inappropriately timed force bond moments (both nsfw and humor approaches)
dream-sharing
emotional bleed/transference (from rey, involving other parties)
inappropriate force bond voyeurism on rey/poe or rey/finn
mid-conversation force bond interruption
The Rise of Skywalker- Cross-galaxy chase of the Resistance
anything related to ben solo, but especially:
snoke confessionals with family or friends of family
returning to the light
smuggler life style
jedi knight ben
resistance-fighter ben
The Rise of Skywalker- Force Ghost communications w/ Rey
anything related to supreme leader kylo ren, but especially:
fall via coup
resistance fighter reconditioning (gen or nsfw)
force ghost visits from anakin/luke/rey/leia/snoke
defeat by the resistance, and subsequent aftermath
The Rise of Skywalker- Mole Discovery w/ Hux
canto bight:
shady weapons deals
picking up prisoners
recruitment
obligatory dinner party
general casino shenanigans
beach party
basically any reason you can think of to use canto bight as a setting piece
A note on romance: I will ship all of the new trilogy characters with Kylo Ren (except Snoke/Family). But I have no interest in exploring domestic-style takes on them. Thank you for understanding.
[He offers no hesitation at any of it, only waving his hand to unlock the bathroom for her from where he stands. Not long after, he descends into a seat and props his head up on the table. It's all very pedestrian and lazy, unlike the militant assassin he once had been. Eventually, his eyes slide back from the wall to her, and that same tired look remains plastered.
Whether or not he's given up, he makes no further vocalizations. For all his exhaustion, her plan to outlast his stubborn streak seems to be working. Something about his pale skin is vaguely green, on top of it all.]
Do as you like.
[Within reason, of course. She wouldn't be able to drown herself in there. If she took too long, he would check before she'd manage any substantial damage to herself, and now that the bond had been reestablished -- he would feel it all anyway.
But he couldn't afford to keep fighting the vitriol. He had to accept it for what it was, before Hux picked up on his weakness.]
[ The acquiescence comes so quickly — so nonplussed on top of it all — that Rey's first reaction is to blink owlishly. His marked lack of hesitation feels like a trap, truth be told, but she knows better. Knew him, at one point. Supreme Leader or not, Kylo Ren lacks the same shrewd streak of manipulation that had belonged to his former master. He has always felt too much and too deeply, like her, to be performative.
Or ... had. The lackadaisical indifference has her searching, gracelessly and remorselessly digging at his end of the bond, to be certain time has not misshapen him entirely. ]
You should take your own advice and eat. [ That comes after a lengthy pause, occupied by restoring feeling to her legs. Tiny pinpricks plague her as she grasps at the bedding just to balance herself as she stands, wobbly and unbalanced. ] You look like a corpse.
[ Says the woman who had looked like a husk not so long ago. It isn't concern, she tells herself, but it nags at something inside of her to see him ... sickly. Unmoved. Maybe he does want her gone, after all, but she reminds herself a moment later he would not go to great lengths to ensure she never harms herself if he was planning her execution.
Too stubborn to ask for help just yet, she stumbles, grasping at the table until her knuckles go white. Another bump sends her tilting into the wall, but for as pathetic and humiliating as the display is, it gives her an anchor to take her next few steps without falling as she slides along the metal lines of it. ]
[No thanks to her, of course. But it wasn't all Rey's fault. It was simply a symptom of the Dark Side, and how he repeatedly tugged upon it. Now might have been a good time to ask if she had looked in a mirror lately, but the wit simply isn't there. His choices had been poor in many stages of his life -- he was paying for them all now.
So be it. His goal was to live, and he was living. Husk or no husk.]
[ That's right. She had forgotten that he is not the man she remembers, not the man she had wanted. The twinge in her chest brings a new resurgence of grief with it — the same that floods her each time she wakes to cold, unforgiving reality and remembers what he had done. What she had become. What he had pushed her toward embracing, finally.
Like him, though not in the way he had wanted.
She pauses in her efforts, laborious breaths following the heavy rise and fall of her chest. ]
You don't look anything like I remember.
[ In her weaker moments, she had wondered. Struggled to envision him, even. It had not prepared her for a stranger. No, not a stranger. A shadow of Snoke, decaying and feeble despite the power he had harbored. Something mournful touches her voice, though she doesn't force herself to examine it. It would mean touching the soft parts of herself she has forgotten, that she had offered him: vulnerable, wanting to be seen. ]
It reminds me of your master. [ That face, too, has faded — but she had been glad for that. This brings her no joy, only hollow victory. She pauses at the 'fresher door. ] I don't like it.
[ He has shown he doesn't care for what she likes at all. It's the only confession she offers, and even that feels undeserved. She disappears around the corner, leaving the door open — better not to give him a reason to interrupt her — and tosses her clothing aside, turning away from the mirror behind her, as she leans over to fill the too-lavish bathtub his quarters possesses. ]
[It reminds me of your master is what does it. He cannot quite hold his unaffected posture until she is out of the room, but he makes a good go at it. The comparison to Snoke steals the guilty breath from his lungs -- it is only the lack of fitting in his now too-large tunic that hides the way his lungs shudder with acknowledgement of the truth.
He'd never wanted that -- to become like Snoke, to be Snoke, but it was no less true just because he refused to give it ample space in his mind. His relationship with his former master had been beneficial, but complicated. Too complicated, as he discovered too late. For all the affinity he felt for the Dark Side, his training with the former supreme leader -- it had changed him.
But that was the way it was, whether or not he liked it. Whether or not Rey liked it. It was the only way to keep the First Order running. It was the only way to keep Hux from spiraling out of control and coming down on the rest of the galaxy. He didn't expect her to understand that.
He sits down on the bed quietly without a verbal acknowledgement of what she has to say, but he takes the time to close his eyes and lean on the bond instead. If he couldn't watch with his eyes, then he'd at least make sure she wasn't doing anything he wouldn't approve of.]
[ In his flashes of guilt, she can almost mistake it for a glimpse of his long-buried humanity. It washes away like the streaks of dirt and sand that have crusted on her skin, receding into the steaming water. To believe there is some part of him not tainted by darkness, that is still worth saving, is ... precarious.
Dangerous. A threat to what she has convinced herself of for three years. Rey turns from it, averse to examining what discomforts her, and sinks down into the scalding warmth of the tub. It feels a waste, but she doesn't have the muscular fortitude to stand on her own two legs for fear of falling. More than that, it reminds her of what he had given up in pursuit of these luxuries, his prestige, the position of power he holds.
She can't hold onto that for long. The warmth is a balm to her stiff limbs and the deep-set ache in every bone, lapping at the mangled bracelet of bruises that have begun to form from his persistent need to bind the bird-like bones in her wrists and ankles. From Rey's side of the bond comes a strange flutter of contentment, the pour of simplistic relief as she droops into the water, eyelids fluttering closed.
It's the only comfort she has had in some time, however fleeting. Rey seizes it, so much so that she dozes off before she can finish scrubbing the grime — and blood, leftover from her attack on him, dotted across a band of freckles — from her collarbone. ]
[The contentment floods the bond, and Kylo Ren feels his shoulders unknot in a series of slow pops -- each feels like heaven, even for the brief bite of pain that they each offer. His sigh is slow, rapturous, like he had forgotten such a feeling was possible, and the moment it disappears, he finds himself depressed for its loss.
That is when his eyes open, and he becomes aware that Rey had fallen asleep in the tub. She would catch a chill before too long, judging by the lack of flowing water. No doubt she would prefer that then to find Kylo Ren leaning over, scrubbing her while she was naked and asleep. But this isn't really about what Rey would or would not prefer.
She is his responsibility now. And that means she needs to be clean, and she cannot be permitted to catch a chill.
Still, he gives her a bit of her own time to wake up before he approaches the door with a dry towel and a fresh wash cloth. He is careful and quiet as he steps in, as if this will somehow be easier if he can manage to keep her asleep.]
[ As if recognizing his approach, her eyelids flutter, a gradual stirring that is not complete until he crosses the threshold fully. Only then do her limbs jerk and startle; Kylo Ren is too heavy on his feet even when he seeks to be gentle, thundering along in a manner that makes her believe he is trying to conquer world beneath his feet, and the dark cloud that follows him — more potent, now — does him no favors.
It's the latter, primarily, that does the trick in rousing her. A klaxon, in its own manner, that seeks to warn her. She hates the wide-eyed stare she must give him, vulnerable and caught off-guard in the groggy throes of waking, though not more than the feeling that those few minutes of peace have been stolen away from her.
The urge to pull up her knees is there, though not for modesty's sake. Not even to conceal the scars peppered along the planes of her back from battle, from the gunfire he had trained on the Resistance, from the blaster bolts that had nearly taken her down. Shielding the expanse of wet skin on display — more luminous now, glowing and alive rather than sunken and wan — would only be a self-defense mechanism from a man that has used intimacy to try to wear her down in the past, weaponized it and her own body against her.
Even as her fingers twitch, curling over the lip of the tub as droplets cascade over them to drip onto the floor beneath, she resists the impulse. She has no intention to make herself smaller, straightening her posture where she sits. Rey holds his gaze unwaveringly and says nothing — watchful, waiting for his next move.
Either he will prove himself to be that same desperate monster that he had shown himself to be, or he will allow her body to remain her own in that way. To some extent, it is a blatant test. ]
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no subject
[He offers no hesitation at any of it, only waving his hand to unlock the bathroom for her from where he stands. Not long after, he descends into a seat and props his head up on the table. It's all very pedestrian and lazy, unlike the militant assassin he once had been. Eventually, his eyes slide back from the wall to her, and that same tired look remains plastered.
Whether or not he's given up, he makes no further vocalizations. For all his exhaustion, her plan to outlast his stubborn streak seems to be working. Something about his pale skin is vaguely green, on top of it all.]
Do as you like.
[Within reason, of course. She wouldn't be able to drown herself in there. If she took too long, he would check before she'd manage any substantial damage to herself, and now that the bond had been reestablished -- he would feel it all anyway.
But he couldn't afford to keep fighting the vitriol. He had to accept it for what it was, before Hux picked up on his weakness.]
Just do it quickly.
no subject
Or ... had. The lackadaisical indifference has her searching, gracelessly and remorselessly digging at his end of the bond, to be certain time has not misshapen him entirely. ]
You should take your own advice and eat. [ That comes after a lengthy pause, occupied by restoring feeling to her legs. Tiny pinpricks plague her as she grasps at the bedding just to balance herself as she stands, wobbly and unbalanced. ] You look like a corpse.
[ Says the woman who had looked like a husk not so long ago. It isn't concern, she tells herself, but it nags at something inside of her to see him ... sickly. Unmoved. Maybe he does want her gone, after all, but she reminds herself a moment later he would not go to great lengths to ensure she never harms herself if he was planning her execution.
Too stubborn to ask for help just yet, she stumbles, grasping at the table until her knuckles go white. Another bump sends her tilting into the wall, but for as pathetic and humiliating as the display is, it gives her an anchor to take her next few steps without falling as she slides along the metal lines of it. ]
no subject
[No thanks to her, of course. But it wasn't all Rey's fault. It was simply a symptom of the Dark Side, and how he repeatedly tugged upon it. Now might have been a good time to ask if she had looked in a mirror lately, but the wit simply isn't there. His choices had been poor in many stages of his life -- he was paying for them all now.
So be it. His goal was to live, and he was living. Husk or no husk.]
The meal is for you.
no subject
Like him, though not in the way he had wanted.
She pauses in her efforts, laborious breaths following the heavy rise and fall of her chest. ]
You don't look anything like I remember.
[ In her weaker moments, she had wondered. Struggled to envision him, even. It had not prepared her for a stranger. No, not a stranger. A shadow of Snoke, decaying and feeble despite the power he had harbored. Something mournful touches her voice, though she doesn't force herself to examine it. It would mean touching the soft parts of herself she has forgotten, that she had offered him: vulnerable, wanting to be seen. ]
It reminds me of your master. [ That face, too, has faded — but she had been glad for that. This brings her no joy, only hollow victory. She pauses at the 'fresher door. ] I don't like it.
[ He has shown he doesn't care for what she likes at all. It's the only confession she offers, and even that feels undeserved. She disappears around the corner, leaving the door open — better not to give him a reason to interrupt her — and tosses her clothing aside, turning away from the mirror behind her, as she leans over to fill the too-lavish bathtub his quarters possesses. ]
no subject
He'd never wanted that -- to become like Snoke, to be Snoke, but it was no less true just because he refused to give it ample space in his mind. His relationship with his former master had been beneficial, but complicated. Too complicated, as he discovered too late. For all the affinity he felt for the Dark Side, his training with the former supreme leader -- it had changed him.
But that was the way it was, whether or not he liked it. Whether or not Rey liked it. It was the only way to keep the First Order running. It was the only way to keep Hux from spiraling out of control and coming down on the rest of the galaxy. He didn't expect her to understand that.
He sits down on the bed quietly without a verbal acknowledgement of what she has to say, but he takes the time to close his eyes and lean on the bond instead. If he couldn't watch with his eyes, then he'd at least make sure she wasn't doing anything he wouldn't approve of.]
no subject
Dangerous. A threat to what she has convinced herself of for three years. Rey turns from it, averse to examining what discomforts her, and sinks down into the scalding warmth of the tub. It feels a waste, but she doesn't have the muscular fortitude to stand on her own two legs for fear of falling. More than that, it reminds her of what he had given up in pursuit of these luxuries, his prestige, the position of power he holds.
She can't hold onto that for long. The warmth is a balm to her stiff limbs and the deep-set ache in every bone, lapping at the mangled bracelet of bruises that have begun to form from his persistent need to bind the bird-like bones in her wrists and ankles. From Rey's side of the bond comes a strange flutter of contentment, the pour of simplistic relief as she droops into the water, eyelids fluttering closed.
It's the only comfort she has had in some time, however fleeting. Rey seizes it, so much so that she dozes off before she can finish scrubbing the grime — and blood, leftover from her attack on him, dotted across a band of freckles — from her collarbone. ]
no subject
That is when his eyes open, and he becomes aware that Rey had fallen asleep in the tub. She would catch a chill before too long, judging by the lack of flowing water. No doubt she would prefer that then to find Kylo Ren leaning over, scrubbing her while she was naked and asleep. But this isn't really about what Rey would or would not prefer.
She is his responsibility now. And that means she needs to be clean, and she cannot be permitted to catch a chill.
Still, he gives her a bit of her own time to wake up before he approaches the door with a dry towel and a fresh wash cloth. He is careful and quiet as he steps in, as if this will somehow be easier if he can manage to keep her asleep.]
no subject
It's the latter, primarily, that does the trick in rousing her. A klaxon, in its own manner, that seeks to warn her. She hates the wide-eyed stare she must give him, vulnerable and caught off-guard in the groggy throes of waking, though not more than the feeling that those few minutes of peace have been stolen away from her.
The urge to pull up her knees is there, though not for modesty's sake. Not even to conceal the scars peppered along the planes of her back from battle, from the gunfire he had trained on the Resistance, from the blaster bolts that had nearly taken her down. Shielding the expanse of wet skin on display — more luminous now, glowing and alive rather than sunken and wan — would only be a self-defense mechanism from a man that has used intimacy to try to wear her down in the past, weaponized it and her own body against her.
Even as her fingers twitch, curling over the lip of the tub as droplets cascade over them to drip onto the floor beneath, she resists the impulse. She has no intention to make herself smaller, straightening her posture where she sits. Rey holds his gaze unwaveringly and says nothing — watchful, waiting for his next move.
Either he will prove himself to be that same desperate monster that he had shown himself to be, or he will allow her body to remain her own in that way. To some extent, it is a blatant test. ]