men are driven by two principle impulses: love and fear. given that these cannot coexist, it is safer to be feared than loved. ind. semi-sel. hux. slow.
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“Then again, maybe I won’t.”
“Won’t what, Phasma?”
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thinking about Hux genuinely
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I am not dead, just never here. For like the 2 people still active, my discord is huxxxie#0946 uwu
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I dare u to publish that Hux has a kink
no ❤️
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Attila József, “Ode” (trans. Gábor G. Gyukics and Michael Castro)
[Text ID: “This great radiance hurts my eyes. I am lost, I think. I can hear my heart clatter and beat above me.)”]
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Homero Aridjis, ‘Fray Gaspar de Carvajal Remembers the Amazon’ (trans. George McWhirter & Betty Ferber), Ojos, de Otro Mirar / Eyes to See Otherwise: Selected Poems
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Phil (Domhnall) // Unbroken // What a cutie!
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Domhnall Gleeson in Run HBO
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“Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it’s good.”
— Alex Flinn, Beastly (via perfeqt)
#| character : enemies never die (kylo ren) |#| ship : i cling to indifference / you to your worst memory (kylux) |#q
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I must ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ my fury Or let slip all that I’ve sought.
But vengeance would not be 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 For all the grief you’ve wrought.
#| ic : musings |#| character : enemies never die (kylo ren) |#I LOVE THIS#| character : you will be remembered / no one will speak your name (brendol hux) |
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Has anybody seen "The Notebook" and not cried? I don't know, I don't know if that's the case.
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ugly mobile post but dead ass if ur a personal blog and u rb my threads and ignore me when i ask u to delete it u are the fucking worst
#| ooc : mobile |#vague /#lmfao#still valid#i might fucking scream#and block all personals at this point lmfao#i love when one fuckwad wrecks something for a lot of people
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Another quick sketch.
Now we got kylux icons,
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The way that Kylo stands gives Hux pause -- knock-knee’d like a child, a baby fawn. Not the same way that he used to, not by far, and he feels a pang of regret. He misses the brutish, blustering boy that was Ben Solo, in some perverse way. He loved Ben Solo, much in the same way that he loves Kylo Ren, but Kylo is so much easier to mold, to bend, and that is enough for him to feel his cock twitch in his pants. He turns his head back, looking at Kylo, categorizing all the little imperfections in his gait, all the ways in which he might be able to correct them, but -- no, there’s some things that even he cannot correct.
It’s simple -- Kylo is dying. Slowly, certainly, but surely. Hux can extend his life for a while, but not forever. He might be able to extend his tendons, massage the muscles so they function more efficiently, but the problem is an issue of degradation. He’d anticipated that, of course. When he’d -- made Kylo, the basement had stunk of formaldehyde for months after the fact. He’d even run it through his veins, hoping the embalming properties would help to stabilize the slow degeneration of his body. It seemed to have some merit, and the thesis paper one of his students was slated to defend two months from now even discussed clinical applications of the process. They’d be horrified if they knew where the idea had originated.
He opens the bathroom door for Kylo, and blessedly, this room is much warmer. He keeps the window taped shut, runs a humidifier when needed. Kylo likes his baths (or, rather, Hux likes to bathe him), and he doesn’t trust Kylo with open windows, especially in the summer. His wanderings weren’t necessarily dangerous, but they were bothersome, and the less people who saw him lingering near Ben Solo’s grave, the better. He understood the appeal, in a perverse way. Kylo longed for death, to return to where Hux had retrieved him from, but Hux was greedy.
The tub is large, claw footed enamel, chipping in only a few spots, with no rust. Truly a blessing, because Hux was not strong enough on his own to remove the bloody thing, but he couldn’t hire anyone out to the house for fear of them interacting with Kylo. It takes minutes to fill, long minutes where Hux takes his time undressing Kylo, peppering his bruising skin with kisses, feeling the sluggish heat of blood beneath his skin. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against Kylo’s neck, unbuttoning the back of his dress. “And mine,” he says reverently, kissing along the bumps of his spine. The dress pools around Kylo’s feet, and Hux helps him step out of it and into the tub. “Is that alright, love?”
@ichorcrowncd
Hux rounds the corner, and Kylo’s expression softens, even as his eyes follow the other man’s every move. Thus far, Kylo has seemed quite capable of separating Hux from the category that his meals fall into. Millicent, too, is an exception. But there is something hungry in him, something that is less pretty, kept housepet, and more feral. But Hux looks at him like a beloved thing, and it soothes him, quiets his thoughts, dampens the hunger.
For now.
When Hux reaches for him, it is easy to lean towards him, easy to offer himself up. A thumb slides to his lips, pushing at them, and the dark blood smears across his mouth. It feels disgusting. It feels perfect. His mouth yields under Hux’s, parting slightly as the other man’s tongue swipes out to taste him. He is too sluggish to fully reciprocate; such is often the case, especially in winter. He can only hope that his pliant mouth is reciprocation enough.
Hux’s fingers dip, and Kylo can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the thin, fine fabric that he is dressed in. There is a compliment in Hux’s words, though whether it is fully intended for Kylo himself, or simply for the dress, Kylo does not know. It hardly matters; he preens all the same, his lashes dipping until there are only small crescents of black to be seen beneath them, his head tipping up just a little to bare his throat to the other man, a sign of trust he would extend to no other.
Would he like that? Another pretty gown for a closet he never looks into? It hardly matters what he would like. He bears no real opinion on the sight of himself draped in lace and frills, in petticoats, in ribbons. What matters is the way Hux looks at him in them. Hux likes this one; and so Kylo would like another dress that Hux likes, so that he will perhaps have more reasons to spend long stretches of time getting him ready, slipping him into the gowns, tying them up, smoothing stockings up along his trembling legs…
“Yes. I would like that.”
Hux’s hand closes around his own, and Kylo feels pressure against the red line on his palm. There is no pain; just the pressure, and then, that too is gone, Hux’s hand sliding to his wrist for a more secure grip. It’s just as well; Kylo’s fine motor skills are far from perfect, and the less work his fingers have to do, the better.
Kylo steadies himself onto his feet, and takes slow, slightly unsteady steps after the other man, each one nearly silent against the floor.
“Can it be warm? I feel cold.”
So very, very cold.
#rendiing#| ic : verse (let us go then you and i / like a patient etherized upon a table) |#| cw : death mention |#nsfw#in which avery pretends to know fuck all about biology#on one hand: formaldehyde in large quantites is very corrosive#quantities*#on the other hand: RP Science#q
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“If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.”
— Sylvia Plath
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good will hunting 1997 film. abuse mention.
“it’s not your fault.”
“yeah, maybe. but at least i won’t be unoriginal.”
“you’re afraid of me. you’re afraid that i won’t love you back.”
“don’t tell me about my world.”
“are we gonna have a problem here?”
“you know, i’ve seen some pretty awful shit.”
“no goodbye. no see you later. no nothing. you just left. i don’t know much, but i know that.”
“what’s a take back? i don’t want a take back.”
“look at me, son. it’s not your fault.”
“honey, i didn’t know that.”
“you don’t know about real loss, ‘cause that only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. and i doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much.”
“most days i wish i’d never met you ‘cause then i could sleep at night. i didn’t have to walk around with the knowledge that there was someone like you out there.”
“no, you don’t want to hear that i got fucking cigarettes put out on me when i was a little kid.”
“he used to just put a wrench, a stick and a belt on the table, and just say ‘choose’.”
“what do i got, a fucking sign on my back that says ‘save me’? do i look like i need that?”
“you got a bullshit answer for everybody. but i ask you a very simple question and you can’t give me a straight answer. ‘cause you don’t know.”
“don’t fuck with me, alright? don’t fuck with me, __, not you.”
“and that’s my life, and i deal with it. so don’t put your shit on me when you’re the one that’s afraid.”
“i want to hear you say that you don’t love me.”
“no. no, no no no. fuck you, you don’t owe it to yourself man, you owe it to me.”
“i’m holdin’ out for somethin’ better.”
“what the fuck are we gonna do that we can’t spare fifteen minutes?”
“i want to hear it because i want to help you.”
“if you ever disrespect __ again, i will end you. i will fucking end you!”
“you live in this safe little world where no one challenges you and you’re scared shitless to do anything else. because that might mean that you have to change.”
“i’m afraid? what am i afraid of? what the fuck am i afraid of?”
“my father was an alcoholic. mean fucking drunk. he’d come home hammered, looking to wail on somebody.”
“if you were gonna fight them, why didn’t you fight them back there? we got snacks now!”
“you’ll never have that kind of relationship in a world where you’re afraid to take the first step because all you see is every negative thing ten miles down the road.”
“what are you so scared of?”
“well, what aren’t you scared of?”
“i didn’t have to watch you throw it all away.”
“help me? what the fuck?”
“you’re an idiot. i’ve been sitting there all night waiting for you to come over to talk to me. but i’m tired now, and i have to go home, and couldn’t just keep sitting there waiting.”
“people call those imperfections, but no, that’s the good stuff.”
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