whorrorbellee
rotting angel girl
149 posts
Latest Posts by whorrorbellee
ur future nurse is using chapgpt to glide thru school u better take care of urself
popular culture used to be very much about eroticism. rockstars used to be on stage in sequins and thongs and thigh high boots playing guitars like they were masturbating. girls used to wear velvet mini dresses and no bras and red-brick-brown lipstick and mascara on their bottom lashes. people used to have body hair on television and in the movies. people used to be sweaty. people used to touch each other over denim and under cotton. foreplay used to be staring at someone over the rim of a glass across a bar across a park across a dinner table. people used to want. i think we’ve lost something
Reblog if you're okay with receiving asks for backstory info on any/all of your fics.
If not all, specify which ones in the tags.
Batfamily reunion, kinda ?
Not my idea: https://x.com/tocartss/status/1897135638438404416?s=46&t=zkCvxQnVoZvDMu4v7483qg
“what’s your aesthetic” it’s super niche actually it’s called clothes i like. hope this helps
when she says she doesn’t send nudes
esp w dead characters like omg plssssss
we as a society haven't utilised the idea of a wandavision!AU in fanfiction enough
can’t stop thinking about this :( wish ben solo was real
nervous neighbor ⟶ ben solo
description ⌙ you're back at home from university, living with your parents for the summer because it's cheaper than trying to pay for an apartment while on a student's salary. but after you meet the new neighbor's son, ben solo, you're not so sure it's worth it.
pairing ⌙ neighbor!ben solo x f!reader
warnings ⌙ inebriated reader & ben, they're smoking weed and being petty together, mean!ben because when do i not make him a bit mean, ben jokingly attempts to solicit reader, reader has a blatant sort of fascination with ben, ben has severe blatant yearning for reader, reader is described to need a belt to wear ben's pants (don't question me it comes up), some high kisses (they're so fun oops), somewhat getting caught, tiny little bitty cliffhanger, ben's personality is totally based off this brent faiyaz song lmao
word count ⌙ 3.5k
— request (frl especially for ben/kylo) | masterlist
i love the idea of neighbor!ben so ofc i had to put my thoughts into a little fic! if anyone is interested... i wouldn't be mad at making this a series. i love neighbor!ben!
the sun is low in the sky, casting a warm and appreciated golden glow on the world around you. you revel in the sanctity of the suburban environment as you step outside your front door. the rays burn into your exposed shoulders, spaghetti straps lightly digging into the skin.
the fragrant scent of freshly cut grass hangs heavy in the air, leaving an earthy flavor in your mouth. you pull at the hem of your shorts, feeling the soft fabric brush against your exposed thighs as you make your way to the black mailbox straight ahead.
you flip through bills and junk mail, all in your parent's name for a minute before you hear the unmistakable rev of a car engine approaching. the engine seems to purr the closer it gets, and you're all too familiar with the sound. you feel glued to your spot as it approaches.
soon enough, ben solo's sleek aston martin swerves into his driveway, coming to a stop just a few feet away from his closed garage door. you watch as he gets out of the car, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead, and meets your gaze with his severe brown eyes.
there’s something about the way he looks at you that causes your heart to race. the sensation is unwanted or, at least, you tell yourself it is.
he looks like he always does; clad in dress pants and a pristine button-up, face etched with subtle haughtiness, and pink lips curved into a deliciously heretical grin. the previous sanctity you felt dissipates as his stare beats down on you, hotter and more all-consuming than the sun above.
"neighbor." he anoints, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "how much allowance are mommy and daddy giving you for checking their mail?"
"very funny," you retort, eyes rolling, "maybe they're drawing from the same funds your parents did when they bought you that ridiculous car."
you liked playing this game with ben. where he attempts to seem as if he's got something over you, some unspoken win. as if you're not both twenty-somethings still living with your parents.
he does have an actual retirement plan type job though, so, perhaps, he has you beat in some areas.
he works full-time, a fact you learned after dinner with your parents and his. brought up by your parents so they could dote on him— effectively buttering up han and leia further. the ass-kissing earned the family privileges to their in-ground pool though.
he's pretty prestigious, unfortunately. ben organa-solo, the youngest associate at his legal firm. he apparently had over forty offers of employment before he ever even looked at the bar exam.
he's doing well, sure— but the sheer fact that he still lives with his parents is enough to quell your nuanced jealousy. somewhat.
"my db-nine can never be called ridiculous. do you know the specs on this car?" he taunts, opting to lean against his aforementioned car.
you begin to turn away from him, not willing to go into a conversation regarding his stupidly expensive automobile. you can feel your ears warming as you try to ignore him, but ben is relentless, as usual, "you know, you really should relax a little, i'm only joking, kid.."
"excuse me?" you snap, fronting him again and crossing your arms defensively, "i am plenty relaxed, solo. thank you very much."
in truth, you haven't been relaxed or even casual since the organa-solo's moved in eight months ago. wealthy and recently retired, leia and han are amusing, charming, and almost constantly travelling.
the pair managed to befriend your parents the second they moved in. bringing over a plate of brownies, the duo easily meshed with your parents, making for countless dinners, conversations, and visits between the two homes.
the opposite can be said for ben and you. when you finally met him, a few weeks after his parents moved in, it was because he was yelling at your dog for 'purposely' pissing on one of his tires. since then, you haven't exactly seen eye to eye.
"mhm, of course," he drawls sarcastically, "that's why you're always so wound up,” he’s smirking now, "you ever thought about smoking a joint or something? might help you chill out."
"really?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow, "that's your solution? drugs?" you choose to ignore his quip about you being tightly wound. as if he's not— you've seen him after work, he always looks tense, shoulders tight. at the recollection of his job title makes you almost comment on his choice of illegal activity, but you stop yourself.
maybe this was his vice after hours of listening to legal jargon?
"i'm just offering a suggestion. i've got pot and an empty house." his voice is biting, holding his hands up defensively, "take it or leave it, kid."
your mind is wrought with confusion over his words. in the few months you’ve known him, you would have never thought he’d be suggesting what he is.
ben solo, who drives an aston martin, only wears button-ups or suits, and is always willing to make you look or feel idiotic, is trying to convince you to smoke pot with him.
you worry for a brief second if you’re deluded.
you would have never suspected the famed judiciary to unwind in such a way.
no, your first guess would have been whiskey, or maybe something a bit more scandalized and indecent. you try to shake that idea out of your head.
"fine," you blurt it out before you can stop yourself, surprising both you and the arrogant figure in front of you.
"seriously?" ben questions, his eyes widening in apprehension. "you're actually going to do it?"
"yeah, solo," you shrug, drawing out the first word, trying to sound more resolved than you feel, "nothing i haven’t done before."
"okay, cheech," he mutters, grinning wickedly, "let me smoke you out."
you follow him into his house, heart pounding in your chest. you're familiar with the layout— almost identical to your own home, only nicer. everything is nicer.
the air inside is cool and smells faintly of lavender, mixed with something decadent you can’t quite place. glancing around the space, you take it all in. it feels different now that you're alone with ben. less homey and more belly of the beast.
there are windows everywhere, letting in an abundance of natural light despite the evident tint. the furniture is modern and obviously hand-picked though comfortable and no doubt, expensive.
you try to make yourself cozy on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. ben disappears for a moment and returns with a tray, a red grinder, a lighter, and a baggie of green herbs.
your hands go clammy as you watch him grind it down. you try to wipe them on your pants, hoping he doesn’t notice.
he doesn’t seem to, instead beginning to roll a joint, packing the herb down with his thumb. his movements, precise and hypnotic. he's defiling all previous conclusions you had of him. he’s sure, magnetic, and undeniably confusing.
“ready?” he asks, holding the rolled paper out to you. you nod, and he lights up the twisted end, inhaling deeply before passing it over to you.
you place the joint to your lips, feeling the warmth of the light spark grazing your fingers. the earthy plant kindles with a soft crackle, and you inhale deeply. smoke fills your lungs, coiling inside you.
the cloudy smoke immediately hits your entire sinus system, choking you on its descent down.
you cough and ben laughs, “shit, take it slow, kid.” he huffs, before handing you a tepid water bottle, no question he figured you'd wind up coughing a lung.
you drink gratefully, feeling the water cleanse your burning throat. you look at ben, who’s watching you intently.
your eyes are watery and slightly hazy, but ben has never look better. eyes red and low, posture easy with one arm behind his head, and faint pink flush.
“what?” you ask, self-conscious. the room seems to swirl around as ben sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.
"nothing, neighbor," his stare is mocking, "do you feel relaxed yet?" he asks with a smirk.
you give him a meager thumbs-up, suddenly lightheaded and giggly. your thoughts are wondering to ben's pretty lips, but your mouth remains whetted and silent. adorning thoughts remaining within your capricious mind.
the tension in your body melts away, and you lean back against the couch cushions, letting out a deep sigh. ben's hand brushes against yours to steal the joint away, and you feel the heat of his touch all the way to your toes. it's as if the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and nothing else exists.
“are you cold?” he asks, taking a drag, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, leaving his arms on full display.
you look at him, bewildered for a second, and he continues with an eye roll, “you’re shivering.”
looking down at your body, you note that you indeed are. either from the weed or the proximity you have to your novel neighbor.
with a gentle breath, you reply, “i guess.”
he holds the joint with his lips as he stands to look down at you, “c’mon i’ve got blankets in my room.”
you look up at him, unsure of what to say, but find yourself bobbing in agreement. you follow him upstairs, the both of you languid in reaching the destination. when you do finally get to his room, you note the array of muted jewel tones and dim light, different than the rest of the house.
ben keeps his blinds partially closed and curtains that mostly fall in front of them. his bed is huge, pristine white sheets and an inviting navy bedspread.
you watch as he pulls out a thick woolen blanket from his closet and spreads it over your shoulders. you feel the weight of it settle over you, cocooning you in warmth.
"better?" he asks, voice low.
you nod again, feeling the hazy ardor of the drug swimming through your body. everything feels fuzzy, and for the first time you don't feel so out of place with ben.
he takes a seat beside you on his all too comfortable bed, the aroma of his pomelo-scented cologne filling your senses. you discern it's probably dangerous in some way to be alone with ben like this, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care or reason why.
you let yourself peer into his large and expansive open closet. clothes, mostly suits and dress shirts, hang neatly on identical black hangars. he's tidy. the fact feels unmistakable, and you think you should already know just by the way he carries himself.
ben's voice interrupts your absent mind, "anything you like?"
you look back at him, leaning up against the headboard of his bed, joint billowing smoke from its rested position in his fingers. he looks less severe like this, less perfect, more mortal.
you're certain the drug has taken effect now because when you move to get closer to him, it feels as if you're floating.
you take the joint from him, stealing another hit before replying, "you just have a lot of suits. i wonder if you own anything besides them. i've never seen you in anything but."
"is this one of your long-winded jokes?" he briefly closes his eyes, but you can see them roll through his lids, "because if so, i'll kick you out. i won't hesitate to send you back to your house, neighbor."
snorting, you take yet another hit of the joint, "i did see something i liked, actually." you confess, your drugged mind deciding to be just a bit genuine.
he hums, "really? i've never seen you in a suit, or anything formal."
the sentence sounds stupid coming out of ben's mouth, but you chalk it up to his tipsy state, "maybe you will. one day."
your reply sounds equally as dumb, but you feel good, and you're actually having a conversation with ben. one that doesn't involve him undermining you or snickering at what you're saying.
"really? wanna try mine on? for practice." ben is smirking, eyes narrow, searing, and bloodshot.
you give him a ditzy look, joint still dangling from your fingers, "whatever, solo."
ben lets out a genuine giggle at that, and in your inebriated state, you smile at the sound. his dimples are on full display as he leans further into his cushioned headboard, eyes glazed and focused purely at you, "i'll pay, if you do."
his face is gentle, almost winsome, but the words that tumble out of his mouth sound murky— riddled with a slight hint of hunger. for what exactly? you're not sure.
your lips contort into a frown before you reply, "you'll pay me to put on your clothes? god, ben how much did you smoke?"
you mean for your words to come off as a joke, easy and light. instead, it comes out as timid and shy. you'd normally feel a tinge of embarrassment but either the drug or ben's starved stare makes the would-be feeling detach from your mind.
"enough." he shrugs, answering your rhetorical question, "i've got five hundred in my wallet right now," he pauses, leaning over to you and grabbing the joint, fingers brushing against yours, "and i want a show."
your mind seems to blank for a second, leaving you to blink your dry, red eyes in front of him. when the small wave of shock subdues, you reply, "i don't know how to give you a show."
ben shakes his head slightly, his eyes still set on yours, “yeah you do. swear it's not hard, kid.”
“says you,” you giggle, “but i’ll try on your clothes. for the money.”
he breathes in, contented, “for the money.”
without much more thought, you rise from his plush bed and make way for the closet. it's big enough to be another room, a stark contrast from your own closet, and it smells of his citrusy cologne merged with the lavender scent throughout the home. you find it comforting.
you look back over your shoulder, ben's watching you intently from his seated position, "what should i start with, solo?"
he hums before replying, "your pick, neighbor. what's mine is yours."
you can't help the dorky smile that graces your lips at his sentiment, even though you know he's being flippant. you hastily turn away from him, hiding your weak-willed reaction.
taking a deep breath, you begin to rummage through his wardrobe. your fingers brush against the luxurious fabric of his suits before settling on a satin black button-up that looks silky smooth to the touch.
you grab it and turn around to face ben, who's now standing and walking towards you, his eyes fixed on the shirt in your hand.
"that's a good choice," he says, his voice low and husky, "you'll look better in it than i do."
you roll your eyes at his comment but can't help the warmth that shoots through your body at his words. you quickly slip it over your cropped tank, eager to see it on.
as you're buttoning it up, you feel his swarthy eyes on you, watching your every move. you can't help but feel giddy with his ardent gaze and your own euphoric state of mind.
as you finish up the last button, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the ornate mirror hung upon one of the closet walls. you look decadent in his pompous shirt.
the feeling of contentment that washes over you is startling.
it's a beautiful cut of fabric, but it's the way it represents the achieved man behind you that has you stalling. you notice ben's breath hitch as he takes in the sight of you.
"i was right. it looks much better on you." he says, his voice rough.
you grin at him, feeling a newfound confidence wash over you, "is that right, solo?" you question, your demeanor one of leisure.
without warning, ben steps forward, right hand coming to rest on your shoulder as he leans down to you, "here," he says, his breath hot against your ear, "you missed the first button."
his fingers dance at your chest, fastening the skipped button. you fight a smile at the act, keening at his rash action. high ben is certainly less sardonic than sober ben, finding a nice middle ground at graceful teasing.
"you pick the pants, and grab a belt so that they'll fit." you smile.
he hums, pulling away and trifling through his clothes. his nimble fingers card through various pairs of slacks, settling on a matching black pair.
he turns on his heels, facing you. he raises his brows, a silent request for you to take the pants. when you do, his hands begin to fumble with his belt.
your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "what are you doing?"
"i want you to wear this one. just let me play dress up with you, doll." his black locks are falling into his eyes.
you huff out a weak chuckle, focused on his action and new endearment. when the belts slides away from him, you notice the way his slacks droop slightly.
with a curt and nervous smile, you slide up the dark pants, fitting his belt around your hips afterward.
you study yourself in the mirror, opting to tuck the shirt into the pants messily— an attempt to somewhat display your waist.
ben comes up behind you, hands resting on your shoulders, humming into the top of your head, "i quite like you this way. ever thought about getting an office job for me?"
you give him a sarcastic pout, "for you?"
he smiles, canines showing, "yeah, doll, just for me."
you're dizzy at his words, "yeah, then who'd watch my parent's house all day? it's a full-time job being a stay-at-home daughter, you know."
ben groans a bit at your words, "that makes you sound like a little brat, you know." he drawls out the last two words, mocking.
you smirk, facing him now, lips becoming level with his when he leans down to stare into your eyes, "my mom calls me a brat sometimes. she says i'm never going to find someone acting like one," you pause for a beat, "d'you agree, ben?"
at the emphasis of his first name he sighs and lets his hands fall to your waist, "i agree that you're a fuckin' brat," he cranes his head closer, breath brushing against your lips, "but i don't think i mind very much."
your eyes flutter against your better judgment, and ben takes an evident note of the fact. his hands tighten at your waist, fingers digging in possessively. you feel a beat of caution before it flies away from your resolution. you press forward just as he does the same, lips meeting in a slow, heady, absolutely exalting kiss.
ben's fingers dig into you, timidly pulling you further into him. you crumble at his touch, hands fisting into his hair as he deepens the kiss further. he tastes of sweet honey and sunlight that fills you with warmth and affection.
you're both weakly fighting for more— an incessant craving for each other that quickly overtakes your common sense. the looming man continues to cast an unbreakable spell with each aching kiss as his gentle hands caress every inch of exposed skin on your body.
you let his hands fumble with the buttons of the borrowed shirt, slowly slipping it away from you. it brushes past your shoulders, and ben breaks the hungry kisses to trail sloppy ones on your exposed neck.
you're lost in the feeling of him— all-consuming. neither one of you willing to be pulled back to reality— but eventually you both have to break away from one another with heavy breaths and flushed cheeks. ben looks down at you with an amused grin on his face before planting a chaste kiss on the top of your head.
you hum and he mutters against you, "you like that? hm?"
"duh," you steal a glance up, "feels s'nice." there's a stupid grin stuck to your face.
"you taste so good, doll," he places a teasing kiss at the dip at the bottom of your neck, "and your lips are so fucking soft."
you give him a questioning look, lips upturned, "really? sounds wild coming from the same man that just called me a brat."
he hums darkly, "you being a brat," he places another kiss to your exposed neck, "just makes this little game of ours more interesting," one of his hands lifts your chin, pulling you closer, "c'mere, kid."
his lips are back on yours, less languid and with much more fervor. you feel so full in his arms. divinely entangled in the coveted luxury of ben organa-solo.
suddenly, you hear commotion from downstairs, drugged mind abruptly anxious.
"what's that?" your voice is barely above a whisper.
ben growls, "fuck— i'm sorry doll, i think my parents are home." you catch the faint flush on his cheeks.
you bite your lip, concerned, "but... i'm high. and wearing your clothes."
ben is about to say something else when the deep baritone of han solo's voice booms from behind his closed bedroom door, "come on out, son. the neighbor's are over for dinner. their daughter should be here soon," han's voice drops a bit, "and try to ease up on the flirting this time, okay?"
you stifle an uninhibited giggle, earning a glare from ben.
"yeah, sure. just let me get out of my work clothes," he peers down at you, eyes wicked, "don't want them to think it's all i own."
your eyes widen at his subtle dig, and he seems to revel in your amusement.
han grumbles something back before leaving. your breathing is erratic for a good few seconds. ben's hands remain on you, gentle grin on his lips.
"you heard the man. dinner." his voice is low, and you fight the urge to pull him into another kiss. the thought of more than kissing weighing heavily on your stoned mind.
your reply knocks the smile off of his face, "how are you going to explain the fact i'm already with you and high off my ass?"
he groans, head falling into the crook of your neck, "shit."
Ghosts In The Snow
Chapter Seven
Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU
Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.
Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death
*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Spotify Playlist
Word count: 3.6k
Chapter-specific CW: torture (what fun!), period-typical sexism
A/N: the dead speak! lmao at least that's what it feels like coming back after an entire YEAR??? I kinda got sucked into playing 1,200+ hours of baldur's gate 3, romancing a certain vampiric elf time and time again, which gave me plenty of inspiration to continue this fic. I never meant to be gone for so long, so if you're still interested in this story, please let me know!
───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────
What have you done?
To say that you were restless would be an understatement. The first order of business when you returned to your chambers was finding a safe place to store your stolen weapon, and now, hours later, you had yet to succeed.
You paced the room, wearing holes in the soles of your slippers as you wondered if you had made the right decision. It was unlike you to have sticky fingers, but then again, these were unprecedented times. Boldness meant survival.
Above all, you feared Ren was privy to your thievery, despite his silence on the walk back to your chambers. The prick of blood seemed enough to distract him for a moment, or perhaps he was practiced in hiding his tells. Either way, the consequences of him knowing gnawed at your sanity.
Rey had tended the hearth while you were away, ensuring your chambers were kept warm and filled with the familiar scent of dry wood. Her diligence as a handmaid proved to be an unforeseen complication in hiding your contraband.
Instinct urged you to keep it close to your bed, but reason told you it would be found too easily there. Same with the lounges circling the hearth, whose velour cushions could conceal many things if asked to. Though a dagger lodged in one’s rear would raise many concerns, as well as promise unspeakable punishments to come.
For these reasons, you ultimately settled on the bookcase.
Towering in the corner was a collection of books and texts, dense enough to put even the most curious scholars to sleep. A perfect place to hide a dagger.
Dragging a footstool over as a makeshift ladder, you reached for a leather-bound book embossed with gold letters along its spine. Imperium Nunquam Fuit. Though written in Old Basic, you understood its meaning.
The Empire That Never Was. A phrase coined by Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin to describe the destruction of Alderaan during the Revolution. An unsavory way to speak about a fallen civilization—considering he was the man responsible.
You made quick work of hollowing the historical text, skimming the page you’d turned to before defacing it. This passage detailed the last of the Imperial attacks on Alderaan, near the end of the Rebellion. One of the more infamous sieges of the war, earning its place in history with a tithe of blood and destruction.
The lines of script told the story of how Imperial soldiers salted Alderaan’s lands and butchered the citizens—babes and crones included. The Empire was thorough, wiping out an entire civilization over a mere conspiracy. With few survivors, and even fewer successors, Alderaanian blood was a rarity. You supposed that was one of the many things that set General Organa apart from the rest.
Considering the contents, it was a book of little interest to the First Order—a perfect hiding place.
The point of your blade pierced the parchment with ease, as if slicing through a block of butter rather than a thousand-page text. Tragic as it was to ruin a book like this, what other choice did you have? Hosnian Prime’s Grand Archives likely stored dozens of copies; one locked away in the depths of the First Order’s fortress would not be missed.
The fit was snug, but it would do for now. As for the pages you’d carved out, they laid in a pile at your feet, a messy reminder that your room was not private.
You slammed the book shut and returned it, hurrying to clean the shreds of paper scattered across the red carpets. Despite your efforts, the fragments proved too difficult to clean with just your hands alone, forcing you to sweep them into your skirts.
As you carried the pieces to the hearth, a gentle knock sounded through the oak doors. “Gods,” you muttered as you rushed towards the fire, dumping the pages unceremoniously onto the crackling wood.
Another rap on the door.
“Just a moment, please!” It was impossible to hide the panic in your voice as you prodded at the withering pages with an iron poker. Time seemed to slow as you watched the flames engulf the ink, turning Alderaan’s history to ash once more.
“It’s me, my lady.” Muffled by the wood, Rey’s voice was barely audible over the fire, hissing with fresh fodder. If any good came from her being your visitor, it was her staunch etiquette. She would not barge in uninvited—unlike some of the castle’s residents.
Brushing the slivers of evidence from your gown, you opened the doors, mindful of the lingering ash in the hearth. “My apologies. I was…” You cleared your throat, smoothing out your skirts before finishing your lie. “Indecent.”
Demure as ever, Rey dropped her gaze as she curtseyed before you. “It’s no matter, my lady. I was sent to fetch you; the Supreme Leader requests your presence.”
The moment his name left her lips, cotton filled your mouth, forcing its way down your throat as you swallowed your fear. What reason would the Supreme Leader have to summon you—at this late hour, no less?
Your thoughts immediately turned to Commander Ren. Perhaps he had noticed your theft after all and reported your offence to Snoke. If that were true, you vowed to slice his throat first.
“Did he give a reason?” you asked, trying to maintain your resolve.
Rey’s throat knocked in her slender neck. “He did not say.”
Part of you wanted to take the damned blade with you, but recklessness wouldn’t serve you. Though you did not recognize him as your ruler, you were not keen on adding treason to your ledger.
You sighed, coming to stand beside Rey at the door, shoulders pressed back and hands folded over your lap. “I’m surprised he didn’t send you with manacles.”
She said nothing, but the trace smile on her lips told you all that you needed to know. You couldn’t blame her for watching her tongue around you. Given what transpired last night, you would do the same in her position.
The two of you walked in near silence to the throne chambers, passing countless tall windows with panes stained a deep red, dark enough to block most light from entering. What little light did manage to seep through painted the halls crimson, giving the appearance of blood spilling over the floor.
The burned pages of text flashed in your mind.
Every step forward was committed to memory, including the number of paces between notable fixtures, as well as where each one stood in relation to your chambers. Still, there was no sign of an access point in this section of the castle. But your resolve did not falter. If there was a means of entry into this accursed fortress, there must also be a means of escape.
As you rounded the corner to another corridor, you glanced at your handmaid, noticing that her usual singular bun had evolved into three smaller ones, meeting the nape of her neck in a uniform line.
“You’ve changed your hair.” The observation came out as more of a question than a comment.
“Yes, my lady,” she said, delicate fingers reaching to touch the one near her collar. “An effort to be closer to the gods.”
You furrowed your brows. “How’s that?”
“As there are three of them, there are three knots. We servants are forbidden to worship openly, so we find other ways.” She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her chin towards her chest. “Divine strength allows clarity of the mind.”
While you were not necessarily a pious woman, you were familiar enough with the gods from your upbringing to understand what she meant. As a child, you often prayed at your family’s shrine, asking for a bountiful harvest, good health, and, most of all, peace in the realm. For many years, they fulfilled your wishes. Now, your faith provided you with little comfort.
“Certainly,” you said, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. “Are we nearly there?”
“Just down this hall,” she said, her tone clipped. Either she was annoyed with the change of subject, or just as uneasy about seeing the Supreme Leader as you were.
True to her word, Rey came to a stop near the end of the corridor, leaving a short distance between you and the two looming oak doors, with iron enforcements woven into the grain and a guard posted on either side. Their faces were concealed by crimson veils, the signature regalia of the Praetorian Guard. Those tasked with protecting the ruler of these lands, whether they carried the title of Chancellor, Emperor, or Supreme Leader.
The warmth drained from your face at the sight.
“This is where I leave you, my lady.” Her face lacked its usual peachy hue, her freckles washed away by the candlelight. “The Supreme Leader does not allow us to enter these chambers, save for when he is passing judgment upon us.”
Standing before the faceless guards, you understood her unease.
“Will you be here to escort me back?” you asked, palms growing damp as you clutched the fabric of your gown.
“It is late. I must turn in for the evening.” She shifted her weight, eyes darting between you and the guards, whose presence seemed to loom over you from meters away. “Besides, I should think you do not require my assistance from this point.”
With that, she turned on her heels and retreated, her steps muted as she faded into the stretching darkness of the hallway. Turning to face the guards, dread settled in your stomach. Surely these warriors would not accompany you back to your chambers.
You studied them for a moment, the strategist in your mind seeking to understand what threat they posed. Both were tall and well-fed, given the size of their uniforms. The one to your left carried a bisento, while the other held a tall voulge, both equally unnerving. Their blades were pristine, foreign to combat. You wondered if the same could be said for those wielding them, too.
As if seeking to test your theory, they readied their weapons as you approached, each blade humming as it sliced through the air.
You came to a halt, the hair on the back of your neck now stiff. “I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader.”
The two remained poised to strike for a long moment before returning to their sentry state, offering one another a brisk nod as they pushed the heavy doors open, revealing the grand throne room. With tentative steps, you approached, pausing at the threshold.
Black marble columns lined the walkway to the throne, each manned by a knight of the Praetorian Guard, their crimson armor matching the First Order banners draped along the cobbled walls. Above the throne was the room’s sole window, with red stained panels filling the space between the spokes of the First Order insignia. Six steps carved of the same dark mineral as the columns led to the throne, lined with black velvet upholstery and a towering slate backing. Perched comfortably in the seat was Supreme Leader Snoke, draped in golden robes that flowed over his limbs like smelted ore, barely concealing the matching jewelry wrapped snugly around his fingers.
The paragon of humility.
He was joined by another: the fire-haired General Hux. His gaze snapped to you as the doors creaked open, beady eyes piercing you like darts from across the chamber.
“Ah, my guest of honor,” Snoke crooned, clasping his hands before his chest in delight. His tone fell icy as he turned to address the General. “Leave us.”
Confusion spread across his pale features as he turned to face Snoke once more. “But, Supreme Leader, there is still much to be discussed.”
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. You are to leave these chambers at once, General Hux, or you will be removed.” Snoke’s gravelly voice rumbled through the hall with the force of a thousand footsteps, and reluctantly, Hux obeyed.
You watched the scene play out before you from the safety of the doorway, your feet rooted to the floor.
Snoke relaxed in his chair once more, beckoning you in with a hand gesture. “Please, come in, darling.”
Willing your feet to move, you did as he asked, eyes flitting between the Praetorian guard and the approaching General Hux, whose expression could only be described as irate as he brushed past you, black coat fluttering behind him.
Your heart was lodged in your throat as you neared the throne, feeling like a lamb being shepherded towards the maw of a lion. You stopped in line with the last of the guards before the Supreme Leader, leaving some distance still.
Snoke watched you with keen eyes, a stark contrast to his stoic front. “I do hope you are well, my dear. I can only imagine the days spent in anticipation of your wedding are agonizing.”
You frowned. “Is that why you summoned me? To ask me about my wedding?”
“Of course not. But pleasantries are the foundation of any proper conversation.” The humor fell from his voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, like wine crafted from grapes plucked too early.
Satisfied, he settled back into his throne, resting his hands over the ornate armrests. “See? Deference needn’t be cumbersome.”
His mocking tone made your vision red, but you held your tongue. Invisible threads tied you to him and his guards, each one pulled taught in the silence. It would take nothing more than a misstep to cause one of them to snap.
He spoke again, this time with authority. “It has come to my attention that you are unaware of what is expected of you as a noblewoman.”
You let out a terse exhale. “I suppose I am. Perhaps that is because of the conditions under which I am becoming one.”
A thin smile curled on the Supreme Leader’s lips. “These are unprecedented times, lieutenant.”
The emphasis on your title made your skin crawl. Snoke was calculated, sadistic. With his power, he was untouchable. The red veils surrounding you served as a constant reminder of his invulnerability.
“Now, I am curious. How did you manage that?” he added, tilting his head in intrigue. “A commoner like yourself rising to the rank of a commanding officer is no easy feat—even more so for a woman.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I hardly see how this is relevant to my new status as a noblewoman.”
Despite your outward naivety, you knew too well what being a noblewoman would entail. You’d known from the moment your betrothal was announced. You were to be the docile wife of a commander, providing him an heir, a spare, and a warm bed whenever he pleased. Your military career would be swept away by the title of Lady Ren, all traces of your independence lost to time. You couldn’t think of anything less appealing.
“As a Lady of the First Order, you will be granted privileges seldom given to others, such as this.” Snoke motioned to the surrounding space, and you found yourself unable to decipher his meaning.
He isn’t referring to having an audience with the ruler of the realm as a privilege, is he?
He continued, “The safety of the castle. Our stronghold. You will be protected within its walls.”
Oh. Of course.
You suppressed a scoff. “I find that hard to believe, considering Commander Ren has attempted to strangle me twice over since my arrival.”
“I see,” he mused, pressing an index finger to his lips in thought. “My mercurial underling. If only his mind were half as quick as his temper.”
Somehow, your first instinct was to defend Commander Ren from his inflaming remark. While the Supreme Leader was correct about Ren’s temperament, he didn’t see the side of him that you saw—however infrequently it may have showed itself. There was a tenderness to him, fleeting in nature, like a luminescent star ripping through the night sky. You saw it in his eyes as he sat before your hearth, again when he laced your bodice.
Or perhaps what you felt was just the lingering effects of his charm.
Snoke’s rough voice broke your reverie. “Nevertheless, I’m sure Commander Ren had his reasons. Just as I’m sure whatever actions may have led to these outbursts will cease henceforth, won’t they?”
Before you could answer, a searing pain sliced through your skull, its barbed tendrils reaching into the deepest part of your consciousness. Every muscle in your body became succinctly rigid, frozen in place as an invisible force suspended you midair. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to call out; for the gods, for your mother—even for Commander Ren.
“You will behave yourself, insolent girl, or you will be disposed of.”
Despite your efforts, no sound would come from your throat. An eternity seemed to pass as the Supreme Leader kept you trapped, holding your feet to the fire of his anger. Mustering every ounce of strength, you forced your chin down in agreement, hot tears distorting your vision.
Without moving a muscle, he relinquished his hold on you, your knees cracking against the marble floor in an instant. The violet fabric of your gown pooled around you like the blood of a slain enemy, collecting the tears that fell from your chin.
Before you could find your voice, the creak of wood and subsequent rustling of armor behind you swiped your attention. The guards had readied their weapons, aiming at something other than you.
You flinched as the doors slammed shut, followed by a heavy—yet quick—footfall.
“What is the meaning of this?” Commander Ren’s voice was biting, filled with untamed fury as he entered the grand hall. His cloak rippled behind him like the night sea, silver sword in hand as he marched forward.
You scurried backwards on your tender palms, caught between his rage and the throne. He drew closer, only stopping at the intersection of two of the guards’ blades.
“Commander Ren, what a welcome surprise,” Snoke crooned. “Your bride was just leaving.”
His eyes found yours in an instant—wild and dark. Silently, you pleaded for his cooperation. If he were to strike at the guard, your life would be forfeit.
Outnumbered by eight blades, he stowed his own. “What have you done?” he demanded.
Though he was looking at you, his question was directed at the man atop the throne, whose enthusiasm at his subordinate’s display was palpable.
“Nothing you have not already done yourself,” Snoke growled. With that, he stood to his feet and stepped down from his throne, closing the gap you’d deliberately left and standing over you. “See her back to her chambers, Commander.”
A snarl flashed across Ren’s face as he pushed past the guards and kneeled before you, extending a gloved hand for you. Though he was quiet, his eyes were heavy with guilt.
With legs like a new foal, you accepted his help, gripping his hand like a lifeline as you stood. “Thank you.” The words floated from your mouth, burning your throat as they passed through.
He only nodded in return, guiding you away from the chamber. Because of his intrusion, the outer guards were now sealed inside, allowing some privacy in the dimly lit hall.
Ren came to a halt, moving both of his cool hands to rest on your shoulders, inspecting you. “Are you hurt?”
Averting your eyes, you shook your head dismissively, ignoring how your knees seemed to rattle with every step.
He let out an amused hum. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you will, Commander,” you managed to say through your dry mouth. “I’m fine.”
At that, the two of you carried on in silence, meandering through the castle, passing knights and servants alike down each corridor. Ren’s emotion rolled off of him like heat from a flame, slowly dwindling the further you were from the throne room.
As your legs regained their strength, so did your voice. “How did you know I was in there?”
“Does that really matter?”
“I’d say so. For all I know, you’re the reason he summoned me in the first place,” you argued, head spinning as you tried to recognize your surroundings. Only when you realized these walls were unfamiliar did your pace falter. “Stop!”
He obeyed, meeting you where you stood. “What?”
“Answer me.”
He let out a terse breath. “No, I am not the reason he summoned you. Come, we can discuss this later.”
At that, he began his stride again, but you didn’t follow. “No. I will not take one more step. Not before I know where you are taking me, as it is clearly not my chambers.”
“I’m bringing you somewhere private,” he finally answered.
“Are my chambers not private enough?”
“By the gods,” he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, it is unbecoming of me to be seen entering your chambers before we are wed.”
You scoffed. “How pragmatic of you.”
Ignoring your comment, he continued, “After your encounter with the Supreme Leader, I think it’s best if we avoid unnecessary speculation—for your sake.”
You couldn’t argue with him. If Snoke was inclined to submit you to the rawest agony over the slightest display of defiance, you could only imagine what else he was capable of.
“Fine,” you conceded, seeing reason in his words. “But let it be known that my cooperation does not reflect my satisfaction with this decision.”
A smile ghosted over his lips. “I know.”
the emotion i just experienced is kind of indescribable
"i'm only here to read fanfiction" oh cool then maybe consider interacting with it occasionally <3
Sketches by A.K. MacDonald, 1932
woof woof woof woof
ᴇᴡᴀɴ ᴍɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ as Martin
in: Fontaines DC - It's Amazing To Be Young
Ewen is back in another fontaines Dc music video !! song releases tonight !
Blair Witch Vol 1-3 ad (Computer Games #120, Nov. 2000)
virtual angel ₊˚⊹♡
Nathan Gombert - Ballet National de Marseille - photo by Aytekin Yalçın
this blog hates donald trump
Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁
need my baby back
#evolution of cesare's obsession with lucrezia's neck
Aemond’s bed for research purposes
Cherry Waves : two and a half
Ghostface! Danny Johnson x f!reader
Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around.Just to play or course.18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence
ao3 prolouge masterlist
11th August 1992
Roseville sure is something. Hot weather, Sunny skies. Rednecks. Everything I had wanted to avoid until now. Utah was great, born and raised. Left poor pa alone in the farmhouse at nineteen. Burnt to a crisp, the detective said. Goddamn alcoholic could never remember to see if the fire had gone dead before laying his head down on the pillow. Too damn bad.
Danny Johnson would become Martin Lee the small town photographer somewhere in Arizona, and then I was Jack Mayfield, the slightly deplorable stoner writer in california. But in Pennsylvania Jed Olson was born. Kind hearted, protective. Red blooded american that wanted to uphold traditional family values. The type of guy you'd see a pretty blonde next to with six kids. Jed Olson was perfect and fucking irritating. He was the type of guy you would ask to set up shelves in your apartment. And god i fucking hated it, i still do. At first Jed was sweet, he could lend a hand. Enjoyed a cold one. Then where's your girlfriend Jed? Or maybe you're gay? I've got a daughter you could take out some time? When are you gonna settle down?
So in New York Jed Became colder. But the problem with New york. Half of my work got lost to gang violence and hate crimes, by the time i had figured out who Jed really was, Ghostface had been lost in a lineup of violent Men and petty thefts. So I moved smaller. Florida. Small baptist town wedge between Jacksonville and St. Augustine. You could hardly call it a town, in reality it was a housing estate with ten shops lined up, a couple of offices and three different churches, two within the town and the third connected to a road that led you straight out of roseville and into St.Augustine. It was perfect. Enough crazies to not get caught, drive close enough that someone out of town could come in and kill. And small enough to cause a frenzine.
So while I was in New York, I took as many freelance photography jobs as I could. Let myself wake up with cheap instant coffee and gouged myself on instant ramen, until I had enough to buy a truck from a guy I knew and road-trip myself down to florida.
And here I was, a man with very little to say in the matter. Even though I had a way with words. It took me less than five minutes to wedge myself into the crew at roseville gazette. Mike had welcomed me with open arms after I had fooled him with my American values. White picket, 2.5 kids and a cute dog laid out on a plate for him to stuff his face with.
12 September 1992.
One month has passed and I'm settled in at last. Work is fine. Writing about lost dogs and people who've found rings along the shore. Work is boring. It's not really my work, well it is. But not the work I really want to do. In-fact , I'm craving it. I'm not sure how long I'm going to last. Sometimes I just want to take Adam's face and crush it between the wall and the door in the stairwell. And I won't! God I could never. Well I could. Just not Adam. Adam is great. He's really perfect. He's so anxious and erratic everytime a crime is committed. When I start and I mean really start (not drive to Georgia and kill some rando) he's just going to snap. Linda is great. She keeps to herself and writes pieces about Best places to take your family this (insert month) or should your kids be having sugar?.
There's a list in my head of who I want to take out. I haven't started watching just yet. Need to get adjusted to the town properly. I've been going on runs every night. Keep the stamina up and find out every slip road and street I can hide on. To the others I'm in a health kick. Waving past dog walkers and drunk teens. James told me he saw me running outside his house and that he'd wanted to get together for an early morning run the next sunday. And now there's a group of us at 6am. I drive to the closest diner after and order the biggest breakfast platter they have.
Case no: 289 D75 Date: 5th July 1984
Reporting officer: DC Smith
Prepared by: PC Stein
Incident: Fire at the Johnson’s farm house on 4th July 1984 at 11pm .
Event details: I was attending the 4th of July celebrations with my girlfriend. After the fireworks stopped at around 10:45. The family packed up and I asked if she wanted to head back to mine. We got to the farm house and the place was on fire. The house was practically black. We went to the nearest phone so I could call the emergency services.
I thought my dad might have gone out. But when the fire was put out, they recovered his body. When I left him he was on the sofa passed out. He usually drinks whiskey. I knew it was him because of the white gold wedding ring around his neck.
30th september 1992
So Mike's niece has officially started her job. Which has ruined all plans of me developing my own photos in the office. I'm sure she couldn't help it. Nepo babied her way into a job. Fresh out college and straight into the office. Didn't even have to have a shitty barista job first. She's shy and slightly skittish. Pays no attention to where she's going. Always tripping over her own feet. The good thing is now we have software to edit photos after mike bought a one year package to see how far it gets us.
She lives next to me. I passed her in the stairwell and walked behind her on the way home.
She doesn't crack a smile when I do. Hardly ever reactive. Emotionless. Faked a smile on her first day before curling inward on her desk to jot something down.
An enigma. Uncharmable .
16th October 1992
I didn't mean to do it. I was just a little rusty. I don't have time for mistakes. And I panicked. I dont panic. I never have. What little humanity I have left in me is reserved for good coffee and books. So I climbed into the wrong window that night. Mine was one over. A complete accident. Someone had swung a brick at my face and knocked me sideways. So I was a little puzzled when the bare apartment I lived in had a shitty two seater armchair and a pretty girl laid on it. And I had nearly turned away. But the pill bottle had glowed under the moonlight and headlights of late night drivers. When I had picked them up and the out of date pills rattled inside. I looked upon the pretty girl who I thought was asleep. Breathing erratic. Eyes rolling to the back of her head. Lying in a puddle of her own sweat.
Well I just panicked. Picking up her body and rushing to the toilet. Scraped along plastic tiles. My hands held her up by her neck and I shoved two thick fingers down her throat until I had felt her gag. Barely held up by her knees. Watching her puke into the toilet.
I should've left her there. Let the darkness swallow her up. Swelled in the bathroom. Let the police press a black body bag to her skin. Cracked tiled angel. Another lost to the hidden disease. And I gazed into her eyes, half shut. Her mouth opened as her head fell into the crook of my neck. Soft skin against the rough fabric of my shroud. I felt her heartbeat grow stronger. Poison exiting her body.
So instead I pressed her to the shower wall and washed her body, dressed her in the softest pyjamas I could find. Held her like my own. Held her like Piper wished I would.
I won't make this mistake again.
CHERRY WAVES MASTERLIST
divider by @faeberrywine
ghostface!dannyjohnson x reader
Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around.
Just to play or course.
18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence
Read here on AO3 !
or
prologue
chapter one
chapter two
chapter two and a half