detested being back in the town of Lumbridge, having moved into the swamps to the south not so long ago in an attempt to spend two years in silent meditation and prayer. However, every time someone bothered him with conversation, he forced himself to start over. Hence, he was a rather grumpy fellow.

Since the end of the Battle of Lumbridge, the town’s residents - usually devout Saradominists - had been attending services less and less, meaning that the coffers at the front were a lot lighter than usual. Considering this was how the priests gained an income in the town, it was a worry for them all, even those who had isolated themselves in a swampy shack.

The reason for the drop in attendance was due to a rise in Godless and Armadylean supporters who had turned from Saradomin after the Battle of Lumbridge was concluded. Turns out, not many people care to have their town demolished and the deity they pray to walk away without so much as an apology.

The priest that usually ran the quaint little service was Father Aereck, a frail and subdued man, who was not well equipped to deal with the challenge of regaining Saradominist support in Lumbridge.

Because of this, Father Urhney forced himself from his little shack and ventured back into the town to take over regular services. Today was his first one, and word had gotten around about his return, so the church was a lot fuller than normal. It turned out that a lot of people had questions they wanted answered, and Father Aereck was not doing the job for them, so they made the most of utilising Father Urhney’s time.

But upon hearing the white noise of chattering, questions, demands and a few stray insults, Father Urhney regretted his life choices. Irritably shaking his head, he raised his hands in an attempt to calm the congregation.

This achieved nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he squinted his eyes tightly and exclaimed, “Please, one at a time! Saradomin only has two ears, and so do I.”

Fortunately, that was enough to subdue them, but it wouldn’t last long. So, capitalising on the silence, he motioned to a man in the front row, one of the rowdier members who was chomping at the bit to speak.

“Why should we follow Saradomin anymore?” the man asked, a loaded question if there ever was one. “He left our town in ruins. I heard about this Armadyl guy - he seems to be a stand up fella, preachin’ justice and peace and all that.”

“He went to war with Bandos in open conflict,” Father Urhney countered, rolling his eyes. “Not very peaceful if you ask me. But yes, before you say it, Bandos was a threat that needed to be neutralised. He’s dead now. Zamorak is still out there, causing chaos. He’s invaded Ardougne! Where’s Armadyl now? He’s left those people there to fend for themselves, whereas Saradomin has sent his forces to battle the dark Zamorak head on. Peace can only be achieved once Saradomin takes his rightful place as the only god in Gielinor. There is a pattern to the ascendance and collapse of civilisation - a cycle of tragedy. Saradomin has the knowledge to break this cycle, and most importantly, the will to lead everyone forwards. Gielinor, and other worlds, would be brought into a new age. A utopia. Other gods can claim this, but only Saradomin has the experience necessary to make it happen. Alas, utopia must sometimes be built on bones, so let the lesser gods be the foundation. Then, Saradomin can lead everyone to a glorious future!”

“Lead? You mean, he wants to control everyone?” a disgruntled man in the second row called out, earning a few concurring nods and mumbles from the rest of the attendees.

Father Urhney tried his best to keep his tone measured as he replied, “You say that as though it were a bad thing. People need governments, leaders and structures. Just as freedom doesn't mean anarchy, control doesn't have to mean slavery. Saradomin offers guidance and leadership, law and order. Under his 'control', people could thrive. Everyone would have the reassurance that they know where they belong and how they should behave. Deep down, everyone wants to know where they sit in the world. What you call control, I would argue is true freedom. Freedom to know how life should be lived and how to fulfil one’s potential.”

“I heard from my niece in Ardougne that there’s a Mahjarrat-y fellow running around with one of them there elder weapons! He’s gonna use it to destroy everyone!”

This statement came out of nowhere, interrupting the contemplative quiet that had arose following Father Urhney’s response. For all his personal foibles, Father Urhney was incredibly devout and the conviction from which he spoke could turn even the most stubborn of heads.

But now, that peace had been ruined, and naturally, the congregation went into panicked uproar. Some of the Lumbridge folk were rural and quite traditional in their beliefs, but they knew enough to decide that the Mahjarrat were bad, and one having an Elder Weapon was worse. Of course, this was a gross oversimplification, one that a lot of Mahjarrat would take umbrage to, but the public perception was hard to change, and Sliske running around with the Stone of Jas was doing little to help matters.

The lack of Saradominist Mahjarrat didn’t help either.

Having heard Brother Samwell’s tale of Sliske, Icthlarin and the Empyrean Citadel, Father Urhney was a lot more knowledgeable on what was really going on in the world in comparison to his congregation. Deciding that giving at least a little bit of context could assist in both settling the nerves of the churchgoers and prove that he and his fellow priests were in-the-know, Father Urhney once again silenced the crowd and said, “Calm down, everyone. If you let me talk, I can quell some of these exaggerated rumours. Now, firstly, yes, there’s a Mahjarrat who has the Stone of Jas, and-QUIET! For Saradomin’s sake, can you let me finish?! Yes, the rumours are true, but Saradomin is fighting to get the Stone back into his safekeeping, and he WILL succeed. He will take the fight to all the other gods, and this Mahjarrat, and the Stone will be his once again. That’s why he needs your support!”

“Why Saradomin?” one of the men at the back piped up, pushing off from the wall he was leaning against. “Why not another god, or heck, how about NO god?”

“The Stone will fall into someone’s hands, it cannot simply go no-where and belong to no-one,” Father Urhney grumbled, shaking his head with an irritated sigh. “Saradomin has wielded the Stone before, wisely and with care, and he shall do so again. Can you say such of the others? The dark Zamorak would use it to destroy the world; Zaros would enslave it to his will, and grow more dangerous than ever; Armadyl has no idea what to do with such power, and would destroy himself with his naivety; and Seren would use its power only in support of her precious elves. Saradomin, on the other hand, will use its power with wisdom and compassion, for the betterment of ALL life on Gielinor. Now, are there any more questions?”

Once he saw almost every hand in the room shoot up, it took everything in Father Urhney’s power to not storm out and end the service early.

***

The dragonkin were a race of powerful and intelligent dragon-like creatures that originated from the previous cycle of the universe, a handful of them having survived the revision of the universe by hiding in the Abyss. The surviving dragonkin sought out Jas for mercy or retribution, only to end up being bound to her Catalyst - the Stone of Jas - and were tasked with protecting it at all costs. When the Stone was used by a being other than Jas, they were cursed to feel great pain and suffering that could only be eased by violence and rampage. Thus, tales of the dragonkin speak of a malevolent and dangerous species.

There were two factions of the dragonkin on Gielinor. The first, the Dactyl dragonkin, who repress the urge to cause destruction and kill 'False Users'. Instead, they undertake research and perform experiments in an attempt to sever their connection to the Stone of Jas. The other faction were the Necrosyrtes, a war-like faction comprised of those who have given into their urge to cause destruction. Kerapac belonged to the former, and had dedicated his life to ridding the dragonkin of Jas’ curse.

On this night, Kerapac was found huddled over one of the journals he was writing, locked inside his cramped and dimly lit study. He and his fellow draginkin had been forced from their home at the heart of Daemonheim when Bilrach tunnelled deep into its depths. Realistically, they could have fought off any intruder, but were against revealing themselves to the world at such a time. In fact, if Kerapac had his way, they would still be an unknown presence in Gielinor. Unfortunately, Sithaph and Strisath had taken matters into their own hands, succeeding at retrieving the Staff of Armadyl (momentarily) but falling short of safeguarding the Stone. After all, they didn’t have the power to teleport the Stone to safety by themselves. They were brutes, weaklings - kath, as they were known in the dragonkin language. And thanks to them, the world knew about the existence of the dragonkin.

Kerapac had self-proclaimed himself as the ‘Observer’, watching over the affairs of Gielinor with patience and detachment. Until now, that is. With Sliske’s slaying of Guthix and bringing back the gods to Gielinor, the world was in upheaval, and Kerapac could sense the disturbance beneath him. The Elder Gods would awaken soon, they would hatch their spawn, and so the universe would restart once again, just like it did eons ago. Kerapac sensed it then, and managed to hide some of his people away… but he knew he would not be so lucky this time.

But while they were still bound to the Stone, there was very little the dragonkin could do.

Kerapac knew that the time for observation was over, and he formulated a plan. Many plans, in fact - Kerapac was not a being to leave much to chance. If successful, this latest idea would leave the Elder Mirror in his possession. The Elder Mirror was used by the Elder Gods for large-scale creation, being able to create copies of things. Currently, the dragonkin had tracked down its location to a being known simply as ‘V’, the god of the Fremennik people.

As of now, V had kept to himself, choosing to isolate himself and his people from the current affairs of the other deities, along with the chase for the Stone of Jas.

Kerapac had no qualms about killing him. He’d slaughter civilisations if it meant his fellow dragonkin could finally be free.

Other such plans had yet to return positive results; no dragonkin had managed to locate Sliske, as of yet, and the search for the other Elder Artifacts wasn’t going so well. Twelve were known, but only a handful were even obtainable. The Siphon and the Catalyst - colloquially known as the Staff of Armadyl and the Stone of Jas, respectively - were in Sliske’s possession. The Locator, also known as the Crown Archival, was able to find other Elder Artifacts, though only ones of considerably less power. It would prove incredibly useful to any deity, and indeed to the dragonkin, but it was currently held by Saradomin, who Kerapac knew had too much power and support to take on directly. Others, such as The Kiln, were useless to the dragonkin, only used for creating TokHaar workers to shape the world. And then there were the artefacts that were lost to time and space, those that may not even be on Gielinor, such as The Codex and The Template. Kerapac only knew of their existence due to his past proximity to the Stone of Jas, something that granted him knowledge most mortals could only dream of.

So many artefacts, so many gods, so little time.

But for now, Kerapac kept writing in his journal, documenting his work to save his people from the curse brought upon them by a being as old as the universe. If it meant killing a god, or numerous gods, he would do so. If it meant challenging Sliske directly, he would do so. If it meant laying down his own life so that his descendents could live without suffering, he would do so.

***

The small study Sliske had carved out for himself was dimly lit in the glow of only two candles. It made the knife-work he was undertaking much more of a challenge, having to refrain from slicing off his own fingers with the sharp blade, but this helped him focus more, to concentrate on the task at hand instead of letting his mind drift to unwanted realms. Unfortunately, that suffocating feeling always managed to creep inside, rattling with voices that were always his own, always familiar, yet simultaneously alien.

The voices had been there since he was young, and he’d managed to keep them a secret from the rest of his tribe. Except from his brother, that is, who was the only one he could confide in at such a young age. These voices didn’t worry him, and from what he’d gathered from his time amongst humans, many of them were subject to the same conditions.

Perhaps Mahjarrat are susceptible too? Perhaps I’m not the only one?

He didn’t know, and venturing such a notion would have led him down a rabbit hole, perhaps even to the Marker.

So, they were kept a secret.

Well, for the most part; Relomia - Sliske’s emissary, someone who often lurked in Sliske’s lair whenever the Mahjarrat would permit company - had often heard her master mutter to himself when in the depths of deep thought, conversing with himself like he wasn’t the only one in the room. It troubled her, to hear some of the things her master would say, but she didn’t dare confront him, for he might not take too kindly to the notion she had been eavesdropping all this time.

Whittling wooden masks was Sliske’s favourite way to de-stress; whenever he felt overwhelmed by anything and needed to clear his mind, or simply narrow it enough to fix a troubling part of a plan, he would take a knife and carve theatrical masks. Some of them he would enchant, for the humour in it, but the vast majority he would burn.

There was never much subtlety or nuance in Sliske’s masks. For a being that prided himself on being unreadable, his wooden creations undercut that entirely. Sliske had already carved eight masks this evening alone and was working on his ninth. This mask, however, was blank. Not that he had yet to carve an emotion into it, but the mask itself portrayed emotionless.

“You’ve been waiting for this your entire lifetime,” Sliske growled lowly to himself. “If you don’t act now, it may be too late. Gods know you have a target on your back…”

“You shouldn’t have told him. You should have known he would betray you.”

“Why did you tell him? Why did you think honesty would get you anywhere? It never has and it never will.”

“He went behind your back. He was never going to fulfil the agreement.”

“Why did you think he would be any different?”

“You thought you could reason with him? Bargain for something so precious? You fool.”

“What is wrong with you?” he hissed with disgust, causing his knife hand to slip and accidentally slice his into his thumb. The wound wasn’t deep, but claret still trickled across the mask’s face, dripping through the eyehole and into a small puddle beneath him. “He wouldn’t be persuaded so easily. Be reasonable. Plan A was a longshot - you knew that. So, you’ll just have to do things the hard way...”

After a few more minutes of bloodstained whittling, Sliske held the mask up to admire his handiwork, though instead regarded it with nothing more than a heavy glare of disinterest. He tossed it into the corner.

Rising to his feet, he walked over to the pile of masks he’d accumulated over the last few months. It took up a fair bit of space; Sliske was holding off on burning them until he could justify a bonfire. “Everything is ready. Soon, he’ll be ready too. A few hours and it’ll all be over. You’ll be safe, forever. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Immortality is within reach, so don’t let those ridiculous notions of yours get in the way. After all, you’ll forget him in time.”

He reached among the pile and found a mask with a wicked sneer carved into it. Holding it up to his face, he mimicked the expression inside the mask. “Yes, it won’t be long now…”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#armadyl #kerepac #sliske

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marie-lamb-b · 5 years ago

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The Ink DeMonth. Day 3: Stuck.

Keep your keys at hand…

I know I’m delayed, but I’m still into it until I say so! (And it won’t be soon~)

Alright, taking again these two goofs, I decided to put a bit of pepper (and vinegar and onions and blood and tears) and make a thing a tad angsty. I really enjoyed writing Sammy’s part and his growing suspicions, as oblivious as I think he is he can really get things aside for what he cares~

Tumblr Version under the cut!

(Tag Warnings: Claustrophobia, Religious content)

6.30 PM and most of the JDS employees already left the building. Only the workaholics, the ones that had no sense of time whatsoever, and those in charge of making sure everything’s left shut and closed were the only ones remaining. And between that bunch was Wally Franks.

As the time settled it, now he was holding his closet’s door open while he was checking his last chores in the list. Assuring everything was in order; tools in store, keys at hand –well, actually hanging from the knob but he still was using them to lose them so quickly. Yep, everything in order. Now he just needed to take out his notepad, cross it out from the list and check what else he needed to do before leaving… if only it weren’t for that ludicrous new system installed that made the doors to close shut whenever they were left open. That’s why Wally had to keep it held open.

“Wally, my boy!” Joey came from behind greeting the young janitor.

“Yes Mr. Drew, sir?” He answered peeking his head from over his shoulder.

“I trust you’ll leave everything as pristine as a fine china cup before leaving, won’t you.”

“Absolutely, sir.” He turned around to face him

“And don’t forget to–”

“–Shut off the lights, the heater and the front door locked close.” He completed his sentence as he reached with his free hand to the notepad. “Everythin’ in check to be done as soon as I can.” He assured to his boss.

“Excellent! Then I have nothing to worry about.”

“No, sir. Everythin’ll be a-ok, sir!” He stood straight and saluted him, unaware of releasing he door and it stumbling against him as it started to close itself. “Ouch! Sir, Mr. Drew, can I ask ye something?” He waited for a permissive nod to continue. “I get it that most of the fellas in here agreed about these doors closin’ alone, but we had to put that thing in every door?” He shoved away the door of his own closet to emphasize, with a large pleading look.

“Sorry, my boy. But this measure was taken to improve the productivity of all my crew. And you know I need them to be happy so they work hard.”

“I get it, boss.” He sighed in defeat.

“Good. Now, please don’t forget to add to that list of yours send Sammy to his home. I don’t wanna have him passed out in the break room couch again and have a grumpy music director all day tomorrow.” He requested as he pointed the musician right behind the glass of his office, slouched over his desk and quite probably muttering something.

“Send Mr. Lawrence to home…” He picked up a pen and started to scribble in his notepad, all the while he left the door loose and stumped once again against him and releasing a huff over it. “Right above shuttin’ the heater. Got it sir!”

“Very well, Wally. See ya tomorrow!” He saluted as he walked away, and the janitor granted him goodbye as well.

Alright, time to keep moving. Next thing on list: Sammy’s last cup of his special coffee. It didn’t matter whether Joey have requested it or not; it became an agreement between them two that this very last cup was Sammy’s cue to leave as soon as he emptied it. That, if he wanted Wally to keep preparing that coffee as he liked –with all that little pantry that the janitor fixed inside his closet only for him. Why Wally didn’t ask something more in return of that special treat, he didn’t know but couldn’t care less; all that worried the young janitor was the wellbeing of the oblivious music man and this guaranteed at least a proper night of rest for him.

But if he wanted to prepare his ‘specialty’, he needed to reach the hidden spot over the shelves where he built that secret pantry, and would need both arms to do it. So he glanced to the door, thinking –and quite wishing– for the door to not close as he was on the task. And resolving to hold it open, at least a sliver, he leaned his foot to support it, all the while he stretched to reach in the upper shelf.

Tapping with his bare digits, he came close to almost everything he needed. He got a clean mug, a tiny bag with bean-like stuffing –a coffee portion just for 1–, sugar, sugar, sugar… he found the shaker! Now only left the tiny cup of cream… that thing always rolled further back…

He stretched a tad more, only his middle and ring fingers used as some sort of tongs to try and reach behind. The door was barely hold by the toes of his foot as he tried to get upper. C’mon, c’mon… where’s the cream…? He could feel the little container but was simply out of reach.

He recoiled and stood firmly, crouching a little. Maybe a little quick hop would help. A glance behind; the door was still open and his foot holding it quite well. Alright, he prepared.

1… 2… 3!

A hop. A successful reach! A landing with both his feet.

“Yes!” He cheered way too quickly, as soon he heard the squeak of the hinges and the door slammed closed.

He turned his head back as soon as he heard the shutting door and the darkness consumed every single corner of the space. No light was inside the tiny closet except by the thin sliver that came from below the door’s frame.

“Ok. Ok, just– just calm down, Wally.” He tried to reassure himself as he slowly turned as he could to face the door. “You– you need to… need to use your keys! That’s it!”

Although that spark of hope rapidly faded, as he started to pat around himself, looking where could have put those –again. His patting turned into slapping, and within second his breaths also turned more and more raged. He just had those damn things! He used them to open…! To open the door…

…He left his keys hanging from the door’s knob…

…Oh, no…

Realization hit him like a truck and he barely felt his breathing hitching. His mouth turned into a dreadful wobbling smile as he tried way too hard to not fall in panic.

“Heh… he heh… Alright, this– this is– is– is not so bad! I– I just havetta– to– Sammy will notice I ha– haven’t shown yet! …Yeah! He– he’ll notice me. Right?”

…

“…Right…?”

He kept reassuring himself, feeling each hammering second like excruciatingly. Ignoring the rivulets of tears forming and descending from his eyes, clutching painfully his chest with his nails dug in just where his rosary was hanging and his pocket bible was kept.

He just had to wait and soon he’d be out, right…?

He focused on his breaths; he focused on his surroundings. He closed his eyes, as he rather be in a known darkness before than the one from his very own closet. He heard the pipes flowing, the outside lights buzzing, a voice… singing?

Oh God, no…!

Sammy. Sammy’s voice. Sammy was singing. Sammy was vocalizing out loud and way too into his own mind!

This was bad.

This was bad. This was bad. This was bad. This was bad. This was bad. This was bad. ThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbadThiswasbad!!!!!

“SAMMY!!! SAMMY!!!” Wally started to shout as loud as his panicked voice allowed. He started to bang the door as well, but with how narrow the space was, he couldn’t swing his arm without hitting it with the shelves behind. He didn’t mind. He needed to get his attention somehow. He had to notice him. Anyone had to! “SAMMY!! SAMMY, HELP!! ANYONE!!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!!”

Nobody.

The only thing he was able to hear was Sammy, still singing, and his very own crying.

He turned again, back facing the door and leaned there, trying to slide down, ever so slowly, bending his knees so he could fit sitting even if he had to press against the shelves. All as he kept crying, distressed, and painfully gripping his chest.

No one heard him. Sammy didn’t hear him.

He let a wild and grieving wail to escape his throat, in hopes to be heard and rescued, but aside of not being heard at all, it only helped to harm his own cords as he kept crying.

And as tired and hurt he was, as hoarse his throat was, as burnt his cheeks were, only one thing he could thing to ever do, even if the desperation consumed him.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” [Psalm, 56:3]

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven.” He started to pray as he picked out his rosary. “Hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread…”

And he kept praying, faith into that at least his prays would be heard.

*-*-*-*-*

Sammy was singing. He needed to do so. He had to vocalize out loud what he was composing in order to assure his work was spotless. For whenever he noticed a single mistake, call it a misplaced note or wrong length, it would lead into a little fit of rage against himself, muttering profanities only audible for those in the range of, let’s say, the whole hall until reaching the infirmary’s entrance. It would be followed by him tearing apart or crumpling the music sheet, just like he was doing right then. Sure, he could cross out the wrong part, fix it, and then he could transcript what was already done in a new page, but usually that was not his style; was something that Wally has been trying to help him with.

Talking about, where was he anyways? Normally he would appear right before he started to tear the sheet and help him breathing and cooling down his mood…

Huh, probably was down in the toy factory or something…

Sammy took seat and clenched his head, an ache about to grow. Ugh, he needed his coffee.

He picked up his mug and held it against his lips, only to notice that it was empty. That’s weird. Did he already drink his coffee? But he can’t even remember… He clicked his tongue, trying to catch any lingering flavor; nothing.

Wally didn’t refill his coffee?

Now that he thought about as he rubbed his neck, he didn’t even remember his usual kiss when he warned about ‘the last cup and then at home’.

Where’s Wally…?

“WALLY?” He called out loud. Nothing.

He stood up, ready to leave his office and a dreadful feeling tingling all over his chest. He opened the door and peeked out, moving, each step ever so slowly and eyes darting in every single direction.

“FRANKS?” He called out again. Still nothing.

The tingling expanded, taking place now along his arms and until the very tip of his fingers. He started to flex them, ready to attack if something ever got to happen and he needed to act rather quickly.

“C’mon, Wally, where are you?” He muttered, picking on every single buzz around him; the pipes dripping, the boards creaking, the door… sobbing and mumbling?

He shot his gaze towards the janitor’s closet, closed and keys dangling of the knob itself. With slow steps, as delicate as a deer peeking through the woods, he approached to the door. Fearfully tender, he leaned both his hands and an ear pressed against the door, focused, listening.

“…blessed are you among women…” A hoarse voice prayed, sobbing in between. “…And blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Sammy’s eyes widened in realization; it was Wally.

“Oh, God. Wally!” He claimed although voiceless.

He hurried up, picking the keys and turning them albeit clumsily due the desperation. He managed to open it widely, and Wally stumbled back, just in the part about praying for the sinners which was cut off by the huff he released when hitting his back against the floor.

Eyes shut tightly at first, Wally slowly opened them, hit by the lights as he already was customized to the darkness of his closet. First thing on sight was a blurry, backlighted silhouette above him, and seemed to be panting. And although he got used to the light out there, the shape was still blurry; his eyes were too tired and swollen to focus properly.

“Oh, God. Wally, are you okay?!” His voice –Sammy’s voice!– exclaimed with so much concern and anguish. And he couldn’t hold it any longer.

As if there was still water in him to freely pour, Wally started to cry out loud again. And Sammy crouched, lowering to his level so he was able to hold the upset young man between his arms.

“Shh… It’s okay, Wally. I’m here.” Sammy soothed, stroking his hair and holding him close to his chest, as much as to comfort him as to contain himself. “I’m here.” He repeated, burying his face in his neck and muffling a tad his consolations. “I’m here. It’s okay now. I’m here…”

Three and a half loops of his rosary was what it took Wally to be found. But it didn’t matter now, for his prays were heard and now he was out in the arms of the only one he really cared of.

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waypathfinder · 5 years ago

Text

Crimson Lane - Chapter 16 - Chapter 16 - Towards the Dawn (Part 2)

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot

Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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Archive of our Own (from the start)

Archive of our Own (chapter)

Fanfiction.net

Chapter Text

Ben’s hand hovered above the handle, hesitating. There were muffled voices behind the door; his mother, father, Luke... They were all in there together; talking about him.

He’d done this years ago, just an eight-year-old boy, curiously listening at the door. That night he’d heard words that had changed everything: “troubled”, “therapy”, “medication”. The sound of his mother weeping, his father’s pacing. It still haunted him, even now. That night he’d cried beneath the duvet; praying and promising to change.

He should never have listened that night.

And now, just sixteen-years-old, he still hadn’t learnt the lesson.

“You’ll be so proud of him, Leia.”

That was Luke, his voice, gentle, and strangely emotional.

Ben pushed his ear against the door, straining to hear.

“I mean it. He’s amazing, Leia. The boy has a gift. He’s an example to the class.”

Ben’s heart clenched at the words, surely they weren’t about him.

“This last year, he’s studied hard every day and commits to his martial arts: Karate, kickboxing, Kung fu , Ninjutsu, he’s taking them in his stride.”

There was an audible sigh of relief and then, “So, the meditation is helping?”

That was his father, Han. He could recognise his voice by that familiar tinge of scepticism. “Hokey religions and ancient weapons,” he used to scoff at their training, much to Luke’s ire.

“And how is he at managing his emotions?” his mother asked.

There was silence for a beat, and then the sound of a chair scraping on the tiles.

“It will take many years for him to be in control. It’s difficult for him, Leia. The boy is so raw. So overwhelmed with his emotions that he struggles to process them. He needs time and peace.”

The room fell quiet again, a heavy silence.

“It’s not a bad thing. Yes, he has a great capacity for anger, but also an equally strong measure to love and protect. He just needs help. Like we all do at times.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Now Ben, if you’re done listening at the door, will you come in please?”

Ben jumped. The door he had been leaning against opened inward, throwing him off balance.

“I was just—” he started mumbling some pathetic excuse, but Luke spoke over him.

“I was telling your parents how hard you’ve been working with me this year.”

Ben nodded, too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, and made a beeline to the fridge. He wasn’t hungry, but he had to do something. He could feel them all watching him. Ben opened the fridge door, drunk from a bottle of orange juice, ending with a loud sigh.

“Oh, Ben!” his mother scolded. “Use a glass.”

“You haven’t been able to improve his manners then?” Han asked with a wry smile.

“I’m not a miracle worker.” Luke came towards him. “I was just telling your parents how hard you’ve been working, and that I—” he paused, exchanging glances with the others. “ We think you’re ready to go in the Kyokushin karate tournament this year.”

Ben choked, eyes stinging as he banged firmly on his chest.

“What?! Are you sure?”

Luke clutched a hand on Ben’s shoulder, studying him as if he were looking at something beyond the surface. “You’re ready, kid.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open, still holding onto the orange juice, not even sure what to do with it now. His father nodded and winked at him, a subtle measure of appreciation and praise that was so hard won. And then Leia rushed at him, throwing her arms around him.

“Mum!” Ben cried out, wriggling out of her hold. He was sixteen now, after all, not four.

“Oh, I know you don’t like it, but just let me have this one.”

Ben gave her a half-smile and returned the hug.

Everything was shifting. He had focus, he had hope, and most of all, he had a chance to prove that could do this.

Kylo chuckled bitterly, elbow resting on his knee and the light of the fire flickering across his face: heat and light, dark and shadow. Rey had sat quietly, hanging off his every word.

And then she beamed at him like she’d just connected crucial pieces of a puzzle.

“You trained with Luke Skywalker?!”

Shit.

He swallowed and nodded. He’d forgotten not to mention that—

“I did too!”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

Kylo turned away from her, grazing his teeth along his lip. Too close.

“Come on, tell me how you know?” she asked again, but while her face was playful, there was something in her voice that faltered.

Doubt.

Kylo stared at her, for far too long. He could tell her now, have it all out in the open. Maybe, if he explained things from his point of view, she may even understand.

Maybe.

Probably not.

“That day you attacked me in the alley, behind the restaurant...”

“The day I defended myself, you mean?” she said.

“It’s all a matter of perspective. Anyway, that move you pulled was classic Skywalker. I’d know it anywhere.”

“You should have told me!”

“But we were having such a nice conversation,” Ben said, almost relentingly.

Rey laughed and her eyes crinkled into half moons, as those two irresistible dimples appeared, the way they always did when she found something funny.

“Oh, God. Yes! I’d almost forgotten. You were a right bastard!”

“And you were—” He looked her over and rested his eyes on the fire in her hazel eyes glowing dimly, as she awaited his answer. “ Adorable.”

“I was not!” she snorted.

“No,” Kylo pulled her into his chest, hugging her. “You were sexy and adorable, just like you are now.”

He kissed her again and she wriggled beneath him as though she were trying to put up a fight, but couldn’t quite make up her mind to do it. Instead, her lips parted, lithely slipping her tongue between his lips.

Like someone had just lit a fire in his core, Kylo felt the blood rush between his legs and the feeling of pleasure mixed with a sense of fullness. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. The feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest and her legs wrapped around his waist, the warm heat of her sex so tantalisingly close to his own, was driving him crazy.

He pressed his erection into her, groaning as he kissed every inch of skin he could find. How easily she reduced him to this, like he could barely think of anything else apart from having her right there, on the floor if need be.

“We can talk about it later,” he murmured into her ear, grinding against her.

“Don’t change the subject!” she panted, gasping for breath between their kisses.

“But I like this subject,” he breathed.

She moaned into his hair, encouraging him to continue.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she sighed.

“Properly this time.”

His fingers searched between her legs, and felt a swell of pride at the warmth and wetness he found there.

He slipped a finger inside her, and then another, growing harder at the feel of her body tightening around him, at the same time his thumb began to stroke her clit.

With ragged breaths and wild moans, she nipped at his ear. “What are you doing to me?”

He smiled devilishly. He would make it up to her now, searching out the places that made her writhe with pleasure, dancing across them gently as she swayed against him, eyes closed and breathing heavy.

“Let me take you to bed,” he groaned in her ear. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

“I—” her words fell away, replaced with a muffled cry as he continued his attention to her.

He loved this. Loved the way her body was like fluid around him, moulding against his own.

Maybe the past didn’t matter. Maybe he could just hide it all away and start something new, with her. After all, she’d been so entwined in his life already.

She cried out again, louder this time as she yanked his hand away. “Too much. I’m coming undone here.”

“That’s the idea,” he went back to kissing her, roving his hands beneath her sweater.

“I know what you’re doing.” She returned his kisses, with just as much ferocity.

“Driving you wild?”

“Avoiding. No more,” she said between each brush of his lips. “Not until you’ve finished telling me the whole thing.”

“You’re so close though, let me take you to the end,” he whispered, fingers travelling back down to her pants once more. “Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll do you one better when we finish too.”

“Stop tempting me!” Her voice was hoarse, almost fading away as he had lifted her top and started pressing kisses against her breast. She jumped back, moving as far away from him as she could, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek like it was on fire.

Kylo grimaced. “Fine, but it doesn’t get any better from here. Are you sure you want to know?”

“You know my history. I want to understand yours.”

Kylo felt his face scrunch up, the way he did as a child when he could sense he was about to lose a game.

“Last chance, I could have you on the bed with my head between your legs right now. If I recall, you quite enjoyed that last time.”

Rey’s lips flickered with a smile, but she reigned it in, the same way she tried to look confident now, despite the fact she was practically blushing from head to toe.

“You can still do that after you’ve finished the story .”

Kylo frowned, doubting they’d be doing anything once they’d finished.

“It won’t change anything, Ben.”

“You say that now...”

“And I’ll say it then, I promise.” She crawled forward, just enough to place her hand in his. “So, you went to the tournament?”

Kylo sighed. “I went to the tournament, but It didn’t work out.”

“You didn’t win?” she asked, sound so delicately naive that he could have bottled her voice and kept it with him on his march to hell.

“No, I didn’t win.”

* * *

The change rooms reeked of gym socks, piss and disinfectant. Bright lights burned overhead as Ben put on his karate uniform, clear and freshly pressed. His mother must have sprayed it with starch as the material scratched against his skin. Of all the days she would do his laundry, it had to be this one.

He had waited until everyone else had left, not wanting the pressure of getting changed among his competitors and peers.

He had no idea why Luke had allowed him to enter a Kyokushin tournament, it was full-contact, the fights were furious and fast, but perhaps that was the intent.

Kyokushin karate placed a huge emphasis on control and discipline. Luke was challenging him, and so far he’d exceeded his own expectations. Meticulous and controlled, he’d worked through the rounds, gaining wins each time.

Those fleeting two to three-minute fights left him out of breath and red-faced. And he loved it.

There was a burst of sound as a group of people entered the change room. Ben stiffened, even though he couldn’t see them, it still made him feel wary.

At last, he tied his belt, black as the night. It was his most treasured achievement. He’d risen the ranks fast to earn it within two years. He thought back to the way Uncle Luke had tied it, so reverently that first time. It was near midnight on a Thursday, they had trained all day and into the night, after a particularly challenging week. They were alone in the dojo, beyond the arched windows, framed a clear sky of blazing stars, thousands of ancient guardians witnessing the ceremony.

“The tree has reached maturity and has overcome the darkness,” Luke told him reverently.

The darkness , Ben pressed his lips together at the thought. It never really left him. Not really. He was an imposter here, in this hall, with this belt. No one, not even Luke, knew how close he was to losing control at any second.

He had held back in every fight, but the struggle had been real. Anyone of those boys could have walked away from the mat with a broken arm or dislocated shoulder, or worse….

“If it isn’t the freakazoid,” a vapid voice echoed from around the room.

Ben froze, fingers clutching into his palms, counting his breaths.

Ten-nine-eight—

“Overcome the darkness,” he reminded himself, as he looked around the room for the source.

Seven-six-five—

“Did you see his tiny wiener?!”

A boy laughed, followed by another, and another.

Great, a group of losers.

Four-three-two—

“Do you think he knows how to use it?”

One—

“Maybe, he probably practises on his mother!” There was a cackle of laughter and Ben raced through the corridors to find them.

“Nah, he’s too fucking dumb to pull his zipper down before he cums his pants .”

Ben rounded the corner to see three students huddled together, cramped over and hugging their waists in stitches. He lunged at them, immediately recognising that dick, he’d smashed his head through the glass at school only two years ago. Micah, or Mikah, whatever his stupid name was.

Names were irrelevant, they only sought to humanise people.

“Long time no see.”

“Micah,” he said stiffly, looking through him, rather than at him.

“ Ben,” Micah purred, making sure he had the attention of his proud posse. “Looks like it is down to you and me in the final.”

“The expression of aggression is an expression of weakness .” Luke’s words, repeating in his mind, as though he were whispering them in his ear.

Walk away. Don’t engage.

Ben bowed, feeling the heat burning in his cheeks, making his ears appear fiery and red. In one instant he was that boy in high school again.

The victim.

Weak.

Ben tried to walk past, but with each step, one of Micah’s friends stepped in his way.

“We’re about to start,” Ben muttered.

He could do this. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. He just had to get out of this room.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Micah followed closely behind him and then added in a whisper, “Prepare to have your arse handed to you, Solo.”

Micah marched past, waving to his family and friends like he was a celebrity. There was a loud cheer and the screech of girls voices scraped at Ben’s eardrums. His pulse pounded, and his heart felt like it kept stopping and starting again at twice the speed. It made him feel sick.

He followed Micah out into the arena and heard his dad give him an indistinct shout of encouragement. Ben squinted at the bright overhead lights bearing down on him. Inside, his blood was boiling, a furious, torrent of rage and emotion working through his him as he eyed up Micah.

“You alright, Ben?” Luke asked, his gravelly voice barely audible above everything else.

Ben nodded, focussing solely on Micah’s smiling face.

“Stay focussed, Ben.” Luke’s voice moved around untethered and distant.

Micah bowed at him with a wink.

Ben bowed also, with barely a nod of his head.

The referee took a step back and they began.

The fight was messy and bloody, too sloppy and fast; fueled with antagonised testosterone. Ben channelled everything he’d learnt from Luke over the years, but instead of trusting his skills, he focussed on strength, putting too much weight behind his attack moves. It was making him weary.

Micah danced around him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His first move was to rush in with a forearm strike, smashing the outside bone of Ben’s arm. Ben retaliated and tried to backfist him, but as if pre-empting his attack, Micah got him on the spin with a foot sweep.

Ben stumbled back.

“Stop trying to hit him hard, you need to outsmart him. Use your reach,” Luke’s voice came from behind him.

They sparred again, both of them throwing and blocking punches until Ben’s vision went black, and a smashing crack broke against his forehead. His eyes grew warm and blurred with blood.

The whistle blew. And Ben scoffed, edging away from the fight. That little shit had gotten him with an illegal punch to the face. Puffed and bloody, and blind with rage, Ben noticed the way the sound drowned away, the flutter of warning before the wave would come and take him.

Micah’s lips moved, smiling, laughing, telling his friends it was “too easy”.

In a heartbeat, Ben yanked Micah by the back of the neck and threw him on the ground, pinning him down with his body as he slammed the base of his hand into his nose, breaking it. He didn’t wait before aiming another punch to Micah’s eye socket, aiming to fracture it, just like he had done to Ben only minutes before.

There was screaming all around him, on the edge of his existence, falling in and out. His name, shouted in panicked frenzied tones, and then the shrill screech of the whistle. A pair of strong arms pulled him off Micah and instinctively Ben shoved his elbow back, connecting with something.

There was an audible gasp, and then a cry.

He couldn’t stop. Not now that the fury was boiling in his blood, all he could feel was heat and hatred at the white hair, blue eyes, flushed cheeks and broad smile, laughing at him. He would smash that smile off Micah’s face and he wouldn’t let anyone stop him.

And no one was.

...

He glanced back. Luke, his mother, father, gone.

No, not gone.

...

He followed the eyes of the crowd, to a small group of people standing by his father. Blood streamed from Han’s face, dazed and near unconscious on the floor, Luke and Leia bent down over him, speaking urgently and holding up fingers to count.

“Dad…” Ben stepped towards him, panicked. No one paid attention to him, not even Micah, who had crawled away on the floor. Men and women in yellow vests crowded around his father, and he watched in horror as they took him away.

“Dad!” he cried out again, unable to see anything of his father now, except for his loose hand dangling beside the stretcher. His mum and Luke, scurrying along beside him.

Fuck , his eyes pricked with tears. This had been a disaster.

He stumbled back, the loudspeaker echoed into the stadium, a mixed droll of male voices.

What the hell had he done?

He fell back, stumbling to the floor, unable to control the tears as he gasped for air, spluttering blood and saliva.

Someone handed him a drink bottle, and beside him appeared a pair of shiny, black business shoes, pressed trousers.

That was odd.

He looked up to see a slim man towering over him with a crooked smile and balding head.

“Who are you?” Ben snapped.

“Straight to the point,” the old man replied. “I like that.”

“Yeah, well. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my father.”

Ben went to bypass the intruder, but the man squatted down and placed a firm grip on his shoulder. The same way Luke had done so many times, but these fingers were long and slender, like clamped bones; cold and surprisingly firm, like they would never let go.

“Your parents want you to finish the fight. They sent me to check on you.”

Ben paused, studying the man again. From here he could see the way his head was covered in sunspots and crusty skin cancers. Something deep inside Ben’s gut warned him against this man.

Dangerous , the thought whispered at him.

“The fight’s over,” Ben said. “Thanks anyway, though.”

He went to move away once more, but the hand clamped tighter and the smile got broader.

“We both know that little dick had it coming to him,” the man hissed, and while Ben was surprised at this little outburst, he agreed with the sentiment.

“I’ve been watching him. He thinks you’re a simpleton. You’re not wrong to want to beat him. Guys like that need to be beaten. You should never let a bully win, son.”

Son . He didn’t like the sound of that word, the way it slipped so comfortably from the man’s thin lips. But the rest of it, he could get behind that.

“He’s too fast,” Ben said, his heart still racing and for some reason, the thought of going in to fight again was making him breathless with anxiety. “I need to breathe, I can’t calm—”

“Forget that!” the man snapped. “I’ve worked with hundreds of professional fighters, and I can tell you now, Skywalker knows nothing about your true strength. In fact, he’s scared of it!”

Ben paused, checking to see no one else was listening. He’d thought the same thing many times: day after day of frustration, wanting to release his strength and power when all his uncle wanted was to hold him back.

“I can see it.” The man leant in close to whisper. “That raw power inside you, screaming to get out. Let me help you. I can make you reach your true potential. But first—” The man nodded his head to Micah. “You need to get that fucking runt out of the game.”

Micah was staring now. No, not staring as much as gleaming at him. He’d already cleaned the blood off his face, the fleshy pink grazes and tender yellow spots the only sign that he had taken a beating.

“Isn’t it enough to win?” Ben asked, already feeling the fury building in his heart once more.

“Winning will not earn this boy’s respect. You need to command it. Force it from him.”

Ben’s instincts were raising, like fur on the back of a dog about to fight, urging him that this was a very bad idea. But what did instincts understand about respect and the chance to put an end to his taunting, once and for all?

“What you’re suggesting sounds illegal,” Ben said at last.

The man shrugged. “It depends how you do it. There are legal kicks that can be devastating enough when you time it right.”

Ben’s gaze shifted around the room. Where the hell was Luke? Then again—he took another long look, searching the throngs of people coming in and out of the exits. What Luke didn’t know…

“You know I’m right.” The man released his grip with a friendly smile, only now had Ben realised how much his vice hold had hurt him.

“Who are you?” Ben asked, surprised he’d let the conversation go without demanding this information.

A bony hand reached out to meet his own. “Alastair Snoke.”

Ben started.

Alastair Snoke! Holy shit, everyone knew the name, if not the face.

Multi-millionaire and CEO of the First Order. It was rumoured he often hand-picked the best fighters and sponsored their training with very generous pay packets. Perhaps this was what he was doing now?

The break was finishing, and there was the hurried mutter of competitors and instructors exchanging final words before their matches.

Ben straightened a little, finally ready to listen even though his head was pounding and he was still bleeding. “What do you propose?”

“Have you ever done a meia lua de compasso?” Snoke asked.

“The capoeira move? Surely that’s not legal in a tournament.”

“It’s merely a reverse roundhouse kick with a bit of embellishment. Your enemy won’t expect it and the centripetal force makes it extremely powerful. If he comes back from it, follow the move with a swift axe kick.”

Ben had practised the move a couple of times, once with Luke when he’d almost taken his Uncle’s head off. Luke had since banned him from using it ever again, after thoroughly berating him for being “showy”.

He could pull it off, potentially. And Snoke was right, it would never be expected.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t give in to your weakness. Look!” Snoke tapped at his knuckles, bruised and bloody. “Your skin is your armour, your bones are hard as stone. A kick like that will finish this. Fast as you can. Hard as you can. Mercy is for the weak. Are you weak Ben Solo?”

“No, sir,” Ben stumbled over his words, looking away awkwardly.

“I said are you weak!?”

“No!” He shouted.

“Then go and take this little shit out of the game.”

The whistle blew, and Ben was on his feet again, bouncing quickly, darting around the mat, the crowd cheered, or jeered, he wasn’t sure which one. His head pounded and his insides were awash with worry for his father and all the time he felt the piercing fire of Snoke’s eyes, latching onto him possessively.

“Do it!” Snoke raised his voice above the crowd. “Be a man!”

Micah bowed low, as did Ben.

And then Micah winked at him, as he mouthed the word “psycho.” Kudos to him, he’d managed to do it without anyone else noticing.

Ben looked back at Snoke, at his wraithlike body and eyes dark and hungry. He gave him a nod and the smallest smile.

Micah came at him with full force and speed. Ben spun around, his hands slamming to the mat, as his legs swung out in a reverse roundhouse kick. He would always remember the feel of Micah’s face beneath the sole of his foot, followed by the pounding thump of the boy’s body hitting the ground. By the time Ben repositioned himself, Micah was dazedly trying to clamber to his feet.

“Finish it!” Snoke shouted from the side.

Micah coughed and blood spluttered onto the mat.

He was the weak one. Not Ben.

He had almost gotten to a stand when Ben stepped forward, shooting his right leg up in an axe kick, then brought his heel down fast on the back of Micah’s neck.

Micah smashed to the floor and the auditorium went silent, watching wordlessly as the boy lay still on the mat. There was no whistle this time, or crowds pulling him away. Just the hum of the lights and the slow melodic clapping of one person. Ben looked up to see it was Snoke, and then, to the exits where Luke was standing now by the door, his face white, like he was looking at a monster.

Kylo paused, pinching at the unformed tears.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stared into the fire, lost in the way the glowing embers floated and popped. The firewood was black and broken now, moulding into ash and stone. How easy it was for life to be destroyed? The pull of a trigger, a kick of the leg, blood, no blood, fast, slow.

There was a gentle pressure on his hand, and he was almost surprised to see Rey was still reaching out of him, her fingers moulded with his.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Kylo pulled himself out of his thoughts, they were dark and magnetic, drawing him in. But Rey was like the sun, the moment he looked upon her, the darkness subsided.

She dipped her head, smiling at him, waiting.

“This part is…” His hand clamped around her own, a lifeline to hope. “You won’t want to stay.”

“Hey.” She placed her hand along the line of his jaw, bringing him to face her. “I’m not going anywhere... ”

His mother was crying, dabbing each tear away with her handkerchief. His father was yelling, at no one in particular, Luke maybe, Ben probably, but it seemed to vary. Han’s right eye was no longer swollen from Ben’s hit at the tournament, but the shadow of it was still there, a gothic rainbow of black, brown and mustard green.

And then there was Luke, leaning against the door frame of the dining room, trying to look calm, but Ben could see the way his fingers squeezed white pressure points into his forearms, the worry lines cut above his brows. He was scared shitless. They all were.

Ben sat at the dining table, arms folded, head down. He tried to look penitent, that was what they wanted him to be, but in reality, he was still angry at Micah, at Luke, at all of them for believing him to be someone other than he was. Ben glowered at the family photos on the buffet, picture perfect studio shots, with a smiling boy and his doting parents, each of them placing a hand on his shoulder.

Luke wrung his hands as if giving life to the expression to wash one’s hands of the situation.

“There is no question about it, Leia. They will use all of this evidence against him at court. The tournament footage shows every move was intentional.”

“Of course it was intentional! We were in a tournament for God’s sake,” Ben snapped, still not brazen enough to raise his voice.

Han pressed his palms on the edge of the table, leaning close to Ben. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? A boy is dead because of you!”

“If you think I fucking care about that loser you’re deluded.”

“Oh my God,” Leia slumped further into her chair, delicate fingers twisting her empty sherry glass, eyes flicking to the bottle next to it wantingly.

“He was a dick!” Okay, he was yelling now. What was the point in holding back? “One less dick in the world. Is that really a bad thing?”

Leia stared at Luke mutely. But his uncle merely shook his head, as if they were speaking on some other plane.

“Yes!” Her hands were in the hair now, voice trembling. “Yes! It is a bad thing. I can’t believe—I don’t—” She looked to Han, seeking solidarity, but he was staring at the floor. She continued, voice breaking now, “Do you have no remorse? You have taken someone’s life!”

“Why should I?” Ben snapped, burning fury in his gaze at every single one of them. “I didn’t think it would have killed him..”

Han scoffed, arms folded and face red. “You didn’t think, no son, you sure as hell didn’t think!”

“What are our options?” Leia asked, looking to Luke for answers.

Luke exhaled, crossing his arms and stood a little straighter as he spoke. The “do not mess with me” expression, Ben knew so well from training.

At last, he said, “Ben needs to take responsibility for his actions.”

“But surely…” Leia began.

“You can’t keep bailing him out, Leia. Not on something like this. You shouldn’t. And they won’t let you anyway.”

Every word coming out of Luke was making him furious. “So, what are you saying? I’m going to jail?”

“If that’s what the court decides.”

“We have lawyers, I’m sure we could…”

“No!” This time it was Han speaking. “Luke’s right. It’s time Ben understood there are consequences to his actions.”

“Consequences?” Ben roared as he lurched out of his seat, ignoring the way it crashed on the floor behind him.

“We took a punt on you Ben, a big one,” Luke said solemnly, having enough gall to look like there were tears in his eyes.

“This is horse shit!” Ben shouted.

“Get out! The voice was quiet and stern. Enough to pull him back from the physical rage, but not the one thundering in his heart.

“Don’t tell me to get the fuck out of my own house,” he screamed at Luke.

“He didn’t say it. I did!” Leia’s voice was clearer now.

Ben looked wildly around seeking someone to help him out of his rage, to anchor him in the sea of fury that was threatening to drown him.

“I want you out of this house right now—”

“I can’t fucking believe this!”

“Now! You can come back when you’re ready to face the consequences of your actions.”

Kylo’s heart was racing, he’d never told the story to anyone before, but even now, every word he spoke made the pain feel just as fresh as all those years ago.

As if he had been holding his breath, Kylo released a grunt, the telltale threat he would cry if he didn’t take back control. Gnashing his teeth, and straightening his spine, he tried to breathe through his nose. But still, his eyes pooled at the corners.

Weak.

He tried not to look at Rey, but in his wild attempt to look anywhere else, he was automatically always drawn back to her. She was breathing hard, cheeks wet with the tidy streaks of dried tears.

“Don’t cry,” Ben tried to say it softly.

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

A single drop ambled down her cheeks, and she blinked it away.

“Did you go looking for Snoke then?”

“I didn’t need to. He came after me. As I was roaming aimlessly around the street, he called me up. Told me he’d heard how everything had gone down and that he had an offer to make everything go away.”

“I bet he did.” Rey sat back, cross-legged. He started wondering if telling her all of this was a mistake. How much could she take, before she decided he was just too fucked up?

“I was terrified, Rey. I know there’s no excuse for it. For any of it. But in the end, I was just a messed up 16-year-old kid.”

Rey nodded. A small smile fettered on her lips. Unreadable.

“Keep going.”

Ben waited by the front door of number 12 Crimson Lane, trying not to look at the glaringly obvious red light blazing above him, or the way it bathed his face and hands in a violent red glow. It was after midnight, he’d been walking all evening, and his heels were covered in broken blisters. He just wanted to stop.

Pushing the door open, he saw a striking giant of a woman with white-blond hair and a condescending expression.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

Ben squared his shoulders. “I want to see Snoke.”

Phasma laughed, the sound was low and bitter. “No one sees Snoke.”

“I do.” He only stayed long enough for her to roll her eyes, and by the time she was finished, he had forced his way into the office.

Inside the room, Alastair Snoke sat like a king on his throne, with a mustard gold robe and amused expression.

Ben was taken aback suddenly, he was expecting something different, more professional perhaps. But this was far from professional.

“Who the hell are you?” A red-haired man marched up to him as though he was personally assaulted by his presence.

“Come, come, Armitage,” Snoke said with a wave of his hand. “This is the one I was telling you about.” He gestured for Ben to come closer and continued talking to the man named Armitage. “So, did they borrow the money?”

“The whole hundred grand.”

Snoke clapped his hands together, saliva bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “Excellent!”

“You’re not going to get it back.”

“After all these years, you still don’t understand how this works, do you?”

Armitage’s lips tightened in a pressed line, but he said nothing.

“What’s more valuable, Kylo Ren?”

Ben furrowed his brow, taken aback by the wrong name. “Are you talking to me?” he stammered over the words. “My name is Ben.”

“It was Ben. I have a new name for you now. So, let me ask you, Kylo, what’s more valuable, a hundred thousand grand or a life debt?”

“The life debt,” Kylo replied.

“There!” Snoke nodded, narrowing his eyes at Armitage, as though to press the point like a knife in the chest. “Here.” He pulled out a manila folder from his desk and slid it to Ben. “Tell me what do you see?”

Kylo brought the folder close to him, flicking through the pages.

A pair of drug addicts, the father worked casually as a bus driver, but his shifts had been cutting back due to missed work. The woman photographed in the folder had small pock marks and scars over her face and cheeks. She looked pretty far gone in the picture, and he suspected the father was too.

And then, on the last page, a picture of a girl, she couldn’t have been older than five or six. Her hair in three buns and sun-kissed in many freckles.

And there was the real win. Family, love, it was most people’s weakness.

“They have a daughter. She’s not living with them, but still, it’s all leverage.”

Armitage scoffed from the shadows, but his eyes were bright and watchful. “So what, we’re bringing kids in now?”

Snoke shook his head. “We’ll use her when we need to. Good find, son. For now, I have a better plan.” And then his eyes fixed on Kylo, like two armoured targets, leaning forward, voice low and caressing. “You’re in deep shit my boy. Manslaughter charges, murder with intent perhaps. It’s not good.”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat, he was only just sixteen, he couldn’t go to jail for the rest of his life. His life hadn’t even begun yet.

“But perhaps...” Snoke paused for effect. “All is not lost. Perhaps you would like it to disappear.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Anything is possible. If you’re willing to pay the cost.”

“Tell us what you will have us do.” Armitage stepped forward, his voice grandiose and pathetic in the same instance.

“Go for the hands. Make it so he can no longer work. I don’t care what you do, cut off his fingers, break bones, just make sure he can’t earn...”

Kylo swallowed. Shit. This was not what he was looking to do at all. But somehow, the gleam in Snoke’s eye gave him the impression that he would not be walking out of here freely tonight, or anytime soon.

“If he can’t work then he won’t pay,” Armitage stated, arms folded.

“Exactly. They’ll be desperate. And desperate people will do anything,” Snoke sneered as he turned to Kylo, “So, are you going to help us?”

Ben took a step back, eyes flicking between the exit and Snoke.

Would jail be worse than this—selling his soul?

“It seems a bit extreme,” Ben stammered, looking to Hux for support, but he received none. He wasn’t quite sure where this pale-faced guy fit in. He was barely older than Ben, but had obviously worked with Snoke for a while. If he had any moral issues with the underhanded side of Snoke’s business, he wasn’t about to show his cards here.

“Extreme, you say?” Snoke asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “More extreme than killing a young boy in cold blood? Indeed, what is a couple of minor bones to save you from lifetime imprisonment.”

Ben was silent.

“This is the end of the line for you son. There is no one left to help you.”

He hesitated. Snoke was right about one thing, this was the end of the line. If he took a job like this, his family would never take him back. The cost was increasing; family, freedom, morality…

“They’ll destroy you in there, son. You won’t last longer than a week,” Snoke continued. “The rich son of a senator. You may as well go in there and shank yourself.”

“Okay,” Kylo hissed, feeling heat curling up his neck at being pressured into this. In the end, he could always fake it, or run away. He would think of something…

“Excellent.” Snoke tapped the pads of his fingers together with a mercurial smile. “Hux here will video it for me. As soon as the job is done, I’ll make the call and you’ll be free.”

That night, Ben sat alone in one of the upstairs rooms of the brothel, still as stone, as if he was anchored to the bed.

There were papers sprawled at his feet and there was the picture of the freckle-faced girl in his hands. He only moved in micro movements, nostrils flaring, a tic tugging at the skin beneath his eyes, the subtle tremble of ash-white fingers grasping hold of the photo.

She was so young, without a family that loved her, or even knew she existed. He didn’t know why thoughts of her had grabbed hold of him. She was just a girl. But perhaps he took comfort in the fact that there were other people who were alone in this world.

Why could he not look away from the photo? Something about the innocence of her face. The quiet truth that they were both attached to this nightmare somehow.

The apartment had been a slum, with broken windows and exposed needles. No sign that a child had ever lived there or could ever return. The father had begged for more time, the mother was coming down off something and sat slumped in the corner, not really aware of her surroundings.

Snoke would give them more time. Years if he wanted, as long as he could keep them on a leash.

God knows what he would make them do over the years.

Or what he would make Ben do.

His phone dinged with a message. It hadn’t stopped ever since he’d left home. Message, call, voicemail, one after the other. Han, Leia, Luke, they’d even gotten his godfather Lor involved.

But he couldn’t go back. He’d made his bed the moment he walked out of that house and now he would lie in it.

He took his clothes off and got in the shower, closing his eyes as the water streamed down his face and over his shoulders.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and before Ben had even grabbed a towel, a woman stepped into the bathroom. She had long brown hair and wore a sheer, red robe, with a lip ring and rose tattoo swirling across her breast.

Ben stumbled back, swallowing, his erection bounded up at the sight of her.

His cheeks burned and he tried to cover his penis, embarrassed, but at the same time unable to look away from the blush-brown nipples and curvacious waist leading down into rounded hips.

She had no underpants. No anything.

The prostitute smirked, her dark blue eyes running up and down his body too, as she tilted her head, trying to see what he was hiding.

“You must be Ben.”

She advanced on him again.

Was this the surprise Snoke had planned? He had not expected this. He was still a virgin and he sure as hell didn’t want to have his first time with an experienced woman.

“What—What are you doing here?”

Her laughter filled the room, snappy little laughs that reverberated off the bathroom walls. “Perks of the job. You’re a knight now, and Mr Snoke likes to keep his knights satisfied. My name is Tessa.”

She slipped off her sheer robe, not that it was hiding much before anyway. But even still, her naked body bought a new kind of flush to his cheeks and his cock throbbed, aching for release.

She stepped forward again, opening her arms as he dropped his hands, distracted by her nakedness. With a satisfied nod, she took note his size and smiled once more.

“Come here then, big boy,”

Fuck it! So much for a romantic first time with someone that he loved. He was hardly going to turn her down. She ground her body up against his, rubbing her breasts against his chest, kissing his shoulder, neck, and jaw.

She leant up on her tippy toes, those blood red painted lips puckering as she aimed for his lips, but he grabbed her wrists, almost flinching at her touch.

“Don’t touch me!”

She laughed again, hyena-like. It made his blood boil. “What are you frigid or something?”

Blood coursed hot and angry through his veins, the stress and horror of the evening burned into his mind. He needed to explode, to get it rid of it all somehow. It was all too much, keeping it inside; the guilt, the shame, the fucking reality that he had killed a kid and broke a man’s livelihood.

Her hand curved around the width of his cock, pumping.

“You like this, don’t you kid?”

He grunted, a nod. Closing his eyes. “Just not all the touching, okay?”

She studied him dubiously, forcing him to look away from her.

“And that,” he almost growled. “That makes me uncomfortable.”

“What!? Me looking at you?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced, she was looking at him like a freak, but he didn’t care. If he was going to do this, he needed to have some ground rules. “Look, get a paper and pen and write this down.”

“You serious?” She scoffed at him, but did what he said anyway. “You can give this to all the girls here. No kissing, no touching, no eye contact …”

“Anything else?” Tessa asked with a dramatic eye roll.

“And no questions.”

“Right, no questions.” She wrote with a dramatic tap of her pen. “Just a fuck then.”

Ben nodded, face resolved, eyes dark and heart racing.

“Just a fuck.”

He’d missed things. Lots of details. Too many. As Rey stared up at him, wonderous and a little scared, still freckled, still young compared to him.

He hadn’t told her about the girl in the photo.

The words had been there, right at the tip of his tongue. Three little words. The picture… It was you. It has always been you.

No. That would lead to more questions and more revelations. Some she may not be so ready to forgive. Was it too much to ask for just one night?

Rey hadn’t said a word. Even now, she sat with her legs tucked under her bottom, hands on knees, childlike and innocent.

“Say something,” his voice was thready, shattering around the edges. “ Please .”

Those hazel eyes, wide and dark in the gloominess of the room, wandered through the empty space, buying time, thinking.

She shivered, the fire had burned down low and Kylo wanted to keep her warm in his arms, but maybe now she wouldn’t want him to touch her.

And why would she?

“So, let me get this right,” she said, her voice sharp-edged and stern.

Kylo’s heart felt like it had dropped to the base of his stomach, disintegrating in acid as she recounted the story in her own words.

“A boy who spent your youth bullying you faces you in the finals at this karate tournament and fractures your eye, and somehow gets away with it. Then, when once you’re down, Snoke sweeps in and gives you advice to pull this move, which backfires in the worst possible way. Snoke then lures you in, promising to help you, but is really trapping you into a deal you can’t ever leave: work for him or presumably, he will expose everything you’ve done for him, even though he has forced you into each job by blackmailing you for the last.”

She took a breath, “Is that about it?”

Kylo furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I guess so,” he stammered out.

“Bastard!” she spat, lurching to her feet.

He almost laughed at her response, this was the last thing he had expected. Screaming, crying, leaving, hating, anything but… support?

She was storming around the room now, pacing back and forth in front of him.

“He thinks he can fucking manipulate everyone into playing his twisted games. Has no one stood up to him before now?”

“Once,” Kylo said quietly, remembering the broken ribs, the scars burned into his back, from the one time he had tried to leave. “It didn’t go well.”

“Fucking bastard!” she shouted this time, her eyes filling with hot tears. “How can any of us get out of this?”

“Hey,” he caught her as she marched past him once more, she was stiff in his arms, fiery and resistant. He stroked her hair, pulling her close to him. “Hey, it will be okay. To be honest, I thought you would have left after I told you— ”

“No,” she peered up at him, appearing almost angry at the thought.

“I killed someone, Rey,” and his voice broke as he said it.

“Yes, you did a bad hit, but Ben we both know you never meant for that to happen.”

Kylo shook his head, unable to face her.

“It was an accident. Hell, I even sent the odd person to hospital when I was training. It was full contact martial arts, shit happens. Apart from that, you were a fucking child and Snoke took advantage of you. I think you said as much to me once. Anyway, what kind of person do you think I am to run away as soon as you open up to me?”

“I reserve the right to not answer that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and with a sudden step forward, playfully drove a punch to his shoulder. He blocked her, unable to hide the smile now. She spun around and tried to foot sweep him, but he preempted her move, pulling her forward and lifting her in her arms in a bridal carry.

“You—” he tapped her gently on the nose— “are asking for trouble.”

“What? I wanted to see how good you are,” she teased.

Her eyes narrowed at him mischievously and all his senses rushing to the pulsing want between his legs. He had her now, trapped in his arms, at his mercy.

She bit her lip, eyes flicking to the bed involuntarily and Kylo raised his eyebrows, following her gaze knowingly.

“I didn’t mean that —” She blushed.

But it was too late, no more talking. No more waiting, he swept her up in his arms, carrying her, almost stumbling along the way as he rushed to the bed awkwardly. Rey laughed as he threw her into the sheets.

“I meant your karate,” she exclaimed through her giggles.

“Sure you did.”

Covering her mouth in a thirsty kiss, he pushed his tongue within her lips as his hands worked around her body, finding the base of her jumper, stroking along the soft skin of her abdomen teasingly.

“What about the no kissing rule!” she gasped, throwing her head back and exposing a long sun-kissed neck as Ben licked along the line of her collar bone.

“Fuck the rules!” his muffled voiced grated against her chest, as his hands search greedily for the elastic of her tracksuit pants, tugging them down, unable to wait any longer. “I’m going down on you.”

He peppered rushed kisses down her abdomen.

“Okay,” Rey gasped, her chest already arching and collapsing with every touch of his fingers and lick of his tongue.

He yanked her underpants off and she squealed with surprise. “Honestly, you don’t need to—”

Her words fell away as he buried his lips between her legs, sweeping his tongue along her with slow, circulating strokes of his tongue. She arched her back in response, and with a breathy moan, she weakly tried to close her legs.

“It’s too much, you’ve done enough,” she said, although he suspected the intent was rather half-hearted, and with an amused smile, he wrapped his arms around her legs, locking them apart.

Her fingers searched down to his head, nails scratching through his hair in some primal motion, she was loud, and he liked it. It pushed him on, to kiss her harder, to lather every cavern and fold with his tongue.

“Rey,” he said between kisses.

“Ye—” she had tried to answer, but was unable to form a complete word.

Kylo smiled broadly, lavishing the way she responded to his touches. “Those rules—”

No answer, a base cry, unrestrained, her legs clenching in his hands, rock hard thigh muscles twitching and surging.

“Rey,” he said again, feeling so hard at the sound of her own pleasure, wanting to drive himself into her and share the magnificence of her body.

“Those rules... they were never meant for you…”

[ends]

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo au #reylo fan fic #reylo fan fic rec #reylo fan fiction #save ben solo

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scoups4lyfe · 2 years ago

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Journal Entries (4)

Below are entries from my journal, both my real life and online one.

Note: I do (again) --to my felllow writers out there --think that if anyone ever writes a bipolar character, then these entries would be a good look into the kind of mindset someone with bipolar might have <33.

I don't have much else to say :D. so--

[Journal Entries]

“February 23rd 2022 — Wednesday 6:51 PM

Everyday…it seems that no matter how hard I try or dream or wish….I’m not able to accomplish anything. The days stress me out.

Bubbling anxiety fills my gut like locusts.

Gnawing….gnawing….gnawing….gnawing away. I pray (continuously) for the ability to be productive. My lack smothers me and I become just a shadow of the dreamer I was before. What is the color of all this overwhelming emotion? My sights are empty, I’m the only one whose stuck in this abandoned place.

“My time in the bottle 2022” indeed. I am overwhelmed.

My ocean — all these emotions crashing like waves inside me — threatens to drown me. God is my life vest and he holds my head above water. Everyday he says: “Just breathe, all in due time” and I want to believe this so badly, 100% wholeheartedly, yet each day that I fail to move I cling desperately on the very edge of despair. ‘God do you not hear me?’

“I do.” He answers.

“Then what shall I do?”

“Wait.” — I hope the Holy Spirit can renew me, for my hopes suffocate.”

[End of entry]

…

[Friday, April 16th, 2022 — 12:24 AM]

“I feel like a lake slowly withering up. Is it so bad to crave love and attention? Recognition? Is having too much ambition a sin? These dreams are big, and so, so, very heavy. It feels like my back is breaking under its weight. Do you cry at my failures? Are they expected? More often than not I feel built to fail. I wish my psychiatric appointment was sooner. I really want to be able to function like a normal person. What an idea, to be able to do exactly what you set out to do, as you’ve dreamed it. Sometimes I think these dreams are poisoning me. Making me disillusioned, insane. Especially because the difference between dream and reality is enough to drown in.

I don’t want to drown.

Help me. Help me. All I can do is cry out for your help. Please don’t let me drown.”

[End of entry]

NOTE: The rest of the entries I'll be uploaded are from my online journal. I moved journaling to online entries because I didn't have the energy / motivation to write by hand.

…

[Ssat. May 14th 2022]

Monochrome Diamonds.

Today’s title is directly related to the TXT’s “Good boy Gone Bad” MV that I just finished watching like 0.1 seconds ago.

ANYWAYS. Excited cause a new episode of KinnPorsche drops today. I need to live blog for Revice~. I just did a lot of self-care AND cleaned the house so I feel pretty great. Very solid. [End Quote]

… [Sunday, May 15th 2022]

The Sht-storm of Editing

(6:15 PM)

I went to bed at 5:50 AM last night and woke up today at just before 3PM. (12:32 AM — So I guess May 16th, tech) Hmmm. I can’t say that I’ve been all that productive today ngl. Tumblr — that btch — said I ‘hit my media post limit’ because of the amount of sh*t I had in my drafts. Which meant I couldn’t even EDIT my damn drafts LOL!!! Now that it's midnight tho I can edit them but damn that was frustrating, yo. (LMAO)

I also have no idea what I’m doing right now. I….haven’t really accomplished anything today and yeah that’s frustrating, but mostly I’m tired. I’m wondering if this is from Ritalin? Because I *DO* notice a difference when I take Ritalin compared to Adderall. Not 100% sure what it is yet — but I’m gonna go ahead and say it's positive.

My sabbath (sat) was soooooo good. Makes me wish that the weekend was longer. And work isn’t even that hard or bad? Is this just a defeatist mindset?

….

[Monday, May 16th 2022]

The Morning Discussion. A Thousand Dreams. And Small Step

Today feels like a good day to get sht done. Ahhh I’m so ready to finally work towards my goals. I’m really looking forward to writing. And also improving my art skills <33. (6:18 PM) Just got on a call with [Friend]. I need to make sure I get stuff done today :oo. Got some Culver's chocolate ice cream.

…

[Tuesday, May 17th 2022]

The Loser’s guide to Sleep Deprivation

(2:49 PM)

I did not sleep at all last night….. I spent all night reading webtoons and now I feel like sht. Having to work through this both sucks and hurts lmao 😭.

[Insert George and Dream Axolotl video] …

[Thursday, May 19th 2022]

[Sister’s] 20th Birthday

(9:54 PM)

I really clowned myself on accident by not snacking in between 5pm-7pm because my sugar dropped and I got the worst brain fog fking EVER bro. I hate brain fog. Not being able to formulate sentences. Losing your train of thought every 3 seconds. Ughhhh. And even rn I still feel out of it. Though now I’m thinking that’s from the caffeine in the tea rather than anything else :PPP.

(10:26 PM)

I am……out of it, unmotivated, frustrated, and soured like a grape. I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want, I want. I want, I want, I wan-

And yet none of it I do. THere’s always a reason. Always an excuse.

Always something that stops me from moving forward. Is it doubt? Reason? Rationality? It's especially frustrating rn :(((. Man, I can just see someone asking: “Bro there is so much time in a day. How do you even accomplish not a single thing in an entire day?” And dammit! Dammit! WHy! WHy!!!!!Why do essays take me 4 hours to write??? Why does 500 words take me 4 hours??? Why does drawing deplete the clock to zero??? WHY???

How. How. How. How. How. HOw. HOw. How. How. How. How. How. HOw. HOw. Is it the internet???? Should I fast from electronics???? Only write, draw, and learn sh*t offline???? Is THAT the answer?? (Bro I’m gonna go insane. Full on insanity plea. Ahhhghhhh I want to CRY yo.) I can never do anything and the clock tick tick tiCKS away. Like I’m marching to my death. To nothing for nothing to nothing for nothing.

…..

*sighs.* Sometimes I wonder why I exist.

There is something I want to do with EVERY SINGLE PART OF MY BEING — but then what? I’m not able to? I can’t? I’m just going to continue failing? God….I know, I kNOW, I can’t do sht on my own. I’ve well learned THAT lesson. You’ve told me to just show up. To check my priorities. To prioritize you and other ppl in order to get sht done.

And for what??? I’m here-

I’ve showed up!!! [God] — why have you forsaken me? Why does something pop in the way? Why am I unable? Why am I unable even as I desperately cry for help???? Why does my mind fail and break right when I need it most??? Is it my family? What-? Should I go into self-isolation? Block all the world out if it isn’t related to whatever “work” I need to get done???????????????????????

….

[Friday, May 20th, 2022]

My Complaints Just Shan’t End

Okay….so I got to keep my sugar up and make sure I'm getting good nutrition so I don’t die or something serious like that happens. But it's either my family or my body just making that such a hard thing to accomplish.

They barbequed at [Older Sister’s] and damn. I just….man I just CAN’T go over to [My Sister’s House] more than once a week. That’s too much stress. And I didn’t want to spend my whole night there lmao ://

Bro this sucks.

As I said….really just makes me feel hopeless. All I wanna do is shrivel up and cry even tho I’m not sad, just frustrated, anxious, and hopeless. (LOL!!!) Yesterday night ended well though — I practiced Thai, and I’ve been doing more Thai practice >:)))) — and since I stayed home I have been learning the Thai alphabet and practicing my Thai handwriting. Damn I’m still so frustrated though. This is such sht man. This is such sht

…

Sunday. May 22nd, 2022.

The Day That Wasn’t.

…

[Tuesday, May 24th, 2022]

Table of Contents

(7:17 PM)

At the bookstore/cafe [Name of Bookstore / Cafe], working on….idk fiction probably. I have done no writing yet LOL!!!! So here I gooooo.

10:00 PM)

:).

…

[Wednesday, May 25th, 2022]

Re. Vice. And the Sleep Deprived Day

(10:11 am)

I haven’t slept yet.

Revice. Revice. Revice. Revice. Revice. Revice. Revice.

✨✨Revice~✨✨

…..Gosssh I love Revice and I love liveblogging. I don’t know where I went wrong (along the way) but yaish. (Time always got to be my #1 enemy).

…I should probably get some sleep. I’ve really just been goofing around — watched Kang Daniel’s new music video, I want to re-watch TXT’s GBGB Performance. I have the Chinese drama ‘Be Reborn’ up because I want to watch it but I don't want to watch it so I’ve been trying to re-watch my favorite scenes from episode 5 (lol).

[Yesterday in recap]

…Wrote maybe 100 words? I was NOT flowing at all. That and the brain fog was for real. Which….is very frustrating?? Why is it that whenever I start to get serious about getting work done and being productive something creeps up and smacks me in the face, completely preventing me from getting anything, ANYTHING done.

????? WHY??? (아버지. ???)

왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜. 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜.왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜.왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜.왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜.왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜 왜.

…

[Friday. May 27th, 2022]

Everything was going great….Until it wasn't.

(11:30 PM)

Okay, so. The entire first half of the day was great…but what the fck am I doing right now??? It's like sudden insanity hit me out of nowhere and now I just??? Like my stomach is lightning in a bottle.

And I’m tired. SO tired. But not sleepy.

This sucks. I hate this. Thanks tho God <333. I’ll try and idk??? Outlast this nonsense I guess? Naw, but I don’t even know how to describe this feeling??? I just feel…everything. It’s indecipherable and mixed together and it feels like my insides are on fire.

.................

NOTE: So this is the end of part 4. I talk about God a lot in these entries LOL. Whenever I'm going through something extremely difficult I pray (I mean, I do normally too but that's not the point). This is why I was fascinated with the religious themes in DPR Ian's MVS. When you're in an episode or transitioning into one it can feel like you've been abandoned, and so I perfectly understood what Ian was putting down (LOL).

Right. I'll be posting the next powerpoint part soon.

[Prev] [Next]

PPT Essay: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6]

PPT Essay Extras: (1), (2), (3)

Visuals of a Depressive Episode: (1), (2)

Journal Entries: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

#my thougts #fvcking moodswings ⚡️✌️#a scoup of life 🔫🦆#bipolaire #writing #journal #online diary #manic depression #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #neurodivergencies #actually bipolar #journaling #tw: flashing gif #tw: flashing images #tw: flashing lights #tw: flickering #tw: mental health

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