in the gutter, looking at the stars.

⚔️ writer/benlo rper they/them chaotic good ⚔️

[kylo-wrecked]

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i'm K, a freelance writer and educator blowing in the wind. i'm also a person out in the world, existing. although i do my best to stay active, i respond at my own pace. feel free to dm me about anything and everything. big time chatter? welcome. not a talker? not an issue. my interest check is open to anyone at any time. fill it in or shoot me a random meme. 🖤

murder!kylo currently exclusive w:// @protectmypeople graphics by:// @personaei

[vitalphenomena]

NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES, RIGHT?

Or your idols.

Or your gods.

Kylo's master died. Initially, Anakin wraps his head around the statement without resistance due to the inevitable, reliable nature of death. (This has been true for Anakin before the war, before abandoning Tatooine for Coruscant. And it will, of course, be true until the end of him, true until beyond Kylo's time.)

However. First master, and who?

Anakin knows he's young, objectively. (Does Kylo think so, too? Had he ever imagined Vader before Vader, the way he was almost vibrant, the way he smirks and beams when he's proud? Has Anakin lived substantially in the expanse of Kylo Ren's expectant memory?)

Anakin also knows to carry himself with authority and experience, which compel him to see Kylo as young—in need of guidance. Anakin does not know, infuriatingly, what kind of life Kylo could possibly have lived before now—appearing, as he has, seemingly out of thin air, unaffected by the Order, undocumented by history.

Anakin grimaces, more thoughtful than truly irritated. He glances, shifty, at Kylo's hands. Around them, this world spins. Their ears echo with the sound of energies colliding, blasts being fired - this will never end.

"Who is your master now? Who were they?"

Ever-closer to demanding: where did you come from?

[kylo-wrecked]

“Luke,” he said, lifting his chin. Searching for something in Anakin’s face, without any pretense, almost boldly. “You don’t know him yet, but someday you will.”

Blaster fire shrieked against his eardrums.

“My master now?” 

Kylo stilled his thoughts, sheathing the subtle edges that might reveal exactly how he felt about his second master; surely he had died by his own folly. 

"I don’t have one," he admitted.

Blaster fire shrieked against his eardrums.

"The truth is, nobody wanted to train me at first. Nobody wanted me."

And that had been true, hadn’t it? 

“I don’t even know where I come from or how I got here.” 

A war he didn't know rumbled just beyond the next ridge, a proximity he was unused to after Snoke stationed him aboard the Star Destroyer, in the black where he trained and came of age.

“We should keep moving.”

[big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo]

[Text: Ben] I have a few things I can make.

Ratatouille came to mind. He hadn't made it for Ben before. As mild as the dish was, it held a special place to him, a place that he didn't readily share with most people. Ben wasn't most people, though, was someone incredibly important to Tony and he was willing to be more vulnerable in front of Ben than he was anyone else.

[Text: Ben] You and me tonight. No distractions. Just us.

He wouldn't even turn on a movie. He was learning quality time, meaningful moments for relationships. Tali told him it was difficult for him because he was too used to being alone, but Tony wasn't about to listen to his fourteen year old tell him how things were. He would spend his quality time with his partner and not think about the way his daughter told him he was hopeless.

[Text: Ben] I made sorbet too. To beat the heat.

[kylo-wrecked]

Doubt was more like a spasm than a knee-jerk reaction. He fumbled his phone at ‘Just us.’ Ben contemplated walking out of the room and leaving it face down on the table, next to the tape, where he might forget about it. Forget what Tony had written. Forget what he'd admitted two minutes ago. Let wanting go back to being nameless, shapeless. 

Ben held his breath for ten seconds. Was surprised he could still do that. Hadn’t since—Ben shook off a chill and inched his way back to the kitchen, picked up his phone, the screen warmed from where he’d left it under the sun.

Maybe he was too used to being alone. 

[Tony] What time? 

He'd said enough. Too much. He could show his appreciation when he got there.

[kylo-wrecked]

❤️ for memes! { between tonight and tomorrow (edt) }

specify muse/verse as needed

[kylo-wrecked]

one more reblob! for memes between tonight and possibly Sunday, because tomorrow I'll be dancing.

[xanaxfarts]

Red sunset and sickle Moon provide a backdrop to the giant basaltic shield volcano of Mauna Kea, Hawaii. Fine volcanic dust particles pumped into the atmosphere by the 1991 eruption of Mt Pinatubo and dispersed by strong winds created this spectacular sunset worldwide.

[greengableslover]

THE FALL (2006) dir. Tarsem Singh

[brooklynislandgirl]

One thing when you have a soldier in your orbit is you learn how to play endless rounds of rummy. Every poker hand is a strategic negotiation even when you can count cards better than Dustin Hoffman in the obscenely offensive movie about the Spectrum. And just maybe you become as competitive as a honey-badger. So when Ben's fingertips begin to stroke the tatty edge of the oldest deck she doesn't even remember having on her coffee table? It isn't desire that takes centre-stage although she could watch him...them...like willow fronds for hours. She doesn't know what possesses her to ask for a reading instead, or at least with mundane instrumentation. She has multiple decks for that sort of divination stashed around the place and probably has forgotten quite a few even exist. Ben indulges her as is his wont. She should have known there would be a catch. Just to see how far he'll take it, how serious he might be, she does as she is bid. Watches the lines around his mouth and feels the way the cards shiver in his grasp regardless of how worn they are. Much used but not discarded. Has ever envied them? Her lips purse. It was meant to be an inside joke. A heart worn on the sleeve that everyone can touch but no one wants to keep. Maybe its a calculating guess. Who doesn't pursue the question once or twice in their life? Except Ben probably worries more about how a silk shirt creases. Her eyes give lie to the casual tone and flippant words. "Not gonna get married. If da time comes, I'll jus' be issued one." Names him without uttering the words, the second man. She rises like a basalt pillar from the seabed of her carpet. "Gin or bourbon?"

[kylo-wrecked]

"Nobody said how it'll happen." 

Or if. But he doesn't utter that aloud. He likes the texture of inevitability, the texture of things withheld. Those things have a sound too.  He released three solo albums untouched by his own voice: never had he ever composed a song about maybes for the Knights of Ren or any other party.

It's still better than saying, 'then why'd you ask?' Listen to her. He's turned her into stone. Look at her. Her voice is dried, brittle lavender. 

He studies her shoulders and her spine. Her leg. You know which one. Then shifts upright, the broad of his back momentarily expanding beyond the margins of the woven cane frame as he sweeps Beth's chosen cards off the table and into a constant shuffle.

There and then gone. Bourbon, and then gin.

"Bourbon," he answers, so toneless and metallic Ben can't make out the red (green? Red) in it until he speaks again. "Then come back and read mine." 

Until he says the word mine.

[the27percent]

@kylo-wrecked for Drifter!Ben

Another late night, another moment left out and about on the outskirts of yet another town. At least this time Atieno had the excuse having had some friends to visit .. and they had managed to enjoy their time being sociable and whatnot.

But now they had needed to get some personal space, to enjoy the late night air and go clear their mind. They had to remember that they weren't always going to be part of the usual life, staying on the move was a way for the entity among other things to stay focused.

They are looking out at the water for a moment - looking at the waves when they hear something of a familiar voice.

Their dark gaze turned towards him as they squinted to get a better look at him.

"How's this place been treating you?" A casual acknowledgement, one that comes from having seen each other on the road more than once.

[kylo-wrecked]

Ben watched the tide ebb, leaving small offerings on the sand. Jingle shells and driftwood splinters. Blanched crab shells, ancient husks bobbing gently in the receding surf. 

"’Bout the same," he said, throwing a cursory glance their way. 

Didn’t know if being turned over by those onyx eyes meant anything, and he didn’t much want to consider whether it did. Sometimes they changed. Looked a little different each time.

Like he wasn’t the one to approach. Ben stayed where he stood, boots grounded at his arrival point. Long cross-hatched prints in the sand fading behind him. 

After a moment, he asked, “What’s your name again?”

[ifyoucatchacriminal]

There was something there. Between them. More than the underlying tension that was always between them. More than the emotions neither of them put much of a name to. More than the shared breath as Ben's forehead leaned against hers.

This trip up the mountain had given them something. Reb felt like she could look at Ben and see more than she had seen before, that she understood him more than she had before. She was looking at him with new eyes, this understanding painting the portrait of a different man. It didn't change how she felt, how she turned her hand in his to tangle them together.

"I have firewood," she didn't look away from him, even when he looked away from her. "I thought we'd stay up here a little bit. There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I wanted a good view of it. Stay with me?"

[kylo-wrecked]

There were a few things there. Between them. A shared breath, and a buffer. She still didn't know about the daily rations, the boilings. The rabbits. The girl. Whoever she saw when she looked at him—maybe she saw a man who was precious to her. Somewhere in ancient times, people once thought stars were gemstones inlaid in a vault, but they’d always been made up of gases that’d burn you alive. 

In Reb, Ben saw someone who had become precious to him; a rarity in the world that was no kinder than life had been on the inside. 

Reb hadn’t seen that man. The one who’d lived on the inside. In deep. 

Ben released each thought, small streams of white breath into the stars.

“Sure,” he said, hiding his smile against her temple. Looked at her. Left a kiss there. “Really think of everything, don’t you? I’ll make the fire.”

In a moment. 

“Reb…”  he began. Then stopped. 

He had his arms full; he was content; he put off the firewood; he put off telling her. The night hadn’t yet hardened into black ice around the bones of the aspens. The things between them burned without burning, and it’d keep them warm—for now.

[elithien]

Star Wars Tarot Card: JUDGEMENT [18/78 complete]

Other Tarot Cards: TEMPERANCE THE LOVERS DEATH THE SUN THE MOON THE STAR THE CHARIOT STRENGTH STAR WARS TFA TAROT SET THE EMPRESS THE EMPEROR THE HIGH PRIESTESS THE MAGICIAN THE HERMIT THE HANGED MAN WHEEL OF FORTUNE JUSTICE

[paper-wounds]

Fortesa Latifi, from The Truth About Grief.

[kylo-wrecked]

what if I told you

I’m mad tired

[brooklynislandgirl]

@kylo-wrecked {{ XX }} In any other moment, Beth would have looked up at him, doe eyes flooded with pretty but unshed tears, filled with a hurt that transcended her ability to utter anything more than a shuddering sigh. She's always let Ben in ~ too close, too honest, too sharp~ and that hasn't changed. What has is the fact that she's bloomed under his care into a hot-house flower. With thorns. And sometimes she thinks it's all fun and games. Glancing askance to either side of them as though to check for anyone who might be listening in, she nods once, then repeats the question, this time using sign language. She doesn't acknowledge his preface least all of her soul shrink away and she begin counting the moments before Ben vanishes from her life like a ghost. "I mean I'd probably hafta start small... borough president maybe, den work my way up. But I'm guessin' you wouldn't wanna support my campaign?"

[kylo-wrecked]

Starting small. Starting at all. 

“That’s—"

Terrifying. He's had a question and a velvet box burning a hole in his pocket for months, and she wants to discuss a hypothetical campaign. Cold feet? No; not for Beth. For marrying into a life he'd begun to think he'd escaped.

It's his fault; he wears the blame well enough. As well as he wears a button-up with a closed collar. 

“Please don’t say that. Of course I would.” He wishes he could relax around her. But lately… “Let’s just. Let’s just not decide right here and now, huh?” 

It's not her fault. 

“Are you sure you’re not upset with me?” Ben asks, leaning in to cup her cheek. “Are you—?”

She nips the webbing between his thumb and forefinger with little shark teeth, and  Ben can’t help but laugh. 

“You are,” he realizes. “You’re at least mildly upset.” 

His expression pales a little. Keeping his face from falling is no small task tonight. 

"What did I say?"

[petitsdieu]

The way he's cupping her ribs might make someone else feel suffocated. A cage doubling onto itself. Where most long for freedom ⸺ she's had too much of it to know that there's nothing freeing about being free. Tethers sweeten to someone like her. There's safety in the clamp. She needs whatever he seems to be able to supply. So, he could do as he says. Melt the hours. Make her miss her morning flight.

When he asks her to ask him to keep her, he's really asking her to change her position. From bystander to accessory.

She hangs off his wrist beautifully. Comes to life, shines when he squeezes her just right. By instincts, she taps into his wandering hand. He makes the task easier to oblige by simply sliding his fucked up next to hers until they click in messy ⸺ and somehow functions to feel nontoxic.

❛ Keep me. ❜

She drags up the hand between her breasts to line up with her cheek. She pours herself there. Her teeth scrapes the sharpest edge of his palm. Her lip trembles out a single breath. Somewhere in her she thinks without thinking the words ... she could really love him one day.

[kylo-wrecked]

Keep me; in the scrape of her teeth, her breath sealing it into the scored plane of his palm. One arm draws her ribs closer, cage against cage, until her pulse is his. Her fingers guide his wandering hand, her pulse taps against his wrist. His own rushes to respond, stupidly eager, joining the piece half a beat ahead.

Ben closes his eyes. The warmth of Hara’s cheek pours into his hand like sun; her mouth trembles against the part of him she has made hers for the night. His thumb catches her lower lip and gathers each breath.

Has he asked her to become an accessory? No, he’s only asked her to stay. It’s not rocket science, musicology, or aerial gymnastics. 

It’s simple: 

“I may take you seriously,” he whispers into her hair.  

And it’s creeping on 9:45 PM. Creeping on 10. 

“Then what?”

[modern-scythian]

[academic] weapon

[morgansmornings]

@kylo-wrecked

[mirrorsinner]

[kylo-wrecked]

Ludovisi Gaul, a 2nd-century AD Roman marble copy of a Hellenistic Greek bronze original

[gothredy]