I mean...if the SL stuff is bad enough, there's only so far sympathy can extend from a non-invested viewer. Vader in ROTJ was super toned down compared to ANH and ESB: he never did anything in ROTJ that could make the GA fear or hate him any more than they already did. In Kylo's case, if the FO is invading a planet, that's on him. If Stormtroopers are killing Resistance members, that's on him. As long as Kylo is SL, every act of FO violence or evil in the movies/time gap is an extension of him.
I think it comes down to choice: of course he’s always had a measure of agency and bears the responsibility of his crimes, but if he chooses to do even worse things with Snoke gone, that’s a greater indictment of his character. I feel like he was at the height of his villainy (so far) on Crait, and if he’s depicted as a confident dictator or even just a passive one in the first act of IX, that means the story will have to work twice as hard to convince the audience redemption is possible.
You’re worrying too much, about things of ultimately no importance to whether or not Kylo will be redeemed. All this discourse re: agency and choice and responsibility is gold for in depth character analysis and fandom nerds will be discussing Kylo’s morality for a loooooong time but, in terms of “sympathy” and “the possibility” of redemption, the general audience doesn’t work like that.
For one thing, nobody in the general star wars audience gives a real shit about unnamed Resistance members or /planets/. Oh, redditors and antis will write thinkpieces about how it’s horrible blah blah blah and deconstruct this shit in detail, of course, but casual viewers will barely register it. Only known and relevant characters’ deaths have a real emotional impact, not random redshirts. For the umpteenth time, short of killing Leia, Rey, Finn, Poe, Rose or Chewie, nothing Kylo does in IX will be worse than killing Han.
Secondly, convincing the audience that redemption is impossible might be the entire point, which is imo what Crait was for. Vader redeeming himself was a shocking plot twist, an existential triumph that was twice as powerful because the audience didn’t see it coming—the problem is that, in the ot, it wasn’t adequately built up. I think with Kylo they’re aiming to find the right balance between preserving the same eucatastrophic impact of a /shocking/ redemptive act while also building up a proper redemption arc throughout all the three movies from Kylo’s pov and not just from Rey’s (which so far they’ve done an excellent job of).
Third, it’s not worth draining our mental energies on the wild assumption that the SL stuff will be “bad enough”. I don’t think their intent at this point is to make Kylo more unsympathetic to the audience, or more of a villain—rather, they’ll want to bring his being a tragic figure to a climax (assuming that hasn’t already happened with Crait), so that the audience despairs he can ever come back for a while (10 minutes in the beginning? the whole first act? till halfway through the movie? I don’t know nor I want to come up with specific predictions in that sense), then things start to pivot and catharsis happens.
Ayye guess who got away with drawing fanart for my Portrait class? This took me like 20 hours because I’m a snail at making art but I’m SO damn happy with it. All done in photoshop on the lovely Cintiq my parents got me for my birthday. It’s helped me so much with art.
Hey maybe give me a follow on my [x] Insta or maybe my shite [x] Twitter?
Regarding that Thrawn post. I want to add that there are several hints for a “good” emperor in the new canon books. Eg - in Bloodline Ransolm Casterfo believed that a good emperor can make the galaxy a better place. So yeah we are going to get BENPEROR being the light and hope of the galaxy.
I forgot about that! Thanks for the tidbit, Nonnie!
*Throws on her Emperor Ben Solo Shirt* *Drinks from her Emperor Ben Solo Mug* *Drinks officially branded, Emperor Ben Solo caf* *Hums Galaxy Save the Emperor* I’m ready.
I wonder if the Emperor would have people who are obsessed with him, like the Royals here seem to have?
I guess I’d be one of them LOL.
Anyway, I am so curious to see how this all ends up going because it certainly seems like they’re leaning towards a particular end.
After a lull in inspiration and finally giving in to the scene nagging at me, things take an unexpected turn in this chapter - seriously, I didn’t plan this! So now things are going to get interesting because the Supreme Leader is making plans . . .
“Ben!”
Rey’s semi-shout makes him flinch, though he gives no other indication of having heard her.
“I don’t want this any more than you do. The least you could do is acknowledge me.”
Because he’s right in the middle of a meeting with Hux, Captain Peavey and a mix of high-ranking First Order officers.
“Right, that’s it! I’m not going to acknowledge your presence either.” Distinct huffiness.
Truth be told, he not only can’t acknowledge her presence without appearing insane to the men gathered around the table.
He also doesn’t know what to say. The last time the Force connected them he had his dick in his hand, shouting her name as he came. Hard.
The back of his neck heats as he recalls her stunned response to his . . . lapse in judgment.
He wishes he hadn’t been tempted to lapse again.
But the reality is he hasn’t done anything further only because he doesn’t want to risk Rey seeing that a second time.
And he knows why, though the reason has him clenching his hand in a tight fist. He cares what she thinks of him.
What must she be thinking of him? With the memory she now has of his satiating an animalistic urge . . .
“Why won’t the Force let me shut the connection?” Frustrated annoyance leaches out of her voice.
“Supreme Leader, what are your thoughts?” Hux’s voice might convey respect, but he despises having to do so.
The Force hums with Rey’s attempts to shut it down, Hux’s anger, disgust and resentment coil through it, along with the boredom, irritation and contempt from the others in the room. Between it all and the lack of sleep and frustration, it stokes his tumultuous feelings to boiling point.
“Enough!” His snarled rage freezes everyone in to stunned silence. A quick sideways glance assures him Rey is still there and he has little time before she loses her temper.
“General Hux, I have given you my thoughts on what to do with Sonn-Blas’ new proposal. I will leave the finer details to you.” He stands, determined to end this interminable meeting.
“Before we adjourn, Supreme Leader, there is one other matter . . .” Hux’s feelings within the Force carry a deep hint of gloating delight, though his tone remains carefully modulated.
“Yes, General?” He detests the fact that Hux has stopped, forcing him to respond, a petty act that nevertheless is a power play.
“There has been word of Resistance presence on the Outer Rim planet of Felucia. I have sent two of my best operatives to confirm if the reports are true.”
“You think the Resistance is hiding in the Thanium Sector?”
Rey’s gasp is enough to confirm that Hux’s intel is undoubtedly correct. He risks a glance and yes, her face has paled, eyes luminous with worry as they meet his. He glances away from that pleading expression. She made her choice to reject his offer. The rushing sound of the Bond closing sends a spear of something he chooses not to name through him.
“I will take a small contingent to Felucia, general and see if your reports are accurate.”
Hux’s smugness vanishes, replaced with chagrin and no little degree of alarm. “You cannot!”
“I beg your pardon?”
The general’s face smooths out, though he can sense what it costs Hux. “Supreme Leader, your presence would draw unwanted attention and may well alert the Resistance to our knowledge of their whereabouts. And of course, your safety is paramount, we cannot have you endangering your—”
“That is why I won’t be going as Supreme Leader, General Hux. Captain Peavey, prepare my command shuttle, we leave immediately.”
* * *
Felucia’s major trading marketplace is strangely subdued when Rey leaves her contact after finalizing the next shipment of foodstuffs and weaponry.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickle and the Force thrums as she makes her careful way towards the rendezvous point. She struggles to focus as she moves through the busy street, sticking to the edges as much as possible.
Her thoughts are fuzzy from lack of sleep and constant worry. Dreams she has no business having constantly disturb what rest she does manage to snatch. Now the concern they’ve been discovered . . . she shivers despite the warm air.
There is no reason to believe the First Order would suspect Felucia as a base of operations for the Resistance, though they’d moved to Rhen Var just to be on the safe side.
Ben had mentioned the Thanium System, which consisted of many potential hideouts for the Resistance. Nevertheless caution makes her wary, so when she notices the small contingent of stormtroopers with three TIE fighter pilots in their midst she keeps her head down and a steady pace. Surely the First Order wouldn’t be so obvious if they suspected Resistance presence on Felucia?
One of the TIE pilots suddenly turns and stares at her. She pretends interest in a stall selling muja sauce, focusing intently on the seller’s patter. The weight of the pilot’s regard is almost stifling and she breathes a heartfelt sigh of relief when she senses his attention has turned elsewhere.
There is an alley next to the stall and she knows, from studying the layout of the marketplace, that it will eventually lead to the spot she’s arranged to meet Poe and Dakk.
She slips down it, grateful for the shadows cast by the tall buildings on either side. Deep, recessed doorways offer further cover should she need it.
The hard grip on her upper arm forces a startled gasp from her throat as she is propelled into one of the recesses and through a door into a small, empty room.
Fear clutches her throat in a tight vice as she is swung ‘round to face the person who accosted her.
The TIE Fighter pilot.
Her sluggish brain pings with the vague understanding that it is beyond odd for a pilot to accost her versus a stormtrooper. But this is thrust aside under the sudden overwhelming presence within the Force.
The pilot takes off his helmet with a hiss of circulated oxygen just as her brain suddenly makes sense of what her instincts and the Force are now screaming at her.
“Ben!”
A hand over her mouth, the Supreme Leader of the First Order glances around and wills the door behind them shut before turning back to her.
He looms over her, pinning her with his dark gaze. She feels surrounded by him, his broad shoulders and towering height dwarfing the room.
“Wha—”
He swiftly removes his gloved hand as she tries to speak.
“Ben, what are you doing here?”
His lips tighten and he stares at her, his gaze flickering back and forth on hers. “Rey . . . ” He seems at a loss and his deep voice is rough on her name.
“Do the First Order know where we are?” Urgency suddenly bites into her, across the swirling emotions filling the Force to overflowing. She’s grateful to have something to focus on because everything else is just too complicated.
“No. They don’t. But I do.” His dark murmur should perhaps have sounded threatening, but instead it and the Force around them carry a strange mix of satisfaction, longing and something else she refuses to probe.
With slow purpose he tugs off the gloves covering his hands, placing them and his helmet on the small table she just now noticed stands next to them.
She hunts desperately for composure, for what she should say and there is nothing but the surging power of the Force. Biting her lip, she runs her gaze over the breadth of his shoulders in the black flight suit.
A mix of nervousness, shyness and heated expectation churn within her as she suddenly recalls in a flash those shoulders naked, gleaming wet, muscles bulging as he . . .
“Oh, gods.” The power of the memory steals her breath and she can feel the clamour of emotion it engenders explode across the Force and then Ben’s corresponding gasp as it hits him.
She risks a quick peek and he is staring at her, breathing hard. With almost visible effort he collects himself, his mouth working as he reaches out a long finger and captures a strand of her hair.
“We shouldn’t be here. Like this. ” She’s not even sure what she means by her words, is it because they’re on opposite sides of this war? Or because of the powerful riptide dragging them toward each other? The desperate struggle they have to control this thing between them?
His voice is even deeper, rougher, reverberating to her core like a caress. “Rey. I—“ He is suddenly a hairs-breadth away and then, with a bitten off curse he has his hands on her shoulders, a brand through her thin clothes and his mouth—
His mouth is on hers. And it’s hot and real and he tastes of spice and musk and burning metal and his big body is pressed against hers.
It is too much and yet not enough.
The feel of him, the velvety lushness of his mouth, so soft in comparison to the surging hardness of his body as he slams up against her. A moan is ripped from her throat and Ben responds to it.
He tentatively opens his mouth and she invades, tracing the tender inside of his lip before sinking her teeth into the lush fullness . . . just like she imagined . . . oh gods.
She’s aware of a throbbing ache between her legs and familiar wetness. Her whole being feels sensitised and she needs her core against him. She wraps her leg around his thigh, as far up as she can go, opening to him, rubbing herself against his shuddering body.
With a bone-deep snarl he tucks a hand under her thigh and lifts her high, adjusting them so the hard length of him is right there, against her.
She can feel control slipping through her fingers, flying free while a crimson thread of desire binds them closer.
In the maelstrom between them she can feel a balance between Ben’s softness and Kylo’s aggression. Was this what Leia was talking about? Could Ben find some form of equilibrium?
With a muffled snarl he lifts her higher and she has no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist and suddenly the table is under her and his mouth is off hers, but he’s ripping his flight suit open, revealing his deep chest, pale skin, wicked scars and powerful muscle.
Then he’s guiding her hand to his flesh and she can’t hold back a gasp at the contact, her skin tingling as she strokes him.
* * *
He can barely think as Rey slides her hand over his chest, brushing a sensitive nipple as the tips of her fingers glide across the clenching muscles of his stomach.
A hoarse gasp is forced from his throat as she slips her hand up, while pressing her palm against him, increasing the contact. It feels like she leaves a trail of fire in the wake of her touch.
The heavy length between his legs throbs and he realizes he is rolling his hips, thrusting lightly, yet insistently against the heat of her core. Her lean thighs ride his hips and he almost loses his mind at the mental images that evokes.
He knows what he wants and this face-to-face contact is so intense and also very different from their last time, in the Throne Room . . .
Shoving the thought from his mind, he concentrates on the feel of Rey beneath him. He wants to touch her, but he hesitates, suddenly uncertain of what to do.
Moving back he stares into her soft brown eyes. She meets his gaze unflinching, unafraid and he marvels anew at her inner strength, her ability to give unstintingly.
They’re both gasping for air, staring at each other in wordless communion. He wants to taste her sweetness again while he decides whether to chance touching her sun-bronzed skin.
“Sir! We’ve lost contact, please respond.” The disembodied, slightly robotic sounding voice shatters the moment.
Rey jerks up, her gaze suddenly fearful as she tries to pinpoint the source of the voice. Her movement inadvertently thrusts the heat of her against his shaft in a smooth glide that almost sends him to his knees.
A rasping grunt is force from him, almost blotting out her feminine gasp. It doesn’t stop her pushing at his shoulders. Wordlessly he gives her space, grateful when her hand remains on his chest even as she drops her head so he can’t see her face.
He tightens his arms around her, but he can already sense her mental retreat. It will be followed soon enough with a physical one and for a brief moment he wants to rage against the thought.
But as his second in command keeps attempting contact, he knows it will only be a matter of minutes before they locate him.
Rey is in danger and he . . . cannot allow that.
Not even pausing to process why that should fill him with both chilling fear and bone deep determination, he straightens and retreats, biting back on the moan-gasp as her hand leaves him.
He feels like he is ripping a part of himself away. The memory of Han Solo touching his cheek spears into his mind and he almost doubles over.
Loss slays him all over again.
The pain surges through him on a breath-stealing tide, but within it he finds his rage and grasps onto it with a desperation he doesn’t want to contemplate.
Jerking the flight suit back into place he growls at Rey without daring to look her way. “You need to leave. Now.”
“Come with me.” Her words are faint, as though she can’t quite believe she’s uttered them.
They hit him like a blaster bolt, nearly doubling him again and he can’t bite back his gasp as the whiplash of emotion in the Force snaps, hitting him like a physical blow.
“I . . . can’t.” The words are forced from him and he cannot look at her as she pauses a moment longer, silently beseeching, before hurrying from the room.
When he can sense she is far enough away he screams out his rage and impotence, throwing the table across the room with the Force so hard it disintegrates into shards.
He strides to the open doorway, gripping the frame so hard it buckles under his hand as he resists with everything he has the desire, the need to follow her.
