#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]

Two worlds. Two shits Ben doesn't—shouldn't—give. Bronzite gaze in reverse, two eyes veering off 'Jake,' washing over the loose sketch of himself in the windshield, slipping onto the triptych city. Put the black rum away. Put the bottle down. Two voices in an airlock brain. Just one, really. One throwing itself against a flat black antechamber. Echoing.

The shapes don't twist themselves into words. They did, those word-shapes might sound like 

Lay off already. '                        ' {Lay off already.} Stop being angry.' '                         ' {Stop being angry.} Stop it. '           ' {Stop it.} Make it stop. '                    '  {Make it stop.}

Really, there’s no second voice to tell him 'no.' There's no voice that says, 'Listen.' No voice that says, 'Hey, dickwad, your phone's ringing.’

Ben almost misses that, too. Confuses the persistent buzzing in his tight, designer pocket with brain static. Left hand leaves right arm behind. Leaves a bruise, four white moons. And he tells Rachel, in a sable business-calm, if they don't want him, get LCD Soundsystem. Finally, he kills the buzzing and slides the dead hand mirror onto the dashboard. Deja vu.

Manhattan weaves around the cab, ticking off its own meter in the language of bodies, light, bokeh. Holding all its hollows and ridges together in a Stygian web. Melting pot his ass. And 'Jake.' Ben watches him drive, hit the signals, smack the steering wheel, mulling over the 'spiel' he's not getting and the 'deal' that he is. 

'Sometimes, we don't know who we are.'

Ben unlocks his forearm then, flexes his fingers in the Chambers mosaic. Colors of courthouse stone, scaffolding, fruit stands, dogs and people barking, Checkers. Because nothing screams New York City like Taylor, Michigan. 

"Jake," Ben starts, sotto voce, icing the air quotes off his name with a certain coldness possessed only by him and a witch's tit. "Let's turn back a few pages. Matter 'fact, let's review the table of contents."

Turns the arm bruise against leather and presses his cheek into the headrest's edge. 

"One: you don't know me. You just think you do."

And there's but that one point, a quiet point. A so quiet you can't feel it draw the blood point. A so quiet you can hear a pin drop point. Rest of the body yet to be bled. Rest of the book yet to be writ. 

The next song dances in greys. Funeral chanting, even though it's just Charles Mingus and his piano. He turns again and Ben's leonine profile greys, too. Abstracts in thought. Cubist chewing off his own angles as Max Weber buildings shift in traffic. 

"I don't like 'missing' facts, and I don't like being spared," he says, so low Ben almost can't hear himself. "If there's more…" 

Give it to him. 

@silverjetsystm

Listening is roots away from hearing. Jake’s not even sure if he himself is hearing between pressurized draining from ear to throat. Tink tink tink rattling his brainpan, background vocals uncannily morbid, as haunting as Ben’s flat motor oil eyes. Up and coming headache on the horizon, black storm clouds.

Ben’s hurt, drowning in a shit answer, a wrong play. Drowning enough to toss a fact into Jake’s seat. ‘Don’t feel remorse….Don’t like it…’ Factoid goes through the plexi-glass divider to where he feels Mr. Wall Street primly seatbelted like another passenger in the cab.

Neon blues cycle through the office, obscuring framed movie posters, a cassette tape in the tray.

Vocals reminiscent of game over sounds bring finality to blank dead face. Throat grumbles, arms closing off the conversation. Pedestrians continue their pilgrimage, stare though the bars at the view. The cab is another part of the great body.

Play again? Drop the divider? Let Grant do cleanup?

Yes. Naw. His cab, his rules.

Black rum is a mixologist’s wet dream. Got to watch out for the cheats who make young rum look old. Fake colors instead of real molasses. Jake’s the third alter, the oldest in mental age and self-perception. B”H, they have a thick head of hair.

“See.” Sniffing, cap brim pointed up. Grey light throws deeper crow’s eyes. “This ‘s happened before. Not --” small gesture close to the wheel. Baseball glove leather jacket and statue of indeterminate origin, “Exactly like this. I’ll spare you the whole spiel. Can’t unring knowing. If ya feeling cheated and lied to, I don’t blame you neither. I’m trying to give you --”

Slow down. Checks the rearview. Turn signal clicks twice and he seizes the chance, cutting in front of a Tesla. Horn blares. Laugh lines stretch further on Jake too.

{Floaties.} [Absolutely not.] “A life vest. A map on ‘what’s the deal.’ I reckon you’re close to getting it but got a few key facts all mixed up.” Oh, he’s going to get driven into the railings. Grant rubs his temples. “Missing. Missing. It sounds like a cop out but it’s true. I don’t remember what Grant does a good three-fourths of the time. Grant don’t remember what I do neither. Sometimes, we don't know who we are or are some combination of us. We live in two different worlds.”

@kylo-wrecked

[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]

@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]

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]

It's a small pot. One she had been nurturing; not that anyone would think her so. It was filled with black soil and housed tiny green shoot. A sprout of a thing, barely the length of her little finger. Resilient and living, despite it all. She had two others at home, and three in the freezer. Not enough to start an orchard, but enough to give one as a gift.

"Buzzfeed told me you're a Scorpio." Her voice holds the wraith of a smile. She wonders if there will be a big party later - all glamour, and all for other people. For now, its quiet. "Do you want me to sing you happy birthday? It's an offer I'll only make once."

The earthy terracotta doesn't surprise him, the gesture only slightly. Fills the bowl of his soul with apples baked in honey and Southern Comfort. Heart like a hand pie. 

"Don't take everything you read to face, baby," he says, flashing his wolf's grin, an angle he knows she likes. "It's not becoming. I've got squares in my chart like you wouldn't believe." All joined by other constellations. 

Brunnhilde's sprout of a thing finds itself under Manhattan's mirrored light. Someone else will have to look after it; Ben knows just the person who'll hate him and do it anyway. He considers the shoot. Then sidling back, he lifts Brunnhilde’s chin, considering her with the eyes of someone whose parties are always thrown in his honor. His kiss is his thanks and his blessing.

"Hm. You know some people can't sing sitting down?" His grin dims, becoming something dark and delicious, a raw cacao. "Sit down." 

Nods his head toward the sofa hovering on a discreet mold and above the rug like a UFO. 

"Go on."

Maybe her voice would be a gift. Or maybe it would be another curse.

@valkxrie

[kylo-wrecked]

{ expanded from here }

Brunnhilde steps onto the ledge. The sun ripens the sky, a blood orange rolling through its open mouth. A sky just blue enough to remind Ben, that gravity? That's a thing. A thing etched into their earthly firmament, and something he carries in his shoulders, his gaze.

"Oh, brother," he groans. "Stop." Gravity makes him sink toward her, nevertheless. Those fifteen bags stuffed with shredded documents, bitten-up bins, and abandoned mattresses might break a fall, but not entirely; the stray chaise wouldn't save his bones. Would Brunnhilde?

Ben's eyes burn with the question question. Instead of asking, he laughs, and his canines are dewy with new nectar.

"You already wasted it."  Hanging over Brunnhilde, a shadow cast by a fiery sky, he says, "You wasted that apple on me," and smiles, his crooked skyline of teeth, the teeth that pierced that apple's flesh, wet and shining.

Amazingly, his heel returns to the roof's edge. Steel on limestone. Neither of them lives in this clay mansion drawn over in lengths of dawn umbrage cast by Prospect Park's skeleton trees- but Brunnhilde, with her feet still bare, her dress still silk and melting between his fingers, could make kingdoms from unlikely things: daybreak, the tar beaches and solar panels lining New Brooklyn castles, really, really sad sacks of shit. She is the maker of Ben's new sky body, the chest ringing with bells, the apple blossoms growing up through his sternum.

Of course, he's still rotten to the core. Isn't that why he laughs and looms and leers? Why his lips, laced with tobacco and autumn, impose themselves on hers?

He Kissed Me (And It Felt Like a Slap). That's not how it goes. It goes like this: Ben spreads his wings across the risen sun and feels space ripping at his back. He falls because that's how the myth was written; that's the tragedy howled by the choir.

And he takes her with him, tipping them both into the air, with her silk midriff, arms, and upper back cocooned in his chest (that expanse of Tom Ford's cotton), his arms (that swallow her), his chin (tucked against the base of her skull), both their hair flapping about his God-forsaken head, feathering, window glass, dead birch, iron spokes screaming by.

This is their first kiss. It happens so fast. It's a slap in the face. And sonically, it carries the undertones of Phil Spector's ominous arrangement, He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss), Carole King's apology wasted on the Crystals.

And the ground inches closer; Ben can hear the lace patterns on an old, naked mattress, this wailing sax. So fast, and then Zemirot twelve inches above the rubbish, his shoulders and head brushing fraying upholstery.

He still manages to hit something on the way down.

"Son of a bitch," Ben groans, exhilarated. The words barely pass his lips, but he caws, "Serves you right" into the Godless sky.

There were no gods; the last of their light lined his tissues, his heaving ribcage, his kneecap, the bones around his bones.

"Serves you friggin' right," he cries, laughing, breathless. Not at Brunnhilde, who pins him in space, hovering by a distance of twelve inches, and should drop him.

Maybe only the gods have fallen.

Let Brunnhilde drop him. Ben kisses her anyway, with teeth, tongue, and nectar, in a flash. It happens so fast.

@valkxrie

[kylo-wrecked]

Ben would've been dead a long time ago if looks could kill. Give him a good Norse funeral; set him upon his longship; burn him on the pyre; make of him a mound or a sacrifice; let the Kylo mask be his grave good. He allows Miss Lens Flare to flay him—he's long since checked out, and the bloodless don't bleed. 

His stupid mouth, a cutting instrument insured for millions, smiles. Lips peeling back, revealing teeth too white to be so crooked; his bite may be his signature mark. 

"I am the job description." 

And he follows her, scrolling through his own phone with long fingers as hooked as he's wry. Cuts her off at the mainboard, one big, black-clothed roadblock.

"Kaial—" scowls at the letterhead, Rachel's fwd; fwd; fwd, the contracts he never reads, the name that could double as a medical condition. "Kai." 

Kaialis. Cholangiocarcinoma. Rhabdomyosarcoma. 

Say that three times fast.

Ben slips his touchscreen into his back pocket and contemplates Kai as though she were a tumour. Unnecessary and utterly benign. She could be removed without impacting the temporal. Plucked right out of his time-block the way he plucked her phone from her hands. Worse things have happened to those who've called him 'sir.'

"Unless you don't want the job." 

He counters Kai's glare, tilting his head, angle ruminative, eyes tinted glass.

"I asked for the best," he shrugs. "Maybe you're not?"

@ofthestcrs

It nearly takes all of her strength not to unleash the full wrath that laid inside of her the moment her phone was plucked from her hand so effortlessly. Of course, he wouldn't take to be ignored. Why had she expected anything less of him? Arrogant fucking musicians and their dire need to feel like the world revolved around them when they were merely just a small blimp in time. Kai reminded herself that her reputation was leaning on this. Hell. Her whole career could run down the drain in a matter of minutes if she allowed herself to be unprofessional and oh that irked her bones.

If looks could kill, Ben would've dropped dead on the spot from Kai's gaze though. Her facial expressions were too often the windows of her soul. A thrashing fire so ready to burn those who made her life feel ever more difficult. Not just people like Ben, but others. Men who tried to convince her that she belonged in front of the camera rather than behind it. That dire need to exploit her and tear her open for everyone to gawk upon. She was particular in how she photographed others. She could tell when a wolf was rabid for blood and too often they came wanting her own. This felt the same.

Her jaw tightened at the words that spew out of his stupid mouth. She kept quiet in hopes that might save her. She was lucky to have caught her phone when she did, pressing it to her chest for a moment -- covered in a turtle neck despite how hot it could get in venues sometimes -- and then slid it into her pocket. She wanted to ask if he even had a heart when he crossed it with his words, but she thought better of it. Instead, her disdain grew on her face as he light the cigarette.

It reminded her too much of her father. Careless of those around him. They way he'd intentionally light up in front of her cousin because he had asthma. God. She was glad that fucker was dead. She hates the way Ben looks at her, pulls at the neck of her shirt as if the skin wasn't already covered. She feels like she's suffocating under the weight of it all. What the hell was he even thinking about her? Did she really want to know? Probably not.

He speaks again and Kai was ready to just move. Anything to redirect his attention to something or someone else. Horrifying then that the woman swooped in to scold him and in tandem blocked her one way out of this. She'd never felt more caged even if it wasn't intentional on this poor woman's end. She could only imagine how frustrating it could be to babysit a man nearly in his 30's. Did they ever grow mature enough to care for themselves? Not likely.

"I don't recall that being in my job description." Finally words and god she tries to keep her tone as professional as possible, but the clenched jaw makes it nearly impossible. She doesn't bother to answer his second request. To give her name was to dig her grave ... that is if he even cared to remember it. Too often though the uniqueness of her name had put her in positions she'd been not too thrilled to be in. Too often she found herself remembered when she tried her best to be forgotten.

"So I'll just go elsewhere. Good luck on your endeavor though .... sir." The last part made her feel sick to day, but she needed to sound as less catty as she could before she was using the small space Miss Hall Monitor left to make her escape. Her lips silently whispered in prayer for him not to follow. Hoped he wouldn't make demands that she'd have to face. This was already her worst nightmare.

[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]

{ expanded from here }

There was a familiarity in the shadows of her bedroom, where that mythus named sleep remained a cipher carved in her fine wood furniture, where a siphoned bottle and glossectomies of candle stubs curled around and hedged an oblong serving platter the color of the past.

Morning resumed at two in the afternoon, with ritual. He could smell the fuck you rising off her locks like sun, mixed with the animal musk of their skin, his of woodland, hers of honey.

‘Cunt,’ he wanted to say.

(~Allow him to pluck a lament for her quarter’s sleep on these golden strands.~)

‘You’re welcome,’ he did not say.

He combed in silence, strumming the teeth over the yearning slant in her rhomboids, warying the diamond-backed wound. The shiver of shoulder blades that were not wings. The shape of a woman poised with unasked questions he could feel between his ribs.

He was not happy to be anywhere.

‘No,’ he might have answered. ‘Yes and no’

Soft was his handling. Soft if only because he caged his sharpness in his mind. His hands themselves retained their angles, plying her desire.

They replied,

‘I don’t fuck beggars,’ And yet ‘Beg for it’

They pressed the tender cavity at the back of her skull; she pressed his pulse. He could feel his thrumming in her thoughts, taste his own heart like Brunnhilde’s fondness for wine.

Who knew just as well that gods were cruel? That cruelty was a finger rimming the mouth of a glass? Measured in pieces of dawn? Against shards of midnight?

@valkxrie