#tfa ff

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Pairing: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren Rating: Explicit Warnings: Mentions of Child Abuse, Mention of past rape, Violence Fantasy AU 

In a land devastated by war, two kingdoms fight over complete control. Armitage Hux is already twenty-six, entirely unfit for combat and a disgrace to his father. Faced with the prospect of certain death as nothing but a mere soldier, he struggles to hold his own. Spiteful of fate, Hux dreams of ascending to the throne, unite the kingdoms beneath him and finally do what his ancestors never could: Eradicate magic once and for all.

This is the twin-piece to my short fic No Triumph. Again, I am trying to get a feeling for the character of Ben Solo/Kylo Ren by describing his last moments in The Force Awakens. Kylux is heavily implied. I hope you enjoy! Tw: Blood, Death. 

„Han Solo can’t save you now!“ The sound of his voice rips through his throat right into the past. Images of small hands clutching at worn leather jackets. Being carried by dad had always been the best, hasn’t it? The falcon smelled like his father’s brand of cigarettes, the engine liked to stutter too. Why would he not carry him home once more, back into a time when his world had been so small that even Han Solo was great enough to fill it? Nausea. Again with the Nausea. His blood was dripping into the snow. He felt his eyes bulging out of their sockets. There was glass in his stomach, acid in his blood. Someone must have carefully bent his every rib to reveal the heart within. If he fainted now, he would surely die. Crumple. He could. Just go and meet him again. Tell him he was sorry. Tell him what his back looked like when he was leaving. Leaving again. No. There was a monster under his bed and it wanted to be his friend. His parents had always heard cries from the cradle. But he was a big boy now so he had to get hurt. No pain, no gain and gain he must to survive. The loneliness. A creature leaning forward to push his head into Ben’s chest. There were toothmarks in his heart, still. A hopeful child, an angry youth, a broken man. Would he always stay there waiting for someone to return to him, to come back when even his parents would not? When would his voice give out, screaming into the Leia shaped hole he cut into his life? When would Luke kill the evil man living in his head? There was simply no way. Not for him. Never for him. The master liked to drag him by the spine along the only path there ever was. Searing heat and so much power. Enemies, he had to strike down. “Traitor!” he screamed but Ben just stared. Was he not avenging a boy lost waiting for a good night’s kiss? Never go with strangers they said but no one ever told him why. Was he not their creation just as much? Beheaded, cut in half, they should regret making him kneel in front of the monster under the bed. Even when he reached out it felt like violence, eyes slicing as if meant to cut out every part rejecting him. Like mother and father hate-loving each other through marriage, he never learned to connect. Kill them all, make them pay, strew their ashes over a galaxy refusing to pull him out of his own skin.

Snoke at least made it hurt.

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board.”

Poe feels a momentary surge of superiority. He may be bloody, beaten, and aching, but he is still a better pilot than Ben.

When they were younger, they were friends, almost like brothers. As Ben grew stronger in the Force, he acted more fractious toward Poe. The situation was not made better by the fact that Poe was a gifted pilot, while Ben was merely mediocre. His wish to be more like Anakin eclipsed any pride he might have had in his friend’s abilities. Instead, he was resentful of Poe’s prowess behind the controls, and Poe often wondered if that jealousy pushed Ben over to the Dark Side.

“Comfortable?” His voice is almost indistinguishable, but the supercilious tone is unmistakable.

“Not really.” Snide remarks were often how they communicated as teens. They were the best way to get a reaction out of Ben.

He moves closer, slowly gliding up to Poe. “I’m impressed. No one has been able to get out of you...what you did with the map.” There was the vexation Poe was looking for.

His throat aches, but... “Might want to rethink your technique.”

Ben’s hand comes up in a very familiar gesture, and the pressure starts growing behind Poe’s eyes. He breathes through it; the longer he holds out, the more irritated Ben will become. The more likely he’ll make a mistake. It’s an old game.

The pressure increases and Ben slams Poe’s head back into the seat with the force of his rage. “Where is it?”

Poe gasps and chokes out, “The Resistance will not be intimidated by you.” I will not be intimidated by you.

“Where. Is it?” The pressure increases exponentially and Ben pulls his head forward. The pain is bearable until it isn’t. Poe screams as the pressure threatens to kill him and the information he so desperately needs to keep safe slips into his thoughts.

The pressure lets up immediately, and though Ben says nothing, there is no mistaking his triumph as he strides out of the room.