#poor parrish... he suffered so much in my hands...

[hedwig221b]

With your alpha bait/everyone is obsessed with Stiles trope, what I love most is the Parrish pov fics you write where he is so delusional as to think Stiles would go for him and loses himself in the obsession! The way you write those other ppls pov fics are so good I can’t get enough!

Thank you!!! 💖💗🎀💖💗🎀💖💗🎀

I've always loved outsider POVs maybe bc all I read is classic lit where the narrator is just an observer most of the time and I LOVE watching sterek when they're not looking you know lol

Thanks for the love once again! 💗💗💗

[maya-hawkeye]

first you get hurt, then you feel sorry

fandom: the raven cycle

pairing: ronan lynch/adam parrish, and probably blue sargent/richard campbell gansey iii/henry cheng

sort of trading spaces au wherein ronan is poor and adam is rich (and that’s basically it) and also super depressing

heads up - i wanted to play trading places with Ronan and Adam but still figure out a way for them to retain some of themselves and also become completely out of character - sorry for making Adam suffer even more than he already does (he’s low key suicidal and it isn’t my intention to romanticize this but he never actually is full on suicidal, he’s just a character on the edge out of necessity for a maybe plot)

also, this currently has little to no plot and is merely an exercise in what may become a full fic if i can figure out what situation to put my lovelies in that isn’t just the plot of the books - it’s an au for a reason - and is also basically just random chunks of moments with no set up whatsoever and no timeline

any feedback is greatly appreciated (even in the form of a like, i ain’t picky)

** the two highlighted quotes about the sins of the mother/father are from the merchant of venice (shakespeare) bc i like being that asshole

excerpt: 

It’s not the first time Adam has shown up to one of their research meetings/friendly neighbourhood gatherings at Monmouth with a bruise, however, they’re usually below the collar of his shirt - hidden in plain view. Gansey gapes for a second before composing himself, frowning at Adam though not actually at Adam.

“I tripped.” 

Gansey grits his teeth but says nothing, jerking his head towards the fridge where a bag of ice awaits his cheek.

“Fucking idiot. Walk much, Parrish?” Ronan scoffs and yet Adam is completely aware that Ronan is calling him on his bullshit excuse, his raised eyebrows reading your dad’s a cunt. All the money in the world couldn't buy him better parents, apparently. Unlike the Ganseys, the Parrish money and name were never earned honestly and Adam suffers for his father’s transgressions, his insatiable greed. 

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

They end up, as they usually do on a Friday evening, at Nino’s with a grossly large pizza in front of them. A girl with pins holding her hair up with sheer willpower dropped it off to their table with a look of disgust that could only be attributed to the whole teenage-boy species. Her eyes shift momentarily to Noah, squinting, and then she disappears once again. 

Gansey is blissfully ignorant (by choice of course) of the fact that Noah a) can’t eat pizza, and b) goes largely unseen by the general populous. So, as usual, Adam and Gansey suffer through half the pizza while Noah stares on wistfully. It’s routine, and deathly boring, but Gansey’s research on Glendower has reached a grinding halt in production. They’re saved from boredom by the arrival of Gansey’s new pet project Ronan Lynch, stray if you will, showing up and falling gracelessly into their booth. He grabs a slice of pizza with a grunt of acknowledgement while Gansey grins like an idiot.

“You weren’t at school today.” Adam’s already testing the waters with Ronan just by existing, but if there’s one thing he’s abnormally good at it’s pushing peoples buttons (usually unintentionally).

“Fuck off Parrish, not everyone jerks it to school books like you do.” Adam blushes furiously to his own dismay and promptly kick his heel back at Ronan’s shin. 

The only reason Ronan is even at Aglionby is because of Declan, funding his education out of his hard-earned cash. He’s still at Aglionby, however, because of Gansey. Hand-outs don't seem to bother Ronan the way they probably would bother Adam if their roles were reversed.

“Ronan.” Dad-Gansey bites, the smile wiped off his lips and replaced by a disdainful frown.

“Work was fuckin’ garbage, Dick, so fuck me for not radiating sunshine and rainbows.” He’s covered in grease and still wearing his coveralls, and he too is frowning but without a general target - perhaps the world, if Adam were to guess.

It’s not the first time Adam has shown up to one of their research meetings/friendly neighbourhood gatherings at Monmouth with a bruise, however, they’re usually below the collar of his shirt - hidden in plain view.  Gansey gapes for a second before composing himself, frowning at Adam though not actually at Adam.

“I tripped.” Gansey grits his teeth but says nothing, jerking his head towards the fridge where a bag of ice awaits his cheek.

“Fucking idiot. Walk much, Parrish?” Ronan scoffs and yet Adam is completely aware that Ronan is calling him on his bullshit excuse, his raised eyebrows reading your dad’s a cunt. All the money in the world couldn't buy him better parents, apparently. Unlike the Ganseys, the Parrish money and name were never earned honestly and Adam suffers for his father’s transgressions, his insatiable greed. 

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

He sighs and immediately regrets it, the pain in his ribs flares up angrily, and he walks to the fridge to grab some ice, gritting his teeth. Ronan watches him, his gaze heavy with meaning that Adam doesn’t want to unravel just yet - want, desire, and pure, unadulterated concern. His gaze is combustible, a spark turning to flame.

He doesn’t have the energy to let someone love him, doesn’t have the time to understand why someone could love him. Ronan is an enigma hidden beneath alabaster skin, jet black ink, and engine grease-stained leather.

He studies, handles his fathers books, researches for Gansey, handles his mother, studies, endures his father, and sometimes finds the space to eat and sleep in between. Whoever said the rich had it all surely never intended to include what Adam has. He’s permanently exhausted in a way not unlike Ronan is - insomnia biting at his heels and aching muscles beneath his skin. They would make quite the pair - like a pair of horror movie twins, two sides of the same tarnished coin.

Noah flits into the space next to him, breaking his thoughts, sliding his cold hand over his ribs, a pout evident on his smudged lips.

“I’m okay Noah, really.” His weak response is accepted but not agreed with as usual.

Gansey has long since stopped begging Adam to leave his parents house, already having ditched the need for Adam to move into Monmouth months prior - he suffers a gnawing guilt-complex stoked in his youth when his father told him, convinced him, that he made his mother sick and vacant. Her gaunt figure and glazed over eyes are every bit his responsibility. She hasn’t been the same since he was born and he bears that guilt like a boulder upon his back, ever-growing. Atlas has nothing on Adam Parrish. 

He has shared most of this with Gansey, however, he also stands rooted in place for another reason. His father owns a gun, owns several in fact, and his father doesn’t like to give up his things. Adam will die before he leaves his fathers home.

If anyone had to ask, spared the ear to listen closely, they would hear the aching brag of his heart - beating on relentlessly without purpose. He can’t even argue that his actions are performed out of love anymore. He hasn’t loved his mother since he was five and old enough to understand. His ‘mother’ is an empty, unholy creature chained to the devil. He used to pity her - there isn’t enough of her left to pity. She’s a shell.

He remembers their last fight like he remembers to breathe. Reluctantly. And yet the memory persists. His mother had a bad day, the ratio of bad to ‘good’ days getting further and further apart lately, and he was blamed - he hadn’t been home, either, when his father arrived and that had made him more furious, perhaps, than anything else.

Like clockwork, he apologizes for being alive and endures the hand of his maker and unmaker. Every blow feels like his undoing and yet, and yet, he persists like a weed through pavement - unwanted but needed. 

So the sins of my mother should be visited upon me.