#theweddingofthefoxes

[fictionescapism]

Fanfic Rec #138 Kylo Ren/Armitage Hux (Star Wars)

They're Not Telling Us This by theweddingofthefoxes Grad student Hux starts listening to a conspiracy theory podcast that drives him completely bonkers -- and he's so argumentative that he absolutely has to start emailing the host, Kylo Ren, about how wrong he is. The fans start enjoying Kylo Ren reading Hux's angry emails on the podcast, and they arrange for Hux to come meet the host himself. There is no possible way that they could see anything they like in one another. Right?

(Restricted) Kneading by betts Hux's new roommate has boundary issues.

Doctor's Orders by JinxedAmbitions Hux may have too much on his plate.  He's a successful surgeon.  He runs the volunteer clinic his late mother started from the ground up.  His father is constantly scrutinizing his work even though Hux is more successful than he ever was.  His clinic is constantly under attacks whether by politicians with an agenda or fanatics looking to shut him down.  It seems like everyone wants a piece of him. The last thing he needs is Kylo Ren constantly taking up space in his waiting room for every imagined illness he can come up with.  Hux isn't sure if he hasn't been loved enough or he's got one hell of a doctor kink, and he doesn't particularly care to find out.  However, Ren might just be the answer to some of Hux's biggest headaches. The question is whether Ren is more trouble than he's worth.  The answer is most certainly yes, but against his better judgment Hux lets him keep coming back.

Hotline Bling by minzimpression Hux wants a dick pic from his recent hook-up. Unfortunately, he texts the wrong number.

Ride Or Die by slutpunk Phasma had asked him to do her a favor: stay behind and let Rey’s cousin know that Phasma was taking her on a movie date and would be bringing her home in a couple of hours. Hux hadn’t been able to say no. He is a gentleman after all. It helps, of course, that Rey’s cousin is fucking stacked. Six feet, two inches of broad shoulders and hard muscles covered up under layers of black leather, face always hidden by a black riding helmet. The first time Hux saw him it was like every porn, every wet dream, every fantasy he’d ever had come to real life.

[cosleia]

You decide what it would specifically be, but I want one where Hux gets to decide how Kylo will do it

The Deaths of Allegiant General Pryde, Part I: Special Consideration

(Content warnings: choking, asphyxiation, a bit of graphic violence/gore at the end)

“I’ve seen your mind, Allegiant General,” Kylo Ren said lowly, his voice dark and terrifying through his newly repaired mask. In Ren’s Force-hold, Enric Pryde tried not to struggle and failed, limbs shaking and body twitching as his airway constricted further and further.

Enric had never considered himself capable of desperation. He was strong. Controlled. Steadfast, like his ship. And Kylo Ren had never frightened him; Enric had always known what he was, how he fit into the plan. He was a mere pawn, to be used and then sacrificed for the glory of the Empire.

Despite all this, when Enric answered Ren, his voice sounded wild, frightened, too high in pitch. “I have only ever been loyal—” he tried to say, but Ren cut him off with a sharp tightening of his fist.

“To Emperor Palpatine. Darth Sidious. Not to the First Order. Not to me.”

Spots floated in the periphery of Enric’s vision, and the scene before him—Supreme Leader Kylo Ren standing with his arm outstretched, hand clenched as he crushed Enric’s throat—began to fade, to go black. Distantly, Enric registered a sickening crunching sound as he felt his windpipe collapse.

“Not yet.” The voice floated into Enric’s consciousness, haughty and indulgent and wrong. He shouldn’t be hearing that voice, but he couldn’t remember why.

Suddenly Enric’s airway popped open, and the vise-like invisible grip was no longer suspending him above the floor of the throne room. He fell, landing hard on his knees and then collapsing forward, sucking in air as best he could through his rattling throat. His vision slowly started to return; he could make out the toes of Ren’s boots on the ice-blue carpeting in front of him as the Supreme Leader stepped closer.

He had thought it strange that Ren had summoned him to the Supremacy, had been surprised to see that it was being repaired and recommissioned instead of scuttled as he’d originally been told. And he hadn’t expected to be brought by the Knights of Ren to Snoke’s old throne room. This was a stage for a performance that was over now. There was no use for any of it; the puppet’s strings had been cut. But a new stage had been set: no curtains blocked the giant viewports, and the carpet leading from the lift to the throne had been replaced, and there was more technology here now, consoles and holoprojectors and what looked like a workbench. The throne was changed, too. Whereas Snoke’s throne had been somewhat modeled after Palpatine’s on Exegol, jutting up in the shape of a beheaded isosceles triangle, this throne was lower, wider, with a reclined back, and when he’d entered Kylo Ren had been sprawled there, leaning his helmeted head on one hand.

“When?” Ren asked now, sounding impatient. Enric blinked slowly, tried to raise his head, but he found that he could not move. He was being pressed into the floor by the same energy that had strangled him. He tried to shift and he couldn’t, tried to take a deeper breath and found his lungs couldn’t expand past a certain point. His chest was so tight it hurt; his heart felt heavier than a stone.

“We must make certain he knows why first,” that familiar voice said again, and now that Enric could breathe again he recognized it instantly. General Hux, the disgraced commander of the lost Finalizer and Starkiller Base. That was why it had felt wrong. There was no reason for someone of such low status to be here, in a meeting between the highest-ranking general of the Final Order and the Supreme Leader of the First Order, no matter how meaningless the latter title was.

A distorted chuckle sounded from Ren’s vocoder. “He thinks you low status, even now. And he thinks the title of ‘Supreme Leader’ is meaningless.”

Enric could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his wrists and neck. His breath quickened. He was in danger. He had to survive this, had to see Palpatine take the throne that ruled the galaxy once again. “I mean no disrespect,” he managed to whisper.

Swift footsteps marched close, one, two, three, and then something pointed—the toe of a boot—drove into Enric’s side. The pain was sharp and shocking and Enric let out a gasping whimper. “Of course you mean disrespect,” he heard General Hux say as he came around to stand next to Ren. “You have never respected either of us.”

“And so you’ll kill me?” Enric forced out. “You’ll kill the emperor’s right-hand man, one of your greatest allies, because I hurt your feelings?”

“That is reason enough,” Hux said, ignoring the insult. “However, you might have remained useful for a time. If only you hadn’t decided to kill me.”

At that, Enric’s body was in the air again, and he could finally see the two of them, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren in his mask and what Enric now realized was a new costume of sweeping black robes, and General Hux—except that wasn’t a general’s uniform, that was something else, white and crisp and edged in gold, and there was a circlet resting in Hux’s bright red hair.

“You were the spy,” Enric blurted, confused and outraged. “A traitor.”

“You’re the traitor,” Ren growled, and the hairs at the back of Enric’s neck stood up.

“He’s right, though, Ren,” Hux said. “I was the spy.”

Ren sighed, which through his mask sounded like electrical failure, and Enric couldn’t hold back a hysterical giggle. Then Ren let go of him again, turning toward Hux, and Enric crumpled painfully to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Ren said, the words piercing the dim veil of pain and shocking Enric’s eyes wide. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“It doesn’t count when you have that bucket on,” Hux said.

Ren sighed again, then removed his helmet, tossing his head so that his hair shook out.

“There,” Hux said, sounding nauseatingly pleased. He stepped close to Ren, far closer than propriety allowed. “Now, what was that?”

A smile—a smile!—pulled at the corner of Ren’s mouth. He tipped his head even closer to Hux, so that their noses practically touched, and gazed into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Armitage,” he said, so soft Enric could barely hear. “I took you for granted. I didn’t listen to you. I hurt you, and I drove you away. I love you. I need you. I’m sorry.”

Hux’s face went red. “Yes. Well. Good,” he stammered, and if Enric weren’t lying broken on the floor at his feet, it might have been gratifying to see him so flustered. When Hux put his arms around Ren’s neck and kissed him solidly on the mouth, though, all Enric could do was fight down bile. “I love you too,” Hux murmured breathlessly. Then he said, “You can kill him now.”

Freezing panic sluiced through Enric’s veins. Ren’s smile broadened. “Any requests?” he asked.

Hux let out a thoughtful hmm. “A friend of Brendol’s deserves special consideration. We don’t have any of those beetles, unfortunately, but perhaps something similar. Could you pull him apart? Slowly?”

“I could do that,” Ren said. He kissed Hux again. They kissed for so long Enric considered trying to crawl for the door, but as soon as the thought came to him Ren’s hand shot out and fixed him in place with the Force. “Shall we?” Ren asked, and he put his other hand at the small of Hux’s back and they moved to the throne together, like they were a single unit, like—

Enric had underestimated them. He saw it now, too late. Together, they were too powerful.

He should have killed Hux.

“He still thinks he should have killed you,” Ren crooned, settling back into the throne and pulling Hux into his lap. “Fool.”

Hux draped his arms around Ren’s shoulders and turned at the waist to look at Enric, lying in a pathetic heap below the throne. “He's so eager for his punishment,” Hux said. “Let’s not keep the man waiting.”

Smirking, Ren raised his hand toward Enric once again, and Enric shuddered in horror and then in agony as skin and tendons and bone and cartilage and veins and organs and all the other bits and pieces that made him a whole being began to separate, to break away from each other—as he was slowly, inexorably, torturously disassembled.

Allegiant General Enric Pryde’s last thought as he lay screaming at the feet of the new rulers of the galaxy was that he didn’t understand how any of this had happened.

Then he knew nothing but blinding, infinite pain.

And after that, he knew nothing at all.

~

Send your request for Pryde’s manner of death to my ask!

Also posted to The Deaths of Allegiant General Pryde series on AO3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my The Deaths of Supreme Leader Snoke series.

[moonwalkingcrab]

I wish you would write a fic where Techie saves Matt's life!

I almost did once! It was gonna be a story where Matt was taken by the Resistance (who thought he was the lost Ben Solo) so he would have to disguise himself as Hux in order to save him. I didn’t get very far with that one but the planning doc does exist amongst my many, many half-formed story ideas.

[saltandlimes]

What's your favorite animal in theory, and your favorite animal to interact with in real life?

In theory my favorite animals are wolves and frogs, although I also adore ravens! In practice, I love interacting with dogs, cats, bunnies, snakes, owls, falcons... basically all animals possible except for rodents (which I am allergic to) and cockroaches, which I am horrified by.

[It’s Sleepover Saturday]

[cosleia]

@theweddingofthefoxes

Blue Sky Clayworks Crab Dinnerware Set

[kyluxtrashcompactor]

Happy birthday!!!! Your tat looks amazing!

Thank you!!!!!!! It hurt, lol. But I have vodka and a movie about a giant shark starring Jason Statham all is well.

[wittygaypuns]

21 and 22!

21. ideal date?

Hard to say, really; when I like someone doing anything with them is my favorite thing. I think I would love to go on a walk with someone I’m interested in through one of the nature preserves we have around here, though... And hopefully it would be someone who appreciates my enthusiasm for wildlife because I tend to want to teach people about things when I’m out and about. Or if it’s someone who doesn’t like being out like that, I love going to Dave and Busters (because beer and arcade games are the way to this nerdy butch’s heart)

22. favourite compliment from someone

I don’t like compliments most of the time. I have a hard time believing them because I have confidence problems, so when someone compliments my appearance I tend to just smile and change the subject. I prefer compliments that have to do with things I create, or my actions; I’m a fucking sucker for praise when I work or write or create things.

[kyluxcantina]

Flying in a jagged line

Please reblog with your response to the above prompt, or submit your response to the kylux cantina!

[elviscl]

I am never going to get tired of telling you how much I love your work 💓💓💓

OMG THANK YOU >

[sathinfection]

🌻

so there's a species of liver fluke where the male is so small that it lives in a crevise in the female's body for its life but sometimes the male will bond to another male and even though the fit isn't perfect, they will immediately reunite with each other if you separate them

[brainyraccoons]

Pssst Phil is wildly talented and too nice and the best pass it on

Asjkfgnbfkjghntjgkfnhtgkj YOU ARE THE CUTEST AND SWEETEST. psst, hey. heeey, pssssst. I love your writing, you are amazingly talented

[cosleia]

"You can't be serious", gingerpilot?

“Of course I’m serious; this is where I belong.”

Poe drags a hand over his face, refocuses on Armitage, whose own face is carefully blank, and says slowly, “If you stay, you’ll die, and dying is the coward’s way out.”

Armitage breaks, just a little; he closes his eyes and says, “If I go with you, I’ll never be rid of you.”

“So you’ll get the punishment you deserve, right?” Poe jokes, but Armitage is shaking his head.

"If I go with you,” Armitage clarifies, “I’ll be happy,” and then they’ve arrived at the hangar, and there’s the Falcon, and Armitage is going to stay here, he’s going to die, and there’s nothing Poe can do about it.

[moonwalkingcrab]

What's a song you keep listening to lately?

In general, I don’t tend to seek out songs, just listen to whatever nonsense the brain-radio has decided to play that day. Today has mostly been Zara Larsson with Lush Life combined with a medley of Reel Big Fish.

[huxibitionism]

⭐️

Thanks pal!

I’m a baker and I love my job. Probably not for the immediate reason that comes to mind (stuffing my face with delicious pastries often and in large quantities, though that is a fantastic perk), but because I work graveyard shift. Busses and streets are mostly empty which means a quiet commute, no customers which means zero homicidal rage, I’m pretty much my own boss, I get a LOT done when I’m alone, and I get to develop recipes.

So if any of you reading this ever have baking related questions, feel free to hit my inbox up or DM me. Heck, if you just want a tasty recipe I’ll happily hand them out.

[multi-purpose-tool-guy]

9, Techienician!

comin right in with the angst eva, alright, i see how it is XD also this is 1.6k and kinda got away from me, sorry!! 

9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

6:15pm, on the dot, Techie arrives at his apartment and walks his bike through the gate and into the garden. At approximately 6:22 he sits down at his desk with a hot tea, checks his emails. He turns on the tv, ready to settle into a few episodes of bake off until Matt gets home, sometime between 8:12 and 8:37, depending on traffic.

8:15, Techie opens his phone and goes through a few rounds of 2048, distracted. 8:25, he refills his tea.

8:34. He sends Matt a text full of silly emojis, an excuse to see if he’ll read it at a red light or something, and Techie will know he’s almost home.

8:46. Sent, but unread. He refills his tea again, adds more sugar than he normally does. He moves from the living room to sit in in the entryway, tucked against the window on the reading bench. A few more games on his phone until he can’t concentrate, checks the text. Still unread.

He opens the email app with a hurried jab at the screen. Maybe he had to stay late at work, his boss was always dumping work on him (or so Matt liked to complain). His inbox refreshes with a few junk messages, nothing from Matt. He refreshes it four more times, just in case. Maybe he was sending one now? He flicks on the notification sounds so he doesn’t miss it, he almost never has them enabled.

He’s probably stuck at work, covering any loose projects before the weekend. Most people slacked off on Fridays, and somebody has to get the work done, Techie thinks. But Matt would text him, let him know he was going to be late. He checks the text. Unread. They were going to order pizza tonight, they’d planned it, and their favorite place closes at 9:30.

Matt’s never been this late before.

At 9:01, Techie starts to worry.

He calls Matt’s phone and it goes straight to voicemail. He’d picked up a charger for Matt to keep at work when he found a Kylo Ren themed one at the dollar store, so his phone shouldn’t be dead. Something must be wrong.

He calls it five more times, Matt’s gruff leave a message, or whatever making his throat feel tight by the third time. He paces in front of the window, googles his work’s public number. It goes to the automatic answering service, directing any after-hours callers to leave a message. He doesn’t, hangs up, and checks his email again while he tries to get a handle on his breathing (which is suddenly very fast, short choppy breaths.

No new emails.

Text message still unread.

He sends a few more, trying not to let the clenched-tight-ness of his insides show through his words.

Hey! Heading home yet?

Should I go ahead and order the pizzas? Mushrooms and olives, right?

Matt?

He paces, holds his phone tightly in his hands. He triple checks that the volume is up, then he checks again. His tea gets cold.

At 9:42 he can’t breath. He checks online for any news of car accidents, doesn’t find anything. That could be a worse sign, what if he’s hurt or-or worse and no one knows? What if help doesn’t arrive on time? What if someone came into Matt’s IT office with a gun, like so many places he sees on the news? What if Matt’s phone is off because some horrible person shot it to bits when Matt tried to call for help?

The texts are all unread. leave a message, or whatever. No new emails. Our normal business hours are 9am to 8pm, Monday through Friday-.

9:45. Techie can’t breath.

He calls Armitage, because he doesn’t know what to do and Matt still isn’t home.

Armitage doesn’t answer. He calls again and again, leaving stuttery and tearful messages that are probably unintelligible anyway, and he can feel the scream building in his throat until he remembers. It’s his brother’s anniversary, with Ben, and they’re out to dinner right now. He told him about it, weeks ago, there are pictures of them dressed sharp and dreamy-eyed on his facebook feed, posted an hour ago. He sucks in a truncated breath, forces it out as smooth as he can. Tidge is busy, but he’s safe.

10:04, Techie loses the fight with his composure. Tears spill down his face, breathing chopped into pieces by hacking, high-pitched sobs. He pulls his hair, sinks to the floor. His phone is open on the floor near his foot, the only light in the room now dark with the blanket of night settled firmly in place. Message: sent. Unread.

————–

Matt slams his palm down on his steering wheel, the car’s horn blaring at the idiot in front of him taking a goddamn eternity to parallel park on a busy residential-adjacent street.

He’s late, really late, and his boss is an asshole. All he wants right now is to be out of this bullshit traffic, lose his pants and his stupid polo shirt, and have some pizza. He hopes Techie ordered ahead, he’s fucking starving.  

Finally, finally he pulls into the driveway and as the headlights sweep over the apartment he tenses. Techie is sitting outside, huddled on the front steps in one of Matt’s thicker coats, and he startles to his feet before Matt can even kill the engine.

He steps out, the car door groaning as he slams it closed. “Babe? What’s wrong? It’s cold as fuck out, what-”

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Techie shouts, or the closest Matt’s ever heard him get to doing so. He’s also– fuck, is he crying?

“I know, I know, it’s fucking- I’m really sorry, my phone-”

“You ca-an’t do that to me Matt, f-fuck, I thought you were dead!” Techie is trembling all over, Matt can see he’s not wearing shoes and his feet are pink with the cold. He chokes out a sob and Matt takes a step forward.

“Baby, what-? My dumbass boss let Cal and Rena take off after lunch and somehow forgot to tell any of us, and he strong-armed me into staying. I almost punched him Techie, I was really fucking close-”

“I called, I texted you,” Techie says to Matt’s shoes, quieter but hard, defensive.

“Right. Uh. I tried to argue with him and I got into it and I sort of…” He pulls his phone from his back pocket, shows techie the cracked and darkened screen. “I’ll replace it first thing tomorrow.”

He steps closer, right in front of Techie now, and he doesn’t back away but he doesn’t move forward either. That’s not a good sign.

“So you, you broke your phone okay, but. You could have sent an email, I kept checking…” He still won’t look at him. Matt puts his hands on Techie’s shoulders, rubs his thumbs in slow circles. Please look at me, they say, I didn’t mean to scare you.

“You’re right, I should have. I’m sorry, babe, I guess I just.” He takes a deep breath, turns his head to the sky, lets it out through his nose in one big push. He’s home, he’s with Techie, he needs to calm down. “I just wanted to get the work done and get home, as fast as possible. I’m an ass but my boss is a bigger one, I’m really sorry.”

Techie sniffs, loud in the crisp night air, and Matt pulls him close, wraps his arms around him. He feels Techie’s hands lift weakly around his back. That’s a slightly better sign.

“You just, you can’t do that Matt, I can’t… I can’t do this…” He’s mumbling into Matt’s chest and he huffs, annoyed. Does Techie thinks he scared him so bad on purpose?

“Tech, I’m sorry, but I literally had no choice. He made some smartass comment about cutting hours to people who ‘don’t pull their weight’, which is bullshit because I’m not the one who took a half day, but he’s got a complex and we have bills and shit.”

Techie takes a half-step away and meets his eyes fiercely, taking Matt’s face in his freezing hands. “I’m not mad at you for getting held over, I’m not- I was just worried, okay? I can’t shut my brain off, it doesn’t, it doesn’t work like that. It’s fine if you have to stay, if you’re late, you just have to tell me, okay?” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, sniffs again.

“Just make sure I know you haven’t been kidnapped or murdered, and I’ll be okay.”

He tries a weak smile up at him, and Matt is cold and hungry and still a little angry but he gives him a smile back.

“Okay, I promise. Scouts honor,” He holds up three fingers in muscle-memory, and then shivers visibly. “Fuck, babe, it’s freezing, why aren’t you wearing shoes? Let’s get inside.”  

Techie shivers violently as if his body is just remembering that it’s freezing, like his panic had been keeping him warm and was now ebbing away. Matt swiftly bends and scoops techie up into a bridal carry and he squawks, Matt’s parka bunching up around his face.

“I should probably carry you, y’know, so you don’t get frostbite.” Techie snorts and rolls his eyes, wipes his cheeks dry. They pass the threshold and Matt kicks the door closed, and he takes an investigative sniff of the air.

“Pizza?” He sets Techie down and rubs their noses together.

“No pizza, I had a panic attack for dinner.”

Matt groans and he kisses Techie’s cheek in apology, while privately his heart breaks. Techie had been making real progress dealing with his anxiety, winning lots of little battles, and Matt swore to himself then and there that he would never be the source of Techie’s pain, never again.

He pulls Techie into the living room, cranks the heater up, and orders Thai.

send me a pairing and a number! 

[wittygaypuns]

Scarves, jeans, pies!

scarves - favourite item of clothing you own?

I’m not terribly attached to any of my clothing, so it would be a tossup; my binders, or the scarves my mother makes for me.

jeans - what kind of music do you listen to?Is it cliche to say all types? Like... this is my main playlist where I throw everything I may listen to. lmao

pies;

answered!