#kngfishergrl

[hardheartshere]

moodboard request - for @kngfishergrl's New Spring series is absolutely exquisite and a delight to read. They requested for a moodboard for this series and it is my pleasure and privilege to do it xx

Leave Me A Moodblog Request! a.k.a. I need the practice

[elithien]

Your work is so dynamic and emotional, I love it! (not even a Reylo shipper, but WOW.)

Ahhh I’m so glad! Thank you sm :)

[hardheartshere]

moodboard request - Nirvana in Fire, Star Wars!AU for @kngfishergrl Sidenote: Wang Kai. Sigh. Also, I might attempt this request again.

Moodboard Requests

[kyluxcantina]

Ocean Eyes

Saw the prompt “Ocean Eyes” and thought of this before I read the lyrics. T.T I’m planning on writing a longer fic though! So…. if ever…. I finish any … of my half-dozen WIPs. T.T

—-

His hands are webbed. The skin tinged green, almost as translucent as the water he’s half-hidden in, here and there glinting with the iridescence of his scales. They’re cold against Ben’s, the texture of his skin almost slippery, but not so much that Ben can’t hold his fingers fast, over the side of the little fisherman’s rowboat, bringing the slender digits to his lips. 

Bubbles rise to the broken surface of the water. Laughter. A smooth finger traces Ben’s mouth, presses against the corner, making him smile. It tastes like salt and the sea. Ben breathes lightly against the delicate webbing stretched between the knuckles. It quivers like lace, sensitive, so Ben does it again, while green eyes watch him from beneath the sea.

“Can I have a kiss?” He mouths against a delicate wrist. His answer is a fluttering of the pulse beneath his lips. Eyes blinking fast. A lovely, delicate face peering up at him, just an inch below the water, sunlight catching on white, delicately scaled skin, on the silky red hair flowing smooth in the water like kelp. 

Slowly, carefully, as to not tip the boat over, Ben leans to the side. The webbed hands tighten around his. The face doesn’t move away. Just waits for him,  lips parted, gills fluttering fast on the sides of his neck. Green eyes close when Ben brushes the first kiss against those soft lips, then the next. Bitter saltwater stinging his eyes and soaking his hair but he doesn’t care. 

A smile full of jagged white needles. Ben is only left a split-second of alarm before a rough yank has him tumbling forward, overboard. 

He falls into the ocean headfirst, struggles up, spluttering and coughing. The mermaid is laughing, a strange shrill sound that makes the hairs stand up the back of his neck but makes him laugh, too, as a silvery tail breaks the surface, splashing him. Ben grabs onto the mermaid’s wrists before he can pull him under again, pulling him close and looping his arms around his neck. Showering his little mermaid’s face and neck with kisses when his head breaks the surface, pushing aside the sodden curtain of red hair hanging over his sweet smiling face. 

“I love you,” Ben tells the mermaid. The mermaid hums, a warm thrumming happy sound that goes straight to his marrow bones, leaning his head against the warm column of Ben’s throat as they drift lazily in the sea. 

[alighterwithlove]

This is probs a losing battle to begin with, one I shouldn't have started. But dear, I really hope a few years on you realize how ridiculous this whole thing is. Your hate isn't productive, like, at all. Whatever moral superiority it gives you now, I really hope your perspective will change later. Not for my satisfaction, but honestly for your own good. :l

dude, u lost this battle when u admitted to being a racist neonazi sympathizer

[alighterwithlove]

We're not asking you to like him! Or to think him a cinnamon roll or whatever you find proper! Just treat us, the fans, with a modicum of respect! I'm in the Kylux fandom, probably one of the most hated corners of tumblr these days, and the hate I encounter there from antis, the pure toxicity, is unbelievable. And these are people with often painful reasons for finding the "villains" relatable. Character preferences are myriad and varied, okay? Please. Just let us be.

no. fuck off

[kyluxcantina]

For the prompt "Soft tender touches after a traumatic experience"

TW: demonic possession (though consensual, in Ben’s case) and exorcism rituals that ended violently. Also (in Hux’s case) disability (this is part of a longer AU that will be majority Hux POV, and I wanted to try writing different modes of perception other than visual)  Heavily inspired by SPN,  which explains everything about this, really (yes I liberally stole chunks of storyline and swirled them into the quagmire, leave me to damn myself in peace) 

—-

This time Hux is so drained that after it’s all over, his legs just give out, and he doesn’t even protest when Kylo catches him and gathers him up in his arms. He sees Luke rise from where he was tending to the other unconscious person in the room – the possessed boy - but Poe stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

Hux doesn’t react to anything. Not to Kylo touching him, or the others seeing. His  shoulder-length hair tickles Kylo’s collar, and his eyes are half-lidded. Kylo can feel Hux’s lashes brushing his skin every time he wills himself awake when his eyes slip closed. When Kylo’s thumb brushes their delicate edges, they stay shut, Hux’s mind easing quietly into sleep as Kylo carries him to his quarters. Neither Poe nor Luke make a move to stop him.

Dark bruises are beginning to rise on Hux’s face, and there are scratches around his eyelids where the afflicted had tried to take out his eyes. It’s not too bad, nothing a good cold compress can handle. But Kylo feels a tightness in his chest, something angry and hungry in turns. Ben Solo’s furious, human desperation layered over by his own possessive rage.

The only thing that had stopped Kylo from killing his fellow demon - and the boy it was possessing - had been Hux’s sharp “Stop.”

He wakes Hux when they get to his rooms. Nudging gently at his mind, taking care not to startle him, but Hux still jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes fluttering open and staring blankly around him. Kylo presses a kiss against his temple. That was all Ben, all longing and quiet comfort.

“It’s me.” He says quietly. He doesn’t say you’re safe like Ben wants him to. Hux lets out a trembling sigh. Leans his forehead against the column of Kylo’s throat, making him stiffen slightly. More proof of how much Hux had changed.

Or rather, how much hell had changed Hux.  

“What are you waiting for?” He asks exhaustion-slurred syllables running together. “You don’t need my keys.”  The puffs of Hux’s breath are warm. He’s already mostly asleep again by the time Kylo carries him inside his sparse living quarters.

There really isn’t much here. Just a carefully-made bed, a closet, and a night-table. He used to have more, Kylo remembers with an odd twist of guilt, low in his belly. Hux’s old apartment used to be lined with books, precious ones because of how difficult they were to obtain. It used to be warm with sunshine, with the scent of lilacs from his landlady’s garden wafting in. Hux had always been an ascetic, but he’d loved having the comfort of his own place, his own independence, more than he liked to admit.

Now all his books had been given away, along with his old vestments, his sparse collection of personal effects, even his little cat. The room Luke had given him in the old monastery is bone-bare, even after six months. On top of the night-table is a first-aid kit and the only book in the room is a Bible, open to the book of Job. Kylo supresses a snort when he sees it, but as he deposits Hux on top of the bed, he reaches out with one hand, runs the pads of his fingers over the raised dots. His brow is furrowed. As Kylo watches, his hand falls away from the page, and he sighs.

You won’t get any guidance from there, Kylo thinks but does not say. Not with whatever this is between us.

He’s still wearing his surplice, and the white fabric is spotted with blood from the deeper scratches in his face.  His expression is empty, lips thin and expression distant. Kylo takes it as his cue to leave, turns away. But the hand closing around his jacket sleeve stops him.

“Stay.” Hux never asks things of him. He always commands, always expects the utmost obedience. His grip is tight, white-knuckled: Ben’s skin caught beneath the leather, it would hurt if Kylo wasn’t used to far worse. Kylo should snarl, should put Hux in his place. You do not own me, you fool, you child –

But the boy – Ben, it’s always Ben, the boy and his damned heart defying him every chance he gets– gently loosens Hux’s grip from his arm, brings his hand to his lips. Kissing the knuckles, stroking the lines on his palm. Slowly, slowly, they uncurl, tension flooding out of the young priest’s limbs. With his other hand, Kylo trails careful fingers through his too-long hair.

The possessed boy had grabbed Hux by the hair earlier. More animal than child as it raked its nails down Hux’s face, trying to throttle him so he wouldn’t be able to finish the ritual. Before Kylo knew what the fuck had happened next, he’d broken through the sigil the priests had laid out to keep hostile forces out, crouching protectively over Hux’s prone form while Luke finished the rites, the other demon lying slumped against the opposite wall, blood trickling from its host’s temple.

Hux’s fingers are cold and slender and pale as they curl around Kylo’s. His hair is a river of fire against the unhealthy pallor of his skin, his half-open eyes turned to the vicinity of where Kylo is. He tugs his hand back and Kylo draws back, taking it as a dismissal. But to his surprise Hux scoots over to the side of his bed. Tugging at Kylo, so that the both of them are lying down.

Hux says nothing, but Kylo hears his unspoken command anyway. It’s awkward but he manages to slip the surplice off over Hux’s head, tossing it to the floor. The white collar comes off next, revealing a strip of skin that’s almost as pale were it not for the bruises beginning to form.

Kylo ghosts a finger over the skin of Hux’s throat, careful not to hurt him. The skin’s raw with abrasions in some areas, but not enough to bleed. The sight makes his stomach churn, which is ridiculous, because he’s seen worse, has done worse. But something about the sight of Hux wounded, hurt – it’s unbearable. Even if Snoke isn’t the one to do it. Even after Kylo had torn hell apart getting Hux out.

What’s going to happen to us? Kylo wonders. What more will we destroy for each other?

As if he can hear his thoughts, Hux wraps his arms around Kylo’s  waist. Only when they’re sufficiently entwined together does Hux heave a quiet sigh, closing his eyes. His cheek pressed against the center of Kylo’s chest where Ben’s heart still beats, while Kylo tangles his hands in Hux’s hair and listens to him breathe. 

[kyluxcantina]

For the "Immortal Hux and Time Traveler Ren" prompt

Hux as a reincarnated (human)  Darth Plagueis, Ren as his time-traveling lover guiding him to be at his side. Takes massive liberties with old Palpy’s story about his Master in RotS, and ignores everything james Luceno wrote about the topic. 

–

The first time it happened was during one of his earliest experiments – watching a nameless young Jedi faltering and going slack against his bonds as Plagueis – he’s still getting used to it, such a strangeness, being reborn, being named - drained the midi-chlorians from him.  The experiment was a success, but when he looked up from the Jedi’s lifeless corpse, it was to find out he was no longer alone.

Eyes. Human eyes, brimming with the power of the Dark side. A scar, livid and stark against his white face. He’s  a hulking figure in black, smelling like blood and petrichor and the Force screams with his presence. A bleeding wound that Plagueis quickly sets to correct by drawing his own weapon.

Their lightsabers clash. Plagueis almost stumbles as he guards against the impact of the stranger’s blow. He’s not at his optimal strength: the experiments had worn him out. Still, he gives as good as he gets. Striking and parrying but it’s not enough, Plagueis realizes with a thrill of disbelieving horror as the stranger has him on the defensive. Beating him back until Plagueis is forced

“Who are you?” He snarls.  No answer, but one final blow has his lightsaber skittering from his grasp. Before he can summon lightning to his fingertips strong hands clamp on his shoulders.  Immobilizing him, and to Plagueis’ furious terror  he finds can’t reach for the Force. His powers have deserted him.   

The man – no, boy – Plagueis is both startled and enraged – doesn’t let go. His eyes wide and very dark, the ugly scar ripping down his face almost to his chin. His lightsaber’s been switched off, tucked back into his belt and Plagueis would laugh at the arrogance but the boy doesn’t seem to be letting go anytime soon. Looking almost dazed as he continues staring.

“Did Master Tenebrous send you?” Plagues snarls.  Trust his Master to inflict another test, ensure Plagueis was worthy of his new title. The hands on his shoulders squeeze. He’s suddenly very aware of the dead body, laid out on the examination table. The life drained out of it as surely as his powers have been stoppered, but the Force beats within him still, a drumbeat certainty. Hold fast. This will change everything.

“I sent myself.” The stranger’s voice is deep, with a soft rasp, like his throat was parched.  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Now it’s Plagueis’ turn to stare. Because the stranger’s smiling. Lopsided and odd, making him look even younger, just on the verge of idiotic with how it widens just a bit as Plagueis starts to twist and struggle, but he freezes with incredulous surprise when the stranger’s fingers brush his cheekbone, then tug on a lock of his hair that had fallen out of place across his forehead.   

 “You look so different, but your hair’s still red.”  The young man says, his voice strange with delight. Is he even a real human? Plagueis can’t tell. His touch buzzes oddly, as if he’s not made of flesh and bblood, clinging to the impression like an afterthought. “Stars, you’re so young-” And then he falls silent. Pressing his lips like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Smiling a little, like Plagueis’ confusion is a sweet, familiar thing to him. As if he knows him so well. 

“Who are you?” Plagueis asks again, quietly this time, threaded with more than a little exasperated anger. The stranger doesn’t answer, just gives his hair another soft tug.

“You don’t know me yet.” His knuckles brush against the underside of Plagueis’ jaw, exploratory, making his mouth tighten. “But you will. Soon.” And then the touch is gone. He’s gone, and Plagueis gasps when the Force floods back inside him. He slumps against the wall, his knees giving out. The stranger’s voice, a soft echo in his mind.

Find me. I’ll be waiting for you ahead.