Fanfics Are Life

For an organization that didn’t believe in torture, Kylo thought the Resistance did a damn fine job of it. Hux’s boys really had nothing on them. He had assumed that when he’d been unceremoniously chucked into the enemy camp six months after the coup, bleeding and still suffocating from the force collar, that he would be imprisoned faster than a fathier lap. He just hadn’t bargained on her.

“...all the lights are shining…” she sang off key under her breath. She sighed and wiggled over as far as she could from the ceiling leak, given how thoroughly she was bound. Unfortunately she kept on humming once tight force collar let her catch her breath after her pitiful maneuver.

He’d already taunted her for being deserted yet again, kicked as far and hard in her direction as the manacles allowed, and screamed at the door that he’d give them the location of every First Order base he knew if they’d just let him out of the room. He thought he’d try bashing his head against the wall until he passed out next, but it’d be his luck he’d be paralized and listening to her stupid singing for the rest of his existence.

At least they’d probably execute him soon. Kylo Ren, always the optimist.

“... and I don’t care about the pheasants underneath the Chiss mast tree..”

“Kriffing FUCK, Rey, it’s PRESENTS. Not PHEASANTS.”

“Uh, no? Why would there be presents under a tree? People would just take them. Birds live in trees, Kylo.” She rolled her eyes. “I saw them on Takodana.”

“People would take trees into their DWELLINGS. And put lights on them. And. Put. PRESENTS. UNDER. THEM,” articulating every word with a bang against the rivets on the panel behind him. Unconsciousness would be sweet relief.

“Trees don’t fit in vases, Kylo. Do you really have to lie about everything? Why don’t you like, meditate or something? Ponder your greatest cape swishes? Whatever it is a sculag like you thinks about.”

“I’d like to,” he ground out through his teeth. “If someone would just shut their karking caf-hole.”

“...baby all I want for Chiss mast is you…”

Kylo looked straight at the one-way glass on the far wall.

Prompt: you know that trope where your soulmate’s first words get written on your skin somewhere?IMAGINE that but in canon: Kylo Ren and Rey having the same connection through the Force Bond but Kylo thinking he’s stuck in a one sided bond because Rey’s words aren’t his (spoiler alert they are actually from Ben Solo.)

angst and fluff incoming

The words first appeared when he was sixteen, still a Padawan struggling to acclimate to Luke’s academy and to the Jedi dogma his uncle imposed. One night he went to sleep with training bruised ribs and a bare left arm, and when he awoke there they were; like a tattoo but purely flesh; silvery and smooth; Where am I. The script was clear and lined neatly. He shouted with the shock of the discovery, alerting his uncle and ultimately drawing further ire from his peers. Another thing to set him apart, another thing to make him different. Skywalker blood, a legacy riding on his shoulders, and now words on his arm, a promise of true love; or something like it.

“They mean there’s one person in the galaxy who you’re meant to be with, Ben. They’re rare, they mean you’re special.” His mother told him upon learning of the development. He hadn’t known then what special meant, that it meant further scrutiny from his peers, relentless teasing and the loss of any social leverage he might have had. Girls weren’t interested in him, he was predestined for some distant stranger, why would they be? His isolation deepend and the voice behind his tired eyes intensified.

One person who you’re meant to be with. And what did that mean when Han Solo was off galavanting about the galaxy for months at a time? When his parents only saw each other two weeks out of every year? He took to covering the words, long sleeves even in the blistering swelter of the Yavin IV summer. Between that the intensity with which he threw himself into his training he was almost able to forget, almost.

Many thanks to @mallie-3 for hosting the first every Reylo Drabble Night for @thereylowritingden and creating the awesome banner above!

This is my response to the fifth prompt. You can find my other responses here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“Finally, we have a flourless Godiva torte. It’s finished with a warm Grand Marnier sauce and chocolate… shavings…” she trailed off, her attention slipping from the couple in front of her to the man outside the window, gesturing at her and waving a dozen roses. “Please excuse me,” she stuttered before sprinting away.

Out of sight, she pressed her hand over her eyes and willed herself to disappear.  She told Nick that they were over, but trust him to make a grand gesture on the busiest night of the year to be a server. Her manager warned her the first time Nick showed up during her shift that any further distractions would be strictly dealt with.

“Rey,” a familiar voice rumbled. “What’s he doing here? I thought I said if he showed up one more time-” Ben’s voice trailed off as his best server dissolved into tears in front of him.

“He won’t go away,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry he’s here! I broke it off and he won’t leave me alone! I’ll go ask him to leave, just please let me keep my job.”

If I had you

Seventeen-year-old Rey ends up in a drunk driving accident caused by her boyfriend Poe Dameron. Her world turns upside down when Death himself (starring one and only Kylo Ren) appears out of thin air to take Poe and she decides to stand up to him. Surprised by her vehemance, Kylo makes a deal with her to let Poe go and take her instead. And then he decides to stick around…

Moodboard by fabulous @semperfidani <3

@thereylowritingden @reylofanficclub

When people say that there’s an “ivory tower” in academia — that professors and researchers are out of touch with “the real world,” and have no idea “how things really work,” — they’re usually talking about people like Dr. Benjamin Solo, Poet Laureate and Professor of Ancient Languages and Cultures at the Global Freedom Foundation Academy. Always with his nose stuck in a book, yet somehow intimidating — a man who wields words as honed and deadly as any dagger, and who doesn’t hesitate to use them against the hoi polloi who don’t understand why what he does is important (or why it’s beautiful). Sometimes, that includes others within the university, like the bean-counters who deny his grant proposals — or even other professors, like that infuriating Brit who beat him out for the Lor San Tekka Professor of Interdisciplinary Studies post, and whose sphere of expertise straddles the History and Engineering departments — as if rusted and obsolete machines could compare to language itself.

Dr. Solo cannot stand her, will not speak to her if he can avoid it, and most certainly doesn’t spend any time sublimating his disdain into haughty erotic poetry.

There is, indeed, an ivory tower in academia, and Dr. Rey Johnson, one of the world’s foremost mechanical historians, is about to uncover it.

Read it now on AO3!

Since you didn’t send me a ship with this, I’m going with Dramione, and something that is not an AU, but is canon-divergent. I’ve never done it, and I’m probably going to screw it up, and for that, I’m sorry (though not sorry enough to not do it!). Anyway:

The clouds were dark and swollen against a purple sky, angry pustules on bruised flesh that were ready to burst, drowning the city in misery. Draco strode purposefully down the sidewalk, the gloomy snarl on his face a reflection of the weather (as above, so below), the flawless black of his suit and shine on his shoes a perfect match for the black bellies of the clouds above, glistening with the promise of deluge. His eyes flicked to the skies, as if to appeal to the clouds to hold off for 5 minutes–or to challenge them to do their worst.

At last, he saw the faded sign, its fanciful script a relic from the 60s, its washed-out orange, pink, and brown tones garish even now. WITCH’S BREW, the sign read, a moddish bikini-clad girl in a pointy hat sitting side-saddle on a broom, holding a teacup as a black cat stood on his hindpaws to pour her cuppa. Draco couldn’t stop his eyeroll, and a feeling surged through his chest that was close enough kin to anger that he mistook it for such. A voice in his head that sounded like his father sneered at how little respect someone like her had for magic and the craft of wizardry. Father didn’t know where he was today. Father couldn’t know where he was; he’d never be able to explain it, and he wouldn’t be forgiven for it.

The bell on the door tinkled, and before he could step inside, the shop vomited forth its clientele, all of whom were scurrying home in an attempt to beat the impending weather. When he stepped in to the shop, there was only him, her, and a wrinkled old woman in an absurd flowered hat and dowdy dress.

When the door closed at last, Hermione let out her breath in a whoosh as she turned to check the clock behind the counter. A quarter of an hour left to go, and she would be free for the next three days! A nice long soak and a book were in order. Her relieved smile was checked, however, on looking up and seeing him, all dressed in black, at the door of the coffee shop. She fingered her wand in the pocket of her apron (she wasn’t foolish enough to go anywhere without it) and arched an eyebrow.

“Did it start raining already?” she asked, a hint of steel underneath her sarcasm.

He nearly turned around and left, but by Merlin’s Beard, he was a wizard on a mission, and the feisty witch was just going to deal with it! As he resumed advancing, her expression morphed from guarded to perplexed.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

Her shock was almost amusing. “…coffee?”

Now it was his turn to be sardonic, and he pointed at the menu behind her. “This is a coffee shop, isn’t it?”

“You want a coffee.”

“Unless you’re serving the blood of innocents, or something, yeah.”

Unwritten Oaths (Reylo Hogwarts AU)

Summary:

“I’d rather be dead than ever stuck in a room with Ben Solo,” Rey hissed.

Six years later, Head Girl Rey Johnson finds herself stuck sharing dormitories, meetings, a bathroom, and a hell of a lot more with Head Boy Ben Solo, her sworn enemy at Hogwarts. She discovers that her eleven-year-old self was quite wrong - in fact, she’d actually love to be stuck in a room with Ben Solo.

If only Ben wasn’t such a stuck-up, scruffy-looking nerfherder every time he opened his mouth… and that damn school-wide fan club of his would stop following him everywhere…

(Now on AO3)

A huge thank you to my beta, @intp-slytherin97!

1. Prologue ⚡2. Alohomora ⚡

“Hmm,” Snoke mused, drawing delight from the word and the action, “They are a loose end, my student. A frayed string on our flag. You know our policy on such things. Once Skywalker finds out-”

“Let her go back then,” Ben interrupted, as he faced her. Rey just knew he was going to pay for his impertinence later. She rose onto her knees and was trying not to gape at Ben’s actions as he walked to stand before her.

Snoke would make him pay, of that she was certain.

He met her eyes as he said, “Let her return and sicken herself and Skywalker with their impotence. You are wise, Master, surely you can see that she’s not worth your effort.”

“Your flattery belies your desires, Kylo Ren,” Snoke’s voice dropped to a hush amongst the two in the cage, “You still care. You still have your father’s heart, I see.”

“Han Solo is dead,” Ben said flatly, and despite the facsimile of stoicness he was putting on, she heard the minor pitch change when he said his father’s name. 

“So is my heart.”

Start HERE