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short starter call!

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@reyluminis​

-hugs back, but like, air hugs, from a distance, because Pandemic-

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hey-o, just a Global Pandemic Update from your local Anger Gay: 

    - 555 cases confirmed in my state     - no talk of a state lockdown     - i am still being forced to go to work     - no one in my area is taking this seriously     - people are still gathering, shopping, and ignoring the danger     - i am Frightened

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sepeliio:

    For a moment, just a moment, Kylo entertains the thought that perhaps his homecoming will not be welcome. That Cason might be angry for his long absence, that he might raise his hackles, that he might try to drive him away. That at any moment, he might bare his teeth, and run him out. But he doesn’t -- instead, every breath is a whine, each step quick, and Kylo can’t help himself. He immediately turns more towards the other as he approaches, opens his arms a little.

    A long muzzle presses against the softness of his stomach, and Kylo’s expression goes soft. The sauce on the stove simmers away, forgotten, as he slides his hands down, sinks his fingers into the large animal’s fur. It’s a slow, petting motion, meant to be soothing -- whether for Cason or himself, he’s uncertain. Maybe the both of them. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he tries to compose himself. Even so, he can hear his own voice threatening to crack.

    “...I missed you too.”

    He murmurs it, easing down to his knees. It brings them closer to level, and he looks the other over, and then slides his arms around the big creature’s neck. He turns his face to bury it against Cason’s throat, curling his fingers a little more in his thick fur. The other is warm, familiar, and Kylo hasn’t felt truly at home without him. He had done fine on his own before he’d met him -- but now that he’s familiar with him, no space is complete without him.

    “I...know that sorry isn’t enough. But I hope you’ll let me stay long enough to prove that I mean it.”

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    Some things are difficult to explain, and there are situations that he’s never known how to handle. Especially when it comes to people he cares about -- it’s been a particularly long time since he felt he was close enough to someone to owe them an explanation for his actions. That had been part of why he had secluded himself so thoroughly in the first place, wasn’t it? A place out in the woods, where he would never have to explain his oddities, explain the hazy days where he was not himself -- more literally than he would like to admit. 

    But then he had met Cason -- darling Cason, with his own set of troubles, and who better to fall in with than someone who also had an affliction that forced seclusion from the outside world? If Kylo had ever taken the time to fully explain himself to the other, it might have been perfect. Only, how does one start such a conversation? How to explain the follies of his youth? How to explain the struggles of his present?

    How could he have told the man he loved that he was never quite alone in his own head, in his own body? That at any given moment during their time together, there was another voice, whispering to him, criticizing him? 

    That it was only a matter of time until this body was theirs? 

    Those problems are not fixed -- only delayed. He’ll have to face that voice eventually. He doesn’t know, yet, what the outcome will be on the day that he does so. But he does know that he couldn’t have gone another day in the quiet of his own home, and finally, the fear of doing so forever had been greater than the fear of explaining himself to Cason.

    So here he is, in the man’s home, bustling about his kitchen as if nothing has changed. There’s the soft scent of freshly chopped herbs, gathered from the woods. Something simmers on the stovetop, fresh vegetables from his own garden, a sauce almost finished. It smells like warmth, smells like home, smells very faintly of the witch’s magic. 

    With his sleeves rolled up, there is evidence of some changes -- black bands, tattoos, wrap his wrists like shackles. He looks paler even than usual, and a touch thinner than normal.

    It’s to be expected. He hasn’t been well. 

    The noise is so small, he almost misses it -- would have, in fact, were it not for the fact that he has been so anxiously awaiting this moment. For a moment, he stops his motions entirely -- and then he turns to face the wolf in the doorway.

    “...welcome home, Cason.”

          it’s quiet, but it has been for a long time. a looming darkness, a silence that presses in on his ears and drives him up a wall. even his usual jaunts out into the forest did nothing to help him or his restlessness. it crawls through him like a living viscous oil, coiling into every crack it can find and embedding itself all the more.

          a flicker of ears, and he hears the stirrings somewhere in the house. it’s not loud, but it’s enough to make him lick his lips, jaws falling open. cason has long abandoned his human form in an effort to keep himself from his emotions ever since the witch had disappeared. but there’s hope now, a spark of it that stirs in his chest as he slinks from the corner of the room. he hangs low, like a predator hunting, ears pinned forward as he moves. his teeth even bare a little, just in case it isn’t who he’s hoping for.

          it’s foolish to hope, and he knows it.

          creeping forward, he makes his way ever closer to the room, only to draw his vulpine-like head upward, a noise of surprise in his throat as he sees the very familiar form in front of him.

@rendiing LOVE US.

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update: the answer is apparently “no.”

let’s see if the government can figure out who i am enough to give me my tax return this year lmao.

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let’s see if the government can figure out who i am enough to give me my tax return this year lmao.

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@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.

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Bare feet make very little sound on worn wood, even when he ascends the creaking staircase. It’s like the house knows something he doesn’t. Like it knows he shouldn’t be here. Like it knows he shouldn’t exist. Like it knows he’s a ghost made physical. His fingers trail over a wooden banister. Lace whispers around his legs with every quiet movement. He listens, but it never says anything quite sensical. Not like the TV, but Hux doesn’t like for him to watch the TV alone anymore. He says it upsets him. And it often does.

Instead, he has taken to exploring. The house is much too large for just two...people and a cat, but Hux says it is theirs, and so Kylo tries to learn it, when he can stand to be inside of it. It’s not that he dislikes being here. There are soft things here. Hux is kind to him. 

But Ben gets lonely, out there in the graveyard alone. Kylo likes to sit with him. To dig his fingers into the damp earth. To dig and dig and dig and...

There is a crack in a window in the upper floor of the house. The wind howls just outside, frigid, and Kylo can feel the cold tendrils of it on his skin.

The house is not warm, but neither is it cold. Not like the wind. Not like him.

His hands press to the broken glass, as if he could seal the wind out simply by covering it. Instead, he feels a slight sting. 

He thinks it’s the cold, until he pulls his hand back, and sees the dark smear on the window, not quite red, and not quite brown. 

There are a lot of not-quites about him.

Sometimes, things happen that Kylo doesn’t understand. His thoughts feels sluggish; the winter always slows him down, makes it harder for him to connect what should be obvious dots. His eyes slide between the window, and his hand, trying to understand how this had happened.

Thoughtlessly, he brings his palm to his mouth, heavy tongue dragging along the thin seam, smearing the dark color at the corner of his lips, and across the pale of his hand.

It tastes wrong. Nothing like the last thing he had sank his teeth into. That had felt right. It had been warm, so warm, for just a moment, warm outside, and warm inside, when he’d swallowed, and it had been so, so red.

The stairs creak. There’s a voice.

For just a moment, he feels his lips peel back, feels his teeth bare.

Love?

Hux.

Are you up here?

The tension bleeds from his body, and he unfolds himself from the pool of lace and skirts he has created on the floor. A docile sort of smile slips to his face, the earlier wrongness forgotten. It’s hard to remember what all is wrong when Hux is here.

He appears at the top of the stairs. No grave dirt sullies his gown or his feet this time -- but blood remains on the window, on his hand, on his mouth.

“I...” There’s still a metallic taste on his tongue, and he rubs it against the roof of his mouth before he continues speaking, his voice a slightly raspy thing. “I missed you.”

@rendiing​ | bc ur worth it

It’s dark by the time he gets home. Hux supposes it’s always dark this time of year, and the combination of lab finals and grading papers because one of his TA’s is out sick (painfully convenient, really, all things considered) has kept him on campus later and later. He works on keeping his thoughts of Kylo out of his head during the day, although they have a tendency to creep back at the most inopportune moments. Layers of skin, peeled back to reveal the bone and flesh beneath, students dutifully taking notes, and all he can think of is the delicate, iridescent flesh of Kylo’s wrist beneath his, the sluggish heartbeat. A student with complicated plaits in her hair, and he yearns to do the same with Kylo’s, to doll him up, to make him perfect in a way only they understand. Sometimes he catches the eyes of a student, and they look at him the way Kylo did, before. When he was still Ben, still just a nothing who didn’t know his own potential.

Still, he tries not to dwell on those thoughts, tries to keep the anxiety about leaving Kylo alone for so long at bay. It’s rare, in the winter, for him to find Kylo too far out in the woods, but he also knows that the earth calls to him in ways Hux will never understand. Hux doesn’t think he wants to understand either. He likes his world clean and neat and orderly, but he cannot begrudge Kylo his little quirks, especially not after he’s given him so much and asked for so little in return.

“Love?” he calls out, voice echoing in the halls. The house is too big, but he wants room for Kylo to wander. He wants with everything in him to make this less of a house, to let Kylo make it a home. Millicent curls around his feet as he attempts to take his shoes off, and he gently but firmly scoots her over. Anxiety claws at him, and he finds himself hoping against hope that Kylo hasn’t made a mess again. He understands, as much as he can understand this sort of thing. The gnawing need for release, for escape. Part of him sympathizes, but not enough that Hux is willing to let him go fulfill that need.

He doesn’t find Kylo on the main floor, and he keeps the basement door locked more for Millicent than anything else. And perhaps, a part of him is nervous about Kylo and the old gas furnace. He hasn’t gotten around to replacing it, and probably won’t. It functions, and it isn’t as if Kylo or Millicent need the house warm per se. “Love?” he calls out again, voice louder, the barest edge of nervousness bleeding into his voice. It’s much too cold for Kylo to be out in the woods. The stairs creak under his weight, old wood that holds stories and horrors that people like Hux can’t be bothered to care about. “Are you up here?”

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did somebody say kylo ren in one of padmes dresses? ;> @kyluxcollective

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All remaining systems will bow to the First Order!

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My body is a ghost town begging me to live in it.

Ashe Vernon, “Before the Reduction,” Not a Girl (via latenightcornerstore)

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Chaotically Proportional by @menaraline is one of my fave fanfics and I had to draw some fanart inspired by it 😭💖 

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—Legacy Russell

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Feelings

Phasma: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Hux?

Hux: No.

Kylo: I do.

Phasma: I know, Kylo.

Kylo: I'm sad.

Phasma: I know, Kylo

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I will turn myself into a gun, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

Richard Siken, from Wishbone in “Crush” (via adrasteiax)