#m. au | music!ben: nowhere man

[kylo-wrecked]

Wood shavings. Moth balls, something chemical in still quiet. Just grazes.

Place smells colder than it is.

The Bat waits even so. Reasonable cause hiding in his caliber - (Getting the readouts on some of this guy's pricier hardware, but it takes a few seconds and digital thumbing, file after file. After file.) - but that's not what has his shadow suspended across a faux pad/lounge with its complement of eclectic, not-quite rock-and-roll joints and a couple Fenders. (Thinks it's a Mustang that catches his eye, but easier to move on as stillness grows. Expands.)

He's not so sure nobody's home.

The Bat departs from the limelight; this blood orange glow that drenches the trailer (so-called) from somewhere outside. Scouts a chalk scuff of blow on a glass table. Shadow exhaling over carpet; couch; crystallized lid where glass becomes a code-locked cartridge within table's core.

Starting to nose out a tinge of panic here. All this. It's in the secrecy.

Velvet noises, skin on skin rustling over Egyptian linen. You can hear the quality of the sheets if you really listen. The small breaths passing from one mouth to another.

Toward the back of the trailer, a tinge of panic and something else—restraint. And then it shifts, this restraint. This dark braid of unrefined energy comes slowly, foot by foot, from behind a shoji screen. 

The disdainful scowl, the surly pout, the cut of his profile, hollowed by too much work, too much party, too much time under fluorescents in studios. One would have to live in a cave not to recognize his face, but at any rate, Ben Solo, who ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead in sweats, stands shirtless behind the double-barrel of a firearm, squinting at the umbrage kneeling by his glass table. 

Dark as it is, it's easy to spot the ears. And behind that, the lattice on the ol' Kylo Ren helmet.

"You got to be fucking kidding me," he hisses. "You? Even you come sniffing my way. This city."

He snuffs, skims the drop of shadow between them, pallid behemoth navigating his grotto with scotopic vision, eyes wet and black in a temporary brume of amphetamine-induced aniridia, mutant coach gun raised, the needle of the serpent's tail poised to strike. 

"Reallyritzyfuckingtown, Gotham, par Southside." Grinding his teeth as he tracks the Bat with the barrel, Ben shakes his head. Whispers, "No, don't move. Hands where I can see them. I know what you're trying to do."  

He tracks; he moves with military poise. It's not acting. Click, and that thing, that custom no one, least of all Ben Solo, should own, is loaded, locked, locked, loaded, like the corners of his jaw. 

"Where was I when whatsisface died tonight?" His grin catches in that famous everlasting Gotham red. "Yeah, I know all about that. It's news. I'll tell you. You gotta hit the Iceberg for anything that's not fucking Drops, and it's shit. You think I'm panicking? TryIjustsnortedalumpofuckin'dryice. Jesus. I can't fucking work in this place. I have a set in two days. Gonna be in limbo, trapped in this      fucking     place for two days before that, before I get to live for a few hours. And that's touring, iswhatitis-done. But last year, I heard some pyromaniac freak called Firefly burned the west stage down, and everyone died."  

Serpent's eyes narrow, shining with a joyless kind of mirth. Snake voice with the merest baritone timbre rolling beneath. 

"So, I left this trailer at twenty-three-hundred-hours-to-buy drugs, Batman. Picked up some rocks from this other freakshow called the Penguin, which you already know. There's your answer. That's what you wanted. Now you got it, at the cost of wasting both our time. Now get the fuck out."

Gun to the hatch; and one has to wonder how the fuck he got in; but in Brooklyn, Ben saw rats like five feet tall. What was a six-foot bat in boots? Just another day in the fucking city. 

"Go on, Bat. That's stage left there." He gestures with the shotgun he now lowers out of a radiant, misplaced sense of chivalry. "Beat it. You bother me." 

Then, the panic the Bat clocked when his shadow passed Ben's threshold makes its voice known: "Babe? What's going on?" 

A feminine voice and Ben freezes. Thaws, his face contorting momentarily into a hellscape of wrath. He raises the gun again, cocks it at the cape. Sniffs. 

"Man, you're really fucking up my night."

The voice, keening: "Ky-looo?"

And Ben, seeming like he might turn on his heel, walk the five or so feet, and jerk the barrel through the Shoji blinds: "Shitting fuck." (More to the Bat, almost apologetically). "I told you, do not fucking call me that. What?" (Acidic, spitting, meant for the bitch too high to notice or care that there's a strange man decked out in high-tech rave gear hiding in Ben's trailer).

The panic in the voice melts into Halcion bliss: "I'm waaaait-ing." 

"You'll keep waiting... there's V. on the bottom right. On the tape. Top up and touch yourself. I need to handle this."

"MMmndf, handle whatttt?" 

"A giant bat."

"OhmyGod, grossssss." 

Ben keeps his eyes and his gun on Mr. Cloak and Dagger, unflinching, unimpressed. 

"It's just a bat, 'babe.'" He grins and blows The Bat a little plump-lipped goodbye kiss. "Don't worry. If it doesn't fly away after a friendly, animal cruelty-free chat, I'll shoot it right between its eyes, slice it up, and eat it off your ass like sashimi."

Trailer's like a vent. Oh, if that gun went off. The colors, the sound.

[kylo-wrecked]

@chromium-siren

been actively avoiding posting this but fuck it , modern au time ( i just wanted to draw hux in a tweed suit jacket)

anyways, this thing took me two-ish weeks to finish cus 70% of the way through finishing it i scrapped phas and hux's pose and redid it from scratch, so if you want to see that here's the link for it + alt colors

[kylo-wrecked]

[text]: Can I blame the shots for my sudden burst of courage? [Music!Ben, "Grant"]

Basically, he rips the headphones off, and Downtown Jerry at the mixing console here really doesn’t like that. Ben glares, swivels around in his chair and peeks at his phone.

Ben's running on three vodkas and a 20 oz Red Bull. His fingers are sore. Still, they fly across the onscreen keyboard.

[Private Number 7:00:39 PM ] ?

[7:00:45 PM] what the fuck?

He has to look into it, which only takes a beat.

[7:02:10 PM] is this grant? how do you have this number?

How many devices does this guy have?

[7:02:20 PM] yo

Jerry with that plaintive nod.

"Just a second, Jer. We'll pick up in a fucking second."

[7:03:10 PM] oh my God

[7:03:12 PM] you ducking tool

[7:03:13 PM] fucking

[7:03:45 PM] are we doing this all week

[victoriareyloficlists]

There Was Only One Bed

Updated 7 November 2021

Rest of the Masterlist.

as luck would have it by prncesselene (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When a case of violent food poisoning ruins Rose and Hux’s honeymoon plans, who better to take their place at a pre-paid Hawaiian beach resort than the Maid of Honor and Best Man? Sure, it’ll take some maneuvering, but a free vacation is a free vacation. They just have to pretend to be devoted newlyweds for a bit to enjoy it. There’s only one glaring issue, really: they can’t stand each other.) Crisis: Girlfriend by perperuna (AO3 2018  Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben had been in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his date and ‘girlfriend’.) Deceit, Delusion, and Desire by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey realizes her student visa is about to expire, she struggles to find a way to stay in the country legally. Her roommate has a terrible idea, and it's just risky enough to work.) Fireproof by SpaceWaffleHouseTM (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey's home is overrun by a wildfire, she has to evacuate with little time and no warning. Then she saves the life of Ben Solo, the neighbor she barely knows, on the road and he offers her a place to stay in the aftermath.) Gimme Shelter by JaneNightwork (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, 14 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo meets Rey Niima when his mother asks him to drop off a few boxes of old sheets and towels at the animal shelter. He is immediately charmed by her and decides to volunteer at the shelter to get to know her better. In the process of building his relationship with Rey and learning to take care of the animals, Ben learns new ways to heal old hurts.) Happy to Help by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated E Incomplete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Sometimes you just need your neighbor to pretend to be in a relationship with you. Repeatedly.) Home for the Holidays by LarirenShadow (AO3 2016  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Kylo Ren, in a moment of weakness, tells his mother he'll be home for Christmas and will bring his girlfriend. Problem is he doesn't have one. Enter Rey, his grad assistant. He makes a deal with her so she'll be his girlfriend for the trip home.) In the Woods Somewhere by Verdantsolstice (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Hikers Ben & Rey meet on the trail when they’re both lost. Hours of walking lead them to a convent in the woods. The sisters are very friendly, but refuse to let them both stay unless they’re married. TW: Mentions of ICE and immigration.) Laid Between Words by jeeno2 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 15 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is nearing the end of her temporary work Visa. Her friend Ben offers to marry her so she can stay in the U.S. She says yes.) Let me Dream, Let me Stay by Melusine11 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 12 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey has kept up a charade of a non-existant boyfriend for two years and now that Rose and Finn are getting married, she needs someone to pretend to be said boyfriend, enter her coworker Ben.) Look No Further by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 9 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is spending Thanksgiving alone but a late-night Craigslist ad ends up with her agreeing to crash some asshole's family dinner. At the very least, she's curious what kind of people name their son "Kylo Ren" anyway.) Lucky Number Seven by Pearl Gatsby (DrPearlGatsby) (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Number seven on First and Order orders pizza again. Rey groans when she sees the address, remembering how they didn't bother to tip; but that's nothing compared to how she feels when she's been standing outside the door for two solid minutes, knocking and calling the cell number she has. Nobody answers. :: pizza delivery/college AU) Merry Christmas, I'm Yours by captain_staryeyed (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After finding out that Rey has nowhere to go for Christmas, Ben invites her to spend Christmas at his parents’ house. During the time spent together, they are forced to confront their growing feelings toward each other.) miles from where you are by Mooncactus (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After an argument over Star Wars fandom with a "gatekeeping, entitled monster" with the cryptic username of KyloRen, Rey finds herself stuck in a series of unavoidable video calls.) Miss Johnson & the Professor by ElegyGoldsmith (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Professor Ben has his TA Rey accompany him to a conference in Japan but she accidentally booked a single room.) mountain at my gates by KyloTrashForever (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Hard Outside/Soft Inside Lumberjack Alpha Ben Solo and Horny Engineer Omega Rey Johnson featuring Explicit Hand Holding, ABO, and Mutual Masturbation. (Ft. Snowed In and Bed Sharing for funnies.)) My Whole Life by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The "Without a Hitch" high school sweethearts, fake-dating rom-com AU.) Needing A Teacher by Twisted_Mirror (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey tells her roommate, Ben, that she has only had sex in missionary position, he offers to let her use him to see what she likes. He vows to himself it's all for her pleasure, he has no idea that Rey is trying to drive him crazy.) Nominis by Oh_Snapcrackle (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 8 Chapters, Harry Potter AU, Quick Synopsis: When Professor Skywalker partners Rey with the notorious Ben Solo for occulmency lessons, something goes wrong (or very right) and now their minds are bridged. Between sharing thoughts, inconvenient astral projections, and bedsharing Rey starts to learn that while Ben Solo deserves the reputation he has built, he also deserves the opportunity to change.) Off the cuff by Blueyedgurl (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Poe gets Ben a stripper for closing a business deal. Ben reluctantly takes part to not waste Poe's money. The stripper hand cuffs him and robs him of clothes and money. Rey heads back to the office late night and finds her hot boss cuffed to the office chair in nothing but his tie.) Only Make-Believe by Hartmannclan (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is in a car accident, so best friend Ben races to the hospital to be with her. What happens when she wakes up with amnesia and believes they are married?) Peacock by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 22 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Thanks to a series of misunderstandings, failed attempts at flirting, and loud Katy Perry music, Ben grows to hate his new neighbor. Proposing to her wasn't the best solution to his problems.) Plus Won by AmberDread, DarkMage13, Erulisse17, Trish47, venetum (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After a drunken night of complaining at a bar, Rey and Ben agree to be each other's plus-ones for a variety of events. As friends and family continue to invite them to things, they discover that they really enjoy spending time together. And holding hands. And... kissing. What happens when their relationship starts to feel a lot more real than fake?) Saving What We Love by naboojakku (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 18 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: In which Ben and Rey are voluntarily quarantined together for two weeks. Includes: copious amounts of fluff, discussion of mental illness, and way too many hours of Animal Crossing. Feel-good read during these batshit crazy times.) Say it With Sugar by fettuccine_alfreylo (AO3 2016  Rated E Complete, 20 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo is the owner of his family’s small chocolate shop. Rey Kenobi is a talented chocolate maker he hires. They both share the same passion for chocolate. Unfortunately, they share the same kind of anxiety, too.) Snow Sparkles Like Stars by raptorginger (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 9 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A blizzard forces Professor (of mythology and cosmology) Kylo Ren, aka Ben Solo, off the road while on his way to his parents’ house in Seattle for the holidays. Luckily, the woman who owns the house he’s stranded at is well prepared for a snow-in and (as a bonus) is adorable. Unluckily, she’s the owner of eight mischievous Alaskan Malamutes, who may or may not be the physical manifestations of the old gods of Norse myth.) Someone to Watch Over Me by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 6 chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey is gifted a state-of-the-art all-house AI to beta-test, she never expected "Kylo" to become her best friend, and she never expected him do anything within his power to give her the winter holiday she's always wanted.) Someone You Love(d) by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A misunderstanding leads to a lot of hate sex between roommates Ben and Rey. But when Rey ends up joining him on his trip to visit his family, the truth comes out.) Stone Hollow by violethoure666 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey have been tasked with convincing a very grumpy old man to let them use his private road for a bus route. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and there’s only one room at the inn *smirk emoji*) Sugar and Spice by Rebel_Scum1221 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 6 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey bakes when she's stressed, but unfortunately never has enough room to finish all of her baked goods. Thus leading her to give her neighbor- who she may or may not have the hots for- her leftovers. Shenanigans ensue.) Sweet Home by Violetwilson (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Honestly, she only came to Waffle House at two AM to pick up Finn and Poe and maybe order some pancakes. Maybe. But what was she supposed to do when she found a hot businessman with a broken car in the parking lot? Not invite him to sleep over at her place until the town's only mechanic sobered up?) the man, the stallion, and the wind by voicedimplosives (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Weary and alone, Rey barrels west on the Trans-Canada Hwy in her old pickup truck. Weary and in need of a lift, Ben Solo stands by the side of the road with his thumb out, in the hopes of hitching a ride. One hell of a winter storm’s about to roll in, leaving them stranded. What ever shall they do?) The Trial of Naboo: Fall of a Duke by Twin_Kitten (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Historical AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey are engaged to be married, but after several attempts on her life, he takes personal responsibility for her safety, including keeping her in his bed at night. Problem? Ben is extremely attracted to his bride but the MUST wait until marriage. ) Trapped by spacey_gracie (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey and Ben have been sworn enemies since they were eight years old. When their best friends Rose and Hux start dating, they decide they're sick of the fighting, and force the pair together to work out their issues once and for all.) under thy own life's key by galvanator (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey share a bed on a trip and everything is totally normal and nothing is weird.) variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (AO3 2017  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Canon AU, Quick Synopsis: "Who knows?" Luke darted a faint smile at Ben and Rey as they stewed in silence and disbelief. "The two of you might even learn to get along. Right, Leia?" "Like a house on fire," the General deadpanned. "Complete with screams, flames, and people running for safety." "Indeed." Luke's blue eyes twinkled. "There may be no survivors.") What if I want to kiss you tomorrow? by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben needs to share Rey's bed for the night, but does he want to share more than a bed with her? ) what you take with you by irridesca (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey's former boss, heartless defense attorney Kylo Ren, is shot in the head, she's asked to return to her position as his assistant to oversee his recovery. The only problem? When he wakes up two days later, he has no idea who Kylo Ren is. According to him, his name is Ben Solo.) When the party ends by Blueyedgurl (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey gets wasted at a frat party. Ben finds her, puts her in his room, where she's safe. Rey wakes in the morning after Ben comes out of the shower and nakedness ensues.) would you be so kind? by youcarrymeaway (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: An au where Ben accidentally hits Rey with his car, and also falls in love with her a little.)

[likeadove]

fic: we could plant a house, we could build a tree (1/?)

Summary: Seven-year-old Rey decides it's her duty to annoy the crap out of Ben Solo every single day she's alive. Modern-day AU.

Pairing: Reylo

Rating: M

FFN

AO3

They find her dumpster diving behind a Waffle House when she’s five. When they ask her where her parents are, she shrugs.

“Look Rey, I know you’re not particularly happy about this—”

Rey’s crossed arms and pouty face are enough to bring Maz Kanata up short in amusement. The wizened old woman who has been Rey’s caretaker the past couple of years tries not to laugh. She’s always had a soft spot for the spirited ones.

“Rey,” she says a little more sternly, waiting for the child to make eye contact with her through the rearview mirror. But the seven-year-old is resolute. She glares out the window at Skywalker Studios with nothing short of contempt.

Maz parks the car and climbs out, slamming the door shut behind her before opening Rey’s. “Come on then, out you get.”

Rey opens her mouth to argue and is silenced by a wrinkled finger to her mouth. “This is your own fault, girl,” her caretaker says. “I don’t care how smart you are, no school system is going to put up with you if you keep spray painting in the girl’s bathrooms and doodling with Sharpie on the desks. Now, get out of this car or I will make you.”

The girl’s hazel eyes go a little wide and she sighs, begrudgingly unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing out of the car. Rey has never won a battle with Maz Kanata before and isn’t too keen on trying her luck now.

They make their way to the front door of the studio, drizzling rain dampening their hair. An older man comes out to greet them, opening the front door for them and gesturing that they come inside. He watches Rey with curious, kind eyes.

“Rey.” Maz’s voice is firm, brokering no room for arguing. “This is Mr. Skywalker—”

“Call me Luke,” the older man interrupts, giving Rey a smile that she pointedly doesn’t return.

“—you’ll be coming here every day after school for the foreseeable future,” Maz continues. “You’ll do exactly what he tells you and you won’t give him any trouble, do I make myself clear?”

Rey is silent, deliberately looking everywhere but at her caretaker.

“Rey.”

Rey grumbles a “whatever” underneath her breath. But it’s enough for Maz. The old woman quickly lets herself out, promising to be back to pick her up in a couple of hours.

As soon as the door swings shut Luke turns his full attention onto Rey. “Well Rey, why don’t we start with a tour.”

**

It was either art classes or basketball. And Rey hates basketball. She’d gotten in trouble for graffiti for the third time in barely two weeks and the principal and nearly expelled her. In retrospect, Rey isn’t really sure how Maz got her out of that one. Maybe one day she’ll be grateful.

But today she’s seven and a half years old and petulant. She trails behind Luke Skywalker as the older man shows her the room where they sculpt, the room with rows of easels where he teaches painting classes, the room filled from floor to ceiling with tons of art supplies—

There’s blaringly loud music coming from the other end of the hallway, and Rey tilts her head towards the noise, showing genuine interest for the first time since she’s walked through the front doors. Luke’s gaze follows hers. “Ah.” His face is passive. “Don’t worry about that. That’s just Ben.”

Back in the entrance room the phone rings. Luke motions toward the art supply room. “Alright Rey, why don’t you grab a pad and some pencils and draw something for me.”

She doesn’t move. “Why do you want me to draw?”

Luke laughs. “Whatever you want!” Then he trots toward the main room to answer the phone.

Rey walks straight past the supply room and toward all the angry noise, inquisitiveness getting the best of her. There are framed prints, paintings, and sculptures lining the walls. Some are by Luke, and others by his students, some of whom have gone on to hold art shows in the likes of NYC and LA. Rey has never really considered being an actual artist before. But she does like to sketch.

And finally she’s in front of the closed door with the pounding music. She pushes the door open and is hit hard with the smell of paint. A boy whose back is to her (she deduces that this must be Ben) is flinging paint against a white sheet that hangs from the ceiling. He’s also shouting “fuck” at the top of his lungs over and over again. It makes her smile. It’s the first time she’s smiled all day.

The song ends and another one starts immediately after, fast paced and aggressive. And Rey finds her head bobbing along. She likes this. It fits her mood. There’s a stereo in the corner of the room, banged up and splattered with every color of paint imaginable. She walks over and presses the STOP button, determined to peek inside and see the CD—

“Wha—”

Rey has never seen someone move so quickly. The boy is in front of her in the span of a heartbeat. “Who said you could touch the music?” he demands, shooing her away from the stereo. “No one touches the music. Who are you anyway? Uncle—”

“What’s that supposed to be of?” Rey has ducked around him and is standing in front of uh, whatever the paint splattered sheet is.

Ben’s mouth falls open a bit, indignant. He’s fifteen, maybe sixteen, wearing a plain white t-shirt and a flannel shirt tied around his waist. Rey knows her fair share of moody teens. They’re a dime a dozen at the home she stays at, and this one is no different. Slightly taller, maybe. But no different.

He takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s a project. Conceptual art. You wouldn’t get it.”

Rey presses her lips together to keep from laughing. She plans her next words quickly and carefully, determining what will get her the best reaction. “Really? Looks like you ruined a bedsheet to me.”

His reaction does not disappoint. “Get out.” He furiously shoves her toward the door and she lets out a stream of half repressed giggles. Before he slams the door in her face she notices that the tops of his ears have turned red with anger. A second later the music starts up again.

And just like that Rey’s entire perception of this place has changed. She’ll come back every day for the next ten years if it means she’ll get to irritate the angry boy who likes to fling paint at things. After school care is going to be fun.

**

Later that night she’s curled up in her squeaky bed in a room she shares with three other girls, flashlight on underneath her blankets. Luke had let her keep a sketchpad and all but demanded she take home plenty of pencils and markers as well.

She sketches out the boy’s face. She gives him an overexaggerated scowl and messy hair. And she colors his ears red.

She can’t wait to show it to him tomorrow.

**

Always move forward Going "straight" will get you nowhere There is no progress Evolution killed it all I found my place in nowhere

"Jaded" by Green Day

**

A/N: Hello all! Welcome to my modern day AU fic that's basically my love letter to 90's alt rock and emo music. In this fic Ben was born in '81 and Rey in '90, and we'll pick up in '97. Also, in reality an orphaned Rey would probably have been in the foster system, but here I've put her in a more traditional orphanage. Anyway, if you like drop me a comment and let me know!

[kylo-wrecked]

"You're sorry."

'For what' is implied. Dollars and definitions filed away in Ben's memory PCP couldn't wash out. 'I get mixed up' isn't remotely within the same genus as 'there was a mix-up.' There's a twenty-dollar difference between those statements, a twenty-year difference in a court of law. 'I shot the gun' vs. 'The gun went off.'

Sometimes, guns go off. Sometimes, it doesn't matter why.

‘Ben’ looks at 'Jake.' It's a flat look, no dimension, laying smooth bronze coins over another pair of unsheathed irises before pushing the accompanying body down the river. The bone machine trawls along on tires, approaching the Brooklyn Bridge, bearing all God's vessels over East.

"No, sure," 'Ben' rasps, grazing 'Jake' (face and hands respectively) with nothing behind the eyes. Real nothing. "I'm listening."

Hearing more of the black cold East River than Max Roach's petering taxi yellows and royal blues or Jake's Barbie pink.

"Look. I don't feel remorse—"

He's short-circuited somewhere deep down without a paddle. Floating downriver watching Jake and Kharon, elbow crooking left bicep and forearm into another armrest.

"—for some things I should. I don't like it, and cops can smell it, but I don't tell them anything I can't tell myself."

The mask isn't carved by present judgment. That's 'Ben's face,' that 'nothing' and 'nowhere' stone skipping on flat black water, the sound-shape of oil churning under the bridge. Sad in the way The Dying Gaul is sad. The hands that whittled the form died with their intentions unspoken yet studied and theorized, their expression erased by human interference and inhumane time.

"Not like I'm blaming what you can't control," he grumbles blind at a ghost scowling in the neon City window. "I asked for an answer. If that's yours." A shrug. "You don't think it's bullshit; why should I?"

Voice hitch wrinkles the mask.

"I fucking know you liked it." Arm telling in how it moves, how it folds over the other. "Situation's what it is. It's, you know, if the information stinks to you, don't pass it my way."  

How his fingers burn the stone red.

@silverjetsystm

Solo turns the stereo into art. Music balanced correctly for its genre in the background. Fingers tap to the quiet beat, “I like this.”

Considering what Jake’s said, he’d deserve a dry cherry on his arm. Worse than, judging by the helmet and visor plastic and boning Solo’s expression, the forearm block. Say it. Shoot straight. Set smile dares respirator hiss, mathing the chance of fist swinging and other reruns.

Should he try and climb out of the hole – explain! -- or will he wind up burying himself deeper in Brooklyn bricks and brownstones?

“Ach. Sorry.” Black rum blinks at bronzite. Sickly yellow cab puttering towards Manhattan. No stops at Gena’s today. This is a car conversation between two people. Third person scowling at neon City window, Garvey's Ghost from hidden speakers keeping him and his inbox tray company. And the fourth? Asleep.

Shotgun mutters asides. Jake stops for pedestrians, honk-honking at the stragglers taking too long, zoned out at InstaTok. “Nuh uh,” he says instead of it being Grant’s job or thought they had already. Have or had? worse problems less they go out like Thelma and Louise. Grape mutterings have Lockley hold his tongue. “Bay only gets one of my cabs.” Singular point to the roof. “Ain’t buying another.”

There’s fancy twenty dollar words in articles and parroted at him at in sessions. ‘Sounds like you were experiencing a passive influence state between yourself and Grant.’ Sure, Doc. Feels like crossed wires. Couldn’t fuggin drive, Doc. Make heads nor tails of a City they’ve both lived in for years. Know how weird that is, Doc?

Morals teeth tongue tip. “Oyyyy...kay.” Long breath of air. Molasses blinks over at mask. “I meant, finding me off like that happens. I get mixed up. Lose track of who I am an’ where. If I could control it, it wouldn’t happen. Cracks. Light isn’t the only thing leakin’ out.”

Voice hitches. On the bridge again. For the last time today. Better be. “I liked coming up with you. I wasn’t trying to ignore you. G-d, I wasn’t trying to pull one over on you.”

@kylo-wrecked

[kylo-wrecked]

fun fact about music!ben: he’s a talented musician, a capable, walking audio mixer, but he doesn’t sing. should you ask him to sing, he’ll say, “no- fuck you, you sing.”

why?

it’s one of those open secrets.

[kylo-wrecked]

{ cont'd from here }

Ben sterns his face with a name-brand expression he hopes Brunnhilde recognizes as disgust, his eyes narrowing at her knowing smile. Cats have looked less offended by bumbling, mucky-mitted toddlers. "You ever want spaghetti, I'll make it." Steps around Brunnhilde's kitchen island, away from her. He soaks up her half-dimmed home chef's station with the last of his body's width he hadn't snorted or smoked away. "You light your cursed candles." "Pottery Barn," Ben laughs, banging Brunnhilde's cabinet doors like he's shaking the spirits from them. "Sure. And the apple was from Whole Foods. And I'm from..." How does he feel? He stares into a liminal cupboard. A weirdly empty cupboard with a thirsty grail inside it. And within that? Maybe there's the stretch of two hundred and fifty years staring him down from a box that seems to have no back. No end. "...nothing. Nowhere," he mutters and shuts the door. The adjacent cabinet reveals angel hair, tinned olives, and a mini jar of fig jam. Ben twists and watches Brunnhilde from over his broad black shoulder; his head cocked like some bird of prey, cheek partially obscured by raven hair, hands forearms still resting on the bottom shelf. He blinks. "You loot that stuff from an ancient tomb or Eataly?"

@valkxrie

[kylo-wrecked]

{ cont'd from here }

An hour of staring at this next prize revealed behind Pinto Flare curtains: it's a fur coat with genuine white leather trim, a thirty-inch electric range, Connie jumping up and down because the third prize is a Vega notchback wagon, and the medical office pastels of radio-trained voices and tooth-drilling incidental music.

Phone buzz cuts through the fog and Ben slow blinks at 'Fair' after a fifty-three-minute break. At ‘Soldier.’ Oh boy, oh boy. Hell yes, that’s who you could count on to break you out of a hospital day stay. Ben’s almost giddy. And it’s not the drugs! They didn’t give him anything stronger than an IV. This is all

[Solo] him

A pause, then another violent tap tap tapping hailstorm over the sound of a background buzzsaw. His arms still feel heavy. His head swims, but he isn't drowning.

[Solo] fine [Solo] fucking thank you [Solo] seriously thought i had to block you [Solo] 100 E77 Street [Solo] they think im a danger to myself? [Solo] this is child’s play as far as im concerned [Solo] i cant just lie here all day haha

Bob Barker explains the four spaces to Connie on TV. A nurse glances nervously through the windowed door of reality. Ben bends his neck over the little window in his hands. Pins and needles bite his fingers as he types.

[Solo] refrigerators were so small [Solo] do you g et why i cant be here [Solo] itll be me and bob forever , my brain will explode [Solo] the # of doors ive watched open on brown schemed mid consumer goods [Solo] is like [Solo] indefensible

And there's a longing in his stomach, a hunger for something untenable, while the pastels berate him with things that have never mattered, and his fingers prickle, and his ear rings.

[Solo] im sitting in a dentist’s office while i decompose on a hospital bed [Solo] why not let me

He ignores the unfinished nature of that unfinished sentence.

[Solo] you know? [Solo] how soon can XxSoldieRxX get here

@silverjetsystm

[kylo-wrecked]

No?

He bristled but brushed into the master bedroom, crossed the carpet, padded onto heated bathroom tile, and sat, tentative, a dog learning how to trust a new handler with its paw. Brunnhilde came to him like one of God's testier angels, haughty and golden with tricks and lessons. He reached up and placed his palm over her palm; it was a sea-broiled crab on a white sand.

Ben was a vampire tan in midnight joggers, staring up bleary and bruise-eyed from the tub rim, his hair a rolling black storm, and his face a bi-lit mask. Brunnhilde moved and triggered the overhead saucer lights, four-by-four-inch votives.

"No," he muttered. "It's a burn."

Raised and revealed his left fist, black flecks and blood engraved in his mid-knuckles. The peroxide was for this second foul.

"Not broken either."  

His pupils rolled inside his glazed corneas, hinged on the bath vanity, the little plastic disc Brunnhilde had placed there.

"I punched a camera," Ben said, rolling his tongue under a jagged molar. "Joking," he added, with all the gravity of a black hole.

@valkxrie

@kylo-wrecked

She senses his approach; the barometric pressure changing as Ben's body moves the air and energy in his path. A hum escapes her at his first real words. She sets her phone on the counter. She listens to his command.

"No" Brunnhilde replies flatly. Her blue goes to his face, then to his hand. Her expression registers only that she is not one to be commanded. Not anymore.

"Sit" She indicates the edge of his tub. Her intention is clear, hands already removing the safety seal on the peroxide. "Do you think it's broken?"

A little plastic disk joins the space beside her phone; beside the Whole Foods bag and the pickles. She keeps the peroxide, her free fingers extending to Ben - giving him the option to decide if he would put his palm over her palm so she might see the wound.

[kylo-wrecked]

{*butterfly knife emoji*}

Her tongue was heavy in her mouth. Her ears repeated her pulse to her, rushing in and out like the sea. All salt. All air. She watched him carefully; this so-far nameless man with hair that fell like art. Who had a full mouth and who had laced the filter between her teeth with liquor. I'm not a bitch. I'm a cunt. Words ricocheted off the heavy bass, off the lights, and the selfish haze of 3am. He was all prowling. All spine. Mercy switched its place between them each time ownership was taken of a highly contested cigarette. Around and around, red cherry smouldering with all that remained of Asgard. She revealed herself; bone and blood and feathers unfurling from her back as she took a drag, her gaze sitting serrated and unyielding upon his face. A tongue slid between her teeth. Hers? Hers. They weren't going to fuck. Not yet. Fucking would put an end to the night and the edge it pressed against her throat; the column long and bare and begging to be consumed. Mercy, mercy. Maybe begging for it was all that was all she had left. Air from her wings pushed his hair back. His fingers brushed her lower lip as he retrieved his coffin nail and refreshed its liquor taste. Honey and hops. Peat and barley. Mercy, mercy. It was not in her nature to beg.

It wasn't in his nature to be merciful, not while he had his teeth sunk in the Big Sour Apple, tracing her through the mullion of absinthe-dark clubs and boudoir catwalks and the insides of great drawn oak rooms regular people never see through Upper Manhattan's windows, where gods come to die. And beg. 

He was inky hair, and a crooked smile, and cheekbones that seemed a shade too pale, and any number of epithets. Paragon, Just Lucky, Asshole. Black damask pants, black dog bite—

You're right. You are a cunt. 

They exchanged cigarettes with the brush of fingers, talons to callouses. Long trailings of tobacco smoke, longer legs lengthening in a chlorine lagoon. She rested her claws on his collarbone, and he sat in the 3 AM haze. The water and the moon lapped his calves. 

No courting. 

He dreamt of her once. More than once.

No touching.

He ate an apple.

No fucking. 

Her wings are born on a dark Thursday evening. The shadowed sky is patient, swelled for a storm. His hair settles, and his eyes fizz, filling with light the way the cigarette's beacon does when he inhales. Clicks his heel on the part of tar beach their sphinxlike hosts didn't cover in gold, and mosaic, and Bacardi. The El Dorado's bays and balconies are green-gold with 808 bass. 

This may be their first meeting or their fifth. 

He showed her the seeds on his tongue.

"You lick those clean?" Motions to her pinions, her pride, with the coffin nail's cherry. Threatening proximity, conflagration, but he only holds it out to her, refreshed with the taste of liquor and metal. 

No mercy. 

@valkxrie

[kylo-wrecked]

{ cont'd from here 🆘 }

Ben reclines on the floor with an alpine knee drawn into his chest and an elbow resting on a flat grey uni-cushion, no less than an inch from where Marc chooses to languish that day, watching.

"You wish you were normal? That's just precious."

He throws his black dog hair back and snorts. The laughing kind. Blow isn't off the table so much as dusted off in streaks, virgules of fingerprints on a black glass boomerang in the center of the room. Chews and speaks around a rosé colored knuckle. (~ He doesn't keep up with Grant's hand lotion regimen or whatever the fuck it is, and Grant is out of town. ~)

"Pete's sake. Listen to you. Nobody wished people listened. We worked. They did listen. Listeners formed all by 'emselves, like ant colonies. These massive para-social organisms made out of itty-bitty people." 

He takes his hand out of his mouth and makes his fingers into squirming tarsi. Presses the serrated moons of his nails into the area rug, the three thousand dollar area rug he hates, with a smile that could cut hate from the heart of hatred.

"I didn't wish for that," Ben scoffs. "We fed the ant farm. It's called playing an audience. It's called marketing. It's history, over."

Rolls his eyes. Sniffs back yesterday's drip. The day before yesterday's?

"God makes fire; man steals it. Man makes music with that fire; God and man die alone. You try and guess what I wished for. Any-fucking-way." 

He pins Marc with a roiling gaze and the hand not clenching Desert Dust fibers, places his fucked up thumb and forefinger, the corner of his palm over Marc's exposed abdomen, the arch of muscle where his oblique starts.

"Why, you worried?" A pause, a dark look. His own questions going on in there. Who's 'everyone?' How's it 'not the same?' "You know what I wish? I wish you would explain all that to me."

@silverjetsystm

[kylo-wrecked]

📞 Music!Ben to Post-Ragnarok B

{ 🫀 You broke and bought: Music!Ben }

She picks up on the third ring. Swell. He'd have guessed the ninth. He'd have guessed she'd given him a bunk number, but it's her distinctive pitch accent—and she's drinking. Something. Her mouth is wet; she comes up for breath.

"What're you doing?" he asks anyway. He doesn't know what time it is. He tries to picture her somewhere other than a damp SoHo rooftop or a dark underpass along the East River and gives up, waits for the color of her voice or an end tone.

Can she picture him? The living room panorama is the only surface that feels right right now. Cool under his leaning forehead. It suspends him over the burnished face of Battery City, which lives up to its fancy when lightning strikes.

@valkxrie

[kylo-wrecked]

She flicks through her phone with one hand, and then it's gone. Spirited away by other hands, deft hands notched and pruned by constant motion, constant play.

"No," says a full black coffee voice. "You can't."

Those hands scroll. Perhaps to the detriment of these nice pair of legs, this pretty face. Perhaps not; his sleek brown eyes seem poised at nothing. The face hanging over Kai's phone screen's glazed, almost like it is on promotional products. Except on those promotional products, he wears a mask. It's not akin to the mask of yore, but really, what difference does it make? He'll be thirty next year, he'll be dead.

This expectant posture, the shaggy black head that would cuff a trailer ceiling, belongs to Ben Solo, who, for the record, does not look happy, sanguine, or alluring. What he looks is bored. Maybe boredom has its own appeal when it's on Ben's face. A certain je ne sais quoi. 

"You could have helped me," he adds. "But," he sighs, clapping the phone from one hand to the other, "that'd've been years ago."

By years, he means hours. By the mean glint in his eyes, he may have meant both. And where was Ben Solo during those hours? And where was he the night of November 4th? Just driving. His label covered up traces of anything other than driving- like throwing white linens over a corpse. His mother had said, you sound like your father, and thrown up her hands. 

Ben's hands remit the phone. Good thing Legs here is fast. 

"Joking," he says, with a deceptively genial smile. "I would've caught it. Cross my heart." 

Then he lights a cigarette; the smoke and smell of good tobacco cobwebs the air, tarring the prison jumpsuit-colored walls. From behind a cloud, Ben assesses this woman, this could-have-been model who prefers her precious life behind-the-camera, et cetera, et cetera. 

"You're in my spot."

Long legs and all. Ben parts his lips, ghosts the smoke. The moment he opens his mouth to ask a question, a woman with passes upon passes and clips hung around her neck like Olympic medals scurries in, and you know, ‘Ben, I've told you before, you can't smoke in here.’ Hallway monitor killjoy at twelve o'clock. 

"No—again? Damn shame," Ben says, placing his cigarette between the woman's unsuspecting fingers and turning to his new friend, Miss Camera Operator.

"See? My spot." His smile sharks towards tall girl photographer while the hallway monitor douses his smoke at the water fountain. "You should help find me a new one. Join me? Yeah, humor me. Tell me your name."

Though the words tumble off his tongue in a playful dance, they don’t make a request. 

@ofthestcrs

Working for artists that decided to go solo was the worst — pun not intended. That was the first thing Kai thought of when she checked her email in the coffee shop. Drinking a basic bitch pumpkin latte as she had been editing pictures from the last concert she’d taken photos for when that email notification had appeared.

Fuck.

There’d been a time where Kai would have jumped for joy at the thought of shooting this show. After all, she’d been a huge fan of The Knights Of Ren — a secret she’d planned to take to her grave now. Despite what one might say, amicable splits in bands were hardly such, and boy had she heard a lot about the lead singer since.

Her fingers typed out a reply. Insisting the job might not be the best for her. It doesn’t matter that the pay is great. It doesn’t matter that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. She had to tell herself that, because she wouldn’t allow herself to think anything else.

It was only a few minutes after Kai had hit send that she got a phone call. iPhone vibrating violently against the tabletop that only seemed more demanding when she realized who it was. Of course, the company she worked for wouldn’t understand. Of course her boss was going to call her up and scream at her the moment she said no. Be damned the possible embarrassment, because while Kai rarely ever got starstruck — this was deeper than that.

“Before you yell at me, give me a chance to explain-“ Kai answered the phone, but there was no kindness or understanding to be had. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a suggestion. He wanted the best photographer they have and that was her. God dammit that was her. Of course came the threats too. That she’d be blacklisted. That she’d never shoot another show again for as long as her boss lived and while he was hanging on a thread, Kai couldn’t stand to wait that long.

Fuck.

“Alright. Alright. I’ll do it, but I hope you feel guilty for making me do it.” Kai hung up, not waiting for a response. She slammed her laptop shut and chugged the rest of her latte. Today was gonna be a long day.

—

Checking in for her photo pass was annoying to say the least. Everyone seemed to be assholes. No matter how big of platforms Kai wore, people still saw her as small. Annoyance was spread out on her face even as she got backstage. Her camera was hanging loosely from her neck. She furiously was sending a text to her mom to stop by her place to take the dogs out or they’d piss all over the house. Again.

She was leaning against the wall in one of the hallways where there wasn’t a lot of movement. Thought she’d be safe there, but then she saw someone in the corner of her eye. Ignore it. Don’t pay attention to anyone and they won’t pay attention to you, but then the body didn’t move. Like it was expecting something.

“Can I help you?” She didn’t bother to look at who it was. Part of her could tell. Instead, she nervously flicked through her phone with one hand, the other pushing stray curls behind her ear. What did he want?

@kylo-wrecked

[kylo-wrecked]

{ cont'd from here, because i, like some people, had no chill }

Tenements creaked like broken bones. Old bones. Their windows whistled while the Domino Sugar Factory flipped the bird across the way. Pigeons and crows roosted on the tired arms of streetlamps, shaking out their wings. Dark pinions overlapped darker pinions in a black tangle, not unlike Ben's hair. The wind could've blown them away, man and Valkyrie both. Ben and his sharp teeth laughed at the sky. The stars, ghosts. Below, the East River laughed with him, rolling and hissing endlessly.

His laugh was curt, there and then gone, and he regarded Brunnhilde, this sliver of moonlight with the hardness of a diamond, pursing his lips in thought. Ben was listening.

Maybe selectively. Maybe with what was left of his soul. Maybe he felt as the Valkyrie did. Maybe not—maybe they didn't want the same things. Maybe he didn't give a good God damn. Nor had he ever wanted glories, ashes, feathers, and fallen sisters. He didn't care for such things any more than he'd cared for flying business class.

Ben Solo was made for the travails and tragedies of fruitless human endeavor. He was made to rot. Was she? From what she described, Ragnarok seemed like another exercise in futility: it meant nothing. Even gods destroyed themselves. 

Even gods answered questions with questions. 

When Brunnhilde pierced Ben with her gaze and asked her questions, he provided a statement. 

"Home is sound and the color it makes. That's me."

Ben was also made for music. His fingers, their seemingly preternatural familiarity with stringed instruments, the branching pathways in his brain, drawing shape and flavor from things not meant to have form, taste, or tincture. 

Additionally, he might have thought he was made for reality, the state of things as they exist, even when they have wings.  

"You? You sound like a woman," he said, shrugging at Brunnhilde, her pretty pissed-off face. "Maybe you belong to yourself now. Maybe your home is being angry. How the shit should I know? You 'belong to nothing?' Then why're you so proud? You ever think of that?"

Tapped at his temple as the wind ruffled through those black locks, and the pigeons cooed, and the crows laughed along as they ascended from the sudden smell of rain. 

"Do you have feathers up there, too?" 

[kylo-wrecked]

“I want a pumpkin spice latte and I don’t care what anyone thinks.” [Jake ✨️ to music!Ben]

{ from this meme :// not accepting }

Another car flared by, its horn brushing against his left eardrum. Ben's head swiveled slow on his neck, machine-like, expression indicating he'd heard Jake perfectly, studio smooth, while the rest of the noise on this corner of what was formerly known as Alphabet City frothed and flattened.

"You disgust me."

Turned out every Brooklyn Boy ate shit eventually. Ben trawled a hand through the air like it might come tenderly… and smacked Jake's cap flat over his eyes. Then Ben pitched his weight out of the cab, slamming the door too hard, stirring up crunched leaves. Some woman jumped and cursed. He smiled under shades like tinted windows and a black ball cap and disappeared around a scaffold.

Minutes racked up on a silent meter, but lo and behold, Ben returned with a fragrant cup of orange bullshit. Just for Jake. Shoved the seasonal vessel through the rolled-down window, threatening spillage and third-degree-balls.

"Here you go, shithead."

Hunched down in the back, like that might ward off any unwanted public inquiry. The nice thing about New York was that nobody cared who you were when you were right in front of them; the stone-faced barista shrugged and rolled her eyes at the tip. Ben would make a fun story for later.

And he ordered a pumpkin spice latte. A pumpkin spice latte?

Ben had his own sightings; Tyra Banks at the Odeon, ordering everything on the menu and actually eating it. Cameron Diaz crossing a SoHo street too early in the morning—she'd looked rough. Jake Gyllenhaal on the Q—they pretended not to see each other.

"Better drink it," he grumbled, fishing for a lighter with one hand. "Shaved years off my sweet ass getting you that."

Urged his own cap over his eyes and lit a cigarette. He'd picked up something for himself, gripped in the crook of an arm—dark and flat, no steam, no ice. The ephemera of lighter fluid made it phosphate in spots. Maybe it was motor oil.

"Make you drive Staten Island."

@silverjetsystm