starlight-thoughts-ao3

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

I’m writing, I swear. In snippets while I wait to clock in at work, but I’m still writing.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Handle With Care

Summary: For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: This is part me being poetic and pretentious and part me being unable to get the image of Natasha dancing for Tony out of my head. I just, their relationship in the MCU is one I find fascinating. The "I should not care about you, but I can't help it" on both ends of that is something I can't help but play around with, and I've been toying with this fic for months and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I have it written so here. Cross-posted on AO3.

Human beings like to tell themselves such pretty lies. Things will get better. Everything happens for a reason. Love always wins. We tell ourselves stories where the good guys win and the bad guys get put away behind bars because we can't cope with the concept that sometimes, life just doesn't care. Tony Stark was born into a world that would always know his name, though not for the reasons he'd wish they would. Such careful manipulation of the facts made sure that no one would ever think that the man who was known as the Merchant of Death was so full of life and energy he was drowning in it. He poured all his passion into things he'd never publicize but they were his children; they were made of metal and code, but they were real and he loved them enough to hide them away from prying eyes. Act like you don't care about anything or anyone long enough and eventually, people stop caring about you.

Tony Stark was born a disappointment, and he learned early on that he'd be allowed more freedom if he didn't even try to change their minds. So he wore a mask made of recklessness and failure and watched as the world forgot that he was brilliant. The problem with masks is that some people will see them and decide it's far more interesting to see what they're hiding.

James Rhodes watched as the boy who was way too young to be sitting in the college lab twisted lines of code into a simple, but charming, personality like it was magic, then build it a body, sketching designs for the robotic arm over the blueprints his father wanted him to look over, just to see if his son had a mind for weapons as he did. James watched as Tony fixed all the issues his father's designs had, then go back to creating life like it was nothing special. James watched as his best friend was told his parents were dead and he watched as Tony shut himself off from the world and created JARVIS. It would occur to him later that AI was the first bit of armor Tony built.

Virginia Potts was the most terrifyingly competent person Tony had ever had the pleasure of being yelled at by. He had stumbled into her -- literally -- one night while leaving the R&D offices and she had given him hell for it, all while towering over him in her high heels, not a hair out of place. Her fury mixed with her composure startled a genuine laugh out of him. He promoted her on the spot. He liked the way she treated him as human, instead of a toy or a trophy. Things were easier with her at his side. The world didn't seem as overwhelming when she was there to take care of the practical things. She didn't judge him for having his head in the clouds, she just tied a string around his wrist and guided him like a balloon while she stayed firmly on the ground. It had taken him much too long to realize that there wasn't enough money in the world to keep someone with him, so her continued presence in his life had to be because she genuinely cared, and that was when he gave her the codes to his personal lab. He found her, his Pepper, asleep on the couch more than once, hair loose, feet curled up under a blanket she had brought down because she liked to watch him work.

One kidnapping and betrayal later, Tony began to distrust everything and anyone connected to his father. The only ones who actually seemed to care about him were the ones he chose himself.

Steve Rogers was everything everyone had wanted Tony to be and having all that rush back into his head out of nowhere put him on the defensive. He knew Pepper would tell him that none of that was Steve's fault and could he please get his head out of his head now? But he couldn't. This was the man that his father had idolized and searched for until the day he died. This was the man that Howard had poured all his time and energy into instead of his son, and while Tony knew, and he did know, that Rogers had no part of that, Tony was tired of the past coming to haunt him. Realistically, anyone his father had liked was bad news for him and there was no one, save Aunt Peggy, that Howard Stark liked more than Steve Rogers.

They clashed and shattered against each other, the whole world watching as Tony Stark and Steve Rogers fell into synchronization, the pieces of shared history falling to the wayside in the light of victory.

Natasha was difficult for Tony to process. She was the only person he'd ever met who wore as many masks as he did, and he tried desperately to not think about the fact that she was so deadly because of it. People underestimated her, didn't see how clever her eyes were, didn't see how she'd change everything about herself to fit the image they wanted to see. He saw how it wore her down. He could relate, and she knew it. It was strange, the art of being seen as what other people wanted shared between a man who was always in the spotlight and a woman who learned to blend into the background.

He liked to watch her dance. It wasn't that it made him forget that she was lethal -- quite the opposite, actually -- but more that she looked more human while she did. It was almost like whatever it was that allowed her to drift seamlessly between personalities melted away and left just a woman who loved to dance behind. She was talented and beautiful because of course, she was, but it was how carefree and unguarded she was as she twirled around that caught -- and held -- his attention. The funny thing is, he almost didn't have this, he almost let it slip through his fingers. The shooting range was originally going to be both Clint and Natasha's "welcome to the dysfunctional family" present, but the archer had a different idea.

"You want her happy, Stark, you give her a place to dance," Clint had said in such a no-nonsense tone that he almost thought that he was playing a prank on him, and if he followed through, she'd kill him without mercy. But the glint in Clint's eyes told him to take a chance, and so he lined one wall of the gym with mirrors and had a barre installed, much to the confusion of the builders. When he took all of them around the tower, the way her fingers trailed along the metal was reverent. She and Clint shared a look, he nodded, and suddenly Tony's arms were full of a redhead who could kill in an instant if she wanted.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear. He's still not sure what platitudes he said, but a second later, she was across the room, no hint of the raw emotion she had just displayed on her face. And that was that.

He hadn't expected to ever see her actually use the space he had carved out for her, as it was well known that she was in the gym late at night when the more sensible members of their team had long since gone to sleep or pretended to. But he was no stranger to aimless insomnia, and had wandered into the gym one night, just walking around, and had been startled out of daydreams by slow music, and it would have been ethereal if not for the haunting melody. The sound of her feet hitting the floor came after and his eyes drifted to her. It was in that moment he had reconsidered the meaning of the word "revealing". He had certainly seen more of her skin than the leotard was showing, but he had never seen more of her. He looked so much like his father that they tended to forget that he was Maria's son as well. He'd been to enough ballet performances to know that while her movements weren't the most technically accurate, that was only because she didn't want them to be. He also knew she was aware of his presence. For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

"You could do that professionally, you know. Drop the whole spy thing and just do that," he told her as she offered him her hand. She shook her head.

"No, I couldn't," she said. He looked her up and down, and smiled sadly.

"No, you couldn't," he agreed, "but you should dance for us, sometimes. Pretty sure that little number you just did would scandalize our dear captain." He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed and laughed. Tony pulled her into him and began a simple waltz in the silence. She fell into step so effortlessly that it almost startled him, but only almost.

"Maybe I'll dance for everyone one day. We'll see. It's not personal, it's just," she sighed, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"It's just too personal," he suggested. She nodded. His hands on her body felt warm and distracting in a way she was not accustomed to. They were not wandering; they stayed exactly where they were supposed to be for the dance, and while his embrace was steady, it was not strict. She could walk away from this moment, and he would let her.

"I don't know how to let people in, Tony. I don't know how to be a person, not really." Her steps never faltered, but her voice wobbled, just a bit.

"One person at a time, one little truth at a time," he said, switching the dance from a formal ballroom to a playful mishmash of whatever he wanted. She grinned and teased him with chaos of her own. She twirled away from him, and as just as he pulled her back to him, he whispered into her ear, "and sometimes, Miss Rushman, you don't let them in at all. They come barging in anyway and you hope and pray they don't break your heart."

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Prelude To A First Kiss

Summary: Reckless boys alone in the dark, slowly, so slowly, falling in love.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: I wrote this instead of sleeping, and it sparked an Entire Series idea. Cross-posted on AO3.

Their fingers dance together in the dark, while the world around them is quiet. They are both familiar with darkness and how it can tear apart a soul and stitch it back together with fraying threads of humanity and call it fixed. They are both familiar with the way quiet whispers secrets and lies in stolen voices. They are both familiar with how darkness and quiet together can change you entirely. They have both been changed entirely. But here, in the quiet darkness, they ignore this. They ignore all the reasons this should never, ever happen. They ignore history and reason and all the voices in their heads because this is right. This is right, and this is how it starts, with fingers tentatively dancing together in the dark. They do not look at each other.

Come morning, Tony will allow himself to remember that this is the man that killed his parents and he should hate him for that. He will allow himself to remember that this man's best friend kept secrets that almost got him killed. He will immediately tell himself to forget those facts because this man is smiling at him so gently right now and it's taking his breath away much the same way the waterboarding did all those years ago. Later, it will occur to him that maybe he shouldn't compare falling in love to actual torture, but given who this man is, maybe, just maybe, they are comparable after all. But right now, blue eyes look down at their hands through brown hair and their fingertips are just barely touching and this is a miracle in the making.

Come morning, James will let himself think about how bad of an idea this is. He killed his parents. Unknowing and unwilling, but still his hands and his knowledge. His responsibility. He will let himself think about how his best friend hates him, though no matter how many times Steve explains it to him, he cannot comprehend why. Or rather, he can but not a damn bit of that is Tony's fault. Really, all James wants to do come morning is curse Howard Stark's entire existence for his unnerving ability to cause trouble decades after he's dead. But that is morning's problem because right now, Tony is tracing over his metal fingers and it's rewriting him all over again.

It will be years before Tony cracks the secrets of time travel; before the loss of half the universe breaks his heart so entirely that he decides that the laws of space and time and reality are so damn irrelevant because he has things to do and people to save and he will shatter everything to pieces and start from scratch just to fix his own mistakes. And he will think back to this moment. He will think about this moment and how he'd wanted nothing more than to freeze it and it will cross his mind that he could come back and watch the first time he throws reason to the wind to fix a broken heart. He lets his hand want and wander and he finds it lingering around James's wrist, right where a pulse would be if the arm were flesh instead of vibranium. He swears he can feel it anyway.

James's mind throws him back into a memory without his permission, but for once in this godforsaken future, it is a happy one. He is remembering how Steve looked at Peggy Carter like the world began and ended with her existence and everything else was just background noise. He is remembering her surety and Steve's floundering and it is crossing his mind that if Steve felt anything like the rush of insanity that is currently taking over him, no wonder he fell to pieces when he woke up and she was not there. Tony is standing in front of him, his sturdy fingers wrapping themselves around his wrist, looking for all the world like he has no idea why he's doing it but has no desire to stop himself. He wants to sear this moment into his brain so thoroughly that it would be impossible to erase.

They are both familiar with split-second, life-altering decisions. Blue eyes meet brown. James twists his hand and yanks it toward him. This should never, ever happen. And yet, it does.

Tony finds himself in James's lap awkwardly and rights himself into a more comfortable position without thinking. His arms wrap themselves around James's neck gently, his legs straighten out to use James's as a chair and they are so, so close. He watches as James slowly grabs his wrist and brings it to his lips. He knows his pulse is racing, but he's so not worried about it right now. Right now, it feels like he could do anything.

"James," he breathes out, "this is a terrible idea that could never, ever work." James hums in agreement against his wrist. At least it's out in the open, the bad-idea nature of this, the impossible practicality of this. James is only here in too-brief bursts as the government tries to convince itself that he is both innocent and guilty of all the crimes he's committed under circumstances outside of his control. Tony is capable of forgiving most anything, but Steve Rogers and Howard Stark still stand between them, ghosts of the past, even if one of them is still alive.

"I am a horrid partner, you know, I forget birthdays and anniversaries and to take care of myself and-" James places a metal finger against Tony's mouth softly, his actual ones absently twirling around in Tony's hair.

"Who you trying to convince, doll?"

Time stops.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Easy

Summary: Sometimes, people are hard to love. Their edges grate against your soft spots and leave abrasions that don't quite heal. It's swear words screamed across rooms and insults flung around like confetti. It's pride mixing with trauma topped off with not enough introspection to figure out how to say "I'm sorry" and mean it. Sometimes, people are hard to love. They forget the meaning of the word compromise, or rather, they forget that it applies to them, too. They forget that holding someone close is not supposed to devolve into holding them back. They forget that diving in head first is likely to leave you with a headache and having your breath taken away will make you nothing more than a corpse. Sometimes, people are hard to love.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: This is old, just cross-posting from AO3.

Ronan Lynch was easy to love, Adam Parrish was beginning to learn. Sure, it had taken him a long while to like the boy, but from there, falling in love with him was the easiest thing in the world. Because Ronan was not sharp edges and swear words, insults and pride. Not really. Not once he decided he loved you. Maybe he hid behind anger and wit, but Ronan did not, could not really, lie, and actions had always spoken louder than words, especially to Adam's partially deaf ears. He had a million and one doubts regarding Ronan, but that the snake of a boy loved him and that he loved him back was not one of them.

At the moment, Ronan was sitting on his bed, eyes closed, headphones blaring in his ears, loud enough that Adam could hear it across the room. This whole scenario should have been surreal. He should be questioning why this spoiled, reckless rich kid with a smile he used like a weapon was sitting on his bed, waiting patiently for Adam to finish his homework and come join him. But he wasn’t. What was left to question? Hadn’t they already sorted all this out when Adam’s hands wrapped around Ronan’s throat and Ronan refused to fight back? When Adam faced his every nightmare to keep Ronan out of jail? The thought made Adam want to close the history textbook on his desk and walk over to the dream of a boy who made himself at home on Adam’s bed, but he didn’t have time to. He needed to study. But he could spare a glance in his boyfriend’s direction.

At some point, Ronan had taken off his shirt. Adam could hardly blame him, the apartment above the church was always hot as soon as the earth decided that it was spring, something Adam was sure Ronan knew better than he did. This was not the first time Adam had seen Ronan without a shirt, but this was the first time he could remember his head short-circuiting at the sight. Ronan’s past was written in his body, from the scars on his skin to how his muscles moved when he did, and Adam was desperate to read every bit of it. The fact that Niall had made sure that his boys were physically fit might have played a part in the sudden malfunction in Adam’s neural pathways, but it wasn’t like Adam was going to admit that just yet. Ronan opened his eyes.

“Quit staring, asshole.” Adam laughed.

“What, can’t take the attention?” Ronan’s lips turned upward in what could be called a smile if his eyes didn’t speak of storms and nightmares.

“Oh, I can take the attention, Parrish. In fact, why don’t you come here and give it all to me?” If there was one thing that Adam Parrish was good at it was resisting temptation. It was how he survived, quite literally. If he had given into every little distraction in his life, he would never have made it anywhere near as far as he has. If there was one thing that Adam Parrish was bad at, it was resisting Ronan Lynch’s smile and dangerous eyes. And so he stood from his desk chair, walked across his tiny apartment that he knew Ronan had arranged for him to have, leaned down to place a hand on the aforementioned boy’s cheek and kissed him sweetly.

Ronan’s hands shot up to Adam’s waist and pulled him down onto the bed, causing him to stumble and land on top of him. Adam laughed against Ronan’s lips and when he pulled away the look on Ronan’s face was everything that the world forgot that he was. It was soft and pure, because at the end of the day, that was who Ronan was. A gentle boy whose dreams are what reality are made of.

 Adam’s laughing caused Ronan to laugh and wrap his arms gently around his boyfriend. Neither knew if it was day or night. Not really. For all they knew they could have been in one of Ronan’s dreamscapes. Except that there were textbooks open on the desk and graphite up and down Adam’s hands from writing essay drafts by hand and while Ronan would never ask Adam to stop being the overachieving nerd that he is, Ronan also would not be dreaming of Adam studying when his hands could be used for other things instead.

 “I love you, asshole.” The words were whispered, barely there. Ronan smiled anyway. This was new to Adam, the whole love thing. Whispered words were better than none at all.

 “Love you, too.” Ronan’s words sounded almost casual to Adam, as though they were nothing. Ronan’s methods of affection were different than Adams’s, sharp edges and things given without asking for permission. But the words came easy to Ronan, growing up as he had, surrounded by people who loved him with everything they were. Ronan, who dreamt up a little brother so sweet it was impossible to not love him. Ronan, who gave everything he was to Gansey, no questions asked. If there was anything that scared Adam about Ronan, it was the way he loved.

 But Adam had never been a coward, couldn’t afford to be one, really, and he was selfish. Ronan deserved better, but Adam would take him while he could.

  Sometimes, people are so damn easy to love it isn’t fair. Ronan knew he wasn’t subtle. Nothing about him was subtle, quite deliberately so. Adam was beautiful and brilliant and brave and Ronan was not subtle. Ronan remembered life before Adam. It was a time that his dad was alive and his brother didn’t hate him and his mother wasn’t comatose and in most ways objectively speaking, it was a better time. It was before Ronan hated himself with as much passion as he put into everything else. All or nothing.

But then came Adam, and at first, Ronan thought he was just going to be yet another one of Gansey’s “friends”, there and gone before Ronan had to actually give a damn. He was wrong. Adam was logical and sensible and way too fucking smart for his own damn good. Pride and anger and fear and hope wrapped in disaster. Ronan Lynch was an asshole by nature, and he knew it. Adam Parrish, it turns out, was one by nurture, and didn’t bat an eye at everything Ronan threw at him. What else was he supposed to do except fall helplessly in love?

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

This Is Not A Fairy Tale

Summary: Things will settle down and get better, and we will learn to grow.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: This is older, just cross-posting from AO3.

       There were fingers in his hair. When, exactly, they got there, Adam didn’t know, but there were fingers in his hair and they could only belong to one person, given where he was.

       Where he was was the only connection to the magic he once knew, that once possessed and controlled him. But here, in this world of beauty and chaos and hidden affection, the magic was less sinister, less malicious. Instead it loved and welcomed him, as its owner did. The magic here felt like home, as did the fingers in his hair.

       “I know you’re awake, asshole,” Ronan whispered down at Adam, who merely smiled, eyes still closed.  Gentle chuckle came from the boy above him. These were the moments Adam loved more than anything. They were calm and unhurried, just him and Ronan, Ronan who had become everything to him in a very short amount of time.

       Once upon a time, there was a boy who was given the world through a combination of magic and endless money, and he was loved. He smiled easily and loved as fiercely as he himself was loved. He dreamed himself a little brother, a boy as sweet as sin, but Matthew was as close to an angel as Ronan was sure he was ever going to meet. Ronan has everything he could ever think of wanting. Once upon a time, there was a boy who was given the world, and through a combination of magic and endless money, it was taken from him.

       Once upon a time, there was a boy who had no idea what kindness was, He had nothing, and so the world took his blood as payment for existing. The world showed him no kindness, but he was determined to not let it break him. So he worked and he worked and he worked until he didn’t know if the exhaustion in his bones was due to his father or himself. Life was easier that way. Once upon a time, there was a boy the world gave nothing to, so he took from it without asking if he could.

       Once upon a time, magic met mayhem, and two boys met a king.

             Once upon a time, two boys died on a ley line, only, one of them survived. Fate’s a funny thing, and they became friends later in life. Noah did not regret dying for Gansey, not that anyone ever asked. He knew his place in their make-shift court He was a knight, and like any good knight he gave his life to protect his king, He’d do it again, if asked Once upon a time, a would-be king died.

       Once upon a time, two boys died on a ley line, only, one of them survived. He did not believe in miracles, despite the fact that everyone said he was alive because if one, despite the magical people he ruled over with a gentle hand. His loyal subjects could dream their own reality and see into the future, as though both were commonplace skills. But he did not see them as miraculous. They just…were. And he loved them for it. Once upon a time, a true king lived.

       Once upon a time, a king met the woman who would kill him, and he promptly fell in love with her.

       Once upon a time, a regular girl was born from the very essence of the universe, only, she decided ordinary simply wasn’t for her. She’d tell you that it was Fate’s design, but she grew up with psychics; she knew better. A mundane girl destined to become a queen decided to be a warrior instead, and Fate twisted itself around her. Once upon a time, a girl was given a destiny and she laughed as she did the exact opposite.

             Once upon a time, a little boy went through hell because of someone else. Years later, he dove head first into it, So far from home, he found a boy who sung with the same magic that had been the reason for his torture, and he smiled. This boy was not what he was expecting, but then neither was he. For the life of him, Henry couldn’t figure out what made Gansey so goddamn important, but that didn’t matter. He inspired loyalty and love, and in Henry’s mind, that was more than enough to do what was needed. Once upon a time, a boy went through hell to teach a king how to be brave.

             Once upon a time, a court assembled to save the world, and no one else knew about it.

       Her fingers drummed a haphazard rhythm on the steering wheel. She was miles away from tarot cards and experimental teas, but she had never felt more at home.

       She could see Gansey and Henry through the window of the small gas station store, and she smiled. Something about the underpaid cashier must have sparked their interest. Or maybe it was the other way around. It wasn’t every day that a teenaged boy with the fashion sense of a 30-year-old conservative walked in with someone like, well, someone like Henry, who looked like he wanted to have sex with everyone in a five mile radius at once.

       “And that is an idea for another time,” she whispered to herself as she decided to hurry the boys along; she was getting bored. As she walked into the store she noticed all three sets of eyes find their way to her.

       “Jane, nice of you to join us.”

       “Bluebird, control him, he’s being all diplomaty again,” Henry said. Blue just laughed and kissed Gansey’s cheek.

       “Diplomaty is his personality, and this was your idea,” she said wrapping her arms around Henry. The poor cashier looked confused at her nonchalant behavior, and her boys’ equally nonchalant reaction, or rather, their non-reaction. As though her showering them both with affection was commonplace Blue smiled gently at her and shrugged. They did not owe her any explanations, and she did not plan on offering any.

       “I thought you were going to wait in the Pig?” Gansey asked. She smirked in his direction.

       “I was, until 20 minutes passed and I still had no yogurt.” Her voice was dripping with her Henrietta accent, sweet as sugar.

       Gansey pushed the glasses Henry convinced him to wear that morning up his nose as he checked the fancy watch on his wrist that Blue thought was unnecessary and saw that she was right; it had been 20 minutes.

       “Like I said, diplomaty,” Henry said with an accompanying eye roll.

       “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t realize.”

       Blue, ignoring him, decided to turn her attention to the still nameless cashier.

       “I’m sorry for this one. He can talk for hours about things you never even knew existed, and he rarely knows he’s doing it,” she said with a smile. The girl behind the counter shrugged in that way that communicated the idea of      what can you do    .

       “Love the shorts,” she said, pointing down at Blue’s hand-embroidered jean shorts. They were tame by Blue’s standards, which meant they weren’t something you’d find in any store.

       “Thank you. I’ll get them out of your hair now. Have they paid yet? Also. What’s your name?” The girl nodded in response to her first question.

       “Yeah, I’m Katie.”

       “I’m Blue, and this is Gansey, and that one is Henry,” she told her, pointing to each in turn, “We’ll be leaving now, but it was nice to meet you, Katie.” Katie waved as the three walked out of her store.

       “And you call me diplomaty,” Gansey muttered.

       “You are,” Blue and Henry said in unison.

       It was terrifying, seeing Ronan and Blue equally mad at someone, and that’s exactly what was happening right now. Gansey was grateful that Adam was at work because he has the feeling that had he been here, the two of them would have turned into avenging angels on his behalf, even as he protested. Because Robert Parrish was across the street from them at this very moment, and the words coming out of Ronan’s mouth were a mix of Latin and English, and while Gansey did not think they sounded like poetry, he had to admit that they were inspired.

       Normally Gansey would be trying to get the two of them to behave, but he honestly can’t bring himself to do so. Gansey was literally on his third life, and in none of them has he ever hated a person as much as he hates Adam’s father. He was not a violent person, in action or thought, so he allowed his friends to vent theirs.

       But he was still glad Adam was not here to see this. Venting would have turned to action, and that never ended well. So instead he turned his attention to his friends.

       Ronan had an arm resting around Blue’s shoulders, wearing bright pink badly crocheted fingerless gloves she had given him. They did not suit anything else he wore, but apparently that meant nothing to him. They made him look softer than Gansey had seen him in a long time. Ronon had laughed when she defiantly presented them them to him last christmas--a holiday Blue herself didn’t care for but Ronan considered sacred-- and them promised he would wear them to the surprise of everyone else present. Ronan Lynch did not make promises lightly, nor did he break them.

       The sight of them, righteous fury and unbreakable friendship, made Gansey smile despite the man across the street, despite the knowledge of what that man had done.

       It was Blue who noticed his smile, and she went to poke him.

       “Hey, why are you all happy? Don’t you have eyes?” This made him laugh.

       “Yeah, Dick, what’s got you cackling like a damn hyena? That asshole needs to see he can’t come near Adam again,” Ronan added. He wasn’t sure if he could explain it to them, this unashamed joy at seeing them. Ronan had almost died, Blue      had     killed him, but here they were, alive and reckless. Changed, but still the same.

       “Nothing, just you two. I’m glad you exist,” he said. He was always the most willing to be vulnerable out of their little group, but this was a bit more than usual, even for him. Blue laughed, high pitched and pure. It was Ronan who surprised him, saying,

       “Love you, too, Dick.” Now Gansey’s smile was brighter than every star in the sky. All of them had survived so much worse than Robert Parrish

 There were fingers in his hair. When, exactly, they got there, Adam didn’t know, but there were fingers in his hair and they could only belong to one person, given where he was.

       Where he was was the only connection to the magic he once knew, that once possessed and controlled him. But here, in this world of beauty and chaos and hidden affection, the magic was less sinister, less malicious. Instead it loved and welcomed him, as its owner did. The magic here felt like home, as did the fingers in his hair.

       “I know you’re awake, asshole,” Ronan whispered down at Adam, who merely smiled, eyes still closed.  Gentle chuckle came from the boy above him. These were the moments Adam loved more than anything. They were calm and unhurried, just him and Ronan, Ronan who had become everything to him in a very short amount of time.

       It was then that Ronan began to sing softly. Adam didn’t recognize the song, but he assumed that it was a lullaby that Aurora sang to the Lynch boys as children. He’d ask about it later, maybe. Or maybe he’d leave it up to Ronan if he wanted to share.

       He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Adam’s head lying in Ronan’s lap, but at some point, Henry’s voice made Adam open his eyes.

       “Isn’t this sweet?” Blue and Gansey were at his side, as they always were anymore.

       “Fuck off, Cheng,” Ronan said, his voice lacking the venom that used to lace it. He didn’t even bother to look up from Adam. Blue and Gansey may be literal soulmates, but Adam thought Fate had nothing on Ronan Lynch’s love. He was damn lucky to have him.

       “Leave them be, Henry. You’re no better,” Blue said, plopping down on the other couch.

       “True, Bluebird, but I’m me, so I can get away with it,” he said, mirroring Adam’s position with Blue. Gansey shook his head at them, and sat down on the floor at Henry’s feet.

       So many thing g had changed. Ronan and Blue had fresh tattoos on their wrists,      Remembered     in sharp letters, surrounded by flowers, a tribute to the friend they had lost. Gansey was still so unsure of this new life, of how it happened. Adam still hesitated to touch Ronan sometimes, still afraid of his own hands. Blue felt Persephone’s loss deeply and had not had the time to heal yet. Things were still shaky with new relationships, and how this would work now, but things would settle and people would heal and grow. Noah would not be forgotten. They would be okay.

       Once upon a time, a king held court for the first time, and the world would never be the same.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Entirely Forseeable

Summary: Ronan still hates himself, and Adam is mad about it.

TW: Nothing, as far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree

Notes: This is old, and I don’t remember actually writing it. I’m just cross-posting from AO3.

Adam Parrish was everything that Ronan never thought he could have, and Adam knew it. What he didn't know was why. Ronan wasn't really in the habit of thinking he couldn't get what he wanted, seeing as he could dream anything he liked and make it reality. Ronan was brilliant and beautiful and kind, although the last bit only really applied to those he knew and loved, and the world reacted in kind and placed itself at his feet for the taking. So yes, it baffled Adam when Ronan admitted to thinking that Adam would never be his. Well, it did at first. Then it pissed him off. He was tired of Ronan's shit self-esteem. Yeah, yeah, Ronan had crappy grades and his brother wasn't exactly his biggest fan and sure, most people in the little town of Henrietta thought he was a good for nothing waste of time, but Adam thought most of that was nonsense that was more a reflection of everyone else and not his farmer of a boyfriend. And to be perfectly fair, Henrietta didn't think much of Adam either, so they could be looked down upon together. So yes, Adam was angry the next time he saw Ronan at the Barns, partially due to a too long day at one of his shitty jobs that he no longer needed since Ronan had seduced him into agreeing that Ronan could pay Adam's Algionby tuition, partiality due to Ronan himself. Adam had a tendency to get violent when he got angry-call it a side effect of his genetics and upbringing-but this was Ronan who one, could kick his ass in heartbeat if he wanted, and two, would never once even think of laying a hand on Adam that he had not asked for. Violence wouldn't work here. But maybe love would. That thought still scared him, just a little. Adam Parrish, in love. God, what had the world come to. Adam didn't know, but he was willing to find out. But, in order to do that he needed to get his boyfriend to stop hating himself long enough for him to see I Adam was in fact going to stick around for the foreseeable future, and given they knew many psychics, the future was entirely foreseeable.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Missing You

Summary:Magnus notices, Magnus always notices and cares so damn much. Alec focused.

TW: Mentions of self-harm, not graphic

Notes: This is old, I’m just cross-posting from AO3. It’s actually been years since I’ve even read this. This was vaguely inspired by the All Time Low song of the same title.

I heard that you've been

Self-medicating in the quiet of your room,

Your sweet, suburban tomb.

And if you need a friend,

I'll help you stitch up your wounds.

 Alec had collected so many scars over the years, some from demons, some from Downworlders, some from faded runes, or childhood accidents. He didn’t blame his family for not noticing the ones that weren’t so unpredictable.

 He wasn’t sure why he did it. He knew his life was perfectly fine. A brother and sister who loved him, a parabatai who chose him, parents who trusted him. He was good at what he did; he was fully aware that Jace and Isabelle would have died ages ago if it was not for him. He was gaining respect in the Clave. But something wasn’t right, even though he could never put his finger on it. So instead, he let iratze’s heal his wounds, the ones made in battle as well as the manufactured ones.

 Then, due to a short—and short tempered—redhead girl, his whole life changed. He was no longer the focus of Jace’s attention, and that didn’t sit well with him. That may have had something to do with that tiny crush Alec had on Jace, but he refused to even admit it to himself, let alone anyone else.

 But then, because of that same redhead, Alec met Magnus. Magnus who took his wrist accidentally during that party. Magnus who saw and tilted his head in curiosity; Magnus and his sad eyes when he realized what exactly it was that he had seen. Magnus who healed him after being poisoned. Magnus who took away those scars that same day and left only a note saying,

You had enough scars already. Alec looked at his clean—cleaner, at least, as it would never be fully free of scars—and promised himself that it would stay that way.

 I heard that you've been

Having some trouble finding your place in the world.

I know how much that hurts,

But if you need a friend

Then please just say the word...

 At some point between that first date and kissing him in front of the Clave, Alec realized that he had fallen in love with Magnus. He wasn’t sure when, he wasn’t even sure how, but it had happened. But it was not Alec’s place to be in love with a male Warlock. Alec honestly wasn’t sure which part of who Magnus was scared him the most.

 No, it wasn’t Magnus who scared Alec, it was what the Clave would think. Both had happened, neither was strictly illegal, but they were heavily frowned upon, and Alec, well, Alec wasn’t like Jace. He wasn’t a rule-breaker. He wasn’t Isabelle who flirted with whatever being had legs. Hell, he wasn’t even like Clary and Simon who were so openly in love with the aforementioned Shadowhunters despite the challenges. Alec kept that all hidden—not on purpose, mind you. It was just what he was comfortable with.

 But it was Magnus. He had held him close when he was afraid. Alec had let himself be vulnerable around him, and Magnus had not taken advantage of that. Instead, he kissed him, so soft and gentle that every negative thought simply vanished and Alec’s hands were in Magnus’s hair, and neither of them was quite sure where three hours had gone.

 Hold on tight,

This ride is a wild one,

Make no mistake,

The day will come when you can't cover up what you've done,

Now don't lose your fight, kid,

It only takes a little push to pull on through,

With so much left to do;

You'll be missing out, and we'll be missing you.

 It wasn’t that Alec was ashamed of Magnus because he wasn’t. He didn’t want to push Magnus aside as though he was nothing, because he wasn’t. But it had seemed like he was and that he had, and he knew that that was what Magnus was thinking. He also had no idea how to make it up to him. Because he had to make it up to him.

 He had to, because even though Magnus was mad at him, the man still subtly checked his skin whenever they saw each other. He still took Alec’s hands when he started running his nails across his arms for much longer than a simple scratch would take. He still helped his friends, and smiled and made him laugh and, by the Angel, Magnus was perfect.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

Find Me One Day At Home, Darling

Summary: Dean insists that he's not the settling down type, but Dean isn't always right.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware, but feel free to let me know if you disagree

Notes: This is old, I’m just cross-posting from AO3.

There was this thing with being full-time hunters; there was little time to actually get to know someone. Sure, Dean (and Sam on the rare occasion) slept with more people than most, but it wasn’t like he actually knew them. Half the time, he didn’t even know their names at the end of the night. Which was fine. It wasn’t like Dean was the settling down type of person anyway.

Except that he was. Lisa and Ben proved that. Sure that wasn’t really his life, no monsters, no ghosts, angels, or demons, but he had been happy, and it didn’t matter what Lisa said, it was almost impossible to believe that Ben wasn’t his. At the end of the day, even if Lisa just happened to have a type and Ben wasn’t his biologically, anyone who said that Dean wasn’t that boy’s dad, at least for that year, was wrong. That was a piece of bliss that Dean hadn’t let himself think that he wanted.

But then Sam came back, little brother Sammy, the first boy that he had raised, and like any good father, he went and helped him, though it broke his heart to leave his family, because they were family, behind.  On those long nights on the road, it gave him some hope that at least they were still alive. They had survived being close to him. It was possible.

Dean fell in love with the Men of Letters bunker almost instantaneously. They had somewhere safe, somewhere other than Baby to call home. It was intoxicating. He could admit to himself that he considered finding his family and bringing them here. Time had passed, but Ben was still his son, and Lisa was still there for him despite knowing his crazy, and god dammit, he missed them. But they were safe, and thanks to Cas, had no memories of hi  m  . Yes, he asked for it, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt. He just knew how to hide it because like hell was he going to let Sammy think that Dean losing them was his fault.

Kevin Tran was next and Dean did not want to think about Kevin, ever.  That hurt too damn much. Because Kevin, he placed his trust in him(Sam, too, but Dean liked to ignore that), and time and time again, that trust was betrayed unintentionally. Kevin was dead because Dean trusted the wrong damn angel. Kevin was dead so that Sam would be alive. At the end of the day, Dean missed him, but he couldn’t think about him, despite passing his untouched room every damn day.

Then came Charlie. Nerdy girl who would have been perfect for his brother if she swung that way. But she didn’t, and really, that didn’t matter because she became so much more for both of them. She showed them how to have fun again when they needed it.  She taught Sam things about computers that had become vital to their way of life. She knew what it was to keep running from the world.  She really was the sister they never thought they wanted.  There was guilt there, too. But Charlie was a grown woman and chose her own path, chose this. And hell yes, when she was killed, he was pissed enough to let the Mark of Cain take over because those Frankenstein freaks needed to fucking pay for that. Her room, though she was rarely ever in it and was mostly there on ceremony, was left untouched.

That left Castiel. Dean shattered when he thought the angel was dead. He was anger and guilt and grief all rolled into one self destructive mes  s. He wasn’t suicidal per se, but he sure as shit didn’t really care if he was still alive at the end of the day. Cas had been his anchor, something that would always be there. And then he wasn’t. He had never had nightmares before losing Cas. Maybe because out of all the people that he had met, had fallen for, either romantically like Lisa, or platonically like Kevin and Charlie, none of them had been as focused on  him as Cas was. Cas’s priority was Dean, the way that Sam was Dean’s. The angel had given up everything for him time and time again, and damn it, if that wasn’t addictive. All that heavenly attention on him. But then all of that was gone and it broke him.

Then Cas came back and the world was broken, again, but Dean was fixed and letting his rough exterior personality fade into the background because Cas was human and that, that just wasn’t right.  Not even close. Where was the angel that could kick his ass without blinking, that unfailing confidence in what he believed, whether it be his Father or the Winchester boys? Cas began doubting him, and that might have been his own damn fault because Dean started this by doubting him.

But Cas didn’t leave him, despite the doubting. Cas stayed and fought Heaven and Hell to keep Dean alive and safe and happy. Cas fought through angel programming to save Dean. It wasn’t even a thought. They could always reach each other, no matter what obstacles stood in their way. Not even Death was stupid enough to try and separate them because for them, it was always together or not at all, and without even trying Dean Winchester had settled down, as a hunter, with an Angel of the Lord at his side with all the knowledge the world could offer at his fingertips and his baby brother to help him use it to save as many people as they could. Maybe one day Ben might actually have a father to be proud of, even if he didn’t know it.

[starlight-thoughts-ao3]

How We Came To Be

Summary: An exploration of why Destiel hasn't happened yet, as told through Dean, Cas, and Sam.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware, but feel free to let me know if you disagree

Notes: This was written years ago, like right after season 12 years ago, and I still haven’t watched seasons 14 and 15, so sorry. I’m just finally cross-posting stuff over here from AO3. 

They were far from conventional, Dean knew. This weird relationship that had started years ago as hatred, manipulation, and Heavenly orders. How it had morphed into this… whatever it is… Dean had no idea. They had died and killed and changed irreversibly for each other and neither had ever thought twice about it, not once, not since the day Castiel walked in all Angelic grace and general kickassness, saving his life effortlessly.

 Castiel, Angel of the Lord, quickly became just Cas, the Winchester’s guardian angel, Dean’s best friend. That was an interesting transition. Dean, as a general rule, didn’t have many friends. In his line of work, it was dangerous to have them. They tended to end up dead. But Cas, Cas was hard, almost impossible, to kill. He was a goddamn angel. Sure, he was mostly clueless about things like personal space and pop culture, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Dean had the time to teach him everything that he deemed important to know.

 Cas, the guardian angel then became, Cas, honorary Winchester, and that, too, was an interesting transition. He was no longer in the “we trust you not to kill us” place that Crowley tended to occupy against everyone’s better judgment and was firmly in the “we will do anything to save you” place that was saved only for the brothers. Dean wasn’t sure when that happened, or how, or why, but he knew that it had. Sammy would always come first, but Cas, Cas was a very close second. Honestly, he was just hoping that the day that he would have to choose between the two would never come.

 He always acted like the comments about him and Cas being together bothered him. That wasn’t really a lie. They did bother him, in that way that digs down into your soul and tells you that it should be true, They bothered him because they seemed just as natural as Sammy being a nerd, or Bobby an alcoholic. They bothered him because, despite that, they weren’t true. And the fact that maybe, deep, deep down, he wanted them to be. But God knows that Dean Winchester wasn’t going to admit that to anyone (God did know, and it kind of almost made him regret giving the man free will).

 Castiel didn’t understand at first what he was feeling towards the crass man that he was told to raise from Hell. Impatience was certainly the first thing that he could name. Then came the disbelief, which was so very new for him. How could Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, not think that he deserved to be saved? It astounded him as it made no sense. The only reason that Dean ever stepped foot in Hell was to save Sam. Admittedly, saving Sam caused a million problems in and of itself, but good intentions.

 That became a phrase that Castiel found himself clinging to as he began to grow with the Winchesters—good intentions. Sam was a fascinating specimen of his Father’s creation. The boy—man, by humanity’s standards—had nothing but good intentions. In that way, he and Castiel were the same. All logic stood to say that Sam would be the one that he would connect with most easily. Castiel liked Sam, of course, and they were friends. But there was Dean. Dean who would do anything for his little brother Sammy. Dean who wanted to save as many people as he could. Dean who took pride in his work, no matter how little recognition he got for it. Dean who was the closest thing to an angel a simple human could be. It was a funny sort situation that they found themselves in, the most human angel and the most divine human.

 Eventually, Castiel figured out that it was affection, and love, that he felt for the oldest Winchester. Whether it was familial or romantic, he wasn’t entirely sure. But that was ultimately not important. What was important to Castiel was that he was always by Dean’s side, or at least always on that list of people that he trusted. That they were Sam and Dean and Cas. That would be enough until he figured out exactly what type of love this was.

 Sam held the firm belief that Dean was an idiot and Cas was an oblivious child. The amount of staring and touching and time alone with each other made it painfully obvious to Sam what they both wanted, but Dean was no stranger to denial and Cas wasn’t always the best with human traditions and social cues.

He was waiting patiently for the day when something concrete finally happened between them. Maybe then he wouldn’t always be in the middle of all that tension.