#anogd writes

ronan lynch fic (in verse), trc poetry.

.

Eyes of ice

Corvid brows

A shark's teeth smile—

He's terror, housed

Shaven head

A wicked tongue

Serpent soul

Will do you wrong

.

But underneath

Search and destroy?

A young and frightened

Little boy

.

pynch drabble, first kiss, canon divergent: the raven king, trans!adam.

.

.

Ronan exhaled, put the model car down on the bed beside him, and leaned in to kiss Adam.

"Ronan, I—" Adam cut himself off, taking a sharp breath.

Icey eyes flickered from Adam's mouth, to Adam's eyes, to both sets of feet on the faded carpet of his childhood bedroom. Ronan aimed quiet words directly at Adam's sneakers. "Sorry. I just—"

"No, I'm—it's not that I don't want to…"

"Really?" Ronan asked. But the question sounded without hope for Adam's statement being the truth.

"Yes, really," Adam assured, "I wouldn't lie to you, Ronan. Amen dico absque dolo."

Then it was blue on green as eyes met.

"It's just that I'm… different."

Ronan scoffed gently. "Yeah, like I don't already know that, Parrish,"

"No, I—" Adam took another, deeper breath. "Ronan, I'm trans."

Ronan nodded, slowly. "Okay."

Adam couldn't breathe. "So, I thought you should know, if you were trying to kiss me because you like guys… I mean, that is what's going on here, right?" and he could now feel himself starting to sweat.

Ronan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Parrish. I like guys." Adam concentrated on smoothing his hands over the bare skin showing through holes on the knees of his jeans, not able to keep looking at Ronan. "...therefore, I like you, Adam. Actually thought I just made that pretty obvious, genius."

And when Adam looked up from his hands and his knees, Ronan was doing that thing with his face where he managed to smile without smiling.

"Volo te," Ronan said.

Then, Ronan kissed him. 

.

.

(the latin)

adam: tell no lies

trc poem, adam parrish POV.

.

Tendrils seeped

from eyes and ears

— twine and stem and leaf —

and his peepers cried just like his mouth,

all spilling out with weeds.

Some were thorny, tearing flesh

making freckles bleed.

Some were slimy, slick with sap

and magic's curly greed.

Looking glass Adam laughed at the scene, 

although he had no breath.

Was he still human? 

Still autonomous?

Would he now grow to death? 

Then, one by one, the greenery

got sucked back up inside...

Was Adam Boy or simply

meat-suit-wearing woodland,

gushing, lush with pride?

pynch fic (in verse), poetry fic, adam POV.

.

I can taste

Parmer Violets

and

French beer

when I lick

your long wait

from my lips.

Me,

I have been so thirsty

for you

that I gulp you down

by the gallon,

greedy and

with

absolute abandon:

my very own

French beer.

So much of what you are

somehow fits

into

my heart's back pocket—

and you putting weight

there

has kept me

from

floating away.

You are the key;

you are the ignition;

you are gasoline

and

the velocity.

I give you everything

because

you gave me freedom

(and everything else

to boot).

I can't

not know you.

Not ever.

You are

integral, now.

You are

what binds me

to life.

And so

when you ask me

to hold you,

know that I

wish

that I

never ever had to let go.

(a Pynch WIP)

ronan POV

.

Adam laughed at some joke—Henry's or Blue's, Ronan wasn't really paying attention. Didn't really care. All he could see was that smile... straight, white teeth. Chapped but soft, crimson lips.

Ronan wanted Adam's mouth on his. STAT.

He teased his phone out from his pocket and it was warm from being stuffed in his skinny jeans, no space between denim and thigh. Unlocking it, he scratched at his buzzcut and squinted at the cracked screen, pretending to read a non-existent message.

Ronan nudged his army surplus steel toe-cap against a sweatpant-covered, freckled shin. Adam looked up at Ronan, sucking cherry Coca-Cola through a paper straw, cheeks hollowed and inviting.

Oh holy fucking fuck.

"Going to call Declan. For a... chat," Ronan lied, trying not to think of it that way.

Well, I'm already going to hell.

Adam nearly choked on his coke, then. Because when in all of fucking fuck would Ronan Lynch ever choose to call his elder brother off his own back? For a chat?

Tenth of fucking never, that's when.

As Gansey eyed Adam eying Ronan—suspiciously, over the rim of his milkshake and the din the gang were making—Ronan's boyfriend looked as if he were about to very loudly call bullshit.

Ronan thought fast and put his hand to his mouth, resting two fingers on his bottom lip and biting just the tip of one of them. He stared briefly at Adam, willing Parrish not to spoil this before it ever happened, before turning on his heel and stalking towards the exit.

Luckily, Adam caught Ronan's drift like a windmill in a tornado and now bounced up onto his battered Converse to hastily follow Lynch outside.

Ronan heard Parrish following him licked his lips and grinned wryly.

Gotcha.

.

pynch poetry, adam POV.

.

I see you

in the Mini-Mart,

on the cereal aisle;

in trolley dashes

of half-full

parking lots.

.

I see you

on flat rooves

at night,

in the glow

of streetlights

and my attentions.

.

I see you

watching me

in my peripheral

as you drive me

home, driving

me wild.

.

I see you

seeing me

like no other

can: the way

I want you

(to see me.)

pynch fic (in verse), pynch poetry, ronan POV.

.

Others can't see

but

to me,

your face is made

from stained glass,

marked-up with

your story.

I read it,

like a bible—

its five scrolls

telling me

who

you really are:

the trees;

the wind;

the birds and their song;

the morning dew...

Babe, you

are nature

in its

purest form.