He’d tried to keep track of
time but after his kidnappers had injected him with something to make his body limp and unresponsive to his mind’s
cries to move, Hux had lost.
He’s held in an oversized bird
cage, round, with a mocking perch
suspended above him, seeds being thrown at him every day in jest of a real meal.
The floor of his cage is cold
as he sits back against the bars, body shivering, wrists cuffed together, and
the cuts on his skin sting and bleed.
But the worst pain comes from his wings being tied together. In four separate places
along the top bones of his glorious grey wings, metal chains have been fastened
around them both, keeping them locked together in an unfathomably uncomfortable position—forced and stretched out behind
him—but regardless of how Hux strains and screams, the ties do not loosen.
As best as he can manage, he shrinks
back into his cage, face buried in his arms.
“Look, Boss,” one of Hux’s
captors clangs against the front of the bars. “Our little birdie looks sad. Should we take him out for a fly?”
thinks, though he doesn’t move. Let me
The thought of being able to
spread his wings, feel the wind blow through his ashen feathers, be able to
fold them back properly and have his
officers admire his impressive appendages makes Hux tremble. He wants to go
back to the Finalizer, back home, back to Kylo.
“Nah, leave him be,” a
different voice replies. “He’s going to be let out today. But for a much better reason.”
The low chuckle at the end of
the man’s sentence makes Hux looks up to see The Boss—a tall human male with a heavily scarred face—staring
through the bars of his cage at him, right
through him. With a loud click of the man’s fingers, four portly men emerge
from behind him and enter Hux’s cage, chains in their hands.
Even with his wings and wrists
tied, Hux puts up a noble fight.
He kicks, he bites, but his
malnourishment causes him to be restrained much too easily, and chains find themselves
around his knees and ankles, one around his neck like a collar for no other
reason than it can.
He’s dragged from his
birdcage, trying his best to flap his wings but the metal chains only rattle
against his struggles; the sound of his captivity.
The room he’s taken to is
large, with a large window in the roof where Hux gets a good look at the purple
sky of dusk before he’s pinned down to the floor, the chains on his wrists and
ankles fastened to hooks on the ground.
“Give him the shot,” the boss
says. “Secure the assets to the ground.”
Hux can’t help but whine when
hands are suddenly all over his wings, a pinprick pain in between his shoulder
blades and suddenly all feelings in his wings are lost. He manages to turn his
head, cheek resting on the floor, to see his wings being unchained but immediately
pinned down again, clasps fastening around the arched bones of his wings.
“No. Let’s wait for the
feeling to come back to the little thing, hm?”
mutters, groaning as the sensation returns to him; and the feelings of the clasps
in his wings burns.
The boss is suddenly kneeling
down beside Hux, brushing his hair from his face.
“Ready to be plucked, my pretty bird?”
Hux’s heart sinks, stops.
“No, don’t, stay back!” Hux yells but only agitates
the fresh wounds in his wings. He’s stuck, he’s trapped.
“Hush, little hatchling. Grey
feathers are a rarity, you know?” His cold hand strokes along the length of one
of Hux’s wings, and he whines. “White and black, boring. Your beautiful silvery, dusky
feathers will fetch me a pretty price. Now. Lie still. This is going to
Hux growls in defiance—though he
realises it emerges as more of a sob—when the man plucks the first feather from
him. It’s a big one, long and perfect, waved
in front of Hux’s face in mockery.
“Don’t cry, birdie. You’re
going to make me rich. My little pet.”
He strokes Hux’s cheek, plucking another feather free with his other hand. “I
wonder, is it true that beings with wings are better sex partners than those
without? Heightened senses, not to mention the sight of those magnificent wings
stretched out when I make you climax so fucking
But the rest of the man’s
sentence is drowned out by the sound of wings being spread, opened defensively
with tremendous strength, wind rushing past everyone in the room.
“Take another feather from him. I dare you.”
Ren. It’s Ren, Hux’s mind
echoes that same phrase, turning his head to the door to see Kylo standing
before them, white wings stretched out in intimidation. Kylo’s wingspan isn’t
the largest Hux has seen, but stars, he
casts a striking image; black robes, scarred face and stark white wings
flanking him, arched to block out the light from behind him.
The boss scoffs, and Hux sees
his hand moving to pull another one of his feathers from his wing—but the pain
of the pluck never comes.
Instead, the man is thrown backwards
with the rest of his hulking posse, cast back against the wall, hitting the
brick with a sickening crack.
“Are you alright?” Kylo says
softly, kneeling down next to Hux, waving his hand to unfasten the binds around
his arms and legs, but the Knight uses his hands to release Hux’s injured wings
from their clasps.
“Fine,” Hux exhales, relishing
in the feeling of having Kylo’s soft fingers against his feathers again. “Just
get me out of here.”
Kylo hums in response,
apologising a few times when Hux groans in pain as he’s freed, able to move his
wings of his own accord for the first time in a long time. The appendages ache as he spreads them wide, pain
radiating down his back and, as he stands, Kylo steadies him.
“How many did they take?”
Hux shrugs. “Only a few. So you showing up a few moments earlier
would’ve been ideal.”
“You’re welcome,” Kylo says and Hux rolls his eyes, but he falters
“I thought I’d never be free,”
Hux says, wings folding in behind him to rest. “I thought I’d die here.”
“Wouldn’t happen,” Kylo says,
cupping Hux’s cheek. “I promised I’d never allow anyone to clip your wings,
Armitage. Not your father, not Snoke, not anyone.”
Kylo smiles at him, pulling
him into his chest, using his white wings to engulf the both of them in a warm
and feathery embrace, protected. Hux feels safe.
New Zealand’s BROODS is one busy sister brother duo these days. Not only have they been revealing songs from their highly anticipated sophomore album, but the two also guest on a much welcome new song from Australia’s Jarryd James! 1000x is darkly moody and softly stirring. Its dusky melancholic beauty is the perfect match to BROODS’ featured bittersweet vocals. My heart is torn asunder by this tender pop ballad. Excuse me as I wipe a tear away from the corner of my eye. Is it a little dusty in here? It is, isn’t it?
MEHREEN SYED is called “the queen of ramp” for a reason and rightly so… Her elegance and poise on the ramp is unmatchable. But what makes her truly special is her dedication to Pakistani fashion; she is the founder of Pakistan’s first training institute, IFAP, that trains and grooms aspiring models, makeup artists and photographers.
AMNA ILYAS best loved by designers for her versatility in high fashion editorials, this dusky beauty can transform herself into anything. She is also vocal about fairness creams ads in a fairness crazed society, “I find them offensive. These appallingly irresponsible advertisements promote self-loathing and low self-esteem.” Another reason why we love her.
ZARA PEERZADA is best known for her out of the box sense of style. She does not have a huge body of work and nor is she a runway model but it’s hard for anyone to ignore her when she shows up with creative editorials and edgy red carpet appearances. She is the favorite of many designers and is the brand ambassador of the most popular cosmetic company in Pakistan, Luscious Cosmetics.
SADAF KANWAL and AMNA BABER, both new, both started their careers around the same time and both have become the new favorites of most designers. You will see them in almost every photoshoot and it’s not hard to figure out why. Both can rock the runway as well as editorials.
Ask and ye shall receive, Latte dear. Hope you guys like!
Also have a very appropriate gif to set the mood.
“F-forgive me, m-master… I h-have f-f-failed you…”
“Do not speak. And keep still. Any more damage to your body and not even my magic will be able to mend you.”
Bared hands glowing with a crimson light, his palm hovered slowly over the Twili’s abdomen. The beautiful, dusky skin the warlord had caressed so many times before was marred by jagged clawmarks that furrowed deep into his minion’s flesh. Zant whimpered under his breath and shivered feverishly.
Cradling his lieutentant’s head with his free hand, Ganondorf’s thumb stroked his gaunt cheek over and over again in the only comfort he could offer in that moment.Sweat beaded on the Gerudo’s brow from the sheer effort of healing, and his face was twisted in an unmasked snarl. Glancing up for a moment he took in the sorry state of his other second-in-command as he lay in the corner.
Ghirahim was hardly any better for the near-fatal encounter. Only his more robust body and agility had kept him from death in the ambush. The porcelain veneer of his skin was still falling off in ashy flakes, revealing the scuffed and dented metal beneath. Acid burns covered him from head to tie. The gem in his chest had escaped damage by dumb luck.
The attack had come out of no where. Somehow the protective wards had been compromised. Unprovoked, in their very own fortress, his commanders had been jumped. The warlord had arrived barely in time to see the demon, Wizzro, and his shadowlings disappearing from the scene. And he was left to pick up the broken and bleeding pieces of his two lieutenants.
When Zant was finally in a stable condition, when he had finally succumbed to the sheer trauma of the skirmish, the Gerudo slumped against the cot. It was not exhaustion that bowed him, however. No, it was anger. Grinding his teeth together and slamming his fist against the flagstones, he could scarcely hold back the roar building in his throat.
There were no words for this humiliation, this rage. Under his own watch the bastards has snuck in and nearly killed his best lieutenants. And then the perpetrator had turned tail and fled like the cowardly jackal he was before Ganondorf has been able to return the favor. Oh, but the man would amend that little matter presently.
Gently he carried Zant’s limp form, careful not to disturb his bandages or the barely closed wounds beneath. The Gerudo laid the Twili next to his demon partner, both out cold and half-dead. For a moment Ganondorf allowed himself to hang over them, his armored frame a shelter for the convalescent pair. He touched his temple to theirs in turn, and the weak yet warm pulse he felt beneath his palms was enough to assure him that they would yet survive.
“Rest, my warriors,” he rumbled gruffly, lips pulling as he bared his teeth. “This humiliation will not go unavenged. I will make sure of that.”
Rin joins the queue spread across the rippling grass lawn eagerly, hopping with excitement that rushes through her bones like the lazy heat of sunbathing. Her enthusiasm causes her to step on three boots, knee a chair into some unfortunate guest (not hopping with enough excitement, apparently!), and almost steps on a service dog’s tail. She feels deadful about this last incident and spends some minutes apologizing heartily, talking too much with her hands in that way she’s picked up from Honoka now that she’s back from her internship in Italy. The elderly woman, who has Eli’s eyes and some same way of frowning so small and yet so cutting, takes this into stride, nodding blithely.
Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas [Diana = goddess of the woods] and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish [flirting], cold and amorous [loving] by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet.