no but supreme leader ren, meticulously and intimately controlled and coaxed by actually disciplined military strategist second-in-command hux, the only one able to influence ren’s opinion with his talented tongue and to fuel and manipulate ren’s emotions with poisonous whispered sweet nothings and cold hands on skin to serve his agenda, biding his time, using and shaping ren into becoming the most feared leader the first order has seen with hux as the silent partner until…just… the right… moment to assume power and by then, kylo would surrender it willingly to the devil on his shoulder he cannot physically or emotionally live without ¯_(ツ)_/¯
Does anyone else ever think about how traditional fiction is categorised by plot/setting (romance, crime, thriller, fantasy) but fanfiction is categorised by the emotions it’s meant to give you (hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut)?
Never thought of it this way, but that’s fascinatingly true.
can I just say as a brief aside how much I love Hux. He looks like the deranged personification of the most unhinged British foreign policy choices circa 1890. He looks like he should be wearing a pith helmet and screaming about the colonials. He looks like he should be in the jungle trying to locate Kurtz and hating every second of it. He looks like he is Kurtz. He looks like a boy they left behind on the island at the end of Lord of the Flies because he cannibalized Piggy. He looks like he should be wearing jodhpurs and puttees and using his manservant as a human mounting block to get on his camel. He looks like a Rudyard Kipling short story. He looks like he thinks World War I is going to be over before Christmas. He looks like he might inherit a small barony and will immediately evict the tenants. He looks like he engineered an elaborate plot to get another boy expelled from Eton because he snapped him in the ass with a towel in the locker room one time, He looks like murdered a commoner for saying Queen Victoria was fucking John Brown.
Turn of the century lookin ass motherfucker. I love him.
Like, I think I’ve said this before, but I can’t overstate it enough: I think people don’t give enough credit to the combination of the people who did the casting, and Domhnall Gleeson, because there was no actor on this green Earth who was going to so flawlessly, cuttingly, razor-sharply spot-on eviscerate that particular extremely British stereotype as a ginger with a green passport and a bunch of silent letters in his name, you know?
Ain’t nobody hates the British like an Irishman. He did fucking research, and brought every ounce of frothing-at-the-mouth nuance a single human could channel, born of hundreds of years of hate and persecution and bloody oppression, cranked that shit up to eleven, and broke off the knob.
(Oh I hadn’t known that Oswald Mosley was Anglo-Irish. Well shit, that makes it personal, no fucking wonder Gleeson had such a fucking field day.)
dispatches from the dumpster 