
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11975715.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Wars_Episode_VII:_The_Force_Awakens_(2015), Star_Wars_Sequel
      Trilogy, Star_Wars
  Relationship:
      Snoke/Ben_Solo, Kylo_Ren/Snoke, Kylo_Ren_&_Snoke, Snoke_&_Ben_Solo
  Character:
      Ben_Solo, Ben_Solo_|_Kylo_Ren, Snoke_(Star_Wars), Kylo_Ren, Knights_of
      Ren, Leia_Organa
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Angst, Sexual_Violence, Blood, Be_Careful_What_You
      Wish_For, Sexual_Assault, Torture, Sadism, Angst_and_Porn, Underage_Rape/
      Non-con
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-02 Updated: 2018-02-04 Chapters: 6/? Words: 19309
****** A Handful of Ashes ******
by liviay
Summary
     After destroying Luke Skywalker's Jedi Temple, young Ben Solo flees
     to his first meeting with the elusive Snoke. What he finds out is
     dark and unexpected.
     Keep reading to see more of his training...
Notes
     This is a violent story with a lot of triggering elements. Please
     check the warnings carefully and don't read it unless you're sure you
     can be safe. An extended disclaimer can be found at the endnotes. It
     has spoilers, but I suggest you read it if you have any doubts about
     the themes I'm writing about in here.
     Please let me know what you think. :)
     I'll be tagging as I go.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
When he finally came to his senses, he realized he was way too close to the
fire. He should have been scared, he should have started to run, but his mind
was blank. He felt numb at first, nothing but a muffled noise ringing in his
ears, until the blazing structure threatening to engulf his lanky figure woke
him up at last. Trembling, he clipped his weapon to his belt after a few tries,
the hilt slipping from his feeble grip. He was drenched in something; it
dripped through his hairline, his back, his arms. He stumbled backwards, his
feet soaked inside his boots.
Still, he watched the flames go higher and higher, mesmerized.
Above them, dark smoke billowed into the night, making it hard to breathe. He
coughed, his throat burning. The thought of swallowing flowing embers made him
cough harder. The air boiled up inside his chest, trying to make its way out of
his lungs in a nauseating flow he struggled to contain. It was too hot, too
dry. He attempted to protect his mouth with his tunic, but the clothing was
soggy and salty, with an intolerable metallic aftertaste. He sputtered,
wondering why he was bathed in some foul fluid, too thick and copious to be
just sweat. He looked up, searching for any signs of rain, but there were no
clouds in the sky. A huge moon stood there, motionless and weary, challenging
the stars. The glowing circle was like an enormous eye, disapprovingly gazing
down.
He had been gazed like this for so long, perhaps his entire life. Not openly
condemned, but frowned upon; not quite hated, but resented: a peculiar child,
moody and anxious, but genuinely trying her best to be good – only to end up
misbehaving against her will like the subject of a curse. He was cursed,
indeed; his whole family was cursed, and that fire was meant to be a smoldering
purge, he remembered suddenly. It wasn’t his idea, not to begin with, but he
carried it on, believing when he was told this was the first step to free
himself from feeling like a wretched disappointment. And yet, now that he could
claim full responsibility for what just happened, he only felt disoriented and
lost, a little boy whose mother vanished in a crowd.
He was lost in his thoughts when all the sounds came back in a blaring
cacophony: the loud crackling of fire, people screaming in final agony, a man
calling a name he did not recognize. He ran one hand through his matted hair, a
dark mop that barely covered the tip of his ears, trying to remember what he
was supposed to do now. He held tight at the thin braid behind his right
earlobe, like an amulet. He knew now it wasn’t a lucky charm, but old habits
die hard. And just as the coppery smell hit him a moment later, like an angry
fist to the face, he understood he was covered in blood, even though he wasn’t
hurt.
It was the blood of his brethren.
His victims’ blood. Maybe even his uncle’s, and he grasped the name the old man
was shouting. Terror sank low in his core, baptized in gore and death, and Ben
Solo ran, until the air gushed past him heavy with smoke, dreadfully close to
choking him. Acid tears emerged from his eyes, carving tiny streams of bare
skin in his blood-soaked cheeks. Near the mayhem he caused, a transport
arranged by his new master – his one true friend at that point – was waiting to
take him far away from the life he’d just turned into ashes.
He did not look back.
* * *
Still shivering, Ben fumbles with the ship’s control panel. His coordinates had
been calculated long ago, to bring him across the emptiness of space to the
only place he could go now, his master’s lair. The journey was supposed to be
lengthy, with many jumps and covering uncharted territory, but it goes by as a
bluish dream, lasting for what seemed like no more than the span of a restless
night.
He doesn’t leave the pilot’s seat, staring half-asleep into the viewport,
afraid to look to his dirty hands and soiled clothes. He grabs his braid from
time to time, thinking about his mother, trying desperately not to make a holo-
call to her. By now, he thinks, everybody knows what he’s done, even if he
doesn’t feel fully capable of figuring anything out of his actions. He feels
dizzy, scared, drained. He stops counting jumps after the fourth one.
Hyperspace never felt so uncanny, and its blue lines tint Ben’s pale skin with
a faint shade of purple.
An old space station comes into view, looking so ancient it’s probably a relic
from the Old Republic. The sight of his destination makes Ben throw up like a
nervous kid at the first day of school. His mind wanders back to that day in
Hosnian Prime, when his mother cleaned him up, sighing in annoyance. He knows
what she’s thinking, even after all these years. How can this child, her child,
dislike school? Dislike learning things? Make new friends? She never
understood, nobody does, and he remembers clinging to her dress as she goaded
him towards the teacher and left him there, utterly alone. She would do that
again many times, eventually handing him over to his uncle.
The uncle he left to die in the fire.
Ben grabs his head with both hands, crying again. He feels so young. Somehow,
he remains that same strange kid, pale-faced and too tall for his age, big ears
and sad brown eyes – an unfortunate combination of features that, he is
certain, culminates in a dim-witted look. He is heaving again, but manages to
control himself. There is no one to wipe his face now, so he rips off part of
his tunic and haphazardly cleans himself and the floor, the acrid taste of fear
lingering in his tongue like a disease.
He is utterly alone again, as the ship makes a quiet landing inside the
station, nothing but a faint thud giving away the end of his itinerary. He
shakes harder, and is downright quivering with clattering teeth when the ramp
descends and he dares to thread into the dimly lit hangar. Only two other ships
are docked there, and they look as inconspicuous as the one he just got off
from. He’s too scared to call out for his new master, and he doesn’t know if
the thumping in his head is the echo of his hesitant steps or the beating of
his frantic heart. Perhaps it’s both.
The station is colder than the ship, and Ben panics at the thought that maybe
his master decided he wasn’t worthy after all, and left his failed would-be
apprentice to freeze in a derelict base unbeknownst to the rest of the galaxy.
He summons all his strength and forces himself to drag his feet forward, one
boot after the other, and when Ben reaches the door that leads to the insides
of the station – or at least that’s what he can understand from the fading
aurebesh sign painted there – he is surprised by the towering figure that opens
it from the other side, and smirks at him.
“I could sense your victory from here”, the master says in the ominous voice
that, until now, could only be heard inside the apprentice’s brain. “So why do
you feel so defeated, Ben Solo?”
It’s so weird to hear his name coming from those ruined lips. There is more
than anger in his master’s tone, an unequivocal contempt that sees Ben for what
he really is, the failed spawn of much braver parents, the ruined mix of royal
blood and mystic powers, some kind of unfulfilled promise. Ben opens his mouth
to ask for forgiveness, but before any excuses can be made he is pushed through
the air and falls hard against one of the docked ships.
He collapses to the ground, tears streaking down his face, too shocked to do
anything but crawl away from his attacker. His master walks slowly towards Ben,
lips still curled in a disfigured smile. The old man wears golden robes, and
they rustle through the hangar like a caress, making the brutish power that
overwhelms Ben seem even more frightening. The invisible fist of the Force
grabs Ben by the neck, and he tries in vain to free himself from its
unrelenting grasp.
“We will have to kill this weak boy before you can become a powerful man”, his
master says, laughing now, amused by his suffering. Ben can’t breathe, can’t
feel the floor, his eyes burn. His voice is trapped in his throat, and he feels
his body floating closer to the old man. His master inspects his choking face
with alien curiosity and a hint of disgust, as if Ben is some peculiar food he
was challenged to try. He sniffs at the boy, a predator taking in the scent of
his prey.
Ben is relieved when his boots touch the floor again. His chest expands in a
deep inhale, but he still can’t move. The master gestures, and the lightsaber
attached to Ben’s belt floats against his face. The boy stares silently at the
weapon he made himself. But there’s no time to be proud of his skills: the same
disembodied power that crushed his throat now shatters the hilt, and scraps of
metal clang loudly when they hit the floor. A green gem is the only thing to
remain intact, and it hovers for a few seconds between the two of them. His
master grabs the glowing little rock and hides it in one of his pockets, so
fast that Ben wonders if he is just imagining all this.
“You will bleed this crystal, in time. But first, I will be the one to make you
bleed.”
His master’s tone is hoarse, menacing. Ben whimpers, anticipating strenuous
training and harsher punishments, but nothing could prepare him for what
happens next. His master gesticulates dispassionately, commanding the Force to
tear Ben’s clothes off, baring his white skin. The boy shivers in the cold air,
still held in place by the Force, face wet with new tears of shame. He is
covered in dried blood, cold sweat and ashes, nothing else except for his
boots. He feels so small, shorter than his six-feet height, much younger than
his sixteen years. His face flushes, every hair in his body rises.
When his master finally allows him to move, he doesn’t, feeling truly
terrified. He only takes off his boots when the robed man orders him, and then
kneels to the floor when demanded. He is transfixed with fear, and stares
pleadingly into his master’s monstrous eyes. They are ice-cold blue, uneven in
the scarred face.
A sharp slap sears against Ben’s cheek.
“Look down, insolent boy”, his master’s say.
Ben bows his head, watching his tears splash the floor in fat drops. His master
is so close now, the golden robe brushes Ben’s forehead. The old man reeks of
mold and excrement, a foul stench that makes Ben’s nostrils flare in disgust.
He doesn’t dare to look away from the floor, but senses when his master opens
the front of his garment, parting it sideways.
The boy feels a tug in the back of his head. His master painfully grabs a
handful of dark hair, and pushes Ben’s face against his crotch. The smell is
putrid. He is retching again, which only brings another slap, and a cruel pull
at his braid. Ben doesn’t know what to do when he sees the fetid member in
front of him. It is huge and deformed like his owner, dirty and rotten, the
torture device of an ancient mummified demon.
“Master Snoke…” Ben tries to say, but the old man grabs his hair with both
hands, and forces himself through Ben’s lips.
“Good, keep your mouth open”, he hears his master snarl.
And Snoke is brutal, pushing against the back of Ben’s throat mercilessly. The
boy chokes, gags, involuntarily tries to back away, but is held firmly in
place, by his master’s hands and by the Force. He is sobbing now, trying hard
to placate his reflexes, but a disgusting mess is unavoidable. Ben finally
succumbs to the nausea, and feels an immediate kick to his ribs that makes him
slide into the puddle of his own sickness, coughing and spiting.
Ben feels so powerless, so humiliated. Disgraced. Another blow, this time right
in his face, and he falls on his stomach, blood streaming from his nose. He can
taste when it reaches his mouth. The pain startles him, so does everything
that’s been going on so far. He came all this way to gather strength, not to be
broken down.
“Master”, Ben mumbles again, wailing and bleeding on the floor; “why do you
betray me?”
“Betray you, boy?”
Vicious laughter echoes through the hangar, and Ben feels the sarcasm rips
through him in a wave of renewed humiliation. The Force grabs his naked body
one more time, he feels its grapple against his waist, bringing him up on all
fours, trapping him in this mortifying position. Snoke circles him, until he is
behind Ben’s ravaged body.
“This is your first lesson, foolish child. I am teaching you”
A spark of rage burns inside Ben’s chest when he is called a child, but he lets
it perish. He is too weak to put up a fight and, even if he had his full
strength, he knows he’s no match to his master. He just struggles to stay in
place, with all those nasty fluids making him slippery.
“Did you expect kindness?” Snoke says, and then slaps Ben hard, across the
face. “I am no Jedi, boy.”
Ben closes his eyes shut. He keeps waiting for worse things to come. He is so
cold, so dirty, and tries to hold very still even as more degradation threatens
to further debase him. He feels Snoke’s hands clawing at the soft skin of his
hips, so deep Ben feels the skin splitting.
“Only pain, only anger can unlock the doors of real power”, his master say.
Ben swallows his nausea, blood still pouring from his nose – now at a weaker
flow, most of it congealing down his chin. Snoke’s fingers scratch past Ben’s
back, his behind, the inner part of his thighs. His body tenses in distress.
“I am not just your master”, the old man says, his exploring fingers now
pulling at Ben’s testicles, kneading almost to the point of hurting. Ben holds
his breath, waiting for the excruciating pain. “I am your Supreme Leader. I
shall be everything to you. The most important thing in your life, for now on.”
But the agony of a crushed genital doesn’t come, and Ben feels the hand
withdrawing – a deceitful mercy, however. He can hear when Supreme Leader
spits. “You will obey my every command. Do you pledge yourself to me, Ben
Solo?”
And as soon as the boy mewls a soft affirmative, Snoke violates Ben’s final
threshold, spreading saliva around the most intimate place in his shaky body
and inserting one long finger as deep as possible. Ben clenches in reflexive
horror, tries to scape, but the Force makes sure he stays quiescent. When the
finger leaves, something way bigger bumps at his entrance, and Ben flinches and
wiggles against the invasion.
He cries out when his master’s organ defiles him, the impossible length and
girth desecrating Ben. His body shudders with every painful sob: he is being
torn apart. The harrowing ache comes with the final understanding of what is
happening to him, as unbelievable as it may be. Ben wasn’t that interested in
the matters of flesh, and he never foresaw such violence, not even in his worst
nightmares. It feels like death, like burning and drowning at the same time.
Each thrust from Snoke makes Ben sure he won’t be able to survive the next one,
and yet he endures the whole session, eventually dissociating from his body and
sending his broken mind to another place.
It is far away from the abandoned hangar where he is being defiled. He imagines
a much younger version of himself, meditating at his uncle’s school. The wind
blows against his raven hair, and he looks so peaceful. It’s a rare moment of
calmness to the troubled child, no worries, no fear. But then another Ben, the
one he is now, disgraced and corrupt, comes wielding a blaster, and shots the
little kid cold. He keeps shooting, mutilating the small body, until there is
nothing left to destroy.
When he is done, he is brought back to the real him by Snoke’s grueling pace,
now impossible to ignore. Ben is no longer on all fours. His master is holding
the Ben’s hands against his back, pushing his face and chest to the filthy
ground, stretching him way past his limits. Ben feels much slicker now, and
realizes he is probably bleeding down there. He fights a little, somehow trying
to escape each agonizing plunge from Snoke, but it’s a futile effort.
The pain reaches its peak, at last. Ben screams, and his Leader finally screams
with him, going so deep he falls over the boy’s body, pushing Ben's belly
against the floor. Snoke stays on top of him for a long time, the weight making
it even harder for Ben to breath. After a while, Snoke retreats slowly and
stands up. He raises Ben using the Force, until he is kneeling in front of his
master. Snoke gazes at Ben for a few moments, smirking again, and then smear
his softening member across his face. The disgusting thing is coated with a
crimson goop. Ben looks away.
“Suck it clean, boy”, Snoke orders, amused.
Ben obeys, his body limp, swollen eyes cast to the floor. There is nothing else
he can do. When he finishes licking and swallowing all the remaining fluids,
Supreme Leader Force-pushes him against the floor, but not so hard this time.
Ben curls around himself, braces his knees against his stomach, too tired to
cry now. His master steps closer, and Ben feels warm liquid pouring over his
body.
Urine. A final humiliation Ben barely acknowledges.
“Clean this mess. There are supplies inside. Then take a shower, boy. You’re
filthy.”
Ben stays on the floor for as long as he can, mourning and aching, alone. Then
he stands, and pulls at his braid until he tears it apart from his skull. It
almost doesn’t hurt.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Ben is lured to another session of Snoke's teachings...
Chapter Notes
     This a violent story, with graphic details and triggering elements.
     Read only if you're sure you're okay with everything.
     I'd love to know what you think about it.
 
He looks like a ghost of himself, so pale he is almost translucent, with deep
dark circles around his tired eyes, no moisture in his lips. His hair has been
shaved off, black locks cover the metal sink he is leaning against. The wounds
on his face are greenish-brown; his nose, a bit more crooked. Ben is thinner,
his lankiness giving way to emaciation. Now his ears are the most prominent of
his features, and they also disclose evidence of the beating he took as a
welcome gift from his master: tiny cuts healing at the tips.
There’s a razor in his right hand. Ben thinks about cutting himself with it.
Perhaps the stingy pain of a cut could dull the ache in his heart. Or maybe he
could slash his own bruised throat. Get it over with. He remembers reading,
long ago, that some people do it when they get hurt beyond salvation, or when
they get caught by enemies. It would be so easy, merciful even. He gazes at the
blade for a long time, wondering if killing himself would be an act of
cowardice or the utmost courage.
Would he be one with the Force, finally? Or would he be condemned to some other
horror, beyond this mortal realm? Ben realizes he still doesn’t understand all
the mysteries of the Force, not even close. And even though he came to this
place to learn, he’s already thinking about giving up, right at the first
obstacle.
Typical.
He is so weak.
He peers at his reflection again, noticing light signs of stubble across the
jaw of the boy who stares back at him. The sad boy. Nervous, inept, pathetic
Ben Solo. He likes to think that there are two Bens, now: the stupid son of a
planetless princess, and the sullen warrior in training who lives in a space
station. He stares at the other Ben, the one looking at him from the other side
of the mirror. He has the same sad face, and both boys grimace with the same
fat, bruised lips.
Their eyes get red and wet, tears run down their angular cheeks. He hates the
other Ben, wishes he could transcend that ghastly creature and become someone
else. Not even a better version of himself, but a completely different person.
He thinks about smashing the mirror with his fist. Imagines the shards ripping
his flesh, slicing his veins, one big enough to pierce through his chest. But
then he remembers his master’s orders. They were the first words Supreme Leader
uttered to him after… after the day Ben arrived.
He did not see Supreme Leader for weeks after that first encounter. Ben kept
himself hidden inside the ship he used to fled from his uncle’s school, too
scared to look for Snoke, too shocked to sleep. He wrapped himself in an old
blanket he found at the ship’s survival kit, wide-eyed and naked, and just
stayed there, shivering. What a coward, Ben thinks now. He was so surprised
when a protocol droid appeared that it actually had to explain it was harmless,
before Ben could take his head from under the blanket. The droid was too old to
have its precise model identified. It gave Ben weathered clothes, rations for
at least fifteen days, fresh water.
And then, one day, Snoke finally appeared unannounced at Ben’s ship, and
addressed three sentences to the panic-stricken boy.
“First, fast for an entire standard day.” That one was easy. He hasn’t been
eating, can’t come to terms with the nausea that haunts him all the time.
“Second, shave every hair in your body.” Ben started with the raven mop in his
head. He liked it long to hide his ears, but also to annoy his father. Now it’s
all gone, scattered through the fresher like the flimsy corpses of little black
worms. He snorts at that thought. So dramatic, his father would say.
“Third, get thoroughly clean.” Well, that was the hardest part.
Ben pinches his brow.Stop with all the self-pity, now. He should follow these
commands. Supreme Leader is wise, and will teach him how to be powerful. Don’t
think about what happened, don’t indulge in this deplorable commiseration
feast. Stop crying,he tells himself in his head. He wipes his face with the
back of his hand, and proceeds with the shaving. There’s hair in his arms, his
legs, his groins. Ben takes his time, trying not to think. About anything. Like
he does when in meditation.
Don’t think, just do what you must do.
When he is done, Ben wishes to take a bath, but there’s no water at the
station, or so it seems. No matter how many sonic showers he takes, he doesn’t
feel clean. There’s something purifying about running water, about the natural
flow of things. He knows that. Or maybe this is some Jedi bullshit. Isn’t it?
He sighs, so exhausted, and checks himself in the mirror again. He doesn’t look
dirty. Maybe he is tarnished in some other way, impossible to clean.
He is overthinking things again.Don’t think! Do not think at all.
Ben cleans the refresher afterwards. Nobody told him to do it, but he can sense
Supreme Leader doesn’t like when things get messy. He puts on the clothes his
master sent him, everything in a worn shade of grey: pants, tunic, a sash.
They’re too big, so he tucks his pants inside his boots, folds up his sleeves.
He doesn’t want to think that those clothes probably belonged to his master,
once. He doesn’t know a taller human. Supreme Leader Snoke is human, right?
He decides to think about the droid, so he doesn’t have to think about anything
else. Unlike most protocol droids he is familiar with, Snoke’s one isn’t
talkative. It’s gray and opaque, with insectoid eyes. It speaks in short,
precise sentences, and leaves as soon as its messages and goods are delivered.
It never gave Ben a name. But, one day, it gave Ben a book. It was beautiful
and ancient, made out of paper, bound in dark leather. The book is probably
older than the nameless droid itself, and Ben keeps it in the ship, wrapped
inside the blanket. It’s not written in aurebesh, so he can’t figure the
language out. But the scribbled signature inside the cover is readable enough.
The first time he touched that name, he felt the same twisted thrill of staring
into an abyss and wanting to jump.
The book once belonged to his grandfather, Anakin Skywalker – who would pass to
history as the mighty Darth Vader. Being honored with such a possession was
worthy of any physical discomfort Ben could fathom.
Wasn’t it?
* * *
When he leaves the fresher, the nameless droid is already waiting at the door.
Ben follows him past the well-lit corridors of the station, to his surprise –
when he arrived, Ben was expecting derelict walls, shady passageways, wreckage.
But everything is pristine, so clean even the floor is reflective. It is made
of a pitch-black material he can’t name, and doesn’t dare ask the droid. It’s a
short walk, and it ends before closed blast doors. Ben is left alone with his
laborious breath and his fear. He feels dizzy when the doors open and he sees
his master again, cloaked by the same golden robe. Ben’s mind races back to
that first day at the hangar, and he swallows the lump in his throat.
“Your fear flattens me, boy”, Snoke says. “But unless you can turn it into
anger, it is useless. Come.”
The door closes behind them when Ben passes. The room is very large, and lots
of boxes, vaults and weird pieces of furniture are clattered against its walls.
The floor is made of the same reflective black material. In the middle of the
room, a metal chain is piled neatly on the floor, with a set of magnetic
handcuffs on top. Ben can see there’s a metal hook attached to the ceiling.
Sweat prickles in his hairless head. He wants to throw up. He wants to run
away.
“Undress.”
His master’s tone is neutral. Ben’s teeth threaten to clatter, and he clenches
his jaw as tight as possible to prevent the onset of incontrollable shudder. He
touches the spot on his scalp where his braid used to be. The laceration is
almost healed now. He scratches it, nervous, but before his master gets
annoyed, Ben starts to loosen the sash around his waist. He folds every piece
of clothing before putting it on the floor, trying not to shake. This seems to
last for hours, but it can’t possibly have taken more than a few minutes.
Either way, Snoke stares at him the whole time, unblinking, in silence.
Ben can see his naked body reflected at the floor. He’s embarrassed, but feels
so cold he almost welcomes the hot flush of shame spreading through his face
and his chest. His heart feels like a wild beast thrusting itself against his
ribs. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, brimming with anxiety.
“Get the binders. Use the Force”, Snoke says.
Ben looks at his master, eyes getting wet. “Master, I –”, he starts to murmur,
but Supreme Leader interrupts him.
“Get the binders, using the Force. Now.”
Ben rises his hand slowly to the air, uncertain, shivering. The cuffs tremble
slightly, and float unsteadily to his master. Snoke grabs them from the air.
He turns to Ben and demands: “Your wrists.”
Ben feels like moving through drying permacrete. He extends his arms, wrists
close together. His master snaps the cuffs around them. “Now the chain”, Snoke
says.
The first tear runs quietly down Ben’s cheek, but he manages to levitate one
end of the chain towards Snoke. It feels so heavy in his mind, as if he were
lifting the entire station. Ben is panting by the time Supreme Leader attaches
the chain to the cuff. Like the last time, Snoke doesn’t seem concerned with
his apprentice’s hesitation, let alone his tears.
“Tether these chains to the hook in the ceiling”, Snoke barks.
Ben looks at his manacled hands. Don’t think, just do it,he chants to himself
inside his brain, and wonders if his master can hear him. Ben pictures the
chain floating to the hook, attaching itself there, then going right to his
master’s hands. That way, it’s easier to accomplish the task of chaining
himself to the ceiling.
Still, grief settles heavy over him when Ben hears everything clicking into
place, and he is caught off guard when feel a tug in his hands. Supreme Leader
pulls the chain until Ben is standing right under the hook, arms stretched
upwards as high as possible. A painful moan scapes from Ben’s lips. Snoke drops
the chain to the floor, without attaching it to another weight. There is no
other hook keeping it in place, and Ben realizes his master is probably doing
it with the Force. Snoke steps closer to Ben, lifts his chin and gazes into his
frightened eyes. Supreme Leader smells like decayed, rotten flesh. Ben looks to
the floor, afraid of getting slapped for staring.
His master pets his head, an unexpected soft touch.
“Good boy”, Snoke coaxes him. “Now, you must keep the chain in place all the
time, until I release you from the task. If you fail, I will punish you.”
The taut chain suddenly gets loose, runs down the hook, and Ben drops to his
knees. He manages to pull the chain tight again with the Force, stretching up
until he’s standing on his toes, but it’s too late.
Ben starts to apologize hysterically, but Snoke grabs him by the neck, using
his real fingers, and chokes until Ben gasps for air, crying loudly, begging
for mercy. Snoke slaps him so hard Ben feels blood inside his own mouth.
“Quiet. Don’t speak unless I command you to”, Snoke says.
Ben closes his eyes. He doesn’t speak, but he can’t control his sobbing. He
tries to focus on the chain, on his aching legs, his restrained arms. He must
not move. Keep still, keep still, it will be over soon.
It will be worth it.
Everything is dark red beneath his shut eyelids. Control your breath. He
struggles to clear his mind, but eventually he is just sniffling, inhaling and
exhaling in slow, rhythmic motion. Pretend you're meditating. He manages to
balance himself and stays as motionless as possible, frozen in place. He blocks
the thought that he is torturing himself by holding the chain. Focus. He
becomes increasingly aware of his surroundings, and feels his master moving to
his back. Something whooshes past his face, an object his master cast with the
Force from one of the vaults.
It hums, but it’s not a lightsaber. It isn’t a laser beam – it feels more like
electricity. The air is charged, now. And although Ben is able to anticipate
the stroke against his shoulder blades, he can’t help a stunned cry when the
whip lashes his skin. The chain screeches against the hook.
Don’t move, do not move, he pleads to himself.
He barely has time to find his equilibrium when the second blow hits him, and a
third, then a forth; each agonizing stroke accompanied by the burning current
of an electrical shock. Ben is heaving. The fifth stroke splits his skin and
jerks his body to the front, but somehow he is able to hold the chain in place.
He loses track of the lashes after that, feeling the electric whip thrashing
his buttocks, then his thigs, his torso. He is drenched in cold sweat and warm
blood. When the pain becomes unbearable, he wets himself. His urine pools
beneath his feet.
Something snaps inside him, then. He is boiling with rage.
Ben hates himself for being so weak. He hates the family he left behind, he
hates Luke and the Jedi. He hates his new master. And, perhaps most of all, he
hates that he can control the Force. If he wasn’t sensitive to it, at least he
wouldn’t be an active part of his own suffering. He could just let his body go
against the chains, and not give a fuck whether they’d stay in place or not.
He screams, eyes open now, so he sees Snoke staring back at him, the whip
radiating in his hand. The monster is smiling, his blue eyes are completely
black.
“Keep still, boy”, Snoke says in a calm, composed voice. “If you move, I’ll
know”.
Then he turns, and leaves the room.
Ben is left shaking, fluids still dripping to the floor. He does not make a
move. Slowly, his wrath starts to turn into this quiet despair. He thinks about
Anakin’s book. He thinks a thousand times about giving up, severing his Force-
connection to the awful chain and endures whatever punishment Snoke concocts to
torture him. He breathes loudly through his mouth, his face is a swollen mess
of tears, sweat and mucus.
But he stays in place, for as long as it takes.
* * *
When Snoke finally comes back, the blood covering Ben’s body has clot. Ben
doesn’t look up, he is as good as dead. Supreme Leader’s hand is cold, and he
caresses Ben’s clean-shaved head with feigned softness. Snoke’s fingers trace
Ben’s jawline, run down his neck and his collarbones. They pinch one of Ben’s
nipples, hard, until the boy groans meekly, and go further down, nails scraping
against Ben’s flat stomach. Unceremoniously, Supreme Leader grabs Ben’s
testicles and squeezes. The boy finally turns to his master with heavy-lidded,
vacant eyes.
Snoke smirks. He takes a step back and makes a gesture. Ben is freed from the
weight of the chains. There’s a glimpse of surprise in his otherwise lifeless
face, but he keeps very still, arms pointing up.
Snoke smiles, a terrifying view: “Good boy. You can low your hands, now.”
Snoke makes another gesture; the cuff pops open around Ben’s bony wrists, and
fall to the floor with a clank. Ben’s hands are numb, but he resists the urge
to rub them.
“Kneel”, Snoke says.
Ben obeys, and watches impassive as Supreme Leader summons a chair from the
cluttered furniture. Snoke sits with open legs. Ben can see when his hard organ
points up from the golden robes.
“Come. Put my cock in your mouth”, Snoke orders.
Ben drags his knees forward, until he is between his master’s legs. He
understands this, now. All of this. Ben is supposed to be the architect of his
own torment, some sort of crazy self-mutilating freak. Why would anyone oblige
and aid in their own torture? He must’ve gone insane. He feels mad. Why would
he let someone, anyone, beat the crap out of him – and even help them doing it?
He must be delusional. Maybe he created this old overlord in his mind, to
justify the hideous things Ben wanted to do to himself. Maybe there is no
Snoke, no voice in his head, no running from his uncle, no space station.
Perhaps Ben is trapped in his own mind. He could laugh now, if he was a little
crazier. Perhaps he’ll go fully mad when this “training” is over.
But then Snoke laughs, and pets Ben’s head again, as if the boy were a little
animal. Ben feels Snoke’s presence inside his head, shuffling through Ben’s
thoughts as if they were holorecords to choose from. His master is real, the
repulsive cock in front of Ben is too damn real, everything is more real than
all of his life as Ben Solo, as Luke’s apprentice, as his parent’s son. This is
his life, now. You better stop with all this nonsense, he chides himself in his
mind.
Ben grabs Snokes thighs for support and swallows him as deep as he can, still
hearing his master’s laughter. There’s no more hair in Ben’s head for Snoke to
use as a harness, so Supreme Leader use the Force to push him deeper, faster.
Ben gags, but doesn’t stop, doesn’t fight against it. Soon he is drooling,
panting, wanting it to be over, at long last feeling angrier than scared.
When Ben’s jaw is hurting, Snoke pushes him away a little, and rises from the
chair, stroking himself. Supreme Leader comes on his apprentice’s face and
makes Ben swallow some of it, easing his filthy seed into the boy’s mouth. Then
Snoke spreads it across Ben's face and even his hairless scalp. He makes Ben
suck his fingers clean.
“The droid can translate the book to you” Snoke says, his fingers still inside
Ben’s mouth.
Ben stares at the old man. Snoke’s come is drying fast, sealing one of Ben’s
eyelids shut. The boy just wants to take a shower, and be bludgeoned in his
head until he is passed out. Ben yearns for some type of narcotic, but he can
only count on his own exhaustion to sleep. He nods slowly, afraid to speak.
“Clean this mess before you go”, Snoke says, turning to leave the room. “I’ll
be inquiring you about the book in our next session. Get prepared.”
Later, when Ben finally takes the damned sonic shower, he realizes he can never
be clean again, not even by all the water in the galaxy.
The Dark Side stains its disciples permanently. 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Ben's training continues, and Snoke is relentless.
Chapter Notes
     Please, keep in mind this a graphic story, with lots of triggering
     elements. Don't forget to check the tags before reading.
     Let me know if you like it!
 
It started with a sneeze. He was preparing to meditate when his nose got itchy.
At first, he ignored it, but the tickling sensation lingered. He sniffed it off
and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But moments later he felt it
again, as if a little bug had landed at the tip of his nose. He shook his head,
scratched his face, tried to collect himself. But the itch became a pressure
beneath his eyes, and before he knew it, a little blast of mucus and moisture
escaped at high speed from his nostrils.
He was startled. As far as he was concerned, that was an unprecedented reaction
from his body. It took him a dizzying succession of five more outbursts to
realize he was in fact sneezing, and that it was a thing human bodies could
perform, and not necessarily some kind of deadly malfunction. He cleaned his
face with a ragged cloth, and his meditation session went by without further
disturbances.
* * *
Later that day, after forcing a protein bar down his throat for dinner, he
starts sneezing again. When a headache emerges, mild but persistent, he grows
concerned. Ben has no recollection of getting sick, ever. He always had good
health, took all mandatory shots, and any condition to afflict him was
invariably from bruises and such, and even these things never last too long.
From what he remembers, sneezing is caused by allergies, colds and stuff like
that. He never had any of those.
He lays on his bed, feeling cold and tired, but these seem to be his usual
states nowadays. He’s been at Snoke’s lair for months. He even got his own
quarters, next to the fresher he is allowed to use. His head is full of spiky
black hair now, all the wounds on his skin are fading, all healed. Ben
exercises every day, running long hours around the hangar, and then sparring
alone. He still doesn’t have a lightsaber of his own, but he trains with a
makeshift he found at the station. After every training shift, Ben meets the
old protocol droid to learn the forbidden language in Anakin’s book. In fact,
the book is about the history of the Dark Side and its battle against the Jedi.
There are short biographies of legendary Sith lords who ruled thousands of
years ago, and glimpses of their unnatural practices.
This is Ben’s favorite moment of the day: sitting in front of the nameless
droid, still sweaty from all the physical activity, and listening to those
stories, fantasizing that one day his own achievements will be described in a
book just like that. He also enjoys using an actual pen, with dark ink, to copy
the ancient gliphs and learn the runes. Once, the droid praised him for being
such a dedicated student, and Ben felt like an idiot realizing that its
compliment meant more than all of his uncle’s efforts to educate him.
Supreme Leader Snoke summons him from time to time. The old man asks Ben about
the stories from the book, and is gradually abandoning Basic to address Ben
solely in the old language, for practice. The boy is always tense around his
master but, after the incident with the chain, Snoke didn’t touch Ben
inappropriately, nor demanded obscene activities from him, which is a relieve.
Ben wonders if that peace will last, curling up beneath his thin sheets,
feeling drowsier by the minute. Perhaps he is just fatigued. He has been
neglecting meals, and his sleep has been scarcer than ever, restless and full
of nightmares. But in his current languor, he just dozes off towards a deep,
dreamless slumber.
* * *
Ben wakes up shuddering.
His head appears to weight more than his neck can carry. He sits up, bleary and
out of breath. His nose is runny and stuffy, as if he had been crying. His
throat is sore, raw; when Ben tries to swallow, he starts to cough until his
ribs hurt. His skin tingles, burning hot, but he feels ice cold. Ben can’t
leave his bed, his sheets. He longs for the warmer blanket he left in his ship,
and uses the Force to fetch some water, but even this easy task seems to
deplete the rest of his energy.
So, this is what it feels like being sick, physically ill, he thinks.
He decides to stay in bed, to go back to sleep, but feels too agitated. His
mind wanders, in an eerie state of hyperawareness intertwined with sluggish
semi-consciousness. The room suddenly seems full of people. Ben’s eyes are
closed, but he hears muffled whispers, little giggles, faint pieces of
conversation, and they sound like his fellow students at Luke’s academy. He
sits up, startled, but the room is empty. He killed those kids, all of them. He
bathed in their blood. He dreams about them almost every night, when he is not
dreaming about the terrible things Snoke does to him.
Moaning, Ben covers his head with the pillow. This time, he is sure there’s
someone lurking in the shadows of his small chambers. He looks for his long-
gone braid, his old amulet, but finds nothing. He ripped it himself, Ben
suddenly remebers. He scratches his scalp, and the short hair is like the fur
of an unknown animal beneath his shaky fingers. Ben gasps at how unfamiliar his
whole body feels.
His bones are heavy as steelstone, his joints are stiffy. This body seems so
old, so foreign, but Ben’s mind feels callow and frail. He wants to call for
his mother.
Mothers are supposed to take care of a sick child. Even when they’re not only
mothers, but princesses, warriors, politicians. Even when they are generals.
Maybe his mother is the person hiding in the shadows. She must have come pick
him up. He pulls the tattered pillow away from his head. It has to be her. Ben
can feel when she puts the back of her small hand against his forehead. Come
back, she says. Or he thinks she says, inside his head. Ben is so sure he can
hear her, feel her, but when he opens his blurry eyes, there's no one there.
Maybe he is just delirious. Maybe he is poisoned.
Perhaps Snoke put some disease in him.
* * *
Ben doesn’t know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes and finds
Snoke’s droid looming over him.
“Supreme Leader requests your presence. You are already late.”
Ben shakes his head slowly. Is he awake?
“I can’t go. I’m sick”, Ben murmurs.
The droid stares, its huge artificial eyes glowing softly. When it speaks, it’s
in the same monotonous inflection: “This is not an invitation you can decline.”
Ben coughs, then sneezes three times in a row, and the world spins around him.
He is a sweaty, quivering mess; when he focuses at the droid, it already seems
parsecs away. “Tell him… tell master I’m too sick. Please”.
* * *
Ben dreams. He is floating through mist. Sweltering darkness surrounds him, so
black it’s like he’s blind. The humidity is a tangible, pressing weight against
his chest, but Ben feels hauntingly calm, and wonders if he is dead. Maybe he
hasn’t been born yet. This could be a womb, slowly smothering him. He would
like to be a stillborn, if he can’t be anybody else. He is too tired of being
Ben.
A cool breeze flows along his long limbs, dissipating the uncanny mist carrying
his body. When all the fog has been swept away, Ben is left over a cool
surface, lying on his back. He is fully conscious at last; the fever has
broken. He feels like an empty vessel.
“Because that’s what you are, my boy.” Snoke’s voice hangs on the saturated
air, the echo of a bad omen.
Ben turns his head to face his master. Snoke is wearing a black robe, open at
the front, and no undergarments. The monstrous organ between his scraggy legs
pends down, an oversized crumpled appendage. Ben wants to feel shocked by the
vision, but he only feels tired, and isn’t surprised to find out he is naked,
too. He can’t move, but no mystical power is pinning him down – the fever stole
his vitality.
Supreme Leader, on the contrary, seems to shimmer in the dark room, thrumming
with uncontained energy. Snoke approaches Ben slowly, and puts two fingers in
his mouth. Ben sucks obediently: anticipating worst things, he coats them with
as much saliva as he can. A thought forms in his head, alien and smug: the boy
can be taught. It’s not like Snoke’s voice in his head; this is different. It’s
like thinking with someone else’s brain. Supreme Leader scowls at him, and
withdrawals his hand. When Ben gazes at his master, lips parted, panting
softly, Snoke smears the boy’s drool across his pale face. A shadow of nausea
overclouds him, but Ben manages to shake it off.
Snoke speaks to Ben in the forbidden language, using a low tone. It’s something
about hands… or fingers… about touching.
“Touch yourself.”
This command sounds off. Ben looks puzzled at Snoke, wondering if he heard his
master right. But Supreme Leader repeats the sentence, and adds the word that
means under or low…
“Touch yourself down there.”
Ben flinches. But he doesn’t want to get beaten, he feels so weak. He is sure
he won’t tolerate another whipping, not sick like this. He looks at the unknown
ceiling. It’s his first time in this particular room, small and lit by
flickering indirect lights. Ben lays across a tall table of sorts, made of
metal. There are restraints that could bind his wrists and ankles, but he is
mercifully unshackled. He sighs, then coughs. His nose is still runny.
Snoke squeezes one of Ben’s nipples, twists it between his fingers until the
boy whimpers. Through the stinging pain, though, Ben is able to pull another
thought – it feels like catching a noisy bloodfly in mid-air. It is an obscene
idea, a clear image of what Snoke wants him to do. Ben hesitates. A strange
word seems to cling to the lewd tableau from his master’s head – it’s the Sith
word for this thing Snoke requires from him. Ben can’t think of anything in
Basic to attach to the image, but of course he understands the act. “Everybody
does it”, his father said once, during a very uncomfortable talk years ago;
“It’s supposed to be normal”. Ben used to enjoy thinking he’d surpassed this
kind of animalistic urge. Those things were for bestial men like Han.
And yet here he is, at the outskirts of the galaxy, where the only “normal”
thing is being defiled regularly by a bestial old fiend. Slowly, Ben lets his
own right hand hover near his belly, then creep a little lower. He touches the
soft curly hair in his groins, and closes his eyes when he feels tears welling
up. Ben never touched himself like this before. He deliberately ignored it when
he got hard, figuring out his body would take care of it eventually. There’s
nothing but fear in his clumsy, tentative caresses.
It goes on for some time. Ben tries to recreate the image he peeked at Snoke’s
mind, but can’t make himself hard. He understands these things require some
pleasure; he feels none. Specially like this. His body aches, the fever is
catching up. If anything, Ben wants it all to end. He senses Supreme Leader
impatience, but is also acutely aware that he is not a young boy indulging in
naïve hedonism. Ben is the agent of his own desecration, in Snoke’s twisted
fantasy.
“If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to cut it off”, Snoke says. The threat is made
in Basic.
On a whim, Ben rises to his elbows, and grabs his mater’s hand.
Then puts it there.
“Do it to me”, Ben whispers.
Snoke seems pleasantly surprised, and shoves Ben back to the table. His
master’s hand is rough, calloused, and he grabs Ben and strokes him, up and
down, squeezing with light pressure. Ben is surprised by the lack of pain in
Snoke’s touch, and breathes harder. Tears escape silently from his eyes. When
Ben gets hard, he feels betrayed by every fiber of his being. Somehow, this is
almost worse than being the passive victim of Snoke’s ruthless passions.
Crude images flood Ben’s mind. It’s himself, from Snoke’s point of view: that
first day at the hangar, bent and broken against the floor, getting slammed
from behind, crying, bleeding. He doesn’t know if he is stealing those memories
from Snoke, or if his master is sending them to him. Ben tries to count the
blinking lights at the walls, but his vision is blurred from the tears, and he
can’t escape from the torrent of torture ravaging his thoughts. But, even then,
his body is disgustingly responsive to Supreme Leader’s touch.
At some point, Ben is pushed to the end of the metallic table, and Snoke
positions himself between Ben’s legs, spreading the boy’s knees. Ben’s face
burns when the fever returns, searing hot, reclaiming his consciousness,
softening his disgraceful erection. But Ben can’t close his eyes, or the
visions of his past violations get worse. He gazes unfocused at Snoke. Supreme
Leader spits in one of his hands, and slicks Ben’s entrance. It’s not enough.
Snoke’s engorged organ is pushed mercilessly against any resistance, and Ben
sees himself through Snoke’s eyes: split open and bloody.
“I’ll do it to you”, Snoke hisses, contemptuous; “and you will take everything,
and enjoy it.”
All the images vanish from Ben’s mind, then, and he is left with only his
feverish dizziness. Snoke takes Ben’s cock and makes it hard again, while
pounding unrelenting into him. Ben radiates a sickly heat. His muscles seem to
melt around his bones, he is all limp, except for his cock in his master’s
hand. He can’t fight against whatever it is that Snoke is actually doing to
him. Something terrible builds up inside Ben’s belly, from the unbearable
pressure of Snoke inside his ass, stretching and tearing, up until the firm
grip from the ghoulish hand around his cock.
Everything coils up, as if Ben is going to implode like a nascent black hole.
When he cries out, he really spurts, a white burst of come that cools over his
belly. He involuntarily clenches around Snoke’s cock, and his master buries his
decrepit self as deep as possible into Ben, and fills him up. Ben whimpers,
feeling scorched, breathless. With the tip of a finger, Snoke takes some of
Ben’s come from his abdomen, and makes the boy swallow it. Ben tastes himself
unwillingly; it’s salty and faintly sour.
Ben sneezes. Snoke laughs with cruelty, and pulls his cock out, dripping come.
Ben’s legs are spread wider, and Snoke examines the passageway he just impaled.
He slides a finger in, and carefully scoops some fluid out. Snoke makes Ben
lick it, too. It tastes poisonous on Ben’s tongue, bitter and iron-like.
Supreme Leader waves his hand, and uses the Force to make Ben sits up. But the
fever is at its highest, now, and the boy collapses against the table, barely
keeping his eyes open, shivering.
Snoke grabs Ben’s chin and makes him look at his old, scarred face. Supreme
Leader licks Ben’s tears, and abruptly shoves his disgusting tongue down the
boy’s mouth. Ben’s arms fall to his sides, he can’t fight the repugnant kiss.
Ben has never been kissed before. When Snoke’s tongue meets his, Ben feels
thoroughly corrupted. Snoke tastes like a rancid corpse; his saliva makes a
gooey mess, viscous and nauseating. Ben’s body never felt like a true
sanctuary, but now it’s just a crumbling ruin, ransacked, destroyed. He mewls
against Snoke, feebly trying to pull away from this final desecration, but it
lasts for a long time.
When Snoke releases him, he curls around himself like a little ball, aghast,
quivering. He wishes to die. He feels dead already. Supreme Leader pets Ben’s
head one more time and speaks softly before leaving: “you were such a good boy.
You deserve a new name. I will call you… Kylo.”
Ben is left weeping for the last time, and he cries until he passes out,
exhausted.
Kylo awakes in Ben’s bed, still feeling sick.
At least he doesn't sneeze.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Snoke keeps pushing his apprentice to the edge, and now their
     training sessions go even darker.
Chapter Notes
     This is probably the most graphic chapter so far. Please check the
     warnings beforehand, and don't read it unless you're sure you can be
     safe.
     Please let me know what you think. Should I keep writing?
 
 
Kylo is literally freezing.
Tiny ice crystals cover his arms and his face, clinging to his eyelashes. He
doesn’t have a proper suit on, and open space is so cold, stealing all the
warmth from his body. His lungs feel tight, ready to burst from the lack of
air. He doesn’t know how long he can take out here.
He is drifting meters away from the station’s secondary entrance. There’s a
safety cable there, floating idly near the hatch from where he was ejected. It
looks like a snake about to attack.
This is another of his master’s grueling exercises. Kylo is supposed to use the
force to summon the cable, wrap it around his own waist, press the retrieval
button at the end of it, and then get pulled inside so he can breathe. He's
done it before a lot of times, but he never stayed out for so long, and now his
head throbs in maddening pulses.
Kylo knows all it takes is one attempt to draw breath, one gasp, and
desperation will set in. He will drown in the void if he gets too distraught.
Focus, he thinks. He is waiting for Snoke’s voice inside his mind, telling him
it’s time to come back, but all Kylo can hear in his brain are the echoes of
his own anxious pleas to himself: stay. the fuck. calm.
He knows it’s been no longer than a minute, but this feels like a years-long
journey. While in open space, things move in slow motion. He used to be
terrified of the black wilderness overhead, the frightening promise of
suffocation engulfing his body like his master’s hands around his throat.
But now he just feels angry, trying to fight unconsciousness away.
He’s been training with Supreme Leader for almost two years and, although he is
still subjected to Snoke’s more disgusting demands, he can’t deny there’s been
a lot of improvement. Kylo became stronger, tougher, a better warrior – and
even some sort of a petulant young scholar, devouring Snoke’s ancient books and
holo-records. Kylo wonders what Luke would think of that.
No. Luke is dead. He belongs to Ben’s past. And Kylo isn’t that weak little boy
anymore.
Ben’s childish melancholy slowly became Kylo’s barely contained rage, simmering
inside him all the time. Perhaps this wrath is the only thing keeping him from
turning into frozen space debris, as it blazes within his chest. But like all
flammable substances, anger is hard to control. Kylo is even more volatile than
moody Ben, and violence has ensued most often.
That’s how he ended up with a fractured kyber crystal, after bleeding his
formerly green one. In a fit of desperate fury, he crushed the little rock in
the palm of his hand, applying pressure with the Force. It cracked like an
eggshell, and Supreme Leader himself had to contain the damage and secure the
crystal. Kylo thought Snoke would pummel him to pieces for breaking it, but
Snoke barely scolded him. Supreme Leader seemed to enjoy these outbursts.
It took Kylo weeks of research to figure out how to use the unstable crystal to
power a lightsaber. He had just settled for a curious design dating back to the
Scourge of Malachor when Snoke called him for airlock practice, earlier today.
Kylo imagines his crystal, thinking about how the damned thing had finally bled
out, red at last… like his eyes feel now, stinging after all this time outside.
But he should stop reminiscing. He must focus. The station is so close, all
it’d take to come back is a simple hand wave, but he cannot do it. He must wait
for Snoke’s orders.
And it’s terrifying to wait for any instructions from Snoke. After all this
time, Kylo still struggles with what his master requires of him. Snoke can go
from friendly teacher to detached master, and then an outright monster, in a
matter of minutes. Supreme Leader seems to be always plotting new ways to
terrorize and humiliate Kylo, and then call it “training”.
He must believe Supreme Leader won’t kill his dedicated apprentice. Not now,
when he is learning so much. When he finally doesn’t think of himself as Ben
anymore. Feel your anger, Kylo coaches himself. Inhale it. Let it warm you.
Let it become the only sustenance you need.
The stars around Kylo seem to flicker and fade, until everything goes dark. The
station disappears from his view and, when nothing else remains, he sees
himself from a distance, glowing faintly with a crimson hue, surrendered to
nothingness. He looks small and lifeless.
Something pricks into Kylo’s brain, the pinching feeling he gets when he
realizes he’s no longer confined in his own mind. He isn’t imagining things; he
is seeing through Snoke’s eyes again, stealing this vision from Supreme Leader.
Kylo can do that, from time to time. He can pick up images, feelings, even
whole thoughts if he tries hard enough – and this is the first time he’s able
to pluck something so far away from Snoke. He feels his master’s delight in his
suffering, and wants to recoil from it. But there is also a bit of pride –
Snoke is pleased at Kylo’s attempt to protect himself by summoning the darkest
shades of the Force.
And then Kylo feels like being ejected again, but this time from Snoke’s head.
Going back to his own thoughts is agonizing. Kylo is trapped in the void,
tortured by prolonged apnea. When life is but a moment away from being snatched
from Kylo, he hears it: Supreme Leader’s voice, loud and clear as if the old
man were standing right beside him.
“It is time.”
* * *
When Snoke’s droid finds Kylo, the safety cable is still wrapped around his
waist. Kylo lies on his back, eyes closed, panting, limbs splayed across the
hangar’s floor. He is cold and wet, his damp hair plastered to his forehead,
and he doesn’t even move while the droid detaches the cable. He feels so tired,
and yet he is starving.
Back when he was Ben, he rarely felt any hunger, and could spent days with
nothing but a protein bar here and there. But now he never skips a meal, and is
always after the protocol droid looking for more rations. Kylo is broader,
gained another inch. He is trying to become a man, so that he can bury the boy
he was in the deepest recesses of his self, to be forsaken and forgotten.
There’s something menacing about his figure now, with his seemingly still
growing height, and building muscles. Kylo struggles to appreciate his own size
and frame, but every time he feels good about himself, some terrible task from
Snoke sends him down the pit of self-loathing again. Every time Kylo indulges
in feeling powerful, a fully-grown warrior, his master is there to remind him
Ben somehow lives, afraid and submissive.
Nevertheless, Kylo knows well enough this is how dark siders train. One must be
pushed to the edge again and again, in order to cultivate and distill the hate,
then turn it into raw, untamed power. Even if most of the time it just feels
unbearable. Exhausting.
Without opening his eyes, Kylo asks the droid for food. He can hear the whir of
its joints when it tosses something in his direction. Kylo just grabs the
package in the air with perfect reflexes, eyelids still shut.He peeks at the
droid, and it gives him another portion of crackers before turning to go.
Taking his time, Kylo sits on the floor, cross-legged, biting at the bland
protein biscuits.
“Thanks”, Kylo says, mouth full of crumbs as he watches the droid leave. He
smiles bitterly when his mother’s frowning face comes to his mind, to remind
him of his manners. Her impassive gaze lingers, and he feels like an 8-year-old
again, hurt and sulking after being chastised for not eating with his mouth
properly shut, or forgetting to follow some other irrelevant etiquette
bullshit.
She’d reprimand the cursing as well. Kylo wonders what she would say about him
murdering his classmates, leaving her brother to die, and cohabiting with a
maniac wizard who sexually assaults him and… his eyes go wide, he swallows
slowly. This is not what’s happening. He is not being assaulted. He is not a
victim, he is an apprentice. He is just being tested. Supreme Leader is wise
with his gifts: pain, rage, despair; all keys to the dark side. The mere memory
of his mother is already twisting Kylo’s thoughts. Alarmed, he runs one hand
through his tangled hair.
Kylo is just finishing the second packet of crackers when he senses something
approaching. A shiver runs down his spine. The thing is big.
A ship.
He freezes in place, and another image fills his mind. The vision is clear
enough: a modern vessel maneuvering swiftly towards the station, and then
docking not very far from the transport Kylo used to come to Snoke. He can’t
identify the pilot or the crew, and wonders if his master has called for
another apprentice.
“Perhaps I should have, you foolish boy.” Snoke says in his low voice.
Kylo is startled by Supreme Leader’s close presence. The boy hadn’t felt it.
How long has the old man been there? Snoke looks down at Kylo and waves one
hand, lifting his apprentice with the Force, choking him with incorporeal
fingers. Anger pours from Kylo’s chest down to his gut, and his heart starts to
race. He knows how this goes: get naked, endure horrible things, wish to be
dead when Snoke is done. The last time is still fresh in his memory.
The last time was the time when he cracked his crystal. It had been
particularly awful. And as Snoke chokes him now, everything comes back to
Kylo’s memory as if a deluge of venom has been released inside him. That day,
Kylo was supposed to clutch at his kyber crystal for an entire cycle of
torture, so his darker feelings would impregnate the rock with a ruby-red hue.
In the end, Snoke made him kneel, and forced himself into Kylo’s mouth. It felt
so brutal Kylo cried like Ben, hating himself for not enduring it like a man.
When Supreme Leader emptied his load at Kylo’s throat, and the boy thought his
torment would finally be over, Snoke turned his back to Kylo, and ordered him
to suck at his sickening, repulsive hole. The thought of licking Snoke there
were nauseating enough, but his master also wanted Kylo to touch himself while
doing it.
He wanted Kylo to enjoy the humiliation.
But it was too much. Snoke pushed Kylo with the Force, sinking him nose-deep
into the filthiest place of his master’s ruined body. Kylo tried so hard to do
as Snoke demanded, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. The smell and the
violence, and the mad threats coming from Snoke, it was overwhelming. It felt
like his first day at the station: the terror, the shock, the shame. Except
this time everything was laced with an anger Kylo hadn’t known until that
moment.
He got sick all over himself and his master, gagging, struggling to breath,
kept in place by the Force. And through all of this he held the kyber crystal
as tight as possible, as if letting it go would sever his connection to life
itself. When the crystal cracked, Kylo felt like the bones in his entire arm
had cracked was well. If Snoke had taken another moment to realize what was
going on, they would both be dead, scorched by an exploding kyber crystal.
But there is no crystal to hold, now. Snoke is not even choking him that hard.
Supreme Leader smirks, then drops him to the floor, but Kylo manages not to
fall.
“I know you’ve sensed the ship. I have guests,” Snoke says in Basic, then adds:
“as a matter of fact, they are here for you.”
“Master, I don’t understand.” Kylo voice is hoarse, breathless.
“You will, soon enough. It will be hard, so do not disappoint me.”
Dread coats Kylo like a second skin he can’t shed, and an ominous feeling oozes
through his veins. The ship from his vision finally appears beyond the magnetic
field protecting the hangar’s entrance. It’s a large transport, with no visible
identifying marks, although it resembles an old Imperial lambda-class shuttle.
It docks with slow precision a few meters away from them.
Kylo straightens himself, his hands curling into fists at each side of his
body. Snoke looks like a drying corpse wrapped in regal shroud, staring
passionless at the ship. When its ramp finally opens, a tall human clad in
black armor descends. Others follow, until there are seven of them. Kylo can’t
know for sure, but they don’t seem to be Force-sensitive. They’re all dressed
in black, concealed by different masks, and carrying an assorted selection of
weaponry: blasters, staffs, blades, vibroblades. There are no lightsabers in
sight. Kylo can feel they are anxious about something.
The stampede of their heavy boots echoes through the hangar, and they circle
Kylo and Snoke in an intimidating manner. It feels unnerving. The tallest of
the strange warriors, who appears to be their leader, takes a step closer and
kneels in front of Snoke.
“You arrived early, Meeka.” Snoke says in a neutral tone.
“We came as soon as you called, Supreme Leader. We are avid to test your new
apprentice”. Meeka’s voice sounds robotic but male, distorted by the vocoder in
his mask. Kylo immediately envies it. He might be wearing Snoke’s old garments
now, but soon enough he’ll be armored, wearing a battle helm, and wielding his
new lightsaber.
“Kylo will be more of a challenge, I’m sure. Where is the artifact?” Snoke
asks, still no emotion in his voice.
Meeka stands up and nods to one of his companions, who takes a small black box
from his backpack and deferentially gives it to Snoke. Supreme Leader waves his
hand in what seems like measured ceremony, and the box opens. A piece of black
leather floats from it, and the man holding the box carefully closes the small
container and puts it away.
Snoke turns to Kylo.
“This is an ancient Sith mask, my boy.” Kylo flinches when Snoke calls him a
boy in front of all the others, but his master seems unamused. “It blocks one’s
connection to the Force completely. It’s a great instrument to teach resilience
and resourcefulness. For this test, you won’t be able to use your special
abilities.”
Kylo have read about such implements in Snoke’s books. Masks like that were
used to train the Siths of old, but also to torture Jedi. He feels cold sweat
trickles down his neck when Snoke approaches him, and covers his head with the
mask. It goes all the way to his chin, with one hole for his mouth and two for
his nostrils. It’s snug and terribly uncomfortable, but the heat and humidity
aren’t the worse.
Losing the Force is like losing a limb, going blind, deaf and mute at the same
time. He feels dizzy, and bites hard at his bottom lip not to scream, but feels
the panick building up. Soon he is hyperventilating. He’d rather spend a month
in open space than another second in this hell, but before he can pull the mask
off himself, someone grabs his hands and pulls them behind his back. His
clothes are ripped from his body. Rags are shoved down his mouth, and he hears
his own muffled screams and pleads.
“The first part of the test consists in surviving” Snoke says, already far from
his apprentice.
They are so many, Kylo can’t fight them. They knock him down to the floor, on
his back. Someone pulls his arms above his head, pinning his wrists to the
ground. Without the Force, he’s fragile and weak. He is even more pathetic than
Ben. He tries to kick them away, but they grab his legs, pulling them apart,
exposing him. Soon there’s a heavy body above him, smothering Kylo. He is
suddenly, painfully filled to his core, brutalized again. This man seems even
more ruthless than Snoke, faster, more aggressive. Kylo feels his own tears
soaking the mask.
Another pair of hands, gloved ones, pinches his nipples, twisting them so hard
Kylo is able to spit out the rags they used as a gag when he screams. They
laugh, and hit his face to quiet him down. Then someone covers Kylo’s mouth and
his nose with big hands. They cut his air supply long enough for the man
thrusting into him come and pull out from Kylo’s body. When they let Kylo
breathe again, gasping and coughing, another man quickly replaces the first one
between his legs.
“Shit, there’s so much come and blood in here I won’t feel anything”, the next
man says when he plunges into Kylo. He goes as deep as possible then pops out,
only to breach Kylo’s resistance again, more savagely each time, until Kylo
begs him to stop. That’s when the other ones resume their sick choking game.
This feels like a nightmare. He understands why Snoke must do these things to
him, but why is Supreme Leader handing him to these other men? Who are they?
Without the Force to assist him, he can’t even try and steal information from
them. This isolation from the most sacred power in the universe is a punishment
he is sure he doesn’t deserve from Supreme Leader.
Rage and disgust boil inside him, but Kylo is helpless. He can think coherently
when they keep bringing him almost to the point of collapse. The second man
also comes, and when he leaves, his seed leaks and pools beneath Kylo, who is
then turned on his stomach.
Kylo tries to scape, frantic and clumsy, crazily trying to take off the mask,
but they grab him with ease. Someone lifts his waist then pulls his arms, and
he feels when his wrists are tied against his back, probably with pieces of his
own torn clothes. Kylo feels a foot pressing his neck down to the floor.
There’s a man behind him, and he slaps Kylo’s ass before putting two fingers
inside him.
“You’ve ruined him, Curiel. I told you, you should go last.” But Kylo barely
hears their crude remarks, their arrogant laughter. He feels engulfed by pain
and hatred. Inside his mind, he is clawing with mad rage at the walls where the
Sith mask has sealed him, trying to find a slit from which he can reconnect
with the Force. But he is isolated, cut off.
The boot feels heavier on Kylo’s neck while he’s taken from behind. His tears
burn his closed eyes and he cries out with each thrust, but he stops with the
begging. There is no point.
Someone is still furiously pounding against him when the boot steps out of his
neck, and another attacker lifts his head and forces a huge cock inside his
mouth. “If you bite, I’ll kill you”, the man threatens him.
It’s Meeka, Kylo is sure. Meeka is the one he hates the most. Their leader. The
one eager to test Snoke’s new apprentice. Meeka probably has done this to other
boys, the ones who failed… and Kylo decides he will kill him first. He doesn’t
bite Meeka, though, and soon is drooling and gagging, gasping for air. He feels
drivel run down his chin, his neck and chest. Meeka comes at the back of Kylo’s
throat, pushing as deep as possible, choking him. When he pulls out, Kylo is
retching.
Meeka slaps him hard.
“You’re disgusting. Having the Force doesn’t make you less of a disgraceful,
sloppy little bitch.” Meeka says, laughing. And then, he speaks to the man
fucking Kylo’s ass: “Come on, Arthon, come already. He just made a mess, let’s
move him closer to our ship”. After Arthon finally comes, grunting and grabbing
at Kylo’s hips, they drag Kylo’s battered body through the floor, to a cleaner
corner of the hangar. Once there, Meeka is quickly on top of Kylo, plowing
mercilessly into him, using his hands to further torment Kylo by wringing his
throat, while instigating the rest of the men to torture Snoke’s little
apprentice.
The group takes turns defiling Kylo, in what feels like an endless
demonstration of every violent depravity in the galaxy. Meeka is always the
cruelest, and most vulgar of his ravagers. He has the stamina to attack Kylo
three more times before deciding he’s had enough from the boy. He even indulges
in the same debauchery Snoke attempted in his last session with Kylo, but this
time there is no Force connection Kylo can cast to enhance his own strenght. He
is all alone, so he submits to the heinous task, licking Meeka with hateful
disgust.
When they finish with him, Kylo is a beaten, dirty mess lying on the floor,
covered in come and blood, panting and weeping softly. Meeka carefully ties him
up, so it’s impossible for him to take the mask off alone. But Kylo wouldn’t.
He knows better. He feels like drifting in outer space, staring at a safety
cable: in order to get back inside and breathe, he must wait for his master’s
orders.
So, he does.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     The training continues, as the warriors summoned by Supreme Leader
     Snoke puts his little apprentice to test...
Chapter Notes
     Please keep in mind this a violent story, with lots of graphic
     details and triggering elements. Reader discretion in mandatory! I'm
     tagging as I go.
     I'd love to hear your insights and opinions.
 
 
The continuous slap of flesh against flesh sounds grotesque, intertwined with
rough grunts, occasional laughter, and Kylo’s own muffled whimpering. These are
the only sounds echoing throughout the hangar while he kneels on the floor,
bound and naked, surrendered to his attackers. The ordeal resumed hours ago, or
so it seems. Kylo has lost track of time, confined in the black mask Supreme
Leader used to bereave the boy of his connection to the Force.
Kylo keeps his eyes closed: opening them is useless behind the leather hood
snugly adhered to his face. But his mouth is stretched wide around an unknown
cock, as one of Meeka’s men pushes it into Kylo’s throat in lazy, poorly aimed
thrusts, smearing saliva and hurting Kylo’s already swollen lips. Another man
fucks him from behind, twisting Kylo’s tied-up wrists against the small of his
back, bending his arms painfully. The man goes as deep as possible, but his
pace is slow and somewhat erratic.
They are getting tired, Kylo thinks. And probably running out of stims as well.
He feels exhausted, muscles strained and aching. His skin burns, sticky with
sweat and other fluids that envelop him like a film of poison, like the slime
of a Hutt.
He thinks of his mother. Ben’s mother. She killed a Hutt once, when she was
young. At least that’s what Ben’s father said, in a drunken confession that
seems to have taken place eons ago.
She is so tiny, it doesn’t even seem possible. Perhaps it was a lie. She told
him so many lies, even though the story of Jabba the Hutt and his palace on a
desert planet seemed true enough when Ben was a child. And she didn’t seem
eager to tell him, not at all. She merely confirmed the story, scolding Han for
not keeping his mouth shut. She never liked talking to Ben about her time
fighting wars.
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
Still, it seems blasphemous to think of her now; obscene, even. But he can’t
help it. Fresh tears sting his eyes, as Kylo desperately tries to banish the
woman from his thoughts. He is losing his mind. He falls further into the
darkest places of himself, feeling less like a person and more like a wounded
beast, slowly bleeding from hundreds of non-fatal injuries, raging in
helplessness. And she is there, too. Mother. Ben’s mother. Kylo can see her in
his mind. She is trying to stop the blood, her white gown going crimson. She
thinks she can soothe the beast that is now her son, to bring him back.
She doesn’t know it’s too late.
When a bitter splash of come gushes through his lips, Kylo is almost grateful
to have something else dragging him out of his thoughts. Kylo is held in place
as the man fills him up, then quickly pulls out to grab Kylo by the chin,
covering his mouth, and forcing him to swallow. Then he pushes Kylo backwards,
against the attacker fucking his ass. This one manages to let go of Kylo’s
wrists only to catch him on a stranglehold across the neck and chest. Kylo
squirms, choking and coughing, his throat firmly restrained by the man behind
him.
“I will tear you apart, little prince,” the man whispers in his ear, and the
voice is clear enough even through the mask.
Meeka. He is the last one inside Kylo, still torturing him.
Kylo stiffens his body, groans, but Meeka chokes him harder and speeds up,
searing his cock into Kylo with no mercy.
“What? You think we didn’t know? We chased you down for Supreme Leader. I know
everything about you, Ben Solo…” Meeka says, sounding very proud of himself.
Hatred and shame melt and fuse inside Kylo’s ribs, saturating his lungs, his
heart, his guts. He writhes within Meeka’s hold, loathing his intruder. Kylo’s
head throbs, pulsing with a strange energy that yearns to be poured into the
universe; to be reunited with the flow of the Force so it can come back at
Kylo’s disposal, to be wielded for destructive glory.
But the mask is an unsurmountable barrier, withholding Kylo’s connection to
this part of himself that he’s been taking for granted, at least up until now.
He sobs quietly in frustrated agony, every cell in his battered body longing to
be reconciled with the vital limb the mask severed from him. Meeka’s hold
tightens and Kylo gasps for air, unconsciousness lurking from an up-close
abyss.
Kylo is barely cognizant when Meeka finally comes, releasing the chokehold to
clutch at Kylo’s shoulders, grunting and laughing as he unloads to depletion.
But Meeka keeps moving, each thrust pushing some of his seed out. Come drips
down Kylo’s trembling thighs, but the boy barely has time to acknowledge the
overflowing mess he’s become: he is rudely turned around, then pushed to the
floor on his back, falling over his bound arms and crying out in pain.
Meeka climbs on top of Kylo, between his damp legs, and pushes two fingers
inside him, producing wet little noises that are a testament to the copious
amount of semen still inside him. Kylo blushes behind the mask, clenches
reflexively around the intruding digits. That’s so like Ben it’s mortifying,
infuriating. Meeka snorts and withdrawals, using his soaked fingers to tug at
the black hair on Kylo’s groins until the boy lets out a snivel, wriggling
tiredly from the touch.
Viscous fingertips run across Kylo’s belly and chest, stopping at the one of
his nipples, pinching and twisting, then moving to the other to repeat the
torture. Kylo pants and whimpers, but doesn’t say a word.
 “You know, you’re not even the first. I’ve been testing Supreme Leaders
apprentices for a long time, now” Meeka says, softly, but still gloating. In a
way, Meeka is even worse than Snoke: he is not a Force user, he is not Kylo’s
master. He is just a man, disgusting and presumptuous. Kylo feels nauseated
when Meeka licks him, from the sternum to his neck, slowly, sopping, relishing
into it with his coarse tongue.
One of Meeka’s dirty fingers invades Kylo’s mouth. It tastes like come, and
blood, and death. Kylo turns his head to the side, away from the finger,
refusing to acknowledge the flavor of his own defilement any longer. Meeka just
laughs, further crawling onto him, putting his elbows besides each of Kylo’s
ears, pinning the boy’s head inside this wicked embrace that feels like a trap.
“But I’ll give you this, little prince: you’re the first to endure it for so
long without asking for mercy,” Meeka says, “but I bet you will. Eventually.
And I’ll be glad to be the one to put you out of your misery.”
Then Meeka’s tongue ravages through Kylos lips, thirsty and vicious, and Kylo
feels annihilated, so small – even though he’s been called little prince, he
feels like a little slave. Meeka shoves his tongue inside Kylo’s mouth with the
same violence he used to plunge his cock, seemingly wanting to drown him in
saliva the same way he is already drenched in come.
Kylo stays motionless, even when he feels Meeka trying to coax some action out
of his tongue. But Kylo doesn’t want to take any part of this, no more than he
already had, and refuses to respond to Meeka’s swirling around in his mouth. As
a matter of fact, somehow this seems more awful than all the other things
they’ve done to him, and he wants to laugh madly at how fucked up this is,
because to think that a kiss can be worse than sucking a stranger’s prick or
taking one up the ass is truly and insanely fucked up. But Kylo is thoroughly
fucked up by now, mind and body and soul.
And then something mingles with Meeka’s spit, warm and coppery in taste. It’s
Kylo’s own blood. He has been bitten, so hard he whimpers, but it almost
doesn’t hurt when Meeka sucks at his bottom lip like a crazed hematophagous
creature, and Kylo wonders if Snoke is still watching them.
“Enough”, Supreme Leader commands. Snoke’s timing is startling.
Kylo gasps when Meeka leaves him, blood filling his mouth. He keeps very quiet,
and shudders when his tongue goes to the split on his lip. Did Snoke hear him
through the mask? Kylo isn’t sure if the Force-blocking works both ways, and
doesn’t want to ask. He chews softly at the bruised lip, trying to make the
blood clot.
When Kylo is raised to his feet with a gentle incorporeal push, he’s surprised
by Snoke’s carefulness, even more than by the soft brush of the Force after
such an excruciating interval devoid of it. He must look truly ruined if his
master took pity of him. He’s been craving for some thread of benevolence from
Supreme Leader, but now that he’s got it, he just feels weak and angry. Kylo
spits on the floor and pushes his shoulders back, straightening his posture,
clinging to any shredded remain of dignity he can gather. I survived,he thinks.
I passed the test.
Faint steps surround Kylo, he can sense some movement. He just stays frozen in
place, waiting amidst the rushed but silent activity around him. He grows
impatient; he is a cauldron of fear, anger, hate, and suffering, all laced with
shame, at the brink of boiling over. He wants to break something again, to
shatter a precious thing, like he did to his kyber crystal, or to Luke’s
school. He wants to dissolve into these feelings, to be consumed by the
darkness where Snoke threw him.
No. Where he willingly nose-dived.
Kylo wants to bathe in it, to liquefy into it, and then be remade by the Dark
Side as the best version of himself, proven and jaded, brutal and cold-blooded.
Like Supreme Leader Snoke.
Or like Darth Vader. Even naked and bleeding, covered in crusted come and spit,
he wants to be as powerful as his grandfather, the most ruthless man the galaxy
has ever known.
He smells Snoke putrid stench before he can feel Supreme Leader’s cold hands on
his shoulders, then sliding languidly down his arms, to yank at the bondages on
Kylo’s wrists. When the blood can flow freely to his hands, Kylo shudders from
the tingling feeling.
“The second part of the test, my boy, consists in not killing,” Snoke says,
emphasizing the last two words, and in a few heartbeats the mask is gone from
Kylo’s face. He blinks, the lights hurt his eyes. He inhales deeply, rage
building up inside him like the Death Star preparing to fire and obliterate
Alderaan. He is a weapon, and he is oh so ready to fire.
Circling him are Meeka’s warriors, all dressed and hidden behind their black
garments and helms. Kylo’s fists curl until he can feel his nails digging at
the palms of his hands. Blood pours from his lip again, dripping down his chin.
He knows part of his sweaty hair is clinging to his forehead, but the rest is
tangled from the mask; he must look like a mad man. He feels mad. The Force
washes over him like lava, burning and roaring in his ears.
Do it, do it, do it, it sings, or he chants to himself, mesmerized by the power
that crackles through his body, from his frantic heart to the tiniest molecule
of his being, all attuned to the frequency of this thing that is bigger than
everything he’s ever experienced, a sizzling red ember burning with
inextinguishable fire inside an ocean of darkness.
Kylo smiles and steps forward, raises his right hand. The warriors clothes
flutter, billowing to some supernatural wind, but the men don’t move. Kylo is
holding them in place. He can break them if he wants to. And he does; so, so
much. He never felt this before. This hunger. This craving.
Bloodlust.
He watches, completely delighted, when all of the warriors bring their hands to
their necks, trying to fight Kylo’s Force fingers away from their crushing
throats. It’s exquisite. The hair on Kylo’s skin rises, his flesh is
smoldering, his bones are like incandescent durasteel. Like this, he is the
perfect channel for the Force, all fire and passion, all rage. What Snoke has
to steal from him at every torture session, now comes naturally, like a
blessing from the dark, like an awakening: blood rushes to his groins, to his
heavy testicles and then filling up his shaft, and he fears he might actually
explode.
He looks down, amazed at his own body, seeing his hard cock pointing up from
its nest of dark, curly hair.
And he laughs.
He laughs and laughs, so hard, so hot, and one of Meeka’s warriors, the one who
carried the box with the mask, drops to his knees, squirming to free himself
from Kylo’s death grip.
Kylo has never killed on his own volition before. The murders of his
schoolmates were orchestrated by Supreme Leader. But this… this will be solely
himself. He feels seven necks about to snap at the tips of his fingers.
But then he remembers. The test.
He cannot fail it.
No killing, Kylo whispers to himself, inside his brain, his lips moving without
sound. No killing. But it’s so hard, he wants it so bad, never wanted anything
like this. He earned this, he deserves to take their lives for what they did to
him. But he knows he can’t, he mustn’t, he has orders to follow.
Don’t fail the test.
He falls to his knees too, exhausted, still fully erected, and all the warriors
still standing up fall in tandem with him, all of them panting, some dragging
themselves away from Snoke’s apprentice as if Kylo were really made of
smoldering lava. He sobs, tears run down his cheeks and he cries, a feral
sound. Everything trembles and clatters, from Kylo’s scattered boots somewhere
on the floor to the docked ships, and the hangar goes dark.
* * *
Kylo wakes up naked, still filthy, lying on the floor of his quarters. Snoke’s
protocol droid looms over him – a familiar view.
“I brought you organic nutrients. Meals,” it says, offering him two large sets
of rations. “It’s the good stuff,” it adds, reproducing the way Kylo talked
about the special rations once. They’re big and varied, complete with dessert.
He is so hungry, but the emptiness inside his chest isn’t just from the lack of
food. He thinks about what happened, his bruised body a living proof of the
worst test Snoke has put him through, at least until now. He shudders, and
accepts the traits from the droid.
He feels ashamed. He looks at his soft cock, wondering why it got so hard
before, and why it felt so good, even after everything Meeka and the others did
to him. But now this malignancy seems out of reach, and dangerous, and he
regrets going after it, horrified. He is no stranger to wrath, to fury, but
calculated evil still terrorizes him. It is a weakness, he knows that.
He thinks of Ben’s family. He thinks of that day at Luke’s school. He should’ve
killed his former master. And yet. Yet.
He weeps, softly, curling on the floor again, cradling the food. Snoke’s droid
blinks, but doesn’t say anything. He’s grown accustomed to see him cry. But
then the void inside Kylo is suddenly filled with lukewarm light. He is no
longer a piece of ember glowing in the dark: the glow itself is calling upon
him, saying his old name. He can feel it clearly, the pull to the light.
Kylo stands up fast, enraged, the Force surging out of him like a wave, taking
everything in its wake. The outburst of energy is strong enough to knock the
droid against the wall, cracking one of his eyes. The food trays explode in a
cloud of dust that hovers in the air for a few seconds before hitting the
floor. Everything that isn’t made of metal is thorn into pieces.
He stands at the epicenter of chaos, breathless, with a terrible headache and a
nosebleed. When Kylo is able to focus again, he sees the damaged droid trying
to stand and runs to it, tears already pouring down.
“I’m sorry, droid, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it…” his voice sounds small,
childish like, and he doesn’t dare using the Force to help raise his mechanical
friend, his only friend. The impact must have broken the speakers, and droid
blinks its functional eye.
“I’m good with machines, I can fix you, there’s a workshop, we’ll find spare
parts…” Kylo mumbles, as he tries to bring the droid to the small table that
miraculously survived the Force-push. The droid’s cracked eye falls off,
shattering on the floor. Kylo frantically picks up the shards, apologizing,
ignoring the need to cover himself up, until the sliding door opens. He is not
allowed to keep it locked.
When he turns, he sees Snoke, standing there in his golden robes, emotionless,
smelling worse than ever. Kylo takes a step back, recoiling, lamenting his own
nudity, but too afraid to summon the sheet over his rumpled bed and use it as
cover. He stares at Supreme Leader long enough to remember he is not supposed
to stare.
“The Light. It calls to you” Snoke says, flatly, and his tone makes it clear he
doesn’t expect Kylo to answer. “But you’ve fought it. I’ve sensed it. The
push.” Supreme Leader adds, acknowledging the destruction on Kylo’s room. The
boy just nods.
“Meeka and his warriors are part of your training, now. There is no point to
keep you here, isolated. You will be one of his men. They call themselves
Knights of Ren. You know the word, from the ancient Sith language. During
missions, he will be your master.”
Kylo nods again.
Snoke glares at him for a moment before saying in a cold tone: “Clean yourself
up. Clean this disgusting mess in your quarters. Then dismantle the droid for
parts. I have other models.”
Kylo opens his mouth but still doesn’t say anything, his lips trembling, tears
welling in his eyes. Snoke turns and leaves before Kylo is able to explain that
he can fix the droid, that he’s a good mechanic, that he tinkered with droids,
and ships, since he was a little kid.
He finally uses the Force put the sheet around his waist, and then to put the
droid over the table. The way it just sags there is disheartening. Kylo sighs,
letting the tears roll silently down his cheeks, in a little stream that
trickles down to his chest.
“I’m truly sorry, my friend” he laments in a cracked voice, and powers the
droid down.
It goes away without a sound.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Kylo continues his painful path towards the Dark Side.
Chapter Notes
     This story is pretty graphic, full of triggering elements. Reader
     discretion is mandatory!
     I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I hope you enjoy it.
 
 
“Oh, darling, there you are!”
Her voice woke him up. She was not very far from him, just stepping out of the
shadows, looking younger than he ever remembered her to be. She sounded so
happy, so carefree, he didn’t recognize her at first. Dressed in a billowing
silvery gown, her beauty had an ethereal quality, like something born out of a
pleasant dream. It had been a long time since he last had one of those.
She wore a lot of dresses when he was a kid, but rarely something so delicate.
She always favored practicality over glamour. Now, she looked small, like the
frail royalty she was expected to be, with her long hair loose down her
shoulders, falling past her waistline, undulating faintly into the dark.
There was this soft brightness in her features, in her gleaming smart eyes. The
very fabric of her garment seemed to glow and, before he knew it, he was
walking towards her light like an insect drawn to a lamp, desperate for warmth,
unwise enough not to fear the burning heat. She waited for him, smiling, arms
wide open, offering the shelter he’d been craving for so long.
Dashing towards her embrace, he held her as close as possible, breathing in her
familiar scent, clutching at the woman like he was a child, unable to help the
stream of tears running down his cheeks. He was a child, indeed. Her child.
“My goodness, you’ve grown!” she said, laughing a little, gently pushing him
away so she could raise her head and gaze into his eyes. And even like this,
with her chin tilted up to peer at him, overpowered by his strong arms, she
somehow seemed larger than life, like an absolute, unconditional safehouse –
like the only place he had left to hide from his enemies, and from all the
terrible things he yearned.
Perhaps to hide even from himself.
But staring at her was like getting stabbed in the gut, again and again, and
when her gentleness got too unbearable to look at, he fell to his knees in
front of her tiny body and wailed. He just cried for a long time, until his
eyes hurt and dried out, until his sobs became just a slight shudder, the dying
flutter of a scorched little moth. He felt her fingers comb through his hair, a
soft kiss at the top of his head. Then she grabbed his jaw and lifted it,
tenderly, to make her son face her again, but he kept his eyes closed.
“I miss you so much”, she whispered, in a deeper voice. He was aware she was
inspecting him, his older face, the shadow of recently shaved beard, his
broader shoulders, his taller height. He was not the boy she once knew, but she
loved this young man he became just as much. Acknowledging this love hurt him
even more.
And when he finally looked at her, she already resembled the mother he recalled
leaving, with aging lines in her brow, and a deep sorrow hidden in the stoic
demeanor she struggled to maintain. Her flowing gown had turned into gray pants
and a pragmatic vest, and her whimsical brown locks were now firmly held in her
usual braided bun. She smiled at him, but the smile never got into her eyes.
“You know something?”, she started in a conspiratorial tone, the same one she
used when he was very young, and she eased his moods with the promise of secret
sweets at the end of his next meal. “If you just tell me where you are, I can
pick you up and bring you home.”
He glared silently at her, his tears cooling in his wet face. She grabbed his
hands, and he noticed how they were huge compared to hers. She was a feeble
little creature, whose bones he could snap on a whim. He didn’t hold her hands
back.
“Where are you, Ben?” she pleaded, still trying to smile. Ben is dead, he
thought. The light emanating from her started to fade, and he rose from the
ground, taking a step back.
“Please, come home. I miss you… we miss you!” she begged again, tightening her
grip on his hands, perhaps sensing she was starting to lose him. But he just
kept looking at her, not knowing what to say, lips trembling with equal amounts
of ancient pain and his newfound rage.
And then everything happened so fast, there was nothing he could have done. She
moved first, all instinct, turning to engage whatever was coming from behind
her. He knew she was a fighter, he’d heard the stories, but seeing her so bold
and unafraid was startling, even if her small figure was no match to the
monster emerging from the darkness.
“He is mine, now”, he heard his master say, laughing with amused cruelty.
“That’s not true, Ben!” his mother cried out, but it was too late, no braveness
could’ve helped her against Snoke, and the old man laughed louder, his teeth
glistening in the dark like fangs in the mouth of a ravenous beast.
“Ben is dead, you old fool!” Snoke said, sounding so pleased, and so right.
Ben was no more.
Only Kylo remained, frozen in place by Snoke’s power, condemned to watch as
Supreme Leader dismissively waved a hand, and blue lightning bolts left the
tips of his fingers to course through the woman’s body. She screamed again,
this time an agonizingly painful howl, as she convulsed to the floor. Fresh
tears rolled down Kylo’s face.
But Snoke wasn’t done. Not yet. Keeping the smirk on his lips, Supreme Leader
attacked one more time, and blue electricity pierced the darkness until the air
smelled of smoke. Kylo squirmed against the invisible bonds imprisoning him,
but got nowhere. Snoke used the Force to raise the woman, then turn her around.
Kylo skipped a breath when his eyes met the woman’s. Her labored breath was
loud, her hair disheveled, sweat dripping down her forehead; nonetheless, her
strength was admirable underneath it all. She was hurt and quivering, but her
eyes were pure wrath.
He likes that, Kylo thought, desperately, but was unable to say it aloud, the
Force clenching his jaw shut. Snoke looked directly into his eyes, and
realization hit Kylo like a thousand lightning strikes. The woman saw it, the
sheer terror in her son’s face, and she understood everything. Kylo felt like
she was reading his mind, seeing every attack he had endured, every humiliating
session, all of the abuse.
Then Snoke gestured, and her clothes were torn to shreds. She, too, was being
held in place by the Force, motionless and vulnerable.
Kylo jolted in Snoke’s grip, horrified, and the Force held him tighter. No no
no no no no, not her, not like this, take me, take me instead… he begged in his
thoughts, knowing Snoke would hear him.
“Don’t look, Ben! Close your eyes!” His mother screamed, not a single tear in
her eyes while Snoke’s disgusting hands touched her pale skin. He used one of
them to cover her mouth, to muffle her screams, and the other grabbed a breast,
nails digging through her flesh. Crimson droplets of blood poured from the
wounds, and Kylo felt as if they were his own life oozing from himself.
Let her go, please, I’ll do anything, Kylo thought, frantic, losing his mind,
breaking apart while Supreme Leader searched for something inside the black
robes covering his ruined body. Kylo could endure everything, anything, as long
as it was done to him, but not to her, not to her, not like this. Snoke laughed
again, Ben’s mother groaned, and everything turned red: a crackling, wavering
red, as Kylo’s lightsaber came to life bursting through Leia Organa’s chest.
Kylo escaped from his master’s grip at last. A dark power expanded and shrunk
around Kylo’s body, then condensed inside his ribcage. Rage splintered from his
breaking heart, and everything collapsed to shadows, to grief, until nothing
but emptiness remained.
* * *
“Wake up.”
The boy sits up in his bed at once, sucking in a long breath, fully awake by
his master’s voice. Kylo is drenched in cold sweat, can feel his hair clinging
to his forehead. His heart is racing, pounding in his chest in tandem with the
drumming in his ears. He is in his room at Snoke’s station, and everything is
quiet, in place, but he feels disoriented. When he sees the old man, Kylo
instantly backs away, as if he could merge himself with the wall against his
bunk and remain unnoticed.
He is panting, loudly, and Snoke inspects him with a raised eyebrow. Supreme
Leader is dressed in gold, as usual. It’s still so weird to have him here, at
Kylo’s quarters. The last time he came was a couple of months ago.
“You had a dream. Sometimes, dreams tell you things” Snoke says flatly,
interrupting Kylo’s trail of thoughts. A shiver runs slowly down Kylo’s spine,
like his master’s tongue on his body against his will. Supreme Leader smirks,
and sits on Kylo’s narrow bed. The thin mattress shifts under Snoke’s weight.
Snoke is so close Kylo can feel his disgusting odor as if it were another
presence, like a phantom syrup filling up the space between them. Kylo avoids
the old wizard’s cold blue eyes, but studies his features with fearful
curiosity. Supreme Leader looks like a disproportionately tall wooden doll,
crafted by some clumsy child who ran out of stuffing material, and then just
haphazardly glued stripes of bad leather to the frame of the toy, trying to
make it appear human. The skin on Snoke’s face looks like it could fall off at
any minute, detaching from poorly stitched scars. Kylo can’t decide if a
fleshless skull would make his master look more or less creepy, and shudders.
He remembers the last time Supreme Leader came into his quarters, right after
Meeka and his warriors left. Kylo doesn’t want to think about Meeka. Snoke has
been the perfect master ever since, training Kylo every day, assisting on his
meditation, making good points about his fighting skills, seeming proud of his
apprentice’s cross-guarded lightsaber, with its ingenious design and archaic
elegance.
A few days ago, Supreme Leader even arranged for a droid to fashion new clothes
that cover Kylo in black from head to toe. The heavy garments make him
indistinguishable from the other Knights when Kylo puts on the helmet he
managed to assemble at the station’s workshop.
Snoke hasn’t seen the helmet yet. In fact, Kylo still hasn’t looked at himself
fully dressed and masked, brandishing his bright-red weapon. It’s unfortunate
that he’ll only get to see that when he has to leave under Meeka’s command.
The young man lowers his eyes, but still can sense Snoke’s scrutiny. Kylo is
too terrified to say anything or make the slightest move. He tries to clear his
mind, but Leia Organa keeps showing up inside his head… her face when Snoke
covered her mouth, her eyes burning with rage, the threat of defilement, the
plasma piercing her chest… Kylo wishes he could just wake up again.
But this is not a dream. Not even one of his nightmares.
Snoke reaches out with a scrawny but steady arm and touches Kylo’s face. It’s a
mockery of endearment. He pinches Kylo’s chin and tilts it sideways, examining
his apprentice’s face, and then pulls Kylo closer. Kylo can’t avert Snoke’s
eyes, now.
“I’ve made you feel too comfortable. I have been too lenient these last weeks.
And now you’re having dreams about your mother,” Snoke says.
Kylo flinches.
“She is not my mother. She was Ben’s mother” he is able to grumble, but his
master just snorts.
“And yet here you are, cowering in my presence as if I really had my way with
her.”
“I… I’m not concerned about… her fate,” Kylo stammers, then swallows a
strangled sob.
“I thought you were ready for your first mission with Meeka’s Knights, but I
guess I was mistaken,” Snoke starts to say, tightening his grip on Kylo’s chin.
“You’re not a warrior yet, just a jittery child, too scared to leave his own
bed.”
Tears well up in Kylo’s eyes.
“I’m no child, master” Kylo says, regretting his cracked voice the second he
hears himself.
Snoke laughs, releasing Kylo’s chin and softly caressing his left cheek, then
one of the big ears he hides behind his hair, and the tender skin on Kylo’s
neck. Then Snoke grabs the hair at the back of Kylo’s head and harshly pulls
him even closer. It hurts, and all Kylo can see are those ruthless eyes, like
grayish pools of still water. The calmness on their surface hides the monsters
lurking underneath.
“Oh, so you’re a man, now?” Snoke taunts, slipping his free hand beneath Kylo’s
sheets and going straight to Kylo’s groins. The boy shuts his eyes.
“Look at me,” Snoke orders, tugging at his apprentice’s hair. Kylo gazes at him
behind wet eyelids. “Look at me while I take you like a grown up. Isn’t that
what you are?”
Kylo feels sudden panic building up inside his chest. This is his room, his
bed, the only place where he can rest with some peace and privacy. He doesn’t
want to taint it. There will be no safe space for him, no shelter, nowhere to
hide. Snoke senses his hesitation.
“Grown-ups like beds, my young apprentice. And I don’t like to wait,” Snoke
says, then kisses him on the lips. Kylo stays very still, waiting to get
beaten, waiting for the Force to hold him in place, but nothing happens. Snoke
just tosses the sheets away with his own hands, then stares hungrily at his
apprentice.
Kylo thinks of Leia again, of how she just had to look at him to figure
everything out, how she so easily understood the shame and disgrace in his
face. He hates her for it, he loathes her pity and her sorrow, and yet yearns
for an impossible rescue.
No, not for a rescue.
He yearns for transcendence, still does, after everything Snoke put him
through, every test he came to endure, and pass. This is his true path, he
chose it. Ben’s past must die and stay dead, so that Kylo can fulfill his
destiny. And if there is one thing Kylo now knows for sure is that degradation
is the mother of a special kind of darkness. It ferments inside him, simmering
in his veins, fueling his abilities.
And when Snoke kisses him again, pushing his tongue inside Kylo’s lips like
someone shoving the corpse of a fish into his mouth, Kylo is able to fight the
nausea and use this darkness to look into Supreme Leader’s mind as if it were a
clear viewport to open space.
He feels dizzy, he can’t even begin to comprehend the terrible sights he
witnesses, the unbearable hate, the surprising amount of pain inside Snoke’s
thoughts. They’re beyond reason, beyond anything Kylo can grasp. They drip from
above like acid rain, and beneath Kylo’s feet there is no ground, only
squishing dying flesh. There are barriers, too; high and impenetrable. Images
flash in the sky like lightning: the slaughter of strange beasts, the
anointment of an alien baby, plasma blades ripping through innocents and
enemies alike, a devastating fire that consumes a whole planet. There is more,
so much more, but Kylo isn’t strong enough to chase everything.
And then there is her. Leia. Thunder roars and lightning strikes, blinding him
for a split second; when the flash of light dissipates, she appears right next
to Kylo. She turns to look at him, and for a moment she is young and beautiful
again. But her face fades like a fleeting shadow, and her flesh ripples and
twists until she becomes something else. He watches in horror as she turns into
Snoke, laughing and screaming that it wasn’t just a dream.
It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream.
The words stay in Kylo’s head after he leaves Snoke’s mind and opens his eyes.
The old man is looking at him, slightly amused, spit shining in his puckered
lips. Kylo’s face burns with shame. Was it just a dream? Was she there,
somehow? Could she really know it? Would she tell Luke?
Will she tell Han?
“Get up, take these off” Snoke says, pulling at Kylo’s sleeping pants.
Kylo moves like he is someone else, like he is a droid. He takes his pants off,
lets Supreme Leader touch him and grab his soft cock, but when Snoke leans in
to kiss him again, Kylo dares to stop him by spreading his hand against his
master’s chest.
“Did you bring her here?” Kylo whispers. “Please tell me it was just a dream.”
Snoke taps Kylo’s wrist away, like someone flicking an annoying bug. Supreme
Leader doesn’t answer, just pushes Kylo to the bed as he lets his embroidered
robes fall to the floor. Naked under the bright light of the room, Snoke looks
so inhuman that Kylo could almost believe he truly is a hideous leather doll,
brought to life by forbidden magic. Snoke’s emaciated body looks so frail with
all that scarring, but his hard cock is a cruel weapon ready to strike, looking
strangely alive among the decaying flesh.
“Does it matter?” Snoke says after all, pushing Kylo to the bed and straddling
the young man.
Does it? Kylo asks himself, eyes fixed to the ceiling, avoiding Snoke’s eager
face. Does it matter if she knows what Kylo had to do, still must do, in order
to achieve his full potential? Didn’t Darth Vader himself go through all this
during his own training? Doesn’t every dark sider, even before the time of the
Sith?
Kylo feels Snoke rubbing himself lewdly against him, scraping his chest with
those disgusting nails that look more like claws. This is grotesque. Kylo
wonders when Snoke will turn him on his stomach, shove his prick inside and get
it over with.
“Look at me” Snoke says instead, and Kylo obeys. “I want you to look at me the
whole time.”
And then Kylo watches as Supreme Leader positions himself between his thighs,
slicks his cock with saliva, and thrusts into him in one swift motion, all the
way to the base. He shuts his eyes reflexively to the pain, but Snoke smacks
his face with back of his hand.
“Don’t close your eyes!” Snoke orders.
A few angry tears roll down Kylo’s cheeks. It still hurts so much, but he keeps
his eyes open, staring at his master. Snoke moves slower this time, savoring
Kylo’s suffering. After a while, Snoke adjusts his own cock, then show his hand
to Kylo. There is blood at his fingertips.
“You’re still so tight, even after the Knights. It’s… it’s amazing” Supreme
Leader’s voice is rougher than usual, panting a little. He takes it all off,
just to shove it back again, enjoying the torture.
“Tell me, my… my young apprentice. Tell me how it feels” Snoke demands.
Kylo scowls and clutches at the mattress with both hands, pain and hatred
taking over.
“It just hurts,” Kylo manages to say.
Snoke laughs under his breath, speeds the pace a little, making things more
uncomfortable. He pinches Kylo’s nipples. “And this? How does it feel?”
Kylo squirms, but doesn’t have time to answer. Snoke leaves the nipple and uses
the same hand to choke him until tears burst from Kylo’s eyes.
“And now? Tell me!”
“It hurts, it hurts!” Kylo yells hysterically, struggling to catch his breath
and keep his eyes on his master as his body is pushed up and down with Snoke’s
thrusts.
Supreme Leader smiles, smears the tears across Kylo’s face with his bloody
hand, and clumsily archs his body towards the boy. He gives Kylo another sloppy
kiss, so wet that a long string of saliva hangs between them when they part.
 “You really hate this, don’t you” Snoke says, and Kylo knows it’s not a
question. Then Supreme Leader comes, trembling slightly against Kylo, eyes
fixed on his the whole time. He pulls away very slowly and shows Kylo his
softening cock covered in come and blood.
“You know what you have to do” Snoke says, sitting on the bed.
Panting, Kylo slides to the floor, and kneels in front of his master, taking
him in his mouth. When Snoke believes his cock in clean enough, he grabs Kylo
by the hair and just pulls him away.
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Snoke smirks. “I wanted to say goodbye, for now.
Meeka will come for you tomorrow.”
Kylo watches in silence, still kneeling, as Snoke fetches his robes with the
Force. He pets Kylo’s head and goes to the door.
“She is strong with the Force. You know that. And dreams are a realm permeated
by the Force, much like this one” Snoke says calmly, then leaves as if he was
never there in the first place.
Kylo crawls to the farthest corner of the room, staring at the bed, afraid of
what the next cycle will bring, too scared to sleep.
Some dreams are worse than nightmares.
End Notes
     EXTENDED DISCLAIMER (spoilers ahead)
     This story is very dark, with content some may find deeply
     disturbing. It starts with a 16 year old Kylo, so yes, there is
     sexual abuse of a teenager here. I find that it explains a lot of
     Kylo's behaviour and is a very probable dynamic when it comes to
     Snoke, since he stalked and psychologically abused Ben from an early
     age. And this story is about angst, anger, hatred, torture; so every
     chapter is written around something *really* bad happening to Kylo.
     I have no intention to romanticize the abuse, but I did want to
     portray it in a very graphic manner. It is violent, blunt, traumatic,
     and Kylo hates it completely. He loathes it, but his perspective is
     twisted, he is a disturbed young man manipulated by horrible people
     into submitting to all this torture - not in a masochistic way, but
     in a sacrificial manner. He hates himself so much he truly believes
     this is the only way he can obtain the power and control he feels
     lacking. Of course he is wrong, of course he is getting ill, like
     many abuse victims often get. There is no doubt that what he is being
     subjected to is wrong. But part of Kylo Ren's psychological frame
     (even from canon perpective) is to deny his own victimhood and any
     other weaknesses. He strikes me as a very sad character, with this
     particularly tragic brand of stoicism, so I went for some of the most
     sad, tragic and terrible things a person could endure to portray him.
     He is already 18 by the fourth chapter (so I guess you can skip the
     first three chapters if his age is of great concern to you), and I do
     not intend to portray any further explicit sexual abuse of underage
     characters in this story, but bear in mind that this a theme here. If
     you have any questions, comments, suggestions, please feel free to
     leave a message. I fint it very healthy to discuss limits with the
     community, and I welcome different paradigms.
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