Hux can feel the bile rising in his throat as this creature stands before him. This foul, twisted monstrosity that dares wear the face of his lover. He wants to lash out, strike, scratch, bite, pull. Anything to see a reaction in those dead brown eyes that once seemed golden with warmth.
Ben Solo eyes him with disgust. A sneer that is so familiar that Hux does the one thing he swore he would not in the bitter hope of getting a reaction.
He kisses him, hard and fast, exactly the way he knows Kylo likes it. He throws everything into it, hoping against hope that at least a shred of familiarity still remains.
There is nothing. Ben’s face his blank, lips unyielding. Barely a reaction and Hux knows that he is lost.
Pain rips through him, making his stomach clench and his throat gro tight. As raw and powerful as Kylo had once claimed his feelings for Hux to be. And now there is nothing.
21 but Hux talking to someone else about Kylo, if you feel like it
21. “Why are you laughing?”
I suspect you intended me to have Hux demanding why someone else was laughing, but I flipped it the other way around. I hope you still enjoy :)
Warnings for minor character death and unhealthy, possessive relationships (so, standard kylux material). Also, a fair amount of crack.
“Excuse me, General,” Admiral Markus demanded, face splotchy with rage, hands balled into fists at his sides, “why are you laughing?”
Hux couldn’t contain himself. Or: he could have if he’d wanted to, but there was no point. He had nothing to prove and no respect to demonstrate, two facts that were clearly not lost on the Admiral. Hux held one hand over his mouth, more in parody than to truly mask his laughter. In any event, it didn’t do anything. Markus looked fit to explode.
“This is a serious matter,” Markus spat. “Your underling--”
“Kylo Ren,” Hux said, staring at the pitiful excuse of a man before him, “is not my underling.”
“Your co-commander, then,” Markus said with a sneer. “He’s ruined my shuttle, destroyed my sleeping quarters, and had the audacity to convince my bridge crew to refer to me as Miss Moppet.”
Hux snorted and repeated, under his breath, “Miss Moppet...”
“I demand that you take penal action against him,” Markus said.
“Perhaps you ought to have considered what my co-commander might do should you disrespect me in front of our troops.”
“Disrespect?” Markus asked, snarling. “I’ll show you disrespect--”
He didn’t get much farther. His face went from splotchy to full-on red, and he lifted slightly off of the floor.
“Kylo, put him down,” Hux said. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to find his lover there.
“He deserves worse,” Kylo said. “His thoughts...” Still, he released Markus, who hit the floor, choking.
“Apologize,” Hux demanded primly. He nudged Marcus with his foot. “You’ve upset my co-commander. You owe him an apology for that, at the very least.” Behind him, Kylo snickered. Hux couldn’t keep the slightest of smiles off of his face, and not for lack of trying. Truly, Hux’s ability to contain himself was next to negligible when his co-commander, lately his lover, was anywhere in proximity. In contrast, of course, Kylo’s inhibitions had increased tremendously. Kylo had called it balance; Hux had been more than half-tempted to call it fate.
“I don’t owe that thing an apology for anything,” Markus spat.
Hux moved quickly, mechanically, without giving it a single second thought. All mirth disappeared, and suddenly Markus was no longer a person but a thing, and a dead one at that.
“Hux?” Kylo asked, approaching at last.
“You aren’t a thing,” Hux insisted, looking at the lump of flesh before him. He turned to Kylo. “You are...” He looked up and down, searching for the appropriate word.
“A thing that belongs to you,” Kylo filled in.
Hux shook his head, though he couldn’t help how much the thought pleased him. He had to remind himself that although it sounded delectable--Kylo, all his for the taking all the time, not a person but an object, something he could own and control--it wasn’t reality. Reality was richer, better.
“No,” Hux said. “You are Kylo Ren. My lover. Master of the Knights of Ren. Scourge of the Resistance.” Kylo scoffed. “You are an individual amongst the masses. That thing masquerading as a person,” Hux said, gesturing at the corpse, “was not.”
Kylo cupped Hux’s face. “He insulted you, and yet you only determined he had to die when he turned on me.”
Hux flushed.
“You’re no mere thing, either,” Kylo continued. “I am fortunate to have you in whatever manner you permit.”
“Likewise,” Hux replied, mouth dry. Eloquence had abandoned him and taken up residence with Kylo, clearly. “Did you really tell them to call him Miss Moppet?”
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (◠‿◠✿)
Ooo, this is going to be tricky.
A New Kind of Role:
A Sander Sides fic I wrote at 3am! I’m really proud of how I wrote the speech patterns of all the Sides. It follows Thomas as he struggles to get to grips with a new role he’s been cased in, hijinks ensue.
Show me Mercy from the Powers that be:
A Critical Role fic based on the emotional aftermath of Episode 68 and my very first attempt at adding Matthew Mercer into a fanfic. A good bit of angsty fun.
Tales of Before:
Another Critical Role fic, currently only a one shot. Focuses on Percy’s relationship with his father and why he chose to become a Tinkerer.
Our Love is God:
This one is looking to be my longest fic of the lot. It’s a critical role Heathers!AU. Basically, it’s retelling the events of the film/musical with critical role characters. Lots of angst, some Perc’ahlia fluff and buckets and buckets of murder! What’s not to like?
Setting Fire to their Insides for Fun:
THIS IS THE BEST FANFICTION I HAVE EVER WRITTEN.
*Clears throat* No, but seriously this is the fic I am most proud of. It’s a Heathers fic that explores what would happen if J.D. succeeded in blowing up Westerburg High. It’s solely based on the movie and writing a fully psychopathic end-of-movie Jason Dean was a whole lot of fun.
The merchant was taken aback. “I beg your pardon, miss? Ofcourse it’s real! I am not some con artist! How dare you insinuate-”
Eliza picked up a rock, steadying the purple stone beneath it.
“So if i were to whack this, it wouldn’t smash into bits?”
The merchant hesitated, face turning redder than the “rubies” he had so precisely placed in view.
He snatched the purple stone back with a snarl, long spiny tail whipping about.
“Take it easy, or you’ll burst a blood vessel.”
The demon began to rot the table top with the palm of his hand.
“Is this really worth it?”
With a hiss, the merchant shed the rest of his human form. A mass of shadows and blood writhed about in the vague shape of a person.
“No one….has ever talked to me that way before….”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “No one? In the thousands of years you’ve been around, literally no one has EVER talked to you in a way other than total ass kissing? I’m shocked. Must have not met very many humans.”
The demon snorted, but then seemed to look away. “Actually….you’re my first human customer….and I’m only 35 years old. Been in between jobs. Underworld wasn’t cutting it for me.”
Eliza looked thoughtful. “Tell you what. I’m an auto mechanic. Shop could always use an extra hand. Or 4. You just….have to keep your cool. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
The demon smiled, showing half a dozen rows of teeth.
It’s not like Ren grew up as some wild child, or a peasant, in his former life, when he was Ben, when he wasn’t the protector of the heir. He was the son of a General, one who was a politician as well as a princess, and he had learned how to behave in public early on. Organa’s son had been trotted out at many a dinner and gala, and even though he’d sometimes gotten bored or antsy, he’d never made a scene or anything like that. But he’d also spent an equal portion of his childhood running around barefoot, chasing other kids in the dirt, or going on trips to places most generously described as ‘seedy’ with his dad. He knew how to be a little….well…coarse.
The concept thrills Armitage, though. He has been under intense scrutiny from the time he was born, and there were no getaways to other planets or seasides or anything like that. If he was feeling particularly daring, he could venture into the woods just outside the palace gardens, by the lake, but he had to come back quickly or else his absence would be noticed and he would surely be punished.
“But if you go with me,” Armitage says, “Then I’ll be supervised, officially. And I could go all kinds of places.”
Ren shifts in his seat. They’re at breakfast, and Armitage’s eyes are shining bright at Ren across the table as they eat fruit and toast with eggs on top. “What if your father tells me not to? I can’t–go against your father.”
“We don’t need to ask him, and we won’t go anywhere far, or long. But I’m protected, now that you’re here. He won’t mind.”
“If you’re sure,” Ren says, though he still wonders. “Where will we go?”
“We could go all the way around the lake.”
It’s far, and the further around they go, the less tamed the terrain is, until it is all squishy and muddy and weedy. They tear off their shoes and pick their way through the dirt and gloppy marshy ground and vegetation. It is a terrible mess, and Ren has never seen Armitage with muddy feet.
“My father would be horrified,” Armitage says with such satisfaction that it makes Ren smile.
“How will you keep him from finding out about–” Ren indicates to Armitage’s trousers, which are rolled up but still spotted and splashed with mud. “All that?”
“He’s not the launderer, you know,” Armitage laughs. “I have lots of clothes.”
“So no one will mind if they get ruined?”
“What are you–oh, kriff, Ren!”
More coarseness, so unexpected, something he’s been bursting to say but unable to in polite, Imperial company. Ren has thrown a handful of muddy water right at his chest, and he can’t keep up the pretense that he’s horrified. Then he too is grabbing at the muck, splashing and screeching, engaging Ren in war…
It is the first time Ren ever see Armitage let go, really let go, be himself.
In the weeks after Brendol’s death, after his fear faded and his confidence built, Ren saw it more and more, constantly, Armitage happy, Armitage satisfied with himself, his life. Armitage coarse, speaking in a filthy tongue that he must have picked up from somewhere–
–when they are finally lovers, when Hux has no authority above him but his own heart. Ren has always slept in Hux’s bed but now it is different, now it is even better.
Did he learn it from Ren? Maybe he did. A little coarseness can be so sweet.
Kylo hissed at Hux from his position halfway up the wall of the base. Stars knew what he was holding onto; in the dark, it seemed as though he was simply defying gravity, no handholds required.
“Why did you think this was a good idea?” Kylo demanded, voice low and snappish. “If you can’t get up here--”
“I didn’t,” Hux shot back, still on the ground, arms folded. There would be a patrol around any moment now. They’d been here for far too long, bickering. “I wanted to bring a squadron.”
“You wanted to attack from the side.”
Hux wanted to throw up his hands in exasperation, but he forced himself to keep them on his blaster. No sense getting swept away, as Kylo had clearly been.
“Attacking from the side with a squadron to break down the walls,” Hux shot back. “You don’t listen to half of what anyone says.”
“You can’t climb up here?” Kylo asked for what seemed like the thousandth time. Any moment now, they’d be spotted. Hux was tempted to start counting.
“I’m not a gorgodon, I can’t climb a sheer wall,” Hux said. “Why don’t you just pull me up, like I suggested when you started this nonsense?”
Kylo’s attention was drawn to something to his right, Hux’s left. Hux stared through the darkness, willing himself to see better. His night vision had never been particularly good.
He missed the moment where Kylo let go of the wall with one hand. He missed, too, the gesture that accompanied the motion. He did not miss the moment when his feet left the ground.
Hux let out an indignant curse as he sailed above Kylo’s head and landed quite hard onto the platform Kylo clearly intended to enter through. In a moment--during which Hux tried and failed to pick himself off of the dirty stone--Kylo stood beside him.
“You,” Hux said, heart pounding, “are an ass.”
Kylo shrugged. “Your idea,” he said, petulant as ever. Then he was off, disappearing into the dark. Hux had to hurry to follow him, his blaster now in both hands.
“We should have brought a squadron,” Hux groused.
“It wouldn’t have been half as romantic,” Kylo said. Hux glared in his general direction. “This way. Ready to get your hands dirty, General?”
“Ready to finish the foreplay, certainly,” Hux muttered sarcastically.
Kylo laughed, dark and low, and Hux shivered. Joking or not, it seemed he’d been right.
