#snowstormsss

Please?

what happened???

basically there was a post talking about kylo killing luke’s other students, 

which he did, canonly, do. its literally how he got his nickname. 

He destroyed his fellow Jedi students and became Snoke's apprentice as well as a Knight of Ren, and was given the moniker of "Jedi Killer" among the First Order ranks. 

and that excusing his behavior and / or ignoring it means you’re not appreciating his character in its entirety which is true ! its important to recognize the shitty things that have been done, but recognizing it as a whole, and now everyone’s up in arms about it, that their being policed if they don’t think he did it ?? I’m not good at summarizing shit that i’m not a part of but my two cents are 

 send me a song + pairing and I’ll write a ficlet to fit the mood.

The landscape wasn’t the most attractive thing to look at- everything worth seeing had long fled past the windshield and into the past.  It was all flat land, bleak sand with an occasional rock as mild distraction.  It should have made focusing on the road ahead easier, should have motivated him to keep eyes straight forward.  But alas.

Ben kept looking at the passenger seat- more decidedly at the curled up body nestled there.  Beneath a shapeless yellow blanket poked out a striped foot- shoes deserted on the dashboard twenty miles back- and a heap of brown hair, tousled and restless and haphazardly framing a drooling, sleeping beauty.  Rey.  The name, like the face attached so fondly to it, swept through his mind like a sandstorm and cluttered it with feelings that had no place on a pothole-ridden, 50-mph road.  One of said potholes made an appearance, turned the car into a roller coaster, dipping him and his sleeping passenger low before throttling them back up.  He caught the steering wheel and a harrowing sentiment in his throat.  Glanced over to the side, worry tangled around his ribs- but Rey still slept, a boulder incapable of being moved.

Yet, instead of accepting this with relief, and honing in on the yellow dashes prodding him onward still to a destination he had no real care for, Ben kept looking back over at her, at the singular strand of hair that weaved in and out of her mouth, brushing her bottom lip as she breathed.  Every once in a while, it tickled her nose, made her wiggle her nostrils, pulling a smile from his lips.  

Look at the road, his mind chided him each time his heart stole a peek.  

Look at the road.  Now it was his mother’s voice, reminiscent of a time when his father was behind the wheel- committing the same crime Ben now partook in.

On an impulse, Ben pulled over to the side of the road.  With a sharp snap, he turned off the engine, and took a deep, centering breath.  But even then, his eyes could not return to the road.  His vision was filled with Rey.

Not all the swerving or near-death moments of his driving could wake her.  She’s still a heap of slumber, a complete contrast to the bundle of energy she was only an hour ago- all pushed up to the edge of her seat, hands pointed this way and that, curiosity barely held down by an insistent seatbelt.  She was supposed to have kept track on the map where they were, but every hint of movement in the passenger window, any song she knew or wanted to on the radio, sent her humming off track.  Yet none of that had distracted him as much as that one strand of hair, still stroking her lip.  

With a meaningful sigh, Ben reached over.  A single finger carefully guided the strand back into place amongst the others, his touch far too lingering and broad on her skin for such a miniscule task.  He skimmed just above her upper lip, dipping down its outline, across the landscape of her rising cheekbones and over to the curve of her ear.  Still, her breath was even and deep, only a slight deepening of color to her skin evidence of his presence, perhaps, in her dreams.  He smiled at the prospect, and leaned back against his seat, sitting in the sound of her breathing, reveling in the view of her- more precious and profound than anything he’d seen on their trip or would ever see.  He hadn’t cared much for the trip to begin with, except that it was with her.  It was for her.  Even if, at the start, Rey had meant it for him.

He was sitting at his desk, a paper blotched in black ink and something clear and wet in front of him.  Papers much like the one before him were crumpled in a heap on the floor, on his lap.  He’d been trying to write, trying to focus, but everything was blank.  His mind had gone so loud and violent, it went blank.

Then something came, raining in around the corners of his vision, cool and soft on his skin.  Hands at his cheeks, pulling him up from the void.  

“We’re going on a trip.  Pack your bags.”  Rey left no room for argument, or even a question of “why?”  He already knew.  It was there in her eyes, or rather on the rim of them- red and wet.  She’d long stripped off the funeral blacks, but despite her iron-clad will that red would not be scrapped from below her eyes.  They were fitting to her spirit, somehow.  He couldn’t quite place how, but he loved the look of it, the look of her.  He loved her - always had but somehow he realized it again and again each day, this day more than most.  So, he didn’t say anything to fight the idea of finally leaving the apartment after a countless span of sitting and wasting, of packing bags and collecting maps and itineraries for a future.  Of leaving the pain he usually drowned in, behind.

For her.