#lightequal

[heirapparant-blog]

tell me you love me. 

( for @lightequal​ )

[heirapparant-blog]

I DREAM OF GARDENS IN THE DESERT SAND. // @lightequal

it would be a lie to say things were not still STILTED between them. she had done her best for days now, had been almost aggressively cheerful in an attempt to pretend there was not some dark cloud hanging over them, like she had not made a decision that could very well still lead to her own death. ( like she had not let a wolf sleep next to her at night, both of them cold and shivering and yet still unable to move closer to one another. ) it had been awkward. it had been uncomfortable. it had been stilted. 

but he had gone with her, when she’d asked. he had taken her hand instead of the throne, for better or for worse, and he would not go back on that now. 

the condition had been simple: don’t take me back to her. i cannot face her. not yet. maybe not ever. she had wanted to argue, was still trying to figure out the best way to, sometimes, but still, she hadn’t gone back on her word. his mother was somewhere out there, still, waiting for him to come home, waiting, like rey, for him to step into the light, to return and take his place as THE PRODIGAL SUN. 

he was not the prodigal son. he was not the dark messiah. he was nothing his mother had hoped he’d be, nothing snoke had promised him he would become. he was not some godlike figure, a deity among mere mortals, nor was he the son his mother carried in her skin and muscle and in her arms and his father had carried upon his shoulders. he was something else, now, something human and not human, something more.

SOMETHING LESS.

and stepping into the light was not a triumphant thing, not anymore. it would be a process. a gradual, slow thing, learning how to lean into the sunlight instead of shying away from it. ( things were so much safer in the darkness, where his skin had gone pale and his heart had gone cold and he understood its language of pain and power. the light . . . the light was blinding. ) 

and this . . . perhaps this was the next step, into the sunlight. perhaps by asking this of her, he was taking steps backwards in his life, closer to a time when a boy named ben had dreams of becoming a great jedi, a legend, just like his uncle. 

or perhaps he’d merely let his hair grow too long in between hacking away at it, and it had been too long since they’d left snoke’s ship, and it was beginning to tickle the skin just under his collar, and it was beginning to bother him. 

❛ rey? ❜ he begins. when was the last time he’d called her by name? it feels foreign in his mouth, suddenly, the syllable all wrong. he WONDERS, not for the first time, whether that was the name her parents gave her, so long ago, or one she carved out of the desert stones and sands all on her own. 

❛ could you . . . ? ❜ he turns the scissors over in his hands, glancing down at them, and then offers them to her, handle first. ❛ i . . . i don’t have a mirror. ❜ it’s not an explanation, not truly, but it’s all he has left to offer in the moment. 

[eleutherial]

––––––––––––––– she talks with wolves, without knowing what sort of beasts they are. where have you been all my life? they ask. where have i been all my life? she replies.  ( aesthetic edit for @lightequal )

[heirapparant-blog]

I CAN TASTE YOU ON THE RAIN. // @lightequal

he’s gotten better at sensing it. when she comes to him, it seems like all the light in the room suddenly shifts. it flares, once, to his eyes only, and then dims, though the shadows in the room don’t seem to change. sound is the second thing to go; it flies off as though down a rapid tunnel, escaping him suddenly until his own breath echoes in his ears, his mouth, his chest. then, usually, is when he can see her. only her. no sound but the sound of her voice; no sight but the sight of her face, her body interacting with surroundings unknown to him. but not this time.

this time, when the sound of his surroundings goes, hers come to him. he’s not sure if it’s accidental or on purpose; perhaps she’s controlling it, perhaps this is something she wants him to hear. or perhaps it’s merely a consequence of her emotions. he can feel the fascination radiating off her before she senses him, realizes she’s not alone, her joy is no longer private. because that’s what it is: joy. it’s been so long since he felt such a feeling that he almost didn’t recognize it at first. and the cause of her joy . . . the rain. he can hear it, can smell it, it’s so clear that for a moment, ren is rather convinced that if he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, he’ll be able to taste it. ( he did that once, as a child, when his name was still ben, when his father still lived and his mother still loved him. opened his mouth and flung his head back to drink the rain. his father had done the same. so had chewie. his mother had laughed and told them all they’d drown if they kept it up for too long. the memory echoes painfully in the hollow of his chest, and he stuffs it down, drowns it out in the rain the girl is sending to him now. ) 

ren reaches out, holding his hand palm up, and then turning it over. there is no water on it, but he can feel the rain now, and the sensation is curious. ❛ did you miss me? ❜ he asks, quietly, his voice carefully modulated into neutrality. it’s harder without the mask to cover his emotions, but he’s had a lifetime of learning to try and keep his feelings at bay. ( it’s about as effective as trying to keep a wolf on a leash, but still, he manages. ) ❛ is that why you’re here again so soon? ❜ this will trigger her anger, he’s sure, but he doesn’t mind the anger so much. 

it is, after all, easier to understand than joy. he’s never quite understood something so soft, never quite managed to understand how to hold it. if she lashes out, rages at him, that is something he knows how to handle. call me a monster, his eyes seem to say. call me a murderer. look at me like the wolf outside your door; anything other than the awe you cast at the water falling from the sky.