I love people’s writing about perfume, because it’s forced to be so creative. Scent is hard to talk about, so people have to resort to stories and metaphors, all of them intensely personal to the writer.
And when they don’t like a perfume, that creativity gives forth some of the best insults. I have here curated my favorites from Perfumes: The Guide by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez. The list is long, but trust me, they’re all worth reading.
A disclaimer: The same thing that makes perfume reviews fun to read also makes them super subjective. I have never found less of a consensus on anything than on perfume. In other words, if you find your favorite perfume on this list, please don’t take it personally (and don’t blame me- I haven’t smelled most of these myself!)
Fuck off with this myth that people won’t be motivated or won’t accomplish any innovation without profit incentives, I want to do a ton of shit to help society but i can can’t because i spend all my time trying to fucking create a base for my future survival in a meaningless power structure producing nothing but money at the expense of society’s most vulnerable. Just get the fuck away from with that logic tbh
I wrote this at 1am last night (while I was sleep deprived and couldn’t sleep) and then saved this in my drafts, so let that be both an explanation and an apology for this Mess™
It’s the sound of voices that draws Andrew into wakefulness. They creep into his mind like vines and coax him away from the bliss of sleep. The temptation to shake them is a hard fought but losing battle. His head still feels hazy and fogged over, but it’s easy enough to place the owners of the hushed tones.
“You wake them up.”
“No way. You wake them up.”
There’s a pause.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
Andrew opens his eyes just in time to see Matt hit his rock over Nicky’s scissors. Matt shoves his fist in the air in a silent victory cheer while Nicky lets out a quiet curse. He turns back towards the seat with dejected shoulders, his face a mix of fear and dread, but when he makes eye contact with Andrew, it quickly morphs into relief.
“Oh, thank god. I really didn’t want to losing a limb.”
“We’re at a rest stop,” Matt says when he also notices Andrew is awake. “Coach says we’re still a few hours out from PSU though.”
“It’ll be morning by the time we make it back,” Nicky chimes in.
Andrew doesn’t say anything, but neither Nicky or Matt look interested in garnering a response. Their apparent job done, both backliners turn on their heels and head back up towards the front of the bus.
“Was’goingon?” Neil mumbles from Andrew’s right.
Neil has his legs pulled up onto the seat, his body curled up but slumped against Andrew. His head is tucked up against Andrew’s shoulder, and his fingers are still loosely intertwined with Andrew’s own. Andrew turns his head to look down at the striker.
Neil shifts, his body folding up even more towards Andrew and his cheek scraping along Andrew’s shoulder. He lets out a breath and closes his eyes again. The air around them is quiet with all the Foxes off the bus, and Andrew watches the way the streetlamps bleeding in through the windows fall across the crisscross scars of Neil’s cheek, the way the light weaves with the smattering of freckles there.
Neil’s eyes peel back open after a minute, and they narrow curiously as he watches Andrew. Andrew quirks an eyebrow in a silent question of his own.
“I just figured you’d have shoved me to the floor by now,” Neil says.
“I take pride in being unpredictable.”
Neil hums in response and another moment passes in silence.
“Wait. Are we stopped?”
“Rest stop,” Andrew explains.
“Oh,” Neil says, sitting up fully and rubbing at his eyes. “I should probably get some coffee then. Did you want one?” He doesn’t even give Andrew a chance to answer, already nodding. “I’ll get you one.”
Neil uses the seat in front of them to pull himself up, taking a moment to stretch out his cramped limbs. He scrubs a hand down his face and drags his feet up the aisle. Andrew follows him off the bus, digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as they head down the stairs. Neil veers off to the rest stop building for coffee, and Andrew lights his cigarette, eyes sweeping across the few Foxes stretching their legs in the parking lot. He spots Nicky speaking to some freshman he can’t be bothered to learn the name of and heads over to the two.
Once Andrew is standing in front of them, he holds his hand out towards his cousin. Nicky glances down at Andrew’s empty palm before dancing back to his face.
“What?” Nicky asks, feigning an innocence no one believes.
Andrew doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm outstretched and quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s a cute picture, okay!”
Andrew is considering prying away the phone clutched to Nicky’s chest when Neil returns. The striker presses a cup of coffee into Andrew’s outstretched hand, but Andrew merely takes a sip before switching it to his other and re-extending his hand. This time, Nicky’s eyes dart between the hand and Andrew’s unimpressed expression before he turns on Neil with a pleading look.
“Neil. My favorite person. Please tell your boyfriend not to murder me.”
“Well,” Neil says, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Do you deserve it?”
BTS’s reaction to you playing their song on the piano:
A/N: Here you are, sweetie ❤️ I really hope you enjoy it! Hopefully it’s as filled full of feels as you wanted~
Jin: Jin pricks his ears, and listens to the melodious chords fluttering to his ears. You haven’t played the piano in a while. It’s good to finally hear the dusty old instrument in use. He heads towards the sound, before a bout of realisation has him stopping at the door,
where just inside he can see your curved figure leaning over the keys, sweeping the music along with your fingers. He knows this tune. It’s his tune - ‘Awake’.
And without any warning - no cracking or breaking, just out of the blue, like thunder in June - tears well up in his eyes, and shimmer to the brink of spilling
over. Of all the songs you could have picked, you picked the one he needs to hear. He can still
remember the emotions that tumbled through him when he first sang this song: the desperation he felt to keep up with his six brothers, the terror he recoiled from, a fear of falling behind. Yet, here he is, years later, still trembling and afraid, but trying
hard to mask it – reduced to tears behind the living room door. Except… no. Things have changed. Back then, he didn’t have you – you, who keep his chin up, and his eyes fixed firmly on the clouds. You, who believe without
an inkling of a doubt that he can go further, stretch farther, and climb
higher than he ever realised. You, who everyday whisper to him, ‘Kim
Seokjin, how luck am I to have you?’ Really, he should be the one asking you. After all, if it weren’t for you, he’d still be on the ground,
tear-dampened gaze filtering to fickle mist-clouds he could never reach. Now,
here he is, flying – soaring – because of you. Up past blue and into the star
sprinkled black of space.
The tears are falling now, but they feel good – warm and
wet like a spring shower. It’s been a while since he cried - properly, like this. He opens the door, and you turn in your seat to
face him, and when he holds out his arms, you run to him, and burrow into his heat. While you rest your head in the
crook between his shoulder and his neck, he sings the rest of the tune in
low tones. “Maybe I can’t touch the sky, but I’ll stretch my arm.”
Yoongi: It has been a tough day for Min Yoongi. He’s been sat in the
studio all afternoon, all evening, and well into the night, fiddling on his laptop, trying to
get the latest track just right. When he closes his eyes,
he can still see the square of light from his screen, burned in blue onto his
retina. He arrives back at his house, completely drained of energy, only to be
greeted by a gentle wave of music when he opens the door. And despite all the muscles in his face being past their stretching
point, they still manage to push up into a smile when he hears you tinkling away
on the piano, playing a song he produced (of course, nothing else would do for
you), playing something he hasn’t heard in a while - ‘Tomorrow’.
You stop playing when you hear him enter the room,
peeking over your shoulder at his tired face.
“Please continue,” he rasps.
Your brows tip up in concern, sensing how tired he is, but
you return to your music without pressing him with a ‘how was your day?’. In a few steps he’s sitting down on your right-hand
side, and his fingers fitting into the groves of the worn ivory keys, he
unfolds a gentle harmony in the treble cleft.
You continue on, the both of you enraptured in the music,
until Yoongi’s playing fades away, and as you turn to him, wondering why he’s
stopped, his head lolls onto your shoulder. Smiling, you brush a few stray wisps
of hair away from his face. “Tired?”
He nods into your shoulder, eyes closing as you pick up the
tune again, slower and more lullaby-like.
“Rest all you want,” you tell him, “I’m not letting you go
back to work, until I know you’ve fully recovered.” Then, as he slowly slips into sleep, you whisper the lyrics from ‘Tomorrow’ he needs to hear most: “Wherever you are right now, you’re just taking a break. Don’t give up… Don’t get too far away, tomorrow.”
Hoseok: Outside, the wind whisks up a torrent of leaves, clattering in shades
of frozen amber against your window, but inside, cut off from the cold autumn
storm, it glows with warmth, drenched in the heat of love and affection – mainly Hoseok’s love
and affection, directed at you. As you sit at the piano, running through a soft
re-imagining of ‘Autumn Leaves’, he watches in appreciation, head resting in his
hands, breath snatched away at the way your fingers ghost across the keys, eyes half-closed, drowned in the melody.
As the final chords hang in the air, Hoseok rouses himself from the trance you have placed him in and begins clapping in
appreciation – the sole audience member in this private concert. “Wow! Y/N, just… wow! That was… wow….” He tries to search
for a word to aptly describe the feelings you have stirred in him, but nothing
surfaces, so instead, he crosses the distance between you, and expresses himself with a gentle hand on your cheek and a breathy kiss that presses warmth into your lips.
When he pulls away, your fingers reach out, wanting him
back – and, smiling, he obliges, balancing on the edge of the piano stool so he
can be that extra bit closer to you.
With the first pitter-patters of rain starting up outside, Hoseok starts up another kind of storm with you –
flurries of kisses dropping down onto your skin. As the leaves fall, you fall in love.
Namjoon: Sometimes, Namjoon really doesn’t like himself. When it’s
late in the evening, and the light’s fading, he really doesn’t like himself. When he’s wasted away the day, erasing work, rather than progressing, he really doesn’t like himself. When he can’t
force a smile without cracking, he really doesn’t
But, at least he’s coming home to you. And he knows that, despite all
the negativity that’s oozing through him like sewage water, you love him. Even in moments of doubt, like right now, when he arrives home,
faded, and ghostly, and wondering if he’s likeable, he hears you wandering
through chords on the piano, and he knows that you know. Because he recognises the song – ‘Reflection’. It’s your reminder that it’s okay – all of
He leans back against the door as the familiar notes hit him
– spine pressing to the wood and head tilting back till he’s gazing up at the
grey ceiling. There may be no words, but each jump of your fingers across
the black and ivory keys speaks to him. He hears. He understands.
After a few moments, after a few deep breaths,
he feels himself – his real self – float back into his body, and he’s ready to
greet you. He steps forward, into the light of the music room, where you shift
to glance at him out of the corner of your eyes. The music keeps on spinning
out. He smiles at you, and you smile back, and that’s all it takes for Namjoon
to like himself like you love him.
Jimin: “Forever we are young, amidst the scattering rain of flower
petals I run, wandering through this maze.” Jimin can’t help but sing the last
few lines of the familiar song while you rest upon the final chords on the piano.
Turning to him, eyes shining bright, you say, “Your singing still sounds
as beautiful as it did when you first sang this song.”
Jimin heaves out a
sigh. “That was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” His mind flickers back to those
days, an eternity ago (try a few years, but they feel infinite), when you didn’t exist in his life. So many things have
changed since then. He’s changed since then.
Sensing a shift in his mood, you reach out your hands to him, hoping for a hold on his uncertain frame, quivering on the edge of being lost to remembering. In answer to your silent plea, he
steps closer and winds his arms around your shoulders. You ground him back in reality with your head resting on his chest.
“It wasn’t so long ago…” you murmur.
“Sure feels like it though.” Stifling thoughts begin
clinging onto Jimin, realisations of how far on his life has progressed, how
much closer he is to stepping off the cusp of youth… realisations that the
lyrics of the song you played can’t be true. He won’t be young forever, and neither will
you. It terrifies him.
You stretch your neck to gaze up at him. “We’re still young,” you assure him, “And even when we grow
old, and get grey-haired and wrinkly, we’ll stay young – on the inside at
least. All I need is you by my side, and I feel like I could stay vibrant and
strong for the rest of my life.”
How is it that you always know what to say? Jimin swallows down his foul-tasting fears and kisses the
top of your head. “Young forever, you and me.”
Taehyung: As you drift through the dream-enhancing chords, sat over the
piano, Taehyung stands on the other side of the door, enraptured and enwrapped by
your playing. When the final notes peel away into a calm quiet, he opens the door to be greeted by your smile.
“Just One Day?” Taehyung asks, although he doesn’t need an
answer from you – he recognises the melody like he recognises the freckles
on your face.
“Did you like my arrangement of it?”
“Like it?” Taehyung flops down onto the nearby sofa, and
motions for you to join him, “Like it? I adored it.”
“I adore you,” you counter, abandoning the piano stool
to find a comfier spot with Taehyung, perched above him, legs straddling his
waist. Your hair falls down around your shoulders and, as you lean towards
Taehyung, it cuts off the rest of the world, encasing the two of you in your own existence.
Taehyung’s hands reach up to cup your face, and when you close your eyes to his touch, he stretches up to kiss your eyelids. In parting
his lips from your skin, he murmurs, “I never really understood the lyrics of
that song until I met you.”
“What? ‘Just One Day’?”
He nods, bumping his nose against yours in the process. “I
never understood the desperate need to be with someone, even if it was only for one day. But then I saw you, and suddenly it made sense. I got the feeling that
even if I could only be with you for one day, one hour, even one second, that would be enough for me. It’s like my purpose is to be with you.”
You felt the sting of tears as they jumped up behind
your lids, but you refused to let them fall. “I suppose it’s a good thing we
have more than one day then.”
Jungkook: Poised on your doorstep,Jungkook takes a deep breath and steps forward to knock.
The last time he saw you, you had been in floods of tears,
both of you shouting things you didn’t mean. Now he’s outside, wanting to
apologise, to go back to how it used to be. But he’s scared. He’s terrified.
And he can’t bring himself to make a move.
That is until he hears the strains of a piano playing,
wafting through an open window. Those chords are familiar – ‘Love is not over’.
On recognising the song, he slowly breaks down – like a lump of sugar dissolving
in coffee, one second he’s solid and the next he’s disappearing, forgetting
himself and slipping over into tears. He can’t bear to be apart from you any longer, and judging
by your playing, neither can you. Not caring how much of a mess his face is,
puffy and red, striped with tear-tracks, he knocks. And after a few seconds you
answer. Your face is a mirror of his, just as cracked, just as damp.
“I’m sorry…” is all you can say before he pulls you into a
tight hug that squeezes all the air out of you, and he’s murmuring in your ear,
“Me too. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Just like that it’s okay again. With the two
of you, things can never truly be finished – you can never truly be done with each other.
Love will never be over, and so long as you’re breathing, you’ll be together.
if you need proof of pledis’s poor management, consider this:
NOTHING was said or done for NU’EST’s 5 year anniversary. FIVE. YEARS. They’ve been around for this long and we got nothing but Produce 101 intros, which didn’t even have ending videos of support from other people (like, oh I don’t know, other pledis artists?). Talk about a slap in the face.
She stirred her coffee, set the spoon in the sink and turned to walk out of the kitchen. “Anyway, I thank god you and I will never have sex. You are way too …” she paused, seeking the best way to describe her perception of his sexual preferences, “ ….energetic for my tastes.”
Sherlock, at the kitchen table, took in another mouthful of cereal and chewed gingerly. He whispered to his spoon as she cleared the room’s threshold. "You and I, Watson, would make love…sex is for strangers.“
(this is my first masterpost sorry if it’s bad) A bullet journal has a lot of uses. A planner, homework reminders, to-do lists- but understandably, some pages could use a little of inspiration. And what better inspiration than from artists? Even without a bullet journal, quotes can be a great thing to decorate journals, your room, etcetera. So, I’ve compiled a list of quotes (some aren’t very motivational) by some of your favorite artists!
VINCENT VAN GOGH
“I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”
“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”
“I wish they would only take me as I am.”
“In spite of everything I shall rise again; I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing.”
“I see drawings and pictures in the poorest of huts and the dirtiest of corners.”
“One must work and dare if one really wants to live.”
“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.“
“I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.“
“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.”
“I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.”
“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.“
“Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.”
“Everything you can imagine is real.“
“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
“Action is the foundational key to all success.“
"It takes a long time to become young.”
“Youth has no age.”
“Art is the elimination of the unnecessary.”
“Sculpture is the art of the intelligence.”
“Are we to paint what’s on the face, what’s inside the face, or what’s behind it?”
“Give me a museum and I’ll fill it.”
“To copy others is necessary, but to copy oneself is pathetic.”
“Have no fear of perfection - you’ll never reach it.“
"Drawing is the honesty of the art. There is no possibility of cheating. It is either good or bad.”
“Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.”
“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”
“There is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.”
“What is important is to spread confusion, not eliminate it.”
“I am not strange. I am just not normal.”
“It is not necessary for the public to know whether I am joking or whether I am serious, just as it is not necessary for me to know it myself.”
“Everything alters me, but nothing changes me.”
“So little of what could happen does happen.”
“Give me two hours a day of activity, and I’ll take the other twenty-two in dreams.”
“The secret of my influence has always been that it remained secret.”
“The painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through.”
“Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is.”
“My painting does not come from the easel.”
“When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing.”
“Love is friendship set to music.”
“The painter locks himself out of his own studio. And then has to break in like a thief.”
“The modern artist is working with space and time, and expressing his feelings rather than illustrating.”
“Energy and motion made visible- memories arrested in space.”
“Abstract painting is abstract. It confronts you. There was a reviewer a while back who wrote my pictures didn’t have any beginning or any end. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, but it was.”
“I’m very representational some of the time, and a little all of the time. But when you’re painting out of your unconscious, figures are bound to emerge.”
“Abstract art should be enjoyed just as music is enjoyed- ater awhile you may like it or you may not.”
“Each age finds its own technique… I mean, the strangeness will wear off and I think we will discover the deeper meanings in modern art.“
“I must have flowers always and always.”
“Color is my daylong obsession, joy and torment.“
“Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.”
“My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.“
“I would like to paint the way a bird sings.”
“The more I live, the more I regret how little I know.“
“I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.”
“I can only draw what I see.“
“What keeps my heart awake is colorful silence.”
“The richness I achieve comes from nature, the source of my inspiration.“
“I don’t think I’m made for any earthly kind of pleasure.”
“The light constantly changes, and that alters the atmosphere and beauty of things every minute.“
“Nobody sees a flower- really- it is so small it takes time- we haven’t time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”
“If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for a moment.”
“I wish people were all trees and I think I could enjoy them then.”
“To create one’s world in any of the arts takes courage.”
“I decided to accept as true my own thinking.”
“You are one of my nicest thoughts.”
“It’s not enough to be nice in life. You’ve got to have nerve.”
“I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way… things I had no words for.”
“I think it’s so foolish for people to want to be happy. Happy is so momentary–you’re happy for an instant and then you start thinking again. Interest is the most important thing in life; happiness is temporary, but interest is continuous.”
“Where I was born and where and how I have lived is unimportant. It is what I have done with where I have been that should be of interest.”
“I can’t live where I want to, I can’t go where I want to go, I can’t do what I want to, I can’t even say what I want to. I decided I was a very stupid fool not to at least paint as I wanted to.”
“I’m frightened all the time. But I never let it stop me. Never!”
LEONARDO DA VINCI
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
“As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.”
“Art is never finished, only abandoned.”
“Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?”
“Tears come from the heart and not from the brain.”
“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”
“The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.”
“Learning never exhausts the mind.”
“While I thought I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.”
“Study without desire spoils the memory, and it retains nothing that it takes in.”
“I love those who can smile in trouble…”
“It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.”
“I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.”
“I paint flowers so they will not die.”
“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because the subject I know best.”
“I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.”
Producing bad work is always going to be better than producing nothing. The idea of making trash can twist something dark and nasty in the gut, but making garbage does not mean that you are garbage. You don’t have to get it right on the first try– and if you don’t try at all, you’re never going to get it right.
Make your bad work. Burn it, smash it, bury it in the garden, abandon it when you hit a dead end, pack it away in a box labeled ‘practice’. Don’t worry about making it good yet, just make it.
What she means: KENSHI YONEZU WILL BE SINGING BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA’S OPENING SONG FOR SEASON 2 AND I NEVER WOULD HAVE EVEN DREAMT OF SUCH A THING HAPPENING, KENSHI YONEZU IS SUCH AN AMAZING ARTIST AND I LOVE HIS WORKS INTENSELY AND I CAN’T BELIEVE HE’LL BE PERFORMING THE OPENING SONG FOR THE SECOND SEASON OF MY FAVORITE SERIES AND I AM CONFIDENT THAT WHAT HE’LL BE PRODUCING IS NOTHING SHORT OF EXCELLENT AND I AM SO P U M P E D BECAUSE THIS ALSO MEANS HE IS GONNA RECEIVE MORE RECOGNITION OUTSIDE OF THE JAPANESE FANBASE
Hiii could I get prompt no. #7 from the parenting prompts? With kylo ren where he is kind of an ass to his wife and kid at the start and then is good at the end, whatever you'd like to write, thanks xx
22 w/ Kylo
I figured these two requests would go well together, so I hope you both enjoy it! It got a little long haha, but hopefully it’s good!
Kylo Ren +
“Keep that crying thing away from me!” +
“You’re paying a small price compared with what she’s going through.”
Kylo’s nostrils flared under his mask as he strode through the halls of the base, his fists clenched at his sides. The day had produced nothing but unsuccessful attempts to collect intel and more incompetent workers than he could bare to deal with. He knew his anger was at a teetering point.
The closer he got to his quarters the more he tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders. All he wanted to do was collapse and forget that the day had been as useless as it was. Soon approaching the blast doors he entered in the code and let the doors hiss open before entering. The moment he entered however, he almost regretted it.
His ears were pierced with the sound of wails, practically sounding as though they were screaming bloody murder. His shoulders tensed once again as the wails from the infant continued. Looking further into the quarters he saw you with your son in your arms, desperately whispering to him as you bounced him in your arms.
“Shhh, sshhhh, it’s ok, it’s ok.”
Suddenly noticing Kylo’s presence you sighed with faint relief, approaching him as you shifted the infant in your arms.
“Thank stars you’re back.”
Kylo tensed even more as you approached, his chance at relaxation after the day he had seemingly becoming more and more impossible with every step closer.
“Can you please help me with him?”
Just as you moved to pull the screaming baby from you Kylo took a step back. The movement caused you to pause.
“I’d rather not.”
Your brows furrowed, “What?”
His jaw tensed as the wails practically stabbed through his forehead, a migraine already forming, “I would rather not.”
A pang hit your chest as you held your son, put off by the sudden rejection on Kylo’s behalf. He had been hesitant with the infant before, but not so bitterly.
Just as you went to extend your son towards him he burst, “Keep that crying thing away from me!”
You flinched, instinctively bringing your son close to you again as his wails only grew stronger. To hear such venom behind Kylo’s tone, directed towards you, you couldn’t help it. Tears began to prick behind your lashes as you turned away from him and walked further back into your quarters. Just as you made it to the bedroom you heard the blast doors open again, knowing well that Kylo was leaving. Seating yourself on the bed, you fell apart with tears streaming down your face.
Meanwhile Kylo’s nostrils flared again as he made his way to the viewport. At the very least he knew it would be scarcely populated at this hour. Maybe there he could find a moment of peace. Reaching it he released a deep breath, the sound coming out strangely from the modulator. Leaning against one of the railings he wrapped his gloved hands around the metal, attempting to focus on the vast open space before him.
“So you do lurk more in the evening.”
Kylo’s jaw tensed again, feeling as though this day was just all together against him, as he turned to his side. Standing their with not a single regard towards him was Hux with a datapad in hand.
“Can’t I spend even a second of my day without your presence?”
“If you flew out into oblivion, I suppose.”
Kylo sighed as he tried to focus on the view before him. He would likely end up in the training room, exhausting himself beyond movement at this rate.
“Why are you out here at this hour?”
“I need to relax. A screaming infant doesn’t bode well for that.”
Hux paused, raising a brow, “You left your quarters because your infant is crying?”
Kylo didn’t respond, already knowing Hux would make some sort of snide remark.
“So your infant being an infant has inconvienced you.”
There it was. Kylo grit his teeth, “I just need a moment.”
“And what of (Y/N)? Do you not think she needs a moment?”
“Socialism is not in the least what is pretends to be. It is not the pioneer of a better and finer world, but the spoiler of what thousands of years of civilization have created. It does not build, it destroys. For destruction is the essence of it. It produces nothing, it only consumes what the social order based on private ownership in the means of production has created … Each step leading towards Socialism must exhaust itself in the destruction of what already exists.”