You're in luck, anon! been living here for a month
WARNING: mad trigger warnings for child abuse and neglect, brainwashing/programming, some unreality, suicide ideation, self-injury, you name it
~~~~~~
Kylo Ren was never good at dying.
He'd thought about it. He'd tried. Back when he was a kid and the darkness inside him was threatening to spill over, and he didn't know how to stop it, and his parents and his uncle and everyone around him made him think it was all in his head... he'd tried. But he didn't know how to. So he didn't do it well.
He was put in a bacta tank and it was called an accident and that was that. Although they knew --he knew they knew-- nobody ever said anything again.
For years after, he'd tried. Not like the first time. Not head on and face first and off a cliff in a planet with high gravity - but in other ways.
He had fought Force-immune foreigners ten times his size, run into speeders, swum without learning, walked through fire and ice - by the time he was fifteen he suspected he didn't know how to die. Once Snoke trained him - it was as if he knew he couldn't.
Hux was different.
He had never been meant to live.
From the moment he was born, and even before that, death was always easier.
His mother had dodged bullets and poison so he could be born, and when he did he laid still for a minute before crying. His squalid arms and legs, his ill-beating heart - the midwife told his mom not to hope too dearly. But she didn't listen.
He didn't listen either. When his father, and the bullies, and the Resistance told him to surrender, to stop fighting, to stay on the floor - he didn't. And he'd had broken bones in every part of his body and bled out his full body weight more than once in his time but he was still standing.
Hux didn't have a shield held by the Force itself to save him, he had weapons, he had fabric or dirt or water or metal, he had nails and teeth, he had rage. When all of the former had run out he still had his brain, his beating heart that technology had made beat at the right rhythm. He had will.
[FILL] Small Mercies - Hux Gen or Any Warnings for Suicide Attempts and Possible Gore [1 / ?]
WARNING: mad trigger warnings for child abuse and neglect, brainwashing/programming, some unreality, suicide ideation, self-injury, you name it
~~~~~~
Kylo Ren was never good at dying.
He'd thought about it. He'd tried. Back when he was a kid and the darkness inside him was threatening to spill over, and he didn't know how to stop it, and his parents and his uncle and everyone around him made him think it was all in his head... he'd tried. But he didn't know how to. So he didn't do it well.
He was put in a bacta tank and it was called an accident and that was that. Although they knew --he knew they knew-- nobody ever said anything again.
For years after, he'd tried. Not like the first time. Not head on and face first and off a cliff in a planet with high gravity - but in other ways.
He had fought Force-immune foreigners ten times his size, run into speeders, swum without learning, walked through fire and ice - by the time he was fifteen he suspected he didn't know how to die. Once Snoke trained him - it was as if he knew he couldn't.
Hux was different.
He had never been meant to live.
From the moment he was born, and even before that, death was always easier.
His mother had dodged bullets and poison so he could be born, and when he did he laid still for a minute before crying. His squalid arms and legs, his ill-beating heart - the midwife told his mom not to hope too dearly. But she didn't listen.
He didn't listen either. When his father, and the bullies, and the Resistance told him to surrender, to stop fighting, to stay on the floor - he didn't. And he'd had broken bones in every part of his body and bled out his full body weight more than once in his time but he was still standing.
Hux didn't have a shield held by the Force itself to save him, he had weapons, he had fabric or dirt or water or metal, he had nails and teeth, he had rage. When all of the former had run out he still had his brain, his beating heart that technology had made beat at the right rhythm. He had will.
All you need is a tooth, a nail, or a will, Armie
This was probably not what his mother had meant.