AN: I've been reading fanfiction for way too long, and one of my all-time favorite authors (rainjoyswriting on livejournal) did a thing where she wrote a fic for each song of The Magnetic Fields album, 69 Love Songs. I'm definitely borrowing that inspiration and doing a similar thing with Reylo, so credit for the idea goes to her!
This collection is going to involve both canon and AU fic, and will probably range across a wide span of topics, so here's a forewarning that there will probably be some character death and violence at some point.
"We are searching for a droid," Kylo Ren says, voice clear and loud through his mask. His lightsaber is a comfortable weight in his hand, a quiet but ever-present threat as it hums in the dry heat of the desert. "If you cooperate, no blood will be shed."
Jakku is a disgusting wasteland of vast, barren desert, and Kylo thinks himself rather merciful to offer its inhabitants such a nonviolent opportunity. He steps away from the crowd to allow his stormtroopers to swarm the small outpost, and it is not long before one white-clad soldier approaches him with a stiff salute.
"Sir, the residents refuse to speak without the authorization of their queen," the stormtrooper says, voice wavering only slightly in his presence.
There are too many damned planets in this galaxy to remember which are run by ridiculous monarchies. "Queen?" he asks, stifling the sigh that would be much too audible if it managed to slip through the filter of his modulator. He disables his weapon.
"Queen," the trooper confirms with a quick nod. "They did comply and offer directions to her location, sir."
"Lead the way, FN-5986."
A cluster of mismatched buildings sit on the sand just beyond the trading outpost, and he follows his stormtroopers into the largest one. The structure offers respite from the harsh sun, and this close, he can see the walls are comprised of salvaged parts from fallen starships.
It is perhaps a waste of time and efforts to communicate with the planet's leader rather than use a more effective, brutish method of violence to glean the necessary knowledge. He'd caught the way his soldier said her, though, and has a deeply ingrained respect for queens, especially if they are crafty enough to repurpose entire ships.
The moment he steps inside the building – with its re-welded quadranium walls and transparisteel viewports restructured into windows – he can feel the wafting tendrils of the Force reaching out to him. Kylo has no idea how he didn't sense it sooner: it permeates the very atmosphere, clinging to him in acknowledgment, and he quickly re-evaluates Jakku's supposed queen. Not many are Force-sensitive anymore, not after all that he's done, and it piques his interest.
Snoke may have helped him destroy Ben Solo, but the thought of royalty never fails to draw him in with images of billowing, regal gowns of rich cloth and color (and, regrettably, the image of a loose, white robe with distinctive brown buns).
The woman that stares ferociously into his masked visage looks nothing like a queen. She is dressed in the cool beiges and browns of typical desert garb, and her hair is pinned tightly in a hairstyle that does not befit any measure of royalty he's previously come across.
"Welcome to our planet," she greets him pleasantly, as though he has not arrived with armed soldiers and cruel intent.
Kylo steps forward, footfalls deceptively quiet on the hard floor, and stands tall in front of her. Her eyes are sharp and calculating as she cranes her neck to look up at him. "You have something I am looking for," he says without preamble. "A droid."
"And you arrive on my land with hostility and drawn weapons," she replies, and although her tone is ambivalent, a wry smile tugs at her lips at his audacity.
"It is your civic duty as a planet under the rule of the First Order to comply with all demands of its soldiers," he says, and there's something about her dirty, bared forearms and the well-worn boots encasing her feet that has him trying to reason with the woman instead of simply killing her and taking what he wants. His fingers twitch with – something, some unnamed urge that frustrates him and has him struggling for control even as he admires the curve of her cheekbones and the tanned skin across the bridge of her nose.
She tilts her head at him, and he is struck by how her calm features belie the fire burning in her eyes. "We are an independent planet under the rule of no government other than my own." They are dangerous words to speak to a First Order operative, and she must feel confident in her abilities to challenge him so blatantly.
"You will tell me if you possess the droid," Kylo responds as his patience wears thin. A queen of junkyard savages in a part of the Western Reaches that even civilized government cares not for cannot possibly hope to keep his thoughts engaged, can she?
He slides a hand deliberately over the sheathed saber at his side, and does not miss the responding flick of her eyes.
"Jakku owes you nothing."
It is difficult to maintain a guise of calmness. Kylo is no diplomat, and his fists clench reflexively before he can rein in the temper constantly simmering just below the surface. "And Jakku will continue to owe us nothing if you reveal the location of the BB-8 droid," he says after a moment, thankful for the monotone of his voice modulator.
Her gaze unflinchingly holds steady with his mask, and if nothing else he admires her stubbornness. It is time to adjust his strategy: if blunt, forward questions bear no fruit, then at least he can plant the seed of dissatisfaction in her mind.
Kylo knows, much too personally, how easily the temptation of power can corrupt.
"Is this the peak of your strength, then? Ruling over a rag-tag group of outcasts?" He knows she is untrained. The Force radiates from her being, so great that he can almost visualize its aura surrounding her slight frame, but it is untempered, raw in its potential.
"Jakku is my home," she says, and they both know that it is not a true answer to his question. "And they are my people."
"Yet they have taught you nothing of how to harness your abilities." Kylo is gratified by the split second of shock that shows through her mask of diplomacy. It takes more of his training than he thought would be necessary to suppress the impulsive desire to command her to simply do as he says. If she is a true monarch of this horrific planet, then brute force will not win her over; and if she is as strong in the Force as he believes her to be, then a mere mind trick runs the risk of backfiring.
"Come with me," he says. The stormtroopers behind him shuffle uncomfortably as the words filter through his mask, and it is another reprimand that he will have to give Hux for his untrained, incompetent morons.
The BB-8 droid is vital for locating Luke Skywalker, but Kylo considers his options. If this queen knows its location, then it will not take much to steal the information from the depths of her mind. If she does not know its location, and comes to him, then the hunt for the droid will inevitably be eased by the accompaniment of an adept apprentice.
This woman knows nothing of how the universe truly operates. It is clear the unbridled energy that surrounds her provided her a lofty position among these brutish, uncivilized junk traders, but Jakku is a planet of desolate nothingness, and she will rot along with it if left behind.
I have found something truly promising, Supreme Leader, he murmurs across the mind connection to his master, as her lips part and she makes an abortive attempt to respond to his words. Snoke does not offer a worded reply, but Kylo can feel the spike of interest in their link, and it is enough.
Kylo looks at her intently, although she cannot see the determined set of his jaw. He slips off one glove with methodical care, and she does not budge even as he brushes a tendril of hair away from her forehead to press two fingers to her temple.
If anything, her features harden at the contact of their skin. Through the thin membrane of flesh upon her brow he can feel the clench of her teeth – it passes his mind briefly that she seems to expect an onslaught of pain – before he turns his full attention toward solidifying the link between them.
The rush of melding their consciousnesses hits him hard, and Kylo finds himself staggering away from her. It is a sacrifice to compromise his unshakable appearance in such a way, but the display of power is effective as a gasp tears from her throat.
It is not a bond. He is not presumptuous enough to do such a thing without his Master's permission, but this will open a pathway of communication between them and provide him with a leash of sorts.
"My name is Kylo Ren. When you are ready, come to me."
He turns on his heel to leave, and fixedly ignores how his fingertips burn with the reminder of their shared contact.
Five days later, as he meditates, a determined hum enters his mind. The queen tells him, I am on my way.