xx. musebox

[exhuxperation]

this is actually for donna

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[unresisting]

“Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine."

kylux | h&c

[fureor]

[ It's all falling to pieces; so much of it quite literally as the world shakes and trembles all around him, roaring in his ears. His defeat at the hands of the scavenger rubs salt in the wound, and there is blood in his mouth, the agony of the crossbow bolt slammed into his side giving him strength as much as it saps him.

She won on multiple handicaps -- she wouldn't have had a chance if he truly meant to kill her, but all of this means nothing in the wake of the chaos and the spectacular failure of all their plans. Starkiller has fallen, disintegrating before their eyes, and a part of him wonders at how heartsick the General must be, that his life's work has fallen before him.

He struggles to stand, pounding on the wound as his jaw sets. Pain, pain is what gives him strength (even as it wanes, sticky blood soaking his robes), and he will not fall. The aching torment of Han Solo's face is pushed away, denied, as is the heartache and agony endured in the shreds of his old self. He killed his father in cold blood, and he wonders if this is what power really feels like (like everything dirty has made its home inside of him and threatens to turn him inside out).

He doesn't care. He must not. It was a test and he passed, and that is all that matters.

Kylo struggles to walk, leaning against a tree as blood continues to spill. He tastes copper in his mouth as he forces himself forward, furious with his weakness. He hears voices and machines, the faraway sounds of people searching for him, calling his name -- the familiar white of the stormtrooper regiment glimpsed among the trees.

He's here, too, the General; the only one man he will allow to find him.

Here, He says in his mind, fighting exhaustion; makes sure to show Hux what he's seeing. They have wounds of their own to nurse, and their men must not see. ]

make me a martyr for || kylo ren, hux

[exhuxperation]

[ There are bruises on his waist. They're beginning to fade, already a few days old. At first, he'd been careful how he got up or bent or leaned, not enjoying the wince that came from the healing spots. He could've gone to medical, but that would be admitting they bothered him and revealing that he had them in the first place. So, he deals with them as he does everything else– straight backed and unforgiving.

Except something had taken a turn in the last day or so. The marks were healed over enough not to be so painful, but just this side of mild. In his quarters, he's fallen into a bad habit of pressing his fingers against them, relishing at the sting. It makes his muscles jump, reactively attempting to clench down on the pain point. Hux only pushes harder until he's gasping, pointedly not thinking about who left them there in the first place.

(He thinks about Kylo Ren every time).

Right now he's doing exactly this, shirt half unbuttoned as he sits sprawled in a chair in his room. He's been thinking, cyclically, for at least an hour now, adding pressure and then taking it away. Soon he won't have the bruises at all and somehow, that's disappointing. Kylo Ren had given them to him so easily and he'd hated it. Hated how they remained behind, fingerprints that wouldn't be defined in a DNA test. Only he would know and it still chafes.

Most of all, he hates how much he wants it again, new points on his waist or his hips or wherever Ren decided to leave them. ]

messes around w the timeline, lmk if this is ok.

[snaphiss]

[Mara Jade is twenty. The second Death Star will burst into flame in two years, but she doesn't know that, no one does. All she knows is that the Emperor has sent her on an important mission, and she'll die before failing him. She walks through the halls of the Imperial Palace, and tries to find Captain Armitage Hux.]

[He's a rising star in the ranks, about her age, with his own ship to command in the fleet. There are rumors that he's just riding his father's coattails, but Mara's seen the records, and she doubts that seriously. He's obviously talented with command, and his men seem to respect him.]

[No, the problem is his father. Some of the numbers in his accounts don't match up, and signs point to some sort of corruption within the ranks. The Emperor never tolerates embezzling, and it could be tempting for a man who thinks he's secure, cloistered away at the Imperial Academy.]

[Mara has reviewed her leads, and she thinks a good place to start the survey is his son. If they're not close, that could tell her something important. If they are, it could tell her even more. So she had one of her contacts set the young captain up on a blind date with a young actress from Corellia, and dresses to impress.]

[They meet at one of the many fashionable dining venues for people their age in Coruscant. Mara wonders if Captain Hux has been there before. She has, but only once, four years ago, and alone. She rarely goes to the same place, and never with company. Too likely to be recognized. Too dangerous.]

[The table is conveniently in a corner and Mara's back is to the wall. The entire restaurant is shining glass and elegant silver, all the better to see an attacker coming. Yet her persona is calm and collected, showing none of this suspicion and anxiety. Arami Lunara, the alias she selected for this mission, is too calm and collected for that. She waves politely when she sees Hux approach.] Oh, Captain! I hope you don't mind me getting here earlier. A bad habit from the theatre.

that time when bad decisions happen

[wille]

have u seen ur cape anywher?

i'm a grower not a shower I LIED OH MY G DO

[unsea]

[ ( There are bruises on Hux's neck: dark, terrible things set in place by wicked bites from an equally wicked man. )

The first time, he catches the General unaware. He finds him following leads in a crisp, deceptively criminal venue where everybody looks the other way and the chairs are delicate things, made of wrought galladium metals in spiraling filigree and tawny, earthy tones. It's into one of these chairs that the Darkling crowds him, while the General is in the middle of a vigorous interrogation, spreading his fingers along the nape of his neck while he sinks his teeth into the man's throat. The act earns Hux the undivided attention of his conversational partner and her partner, who has been nibbling away uselessly at her earlobe for the past forty minutes.

( You were too tidy, the Darkling explains later, coiled up like a dark serpent in one of the chairs in his quarters. She thought you were the law. )

The second time, he not only forewarns Hux of his intentions, he televises them. An elegant, single-minded play for his attention, as he bites into a new spot.

( I wanted to, he declares, indolent and shameless, when asked. )

There are other moments: a bite taken here, teeth sunk in there. Once, he catches Hux while he's doing his best to pour himself a cup of mid-morning coffee, taking hold of his wrists, teeth at the nape of his neck long before he whispers to him: How long are you going to put up with this? A dare, a challenge, an invitation all in one wicked query, a laugh in his throat, a knife hidden in his smile. The Darkling slips away, without waiting to hear the General's response. There are a number of moments: once, high on Hux's wrist as he met his eye - once, stolen low on his collarbone - once, just before one of the other Hosts turned their attentions onto the two of them. Conspiring? Why no, not exactly.

And then, there's this moment. One that speaks of great patience and time measured out thoughtfully. A cornering, as the Darkling slips soundlessly into Hux's room, the door latching softly at his back. ]

This, [ He is wicked, a creature of composure and of chaos. A redesigning of his own being to best challenge and consume. ] Is the last.

[ The question is implicit in his words, the language of his stance: this time, Hux chooses where he sets his teeth. ]

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