Work Text:
It is never simple, he expects that. Human minds are never linear; their thoughts tangle, rip and flow from nowhere, never predictable, even with the Force.
Still, when he reaches out, he expects Hux’s mind to be ordered. Maybe cold. Spiteful.
Full of greed, perhaps.
But no, it is not that simple and Kylo should know better than that.
Hux doesn’t just desire things, he sees that immediately when he thinks to look. No, Hux wants it all: whole galaxies cradled in the palms of his hands, worlds ripped apart and thriving, fearing and loving him in equal measure, and milliards, no, billions dying with his name on their lips in both a prayer and a curse. He wants to burn, as bright as the brightest sun, and Kylo is already blinded, the fire eating away his soul. The Empire always rises from the ashes, it doesn’t matter how much blood has to be shed and whose, and this Emperor would be crowned one day. The picture overlays with another, turns into whiteness, like an interference, static, cotton wool in the place of sound, and Kylo Ren gasps as he breaks the surface, the afterimage of the vision vibrant in his mind.