[ Being a farmhand, it turns out, can be filthy work. Kylo doesn't mind the dirt, the sweat and the grime– it can be remarkably satisfying– but he is annoyed about his shirt. He's already running low, his collection small enough to begin with, and the one he's currently wearing now has a ripped tear decorating its side, courtesy of the fallen fence he and Ronan have spent the last couple of hours repairing.
Ronan, of course, seems to find his soured mood more amusing than anything else, which Kylo can't decide if he loves or hates– but he accepts the nudge up towards Ronan's room without too much complaint.
Once up the stairs he pulls the ruined thing off over his head, examining it irritably. Yeah. It's dead. ]
You know I can feel you. Grinning.
Ronan, of course, seems to find his soured mood more amusing than anything else, which Kylo can't decide if he loves or hates– but he accepts the nudge up towards Ronan's room without too much complaint.
Once up the stairs he pulls the ruined thing off over his head, examining it irritably. Yeah. It's dead. ]
You know I can feel you. Grinning.
following this
[ Kylo Ren is no stranger to frustration. Much of his life has been consumed by one form of it or another, faithfully rising to consume other, more dangerous lines of thought or emotion. For him, anger isn't so much a feeling as an alternative to feeling. It's something he knows, the well worn track ploughed deeper and deeper with each successive journey along it.
What he doesn't always know is why.
It would seem to be a question answered easily enough tonight, the oncoming storm telegraphed in the slowly building possessive intensity of his touch. The memory of Dameron's interruption lingers like a bad taste in his mouth even as they finally burst through the door at the top of the stairs and he drags Ronan into a kiss, violent and demanding.
He wouldn't know how to explain himself even if he cared to. ]
[ Kylo Ren is no stranger to frustration. Much of his life has been consumed by one form of it or another, faithfully rising to consume other, more dangerous lines of thought or emotion. For him, anger isn't so much a feeling as an alternative to feeling. It's something he knows, the well worn track ploughed deeper and deeper with each successive journey along it.
What he doesn't always know is why.
It would seem to be a question answered easily enough tonight, the oncoming storm telegraphed in the slowly building possessive intensity of his touch. The memory of Dameron's interruption lingers like a bad taste in his mouth even as they finally burst through the door at the top of the stairs and he drags Ronan into a kiss, violent and demanding.
He wouldn't know how to explain himself even if he cared to. ]
aaaand following this
[ Something Kylo does when he's pretending he doesn't want to stay in the Meadows forever, when he's attempting to protect himself (or Ronan, he's not sure which) from the intensity of his desire to belong there, is to take the car his father left for him and drive. He drives it hard, and fast, whatever direction feels natural. He sleeps in it, sometimes, restless and irritable, and then when it feels safe to return, he drives back.
He's driving now with the breakneck speed of an emergency- and once back in the familiar hum he practically throws himself out of the car and stalks to the long barn, where Ronan is.
Where he was, anyway. Kylo has little idea how long he's been on the road, all the suspended time since the moment Ronan told him the only thing he's ever wanted to hear and this moment now as he goes to find him stitched neatly together, utterly seamless. ]
[ Something Kylo does when he's pretending he doesn't want to stay in the Meadows forever, when he's attempting to protect himself (or Ronan, he's not sure which) from the intensity of his desire to belong there, is to take the car his father left for him and drive. He drives it hard, and fast, whatever direction feels natural. He sleeps in it, sometimes, restless and irritable, and then when it feels safe to return, he drives back.
He's driving now with the breakneck speed of an emergency- and once back in the familiar hum he practically throws himself out of the car and stalks to the long barn, where Ronan is.
Where he was, anyway. Kylo has little idea how long he's been on the road, all the suspended time since the moment Ronan told him the only thing he's ever wanted to hear and this moment now as he goes to find him stitched neatly together, utterly seamless. ]
It still hard to believe that it's not a dream.
He wakes up sometimes after fitful sleep, blearily remembering Ronan and wondering if their renewed relationship is something his subconscious concocted. But not infrequently, he looks over to the other side of the bed and there he is, where he was when Gansey passed out.
Being able to sense when Ronan is occupied with Kylo is a boon if only so he doesn't accidentally interrupt. He suspects Kylo does the same.
He made sure to check before knocking on Ronan's door. Opening it with less and less hesitation each time he's done this since they said "I love you" to each other for the first time in a year, he finds Ronan laying on his bed with his earbuds in, as he frequently does. Gansey lays down behind him, flinging an arm over Ronan's waist and kissing the back of his neck.
He wakes up sometimes after fitful sleep, blearily remembering Ronan and wondering if their renewed relationship is something his subconscious concocted. But not infrequently, he looks over to the other side of the bed and there he is, where he was when Gansey passed out.
Being able to sense when Ronan is occupied with Kylo is a boon if only so he doesn't accidentally interrupt. He suspects Kylo does the same.
He made sure to check before knocking on Ronan's door. Opening it with less and less hesitation each time he's done this since they said "I love you" to each other for the first time in a year, he finds Ronan laying on his bed with his earbuds in, as he frequently does. Gansey lays down behind him, flinging an arm over Ronan's waist and kissing the back of his neck.
Ronan. I have a question about dreaming. The mechanics of it.
It starts as an experiment, an idle thought that occurs to Kylo as he's towelling off after a long, self-indulgent shower- itself a reward after a particularly strenuous, satisfying workout and training session. Padding through to the bedroom and absently tousling his still-damp hair, Kylo finds his attention straying (as it frequently does, given the slightest provocation) to thoughts of Ronan. He pauses.
He imagines finding Ronan sprawled on the bed waiting for him, hooded eyes drawing slowly up his body as if savouring it. He isn't there, of course.
But he could be.
The idea spreads slowly, its appeal unfurling gradually as Kylo considers it. He doesn't simply summon Ronan to himself, this time. Nothing so direct. Instead, he reaches for him with a soft, subtle whisper of suggestion, something that might slide easy alongside his own thoughts. Ronan knows where Kylo is. He knows he's likely out of the shower by now, and if he climbs the stairs, he knows he'll find Kylo in a very generous mood...
He imagines finding Ronan sprawled on the bed waiting for him, hooded eyes drawing slowly up his body as if savouring it. He isn't there, of course.
But he could be.
The idea spreads slowly, its appeal unfurling gradually as Kylo considers it. He doesn't simply summon Ronan to himself, this time. Nothing so direct. Instead, he reaches for him with a soft, subtle whisper of suggestion, something that might slide easy alongside his own thoughts. Ronan knows where Kylo is. He knows he's likely out of the shower by now, and if he climbs the stairs, he knows he'll find Kylo in a very generous mood...
[it's early morning when kavinsky steals by ronan's bedroom. it's not unusual for him to do so, considering he's a huge creep and ronan has, for some reason, allowed him to reside at the farm. sometimes, when he drives by, ronan has company. sometimes, he doesn't. usually, he'd keep on swinging by, ignoring whether the other dream thief was quaking from shallow nightmares or having a private moment.
but today, for some reason, he steals into ronan's bedroom.
barefoot across the floor, a hand on the corner of the mattress. he cranes his head to check if ronan's sleep is light enough to have been awakened already.]
but today, for some reason, he steals into ronan's bedroom.
barefoot across the floor, a hand on the corner of the mattress. he cranes his head to check if ronan's sleep is light enough to have been awakened already.]
oh no i accidentally a whole ronan, it's a dreamfuckery fuckup
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
photophobic
2019-05-17 10:27 am (UTC)(link)
He's been dreaming of Ronan again. He can't help but dream of him, even knowing his efforts insufficient to pull the real boy back into a shape capable of singular, independent thought— even with the pain of searching Ronan's eyes only to find nothing hiding in the depths but more of himself and his foolish, desperately futile desire.
They are not Ronan, these echoes, but once he stumbles upon them he can no more abandon them than he could their template— he can't bear to see that face struggling with the fear of rejection or the knowledge of its true nature. And so, whenever he finds one has slipped out of his thoughts to join him in his dreams, he chooses to draw the shadow into his arms, leaning into the illusion.
This time, he leans too far.
He wakes, but not as he should. A strangely disconnected, intellectual panic surges through him as he realises he is not inside the body lying on the bed. It has his shape, but it's the same kind of strangely empty thing as Ronan's becomes when he brings something back from his dreams— and from his vantage point above he can see why.
The Ronan from his fantasy has followed him back into the world of the waking.
They are not Ronan, these echoes, but once he stumbles upon them he can no more abandon them than he could their template— he can't bear to see that face struggling with the fear of rejection or the knowledge of its true nature. And so, whenever he finds one has slipped out of his thoughts to join him in his dreams, he chooses to draw the shadow into his arms, leaning into the illusion.
This time, he leans too far.
He wakes, but not as he should. A strangely disconnected, intellectual panic surges through him as he realises he is not inside the body lying on the bed. It has his shape, but it's the same kind of strangely empty thing as Ronan's becomes when he brings something back from his dreams— and from his vantage point above he can see why.
The Ronan from his fantasy has followed him back into the world of the waking.
Morning finds Kylo and Ronan together, their tangle of belonging having come a little loose but not quite undone.
With his body still half-slumped on Ronan's chest, Kylo can't be sure how long it took Ronan to let go of consciousness— the last thing he remembers is slow, indulgent fingers sliding through his hair— but he's fairly certain Ronan didn't follow him immediately. He's caught the edges of fresh, unfamiliar fears surrounding sleep when brushing up against Ronan's thoughts, but he hasn't chased them. Why would he? He can't banish them. A good number of them own him, too.
In any case, Ronan is asleep now. Asleep, but not empty. When Kylo shifts, pressing his lips to Ronan's shoulder, he feels him stir. Just a little. He stills, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart translate through their bodies, enjoying the lazy swell of Ronan's chest rising and falling beneath him, the useless weight of Ronan's arm looped loosely over his back. He's not sure which he prefers: the idea of having been wrapped in it all night, or the thought of Ronan blindly coiling it around him in his sleep. He'll take both.
Kylo doesn't intend on waking Ronan immediately. Probably, he should let him take his rest where he can find it, but despite recent developments he's not quite selfless enough for that. Instead, slow and smooth, he begins to ease himself down Ronan's body, slipping lower and lower to the rhythm of his breathing until he's settled between his legs, his cheek resting for a moment on the warm plane of his stomach. Waking again to the warm, solid reality of continued existence is, as far as Kylo Ren is concerned, an event worthy of a particular kind of long and utterly decadent celebration— and this morning, it begins with a soft but undeniably promising kiss pressed to the crease above his hip as both hands run smoothly up his thighs, gently easing them further apart.
With his body still half-slumped on Ronan's chest, Kylo can't be sure how long it took Ronan to let go of consciousness— the last thing he remembers is slow, indulgent fingers sliding through his hair— but he's fairly certain Ronan didn't follow him immediately. He's caught the edges of fresh, unfamiliar fears surrounding sleep when brushing up against Ronan's thoughts, but he hasn't chased them. Why would he? He can't banish them. A good number of them own him, too.
In any case, Ronan is asleep now. Asleep, but not empty. When Kylo shifts, pressing his lips to Ronan's shoulder, he feels him stir. Just a little. He stills, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart translate through their bodies, enjoying the lazy swell of Ronan's chest rising and falling beneath him, the useless weight of Ronan's arm looped loosely over his back. He's not sure which he prefers: the idea of having been wrapped in it all night, or the thought of Ronan blindly coiling it around him in his sleep. He'll take both.
Kylo doesn't intend on waking Ronan immediately. Probably, he should let him take his rest where he can find it, but despite recent developments he's not quite selfless enough for that. Instead, slow and smooth, he begins to ease himself down Ronan's body, slipping lower and lower to the rhythm of his breathing until he's settled between his legs, his cheek resting for a moment on the warm plane of his stomach. Waking again to the warm, solid reality of continued existence is, as far as Kylo Ren is concerned, an event worthy of a particular kind of long and utterly decadent celebration— and this morning, it begins with a soft but undeniably promising kiss pressed to the crease above his hip as both hands run smoothly up his thighs, gently easing them further apart.
HEY
IS THIS NUMBER STILL WORKING
IS IT REALLY AUGUST
IS THIS A JOKE?????????
IS THIS NUMBER STILL WORKING
IS IT REALLY AUGUST
IS THIS A JOKE?????????
Somehow, in the chaos that begins to ensue in the afternoon, Kylo gets separated from the others. It's understandable, in a way— his purpose here is personal, or at least it is once the various faerie magics have him convinced his earlier idle fantasy of a once-banished prince returning to reclaim his throne is very real— but once he's taken the edge off his violently powerful urge to wreak havoc and indulge in some wanton destruction, Kylo begins to wonder just where his favourite possession has wandered off to.
Surely, he hasn't taken this opportunity to try and escape, has he?
Heatedly, Kylo begins to search for him, scattering frightened townsfolk as he stalks through the marketplace with flaming sword in hand. His victory won't be complete until he sits on the throne once stolen from him with Ronan at his feet.
Surely, he hasn't taken this opportunity to try and escape, has he?
Heatedly, Kylo begins to search for him, scattering frightened townsfolk as he stalks through the marketplace with flaming sword in hand. His victory won't be complete until he sits on the throne once stolen from him with Ronan at his feet.
text, backdated to roughly a week after Death Star things
articulations
2019-09-03 04:45 am (UTC)(link)
1:55am
It’s late, I know, and I’m sorry. Are you awake?
It’s late, I know, and I’m sorry. Are you awake?
They've barely had time to recover from their experiences risking obliteration to disable the Death Star when the next plague sweeps over the planet— a rain of multi-coloured kryptonite shards, each with their own particular flavour of havoc to wreak on the world.
White Kryptonite, for example, causes plant life to wither and die. Other forms, they discover as they comb over the fields of the Meadows, clearing the threat from the land where they find it, grant animals super powers.
Kylo's alone when he finds a piece with a differently coloured curse. And he knows, really, that he shouldn't touch it, especially with Ronan and Chainsaw working through the pastures on the far side and completely out of sight— but he's always been easily led astray by his curiosity, not that he ever really satisfies it. Intrigued, he reaches out and plucks it from the ground. For a moment, it seems harmlessly inert. Later, he won't even remember what the thing looked like.
Everything is screaming noise.
Kylo isn't certain he's breathing— there's too many overlapping rhythms of push and pull and in and out, so many different scales and magnitudes of motion, everything is in motion, all of it, all the time... but he can't find his edges in all this tangling, writhing mass. He can't see because he can't not see. He's everything. He's consumed by everything.
Blinded with overload, he staggers and falls to his knees. Or something ancient and deep-rooted does, and another and another, as he gropes wildly through the endless connections in search of something that makes sense. His branches sway and creak and snap as he collapses in on himself. Panic rises up to meet him as he falls.
Ronan.
He remembers Ronan in the instant he remembers his need for him. He reaches out, desperate, coiling what he can find of his will around that one, singular connection. Ronan will be his anchor. Ronan will be what he needs.
White Kryptonite, for example, causes plant life to wither and die. Other forms, they discover as they comb over the fields of the Meadows, clearing the threat from the land where they find it, grant animals super powers.
Kylo's alone when he finds a piece with a differently coloured curse. And he knows, really, that he shouldn't touch it, especially with Ronan and Chainsaw working through the pastures on the far side and completely out of sight— but he's always been easily led astray by his curiosity, not that he ever really satisfies it. Intrigued, he reaches out and plucks it from the ground. For a moment, it seems harmlessly inert. Later, he won't even remember what the thing looked like.
Everything is screaming noise.
Kylo isn't certain he's breathing— there's too many overlapping rhythms of push and pull and in and out, so many different scales and magnitudes of motion, everything is in motion, all of it, all the time... but he can't find his edges in all this tangling, writhing mass. He can't see because he can't not see. He's everything. He's consumed by everything.
Blinded with overload, he staggers and falls to his knees. Or something ancient and deep-rooted does, and another and another, as he gropes wildly through the endless connections in search of something that makes sense. His branches sway and creak and snap as he collapses in on himself. Panic rises up to meet him as he falls.
Ronan.
He remembers Ronan in the instant he remembers his need for him. He reaches out, desperate, coiling what he can find of his will around that one, singular connection. Ronan will be his anchor. Ronan will be what he needs.
Hello, you. [ Rupert sounds acidically cheerful, despite the fact he's surprisingly unnerved about this whole idea. ] Do you remember me? It sounds like we have friends in common.
It's been a little while since he drew Ronan's arms around his body and leant into the warmth of his chest pressed against his back for comfort— long enough for Ronan to slip back into sleep if he'd been stirred out of it, and long enough for the text message conversation he'd been having with Apollo to take a different direction. Eventually, after a discussion of love found, lost and sacrificed, Kylo can't resist any longer. He shifts, turning in Ronan's arms until he can reach to press a soft kiss to his lips.
"Ronan," he murmurs, lifting a hand to trace the contours of his slackened, sleep-softened face— and the moment he does so, he wonders if he should have just let Ronan sleep while he confessed his hopes and fears...
"Ronan," he murmurs, lifting a hand to trace the contours of his slackened, sleep-softened face— and the moment he does so, he wonders if he should have just let Ronan sleep while he confessed his hopes and fears...
[ The next day after this. Murphy doesn't text Ronan right away. He lets his conversation with Kylo stew for a while. Mulling over his choice of words that he'll say to Ronan. More specifically, what he's going to text Ronan.
But Murphy was never fluent in expressing himself with words. ]
hey [ Yes, very good start. ]
But Murphy was never fluent in expressing himself with words. ]
hey [ Yes, very good start. ]
Edited 2019-10-05 03:18 (UTC)
5th Letter
˄
o-b-e•
l-l-d-p
b-e•-o-h
v-a
l-a-i-t-p-s
e-u-s-p-h-i
t-l-l-e•-e•
r-t-a
˄
o-b-e•
l-l-d-p
b-e•-o-h
v-a
l-a-i-t-p-s
e-u-s-p-h-i
t-l-l-e•-e•
r-t-a
text, after the codes but before everything goes bonkers
leatherboots
2019-10-09 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Hello, me again. The cat's out of the bag and circling the drain I think
[ he may be a little drunk. ]
[ he may be a little drunk. ]
[kavinsky tries, at least. he texts ronan the night of, but knowing lynch, the hour, the fact he likely didn't know murphy was going out at all, it might well fail to find ronan for hours. it's not like lynch loves him some telecommunications.]
hello kittentits
hargreeves party blew teh fuck up & murphy was in the blast radius. brought him 2 a healer. anders & iris west's clinic in nonah. i can bring him or u can take him whatever oyu want
later
hello kittentits
hargreeves party blew teh fuck up & murphy was in the blast radius. brought him 2 a healer. anders & iris west's clinic in nonah. i can bring him or u can take him whatever oyu want
later
Edited (a less confusing link) 2019-10-16 04:56 (UTC)
(mildly nsfw, cw stalking, mental health)
- ronan comes back to his bedroom to find, written in red lipstick, in kavinsky's familiar, jagged, looping handwriting on the otherwise clean pillow:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY GAYLORD
and a half-finished cigarette planted delicately in the bottleneck of last night's rum bottle, still smudged with creamy red on the filter. - a text message:
yo lynch
if i fuck off one day & dont come back in a week
will oyu destroy the fake porter for me
maybe the next one won't fuck up a blank slate
thank u baby ;( - an impression of an impression, in the waking edge of his dream. two hands splayed over the organic sprawl of ronan's own tattooed back, helplessly. the letters inked into their finger bones look small, overwhelmed by the darkness that riots along ronan's spine. blunt nails clawing half moons into the pale spaces between the black thorns like they're fighting to get in, or maybe to get out; they skid in the steep sheen of sweat between his shoulder blades, catch ronan's hip, his ass. the bed smells of want. it's probably accidental or unconscious, but this thief's dreams were always so lucid, forced, so violently deliberate that they hurt. and so it does, in this parallel universe where the words bite the small bones of ronan's shoulders and then bury themselves in the sweating grave of ronan's shoulder, strangled and left for dead: i love you.
- a different impression: the shape of a body depressed into the blankets beside him so gently it might be imaginary. cold by now. offset by the vague memory of being watched over, or maybe just watched. creepy. oddly absent of scent.
- followed by a morning. breakfast left at the dining table, drip coffee, fresh bread cooling in its box, flour freckling the counter, eggs and caramelized bacon plated to such pretentious fashion that hannibal would have been proud, if hannibal weren't above these infatuations. chainsaw doesn't think it's poison. it probably isn't, or not the kind that would hurt.
Is it too bold of me to assume you're feeling a version of regret right about now?
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