A shadow fell across the counter. Rey peered up from her latest arrangement, fingers pinched around a rose stem. Outside of the shop’s window, a man stood, his hooded sweatshirt cinched around his face -- a turtle in his shell.
Rey found herself stepping away from her work and toward the glass, drawn by curiosity and a tiny bloom of attraction.
Halfway to the window, the man’s glance stopped her mid-step. The skin around his eyes crinkled with a smile, but his lips -- plump, lush lips that put Rey in mind of a psychotria elata -- barely moved.
That is, until his whole mouth fell open at the sound of a crashing exterior display. A muted, “Gemma, no!” pressed through the glass as Rey pulled herself from daydreams of soft kisses and dashed outside.
“I’m so sorry.” The man tugged on a pink leash, and Rey’s eyes traveled down from his broad shoulders to the ground. Rolling in eighty dollars worth of profit, mouth open and tongue lolling in delight, was a gray and white pit-bull puppy. She couldn’t be more than six months old.
The man crouched down and scooped up the wriggling mass from among the crushed tulips, mumbling more apologies. Gemma locked on to a stem and refused to yield her prize. “Sorry. She’s the first puppy I’ve worked with.”
Oh? He didn’t own her? Rey narrowed her gaze at the puppy’s collar. A tag identified her as one of Maz’s rescues, which meant that the man in front of her was in the parole program.
Instead of moving back at the realization, Rey stepped closer and reached out a questioning hand, finding the man’s eyes. “Can I?” At his nod, she tickled the puppy under the chin. “How could I be mad at a face like this?”
Beneath his hood, the man’s face flushed with color. “We’ll make it up to you.”
Rey’s grin was slow, in contrast to her vigorous pets to the thrashing puppy’s head. “I’m sure you will.”
A Reylo Flower Shop AU where Ben carries out his community service at a pit-bull rescue and Rey is a flower shop owner with a camera and an idea.
As the Judge of Souls, Rey weighs humans' hearts to assign their fates. When an imposing man who goes by Kylo Ren shows up without a heart, Rey seizes the chance to solve a mystery that threatens the universe. Returning to the mortal world together, Rey and Kylo rush to find his murderer and restore balance.
@kylorenaissance tagged me in the last sentence meme and all I’ve got is something from my rffa edits.
Upon waking, Maz informed them she hadn’t sat around twiddling her thumbs while they were otherwise occupied.
sorry if you’ve been tagged already (though you probably have new sentences by now lbr): @kuresoto @hellomelusine @reyofdarkness @darth-zash @valsansretour @briarlily @monsterleadmehome @mnemehoshiko @politicalmamaduck and anyone else who’s interested.
Angsty prompt from the angsty prompt list: “I haven’t been okay for a long time.” <3
So, this went in a different direction than I initially anticipated and became more about Rey than Ben? Hope it still hits the angst vibe!
Set some time after TLJ. Warning: loss of parent angst ~3k
Now on Ao3
Tokens
The forest wept. Droplets of cool water pitter-pattered around her, falling from the dense canopy of towering trees in a soothing rhythm for the occasion. The hood of the white brocade cloak–an Alderaanian relic unearthed by Maz from an undisclosed location–repelled the moon’s unrelenting tears as she waited near the Falcon.
Over her years with the Resistance, Rey had curated an extensive color palette from the environments of strange, wondrous planets. Greens and blues and grays mixed together to form oceans and forests alike, but she’d decided a year ago that Endor’s appeal stemmed from it’s deep, lustrous browns: the trees, the vines, the soil.
The earth here had weight when held. It didn’t slip through her fingers like the sand of Jakku or scrape her skin like the bedrock of Ahch-To. This soil had heritage–eons of creatures and plant matter decaying in order to sustain new life. A person didn’t need to be sensitive in the Force to feel the magic of this place.
Rey hadn’t understood that at the time when Commander D’Acy had arranged to bring General Organa’s remains here, but she appreciated it now.
Her boots had sunk an inch or more into the soft mud by the time she saw his shuttle break through the stratosphere. At Poe’s request, she and Chewie had arrived hours earlier than the scheduled meeting to scout for potential threats.
“He is still the enemy,” Poe had warned her, finally granting official approval for the act he claimed was too compassionate for the leader of the First Order. “Promise me you won’t forget that.”
She hadn’t forgotten Kylo Ren was a threat.
She also hadn’t forgotten Kylo Ren had ordered a temporary reprieve from battle–a break which the Resistance had used to mourn, to come to Endor and entomb its revered, beloved general.
Across light-years, she had sensed him shake with wracking sobs and strike out in violence. She’d been too distraught at her own failure to protect the Skywalker matriarch, too incensed at Ren’s sanctioned attack–the one which had finally claimed Leia’s life–to speak to him.
During the days and months that had followed, she’d come to understand. At odd hours–in the quietude of her quarters or the solitude of the shower–she would hear him: begging for absolution, whispering pleas for something that would make him forget, that would make him remember, lamenting again and again for the blows he had dealt.
The words were never meant for Rey, only her.
With the anniversary on the horizon, Rey had finally extended an offer she hadn’t been authorized to give: Would you like to see her?
A single word had returned. Yes.
How one syllable could be so broken, she didn’t know, yet he’d intoned each letter with the chime of mourning bells.
Despite Poe’s cautions of duplicity and double-crosses, Rey knew it wasn’t Kylo Ren disembarking the shuttle at the edge of the wood. No mother had birthed the new Supreme Leader.
Leia Organa had only named one child: Ben Solo.
He strode forward, completely alone. Absent were the stormtroopers and personal guards who typically flanked his sides; not even so much as a pilot appeared in the shuttle’s transparisteel. He’d kept his promise, as she had trusted he would.
The ground beneath her shifted as he came to a stop two feet from where she stood. Her eyes roamed unchecked and unhurried, noting the changes in his appearance and attire in the same way he assessed hers. Time on the battlefronts had not been kind to either of them. His gaze narrowed at the scar on her throat–a close call indeed, she responded at his unspoken comment–while Rey’s mapped the lines permanently creased around his mouth, dragging down the edges of his full lips.
The scar she’d drawn across his cheek was no longer hidden by errant strands of hair. He’d twisted the locks at the top of his head, mimicking the style his mother had worn every day after she’d lost Han. Leia had explained the meaning behind many Alderaanian braids to Rey during the interludes between battles and retreats. To see Ben acknowledging his past was startling itself, yet her heart ached to know the occasion which had prompted him to learn this particular expression of grief. Had his mother shown it to him too?
Rey cradled the bouquet of wildflowers she’d scavenged together during her half-hearted scout and held out her free hand.
Ben stared at it, rolling his jaw in consideration. He made no move to take it, though his eyes darted up to hers and blinked softly at the offer. “You lead. I’ll follow.”
She didn’t push; her hand dropped back to her side, disappearing beneath the cloak. Her head turned to the side, glancing down the path that would lead them to Leia’s resting place.
A small gasp followed the movement: “Your hair.”
It isn’t so short anymore, Rey thought as she touched the loose ends curling against her neck. In a few more months, her hair would rest on her shoulders as it used to; for now, it only dusted them when she made a conscious effort. She tucked a strand behind her ear and stayed focused on the reason they were here. “It’s this way. Come with me.”
He fell into step with her, walking off of the narrow, trodden path, occasionally stepping over fallen logs or sidestepping massive ferns. From among the green foliage, light glinted off of curious eyes. Around the trunks, tufts of fur gave away the location of more concealed figures. Ben seemed determined to ignore the native population’s interest in their passage.
“They know,” Rey remarked, a small grin flashing from beneath her hood. “They know who you are.”
Ben regarded the creatures again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was only a boy when my mother…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.
They didn’t speak again until they’d walked more than a mile deeper into the forest. Rey was glad for the cloak against the sudden chill in the damp air. The trees and undergrowth were thicker here, forcing Ben to walk so close their shoulders brushed.
“Just a little further,” Rey informed him, tugging the cloak from where it had snagged on a branch.
He hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t make any other effort at conversation. Perhaps the journey through the forest had made him contemplative too. Rey had to stop herself from asking after his thoughts; she was here as an escort, not as a companion.
That distinction didn’t stop her from caring about the answer.
When they reached the heart of the ancient wood, Rey stopped in front of a tree trunk as round as the Millennium Falcon; it was almost as tall too, cutting off several feet above both of their heads. Gnarled roots thicker than her torso spiraled in waves around them, dipping beneath and breaking the surface of the ground like a sea serpent curling through water.
As impressive as the trunk was, the marvel of the location rested on top of the stump: a new tree grew on the surface, roots cascading over the sides of its predecessor, entwining like fingers around the dead wood before burying themselves in the rich soil. While it was new, it certainly wasn’t young. The sturdy trunk stretched impossibly high, pushing its leafy crown up into the canopy created by its neighbors to drink in its bit of sun.
They stood before a holy place.
“She would have complained,” Ben stated with a knowing smile, then added, “My father would have loved it.”
An archway had been carved into the massive stump, acting as an entrance into a hollow space which had been chiseled by the guardians of this place: the Ewoks. Leia had been something of a legend among their tribes, as Rey had come to learn. They’d kept watch over her tomb, making sure to never let the light of the small lantern hanging outside fizzle and die.
Rey lit a long, thin match using the lantern’s flame, then ducked into the entrance of the trunk. She touched the flame to the wicks of several candles mounted along the walls. Orange and yellow streaks licked up toward the ceiling, casting their warm glow around the small space and chasing away the shadows.
Before extinguishing the match, Rey turned to the gilded censer standing next to the smooth stone tablet marking the memorial. She’d watched Lieutenant Connix perform the incense ritual last year and followed the same steps. Heating the charcoal inside until it was red-hot, Rey finally snuffed out the flame before she sprinkled a mix of herbs onto the smoking brick nestled among the censer’s ashes. Soon wisps of aromatic smoke snaked through the air, filling the space with the scents of lavender and poppy.
She placed the bouquet of wildflowers at the base of the stone engraved with Leia’s name, then stood with her eyes closed, letting the incense waft over her as she waited quietly for Ben to join her. Finally, he stepped through the archway. With him beside her, the space felt no bigger than the cockpit of the Falcon.
“It’s quiet.”
Rey returned his earlier hum, agreeing with his observation. Within the trunk, sounds from the outside fell away completely. Chirupping avians, croaking amphibians–even the sounds of the rain–didn’t infiltrate the sanctum. Rey wondered if he found the silence unsettling.
“What is all of this?”
Opening her eyes, Rey followed his gaze around the room, trying to see it through his perspective: bits of flimsi and paper–scavenged from forgotten Rebellion archives–were tacked to the interior walls bearing handwritten messages scrawled in dozens of languages with dark ink. Other trinkets were placed around the chamber; some lined the bottom of the curved wall, while others hung from bits of twine. A few were left on the mantle of the stone housed in the center of the bisecting wall.
“Tokens,” Rey answered, remembering the procession of soldiers and command staff which had filed through the space to leave their offerings. The line had stretched beyond her sight.
Even now, she could discern a few of the items left in Leia’s honor. Poe’s flight wings, the first he’d ever earned as a Resistance pilot, graced the stand holding the smoking censer. A gleaming plaque Rose had welded together from spare datapads and pipe parts rested against the base of the stone; Finn had helped to etch its epitaph: Your hope burns within us. Chewie had hung one of his bandolier’s ammo pouches from the wall. Even Threepio had left the tip of one of his golden fingers behind, leaving his wires exposed.
Ben turned in place, taking it all in with solemn, glistening eyes. Facing the stone once more, he reached out to trace the imprint of Leia’s name. His fingers shook, ghosting over the letters. His mouth opened and closed several times without uttering a word, like a fish gasping for air while stranded on shore. Still lost in his thoughts, his hand came to brace against the mantle, brushing against another token: a thick band of dark hair, elaborately braided and tied off at both ends.
She sensed the moment he understood, that the connection was made in his mind. Her mouth felt dry as Rey defended the offering, “It was all I had.”
Rey had claimed only a few possessions as her own in her life–all repaired from broken wreckage or salvaged from the corpses of dead ships–nothing of value beyond her need for it. Joining the Resistance hadn’t granted her access to much more. She had the Jedi texts and a saber-staff she’d constructed from Luke’s broken legacy, but those things weren’t hers to leave behind.
Leia’s presence had brought forth a feeling from within her that she couldn’t transcribe into words and hang on a sheaf of paper. In the time they’d had after escaping Crait, the general had become her mentor and her confidant. Her friends had been there to listen to her troubles, but none had understood the sense of loss and longing nibbling at her tender heart like Leia. On the loneliest nights, they’d find a quiet corner of the ship or an unoccupied table in the mess hall to exchange stories. More often than not, Rey unburdened her worries and doubts on Leia’s shoulders.
That’s how it had started–with Leia stroking Rey’s hair, mumbling words in a mother’s patient, gentle tone when the pain had become unbearable, when the missing had overcome the anger.
“My mother had hair like yours,” Leia had praised, a fond smile on her lips. “Longer, but just as soft. Just as pretty.”
She’d shown Rey all she knew. How to twist it in variations practical for battle, and how to coil it tightly against her ears. She’d braided it in a crown around her head, and in another form between her shoulder blades. There were nights Rey had stepped into the fresher after Leia’s hands had woven magic and care into her hair and she hadn’t recognize herself in the mirror.
Each twine had been a kind of release, as if tying up their emotions in Rey’s hair kept them secure, out of the way of duties and missions.
Rey had learned much in her time away from Jakku, but Leia was the first person to teach her the art of patience. In the long hours when rest was uncooperative, Rey had practiced the new skill with the same level of dedication she used to train with her saber-staff or meditate on the Force. Her fingers became more certain of themselves with time, though they hadn’t been prepared for their ultimate test–when they’d combed and braided Leia’s hair for the first and the last time.
They’d trembled then.
Not long after, when Rey’s turn to choose her token had been at hand, it came to her naturally: she would give Leia the thing that had made her smile.
It was the least she could offer, the most that she’d had, and it still felt an inadequate tribute to the woman and the warrior she had come to cherish.
Ben turned from the stone to face her, raising a hand to brush against the ends of her hair. There wasn’t a need to explain her token; she could see he understood from the emotion floating in his eyes, tears flowing from the corners. Rey’s hand pressed his against her cheek, silently asking him to wipe her tears from her face as she brushed his away in kind. His caress was warm and familiar, though he’d only touched her like this in dreams.
“Did you bring them?” he whispered, coming close to resting his forehead against hers, but pulling back at the last second.
She nodded and slipped her fingers inside her obi’s pouch to retrieve the item he’d requested. Clinking as they bumped together, the golden dice fell into his waiting palm. His fist swallowed the pair before rolling them back and forth in his fingers, as if testing to see if they were real or if they would disappear. He breathed deeply with relief when they remained.
From his robes, he withdrew a scroll of parchment several layers thick. It was already sealed with a red band, but Ben looped the delicate golden chain around the center, crisscrossing the cubes to secure them in place.
“I was the one that drove them apart,” Ben said, kneeling in front of the stone. “I should be the one to bring them back together.”
He placed his offering on the mantle next to Rey’s braid, keeping his hand on the ledge for several long moments, unable to draw it away. His other hand concealed his eyes, attempting to squeeze the onslaught of fresh tears into submission. Soft, whiffling noises accompanied every inhalation, attempting to stifle his cries, attempting to hold back the emotions he’d hidden for too long.
Rey knelt beside him, the white cloak flaring out in a halo. “Are you okay?”
It was a hideous question to voice when the answer was so clear. But what else could she say?
“I haven’t been okay in a long time,” he confessed, red-rimmed eyes scanning up to meet hers. Inside their depths, Rey saw the boy lost to pain and anger, the one who yearned for his mother. He’d finally come home to her, yet it was too late–much too late.
Her arms slid across his shoulders and brought him close, cradling him as best she could. Sobs rattled against her collarbone while fingers grasped at the nape of her neck, clutching the ends of her hair. Rey channeled the most soothing presence she had known in her life and willed it to calm him.
They rocked together, suspended in stasis, cushioned by the damp earth beneath their knees. The smoke from the censer drifted down to envelope them, coaxing them to peace and rest as the cries trickled away. The only sounds were of their breathing and the rustle of their clothes as they moved.
When Ben flew away from Endor hours later, Rey touched the short, bristled patch by her temple. Another lock was gone, given with another solemn promise.
She’d told Leia she would bring Ben back, no matter how long it took.
The dark twist of hair resting in her palm–and the promise he’d given her in return–made Rey think it wouldn’t be much longer now.
Summary: After the lightsaber splits, Kylo wakes up first. He escapes with Rey on Snoke’s shuttle, though he could never imagine what that decision will lead them to discover about one another.
Rating: Teen for now. Explicit later on.
Notes: Work is complete and will upload every Wednesday/Sunday. Check it out on AO3 for a list of tags.
Links: AO3 - 1 - 2 - || FF - 1 - 2 -
Her body swims in contradictions: the surface beneath her should be the hard durasteel of Snoke’s throne room floor, not a soft mattress; the air should smolder with char and singe her lungs, not cleanse them with the faint odor of polish and metal; the ship’s engine needs to roar with escape in mind, not hum in idleness.
When did everything go sideways?
Rey’s thoughts clash with as much force as the sensations flowing into her waking consciousness. Mild anxiety gnaws her mind - not enough to title it fear, but still pricking her depleted adrenaline stores enough to rouse her quickly.
Grumbled curses reach her ears. They carry no heat, no substance. Are they coming from his lips or have they been channeled through their connection? It’s too much to ponder.
Her knuckles radiate their anger at meeting his nose unannounced; her fingers flex to distribute the pain, to spread it through her hand until the complaint becomes a tolerable throb.
The light of the cabin bothers her eyes. The hollow wells behind them pound out a protest when she swings her legs to the side of the cot and explode with pinpricks of color when she stands upright.
Gripping the frame of the bunk, Rey squints out her surroundings. Her throat scratches with a question: “Where are we?”
It’s not precisely what she wants to ask. Her teeth grind together, trying to work the cogs of her jumbled, displaced thoughts back in proper order, to remember. Chronology proves difficult to calculate when pieces of time are dark and empty.
A shadow shades her face as he - a contradiction who walks - bends forward. His closeness oppresses her like a blanket on a warm night, yet it dims the light enough to allow Rey to open her eyes fully. Her gaze hazards up to his face in steps. Bright red stains the bow of his lips, the jut of his chin; a smear of transferred blood paints his cheek.
“We’re aboard Snoke’s shuttle.” His long fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, pulling down straight as if he can reset the crooked line without the help of a class one droid. “There’s no danger here.”
A small huff of doubt carries her thoughts about that statement.
He appends: “For one of us, at least.”
It’s a joke.
After everything that’s happened - after their struggle to survive defending each other; after their tug-of-war over the saber - he’s standing in front of her with a smile in his eyes and a pained grimace on his lips? How?
It’s all wrong. Upside-down. Their battle concluded with each on opposite sides of an invisible, unyielding line. Their separate causes faded back into their thoughts, reminding them of where they stand. She shouldn’t be alone with him on a shuttle, as if he’s rescued her, like they’re running away together.
The second idea shouldn’t hold any appeal. It didn’t with Finn at Maz’s cantina. So why does it now?
She sways in the same way her mind shifts from thought to thought. “What happened?”
Again it’s not what she wants to say. The automated question is insufficient, but her tongue can’t seem to mold the right words.
“It seems your beloved rebels destroyed the Supremacy.” His vice-like voice squeezes out the admission, but Rey picks out a hint of a warmer tone underneath his disbelief. “They’ve escaped.”
Lightheadedness fills her as she inflates with dizzying joy. This time, her grasp on the bunk isn’t enough to keep her steady. Slanting hard to the right, her knees begin to buckle with the weight of her tears and relief.
His left hand burns an imprint on her right arm when he catches her and lowers her to the cot. Skin-to-skin, the sensation makes her twist away with a gasp. Where is her wrap? For years she’s used them to avoid the scorch of blazing metal from ships baking in the Jakku sun and to guard against the searing judgments of curious eyes.
She crosses her arms against a sudden, imagined chill that requires her to huddle for warmth. The pleasure of learning her friends might be alive drains away, replaced with dread. My tattoos: has he seen them? Of course he has. Does he know?
“Rey?”
Pretending nothing is wrong, like there’s nothing to hide, Rey shakes her head and finally jostles free the question she’s wanted to ask all along: “And us? Where do we stand?”
His voice softens as he drops to one knee and peers up at her face. “Somewhere between enemies and allies.”
A tenuous line to walk. Suspended over the chasm of war, how long can they balance before they fall?
“How do you feel?”
Surely an enemy wouldn’t care enough to ask?
Her puzzled lips slant upward as she swipes away the lingering tears from her eyes. His serious expression almost makes her laugh. A slender finger wags in the general direction of his face. “You’re the one who’s bleeding.”
“Mmm,” he returns in a low, agreeable hum. His own eyes light with a hint of mirth.
The back of his hand reaches up to stroke the area above her left brow. It stings, but only a little. On their own accord, Rey’s eyes flutter shut at the caress.
Surely allies don't touch like this.
“Sometimes the wounds we can’t see are the most dangerous.” Her eyes open to find unexpected empathy reflected back at her. He’s not talking about simple surface wounds any longer. “The most painful.”
His eyes fall to the arms resting limply in her lap, to the exposed lines that have bled part of herself onto the sands of Jakku. She fights the urge to clutch at the bare skin, to slap him for his intrusive gaze and re-crack the cartilage beneath the rapid swelling around his nose, to run away from a conversation she doesn’t ever wish to start.
She squelches two of the three impulses.
“Where are you going?”
Rey ignores his alarm - and the ringing in her ears - as she pushes past him and storms toward the cockpit. “I’m turning this ship around.”
a/n: Because I couldn’t shake how lonely Ben must have felt as a boy. Here is my catharsis.
warnings: implied grooming, emotional manipulation, neglect
words: 755; not beta’d
summary: Children aren’t seduced by power, fear, or pain--but by kindness.
Don’t think about:
Ben Solo at six years old waking up to a scarred, pale face with hungry eyes looming over him. His screams of terror bringing first the guards, then the nanny, then finally his parents. How they tell him it was a bad dream and there’s nothing to be afraid of. How his parents tuck him in and laugh quietly, together, over “wild imaginations.”
---
Don’t think about:
Ben Solo, two weeks later seeing the same horrid face, lurking in the shadows. Or how he runs into his parents’ bedroom and buries himself between them, cringing when his father grumbles that he’s “too old for this” while his mother shushes them both in different tones.
How for the next week Han checks under Ben’s bed for non-existent monsters until he tires of the routine and tells his son to “grow up.”
Or the next night, when the figure appears again, and little Ben knows it’s useless to seek help--that he’ll be a disappointment if he does--so he cowers under the covers and squints his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, whispering that “there’s no such thing as monsters.”
How from across the room, a ragged voice whispers, “Are you certain?”
---
Don’t think about:
At eight years old, Ben Solo having grown a little taller. Braver and bolder too. Questioning everything about the world around him, only there’s no one around to satisfy his curiosity:
. . .because his mother comes and goes, diplomacy dictating her life more than motherhood;
. . .because his father is always off on another hair-brained trade deal (whose illegal nature he’ll come to understand later).
How he’s alone, again, when his childhood terror reappears. But, because he’s older now, and since there’s no one else, Ben asks, “Who are you?”
Which prompts the eyes to smile, though the thin lips don’t respond in kind. “I knew your grandfather.”
How a sentence full of promise is the sweetest candy.
---
Don’t think about:
It's when he turns ten that Ben’s mother senses something is wrong, and she finally pays attention to the signs she's been ignoring: the dark circles dragging beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin.
How Han and Leia argue back and forth for days over the cause. Saying he’s sick, that he needs more sleep, more food, more sun, more activity.
How they don’t understand what he really needs: someone to talk to, to ask how his day was and what he learned, to address his questions about who he is and where he comes from, to tell him stories.
How young Ben Solo, sick of the fighting and bickering of his parents, slips away to be with someone who will listen--someone who claims him for his own.
---
Don’t think about:
At dinner the following night, with both parents breathing the same rare air as he is, how Ben reaches out to them, desperately wanting to reconnect, to save his family by being the son they’ve always wanted but he’s never managed to become: a son to carry on a legacy.
“Why haven’t you ever told me about Vader?”
At one end of the table, Han almost choking on his food.
At the other, Leia calmly stating, “He was a deeply troubled man, your grandfather.”
Trying. . .“I heard he was a great man.”
Trying. . .“A powerful Force user.”
Trying. . .“Someone to look up to.”
“He was a murdering, miserable tyrant,” claims the father who he hasn’t seen in eight months, maybe longer. “He’s not someone to idolize, kid.”
How the dining table lurches away from all of them, colliding with the far wall, and his parents looking on in slack-jawed horror at a child neither of them know.
How the boy shouts at his father: “He’s better than you’ll ever be!”
---
Don’t think about:
Ben Solo, not yet eleven, being sent away to train with his hermit of an uncle: Luke.
How his mother still worries, blames herself for not being there when her son needed her most; how she falls into a cycle of regret that will restart every time her mind strays to Ben’s soft face or remembers the curl in his dark hair.
Or how Han maintains that it’s just a phase, nothing to worry themselves over because he'll “grow out of it” as all boys do. How he’ll buy into his denial for years to come because he can’t bear to accept how grossly he’s failed wife and child both.
I see it: the end of this fic. It’s almost within reach. It’s only taken a month,16,000 words, and lots of hurt/comfort and Force Bond. (If you’re in to any of that, feel free to follow!)
While I’m glad I’ve stayed true to my promise that I wouldn’t post a WIP again (only to leave it for months or years without an update), I admit it’s a little intimidating to write something--for a brand new fandom to me, no less--without knowing how it will be received. But I’m proud of it, and I guess that’s what really matters.
Anyway, can’t wait to unleash this Reylo fic on tumblr. I just have to figure out a title, summary, and tags. Woo!
