#and i fucked the Moment between Ronan and Adam

[crimeronan]

"No," Adam said, "he really is an eldritch god. Like, actually. We spent some time together on the astral when he was... I mean, he's not shitting you. That's all I'm saying."

Gansey ran a thumb contemplatively over his lower lip, brow furrowed.

Hennessy, meanwhile, had other apparent priorities. "You two fucked while he was in questing spirit tentacle mode? Holy shit, Parrish. That's the most interesting thing I've learned about you. Was it hot?"

"And didn't even invite me," Gansey murmured, halfway between rueful and amused. "So. A god. That's certainly something. How does all of that affect weekly Mass?"

"Oh, Jesus," Ronan said. "Don't make me figure that shit out right now."

"Stop giving him all this credit, both of you. You're making it sound like he's the reason the earth revolves around the sun. Quit all the ego stroking, he preens enough as it is. 'Eldritch god' my ass." Hennessy pulled a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket, fished one out, and lit up. "He's a fucking fairy. Can we move on?"

Henry, sunning himself on the other side of the porch, lazily raised a hand. "Well, we already knew that."

"YES," Hennessy crowed, smacking a hand down on the concrete ground. "Yes. Thank you for appreciating my wordplay. This is the funniest thing that's ever happened, actually. Slurs eternal for Ronan Lynch."

"Remind me not to let you design my tombstone," Ronan said, slinging a leg over hers and leaning against her shoulder.

"Maybe that's why you decided to be gay as a human," Adam suggested. "Because it's really funny."

"That honestly does sound like something I'd do," Ronan agreed.

Gansey settled down on Ronan's non-Hennessy-occupied side. After a moment, he hugged Ronan tightly around the waist, forehead pressed to his shoulder. "I should have known," he said, laughing a little, breathless. "I should have known. You've always been..."

"An eldritch horror?"

Gansey laughed again. "No. Beautiful."

[noyoucannotpushthevoid]

Raven Cycle characters as Things People I know have Said (basically Henry/K Edition)

“What’s up chuckle fucks?” - Ronan “Bigger is bigger” - Ronan “I summon thee, [Chainsaw]” - Henry “Taking lethal levels of psychic damage at age 7 isn’t good for development” - about Ronan “Bitch” (about a crying child) - Ronan “When a fish and a woman love each other very much…” - Henry, no explanation “He’s deceptively smart for his appearance” - Henry about Ronan “Hi, I’d like to buy one mayoral office please?” - Henry joking about Gansey’s parents “I’ve been told I make a good distraction” - Henry “We’re all fucking lemmings here” - Blue pointing out they’d all do anything Gansey asked them to “The magic sex wizard put them in the same body” - Henry “‘[D]o a superhero landing’ (Ronan) ‘I was just going to ask if I [could] do a superhero landing[!]’ (Noah)” “I have no context for lemmings” - Ronan “That’s alright Captain, we can buff out those scratches” - Ronan after absolutely wrecking the pig beyond repair “[Gansey] and [Ronan] couple moment” - Henry “Raisinify your bucket hat” - Matthew scrunching up his bucket hat when nervous “How can [Gansey] be depressed with that much cake?” - Henry “There’s pee on your key?” - Declan after finding bird poop on the Barns’ spare key and confronting Ronan about it “God’s eepiest soldier” - about Adam "'...his hair's not doing to well' (Gansey describing their new latin teacher) 'I was going to ask if he was a dilf, but that answers my question' (Henry)"  "The man [in the BMW] said the password was 'go fuck yourself'" - Adam to Declan after Declan asked what the new passcode at the Barns was "Oh, I died...oopsie" - Gansey dying for the eleven millionth time "They're uncivilized, they don't know what vodka is" - Kavinsky "May I history?" - Gansey asking to lore dump on any of his friends "If I can't clean my wounds with it, then I don't want to drink it!" - Kavinsky "Need a fire starter? Just buy Everclear" - Also Kavinsky “Your rat friend … he’s not your friend” - Gansey about Kavinsky “Oh damn he livin” - Everyone about Noah before they found his body “The fucking hot tub? Why not the regular one?” - Henry, like my DM, thinks he’s funny (he is) “Does anyone have a blanket? Just swaddle me like a fucking baby” - Ronan while sick “Can I roll insight on something? … does he think I'm a child?” - Blue anytime she meets another Raven boy “[she]’s normally small, not cursed to be small” - Ronan explaining the difference in small vibes between Opal and Blue “Who would win: some dumbass flying lizard or 50 action express?” - Ronan to Adam at 2am “‘I forget what color phosphorus burns so I'm going to say purple’ (Gansey)  ‘The answer is hot’ (Adam)”

[yiiiiiiiikes25]

had a wip wednesday tag many weeks ago from @garagepaperback, whose gorgeous a barely lit path will astonish you, and who came to my front stoop yesterday to talk about fic for three hours 💅🏻

trying to force myself to finish this thing, so:

Adam scrapes his chair close enough to put down the coffee and waits, but Dick just looks around the patio, one penny loafer ticking a stately beat. Moths leer outsized shadows up the walls, and the brick vibrates with the drone of the HVAC. The silence pushes past awkward into daunting. It’s possible this is a real weird bummer of a dream.

Fine, fuck it. Adam has to rub his face for a moment before he can deal with whatever’s about to go down here; when he feels his jaw give a baneful spasm, he lets his hands fall upturned on the armrests, though he doesn’t know whom he’s asking for mercy. “How can I help you, Dick?”

Gansey rounds on him and revs the smile again. It takes him a breath or two to get going, but his tone stays light. “I do have to apologize for the trespassing theatrics. I texted a few times this afternoon and evening in hopes we could get a drink, or even take the train together tomorrow.”

Ah. With a moment to orient himself, Adam recognizes the passive aggressive symptoms of a WASP enraged. He pulls his phone from his pocket; he’d built new do-not-disturb settings Friday night so just work stuff could come through, bypassable if someone knew to call him twice, but it had been nice, the peace from push notifications. Everything important goes to his watch. Clean. He flashes Gansey the Focus screen. “DND, sorry. Not a great idea for me to come up, though. I let Ronan know this morning.”

“Isn’t something you can be coaxed into, hm?” Gansey’s gaze is direct, untroubled, his drawl unhurried.

“I don’t… no, it’s not. We’re talking on Tuesday night.” The coffee tastes like it’s from the decent Nespresso in the ICU RN break room, an ominous clue as to the depth of Gansey’s charm getting himself backstage. “Sorry, you came to get me to go to the Open?”

Gansey re-crosses his legs, this time ankle over knee. “No. A bit, maybe. No. Have you thought about what you want out of Tuesday?”

Adam lets his mouth fall open for a disgusted half-second. “That’ll stay between me and Ronan, actually. Gansey, what can I do for you this evening?” Of its own accord, his tone has dropped into the register he uses to speak to insurance companies.

What’s the look on Gansey’s face, now? Something deflated, downturned. Sorry, maybe. Adam can’t parse it. “Right. That’s right. I should try not to keep you,” Gansey says. His brow hardens, rueful mouth resolving to a grim line. “Actually, I’ll be out of here sooner if you can do me a favor, will you?”

@flightspathfic @whatimages gimme your fragmentiest fragments

[clotpolesonly]

i figured out why Declan is my go-to blorbo, and it's because he's one of those characters where i can find common emotional/experiential ground between him and practically every other significant character and that just makes him fascinating to me and so so versatile

Declan and Gansey: repression, repression, repression!! so much anxiety rolled up into a tiny little ball and stubbornly ignored because feelings are unseemly and have no place here. they will feel things when they're dead, thank you very much. responsible beyond their years, on their own/taking care of themselves long before they should have been. tending to other people or the practicalities of the moment take precedence over themselves, at all times. unfortunately, Ronan is very important to them and they will go out of their way to protect him. also the insomnia and the autism vibes.

Declan and Adam: ruthlessly practical people. hard working and ambitious but for a reason, not for its own sake (Adam to get out of the trailer park, Declan to camouflage his other activities). they would rather die than admit to weakness or vulnerability in front of another human being. Do Not Let The Emotions In Or You Will Never Stop. feeling alienated and fundamentally from their peers, and distrustful of/disillusioned by the idea of help from authority figures -- if you have a problem, solve it yourself. both very very accustomed to lying, constantly and about everything, in order to disguise their home situation and deflect attention from anything that might cause people to ask questions. complicated relationships with their mothers, at least partially rooted in negligence and not stepping in wrt the situation with their fathers. and of course, there's a difference in scale and severity, but feeling unsafe due to the aforementioned fathers.

Declan and Blue: the particular brand of resentment that comes with being the only unspecial member of a special family. being the sensible one and stubbornly proud of how well they manage to get by without any of the ✨ super specialness ✨ that everybody else has. torn between wishing and wondering what it would be like to be special too and being desperately grateful that they're not. wishing that somebody would understand how fucking lonely it is knowing that you and your loved ones will never truly understand each other. being too proud to ever admit as much out loud.

Declan and Noah: this one's more nebulous, but the idea of being not fully real, not fully a person, and definitely the idea of not being seen. of being invisible and looked through. Noah's is because he's a literal ghost, obviously, and it's through no fault of his, but Declan has gone out of his way to cultivate that experience, to make himself as overlookable and forgettable as possible, for safety and security. but it doesn't feel good. the erosion of the sense of self as time goes on, worn down by the life they're living. and a shared understanding of being the victim of extreme violence (Noah's murder and Declan's attack by the Grey Man, at least).

Declan and Henry: the children of criminals. burdened with the knowledge of a world -- two worlds tbh, the criminal and the magical -- that they can't speak about to anyone else. socially isolated and starved for emotional connection. uncomfortably comfortable with the violence that has permeated their lives and always acting under the assumption that it can and will find them again.

Declan and the Gray Man: business is as business does and it's not personal. ✨ depression ✨ and going through the motions because this is just their life and they don't have the emotional or mental capacity right now to think of how their life might be changed. making themselves as dull as possible and then not being able to find their way out of the hole they've dug themselves, at least not until someone comes along to remind them of what it feels like to feel things.

Declan and Jordan: repression of self and lack of identity. not being allowed the space to be their own person, always forced to cram themselves into a tiny box for the sake of others. bursting at the seams with dreams that they're not allowed to chase and feelings they're not allowed to express. feeling truly seen for the first time when they meet each other.

Declan and Hennessy: being preceded by the reputation of a parent they resent. living in Niall and JH's shadows, always compared to them, even when they suspect that they may actually be better than their parents at what they do. the struggle not to let that bitterness swallow them whole before they can grow into their own reputations and make names for themselves.

Declan and Farooq-Lane: young professions who have worked very hard, thank you very much, to be as competent as they are. logical thinkers with a brewing storm of emotion that they try not to let interfere with their logical thinking because they know it makes them impulsive and they don't like that loss of control. loss of control is the enemy. they are the only grown-ups in the room and they would rather die than acknowledge that they are actually scared kids in way over their heads. both with complicated feelings about dreamers and deep-seated issues related to their dreamer brothers. also they have very similar taste in women.

honestly, the only people that Declan doesn't have common ground with is his brothers, and that's what makes his relationships with them so interesting and so fraught. there's something to be explored between Declan and Ronan wrt their suicidal ideation (though they have very different flavors of it) and perhaps with them both feeling insecure compared to each other, but so much of their conflict is about just how different their experiences and perceptions and personalities are.

and Declan being unable to relate to Matthew on a personal, empathetic level is probably part of why he finds it so hard to really think of Matthew as a fully independent PERSON in his own right. though, if Declan's experiences with the bag of Niall's memories had gone a little differently, there could have been a connection over the experience of being denied full personhood by a well-meaning but ultimately overbearing and neglectful guardian. 🤔

anyway, these have been my musings on Declan and why he continues to fascinate me. he has the range, darling.

[agathena]

The signs were there. Subtle yet impossible to miss. Sleeping only on the left side. Chewing food exclusively with the left side od mouth. Tensing a little when Adam kissed him on the right cheek the other day. Hisses and silent curses under the breath, unconscious stuffing out the cheek with the tongue. Adam, patient but concerned, could no longer ignore the issue.

”You have a toothache, don’t you?”

Ronan froze with a box of orange juice halfway to his mouth. He furrowed his brow, throwing Adam a grim look.

”It’s none of your business, Parrish.”

Adam's reply was unwavering. ”Actually, it is. Because it’s me who has to deal with your moods all day.”

Ronan showed him the middle finger. ”I'm fine”, he mumbled, sipping his juice, only to grimace in pain and squirm, touching his right cheek.

Adam only raised an eyebrow.

”Oh, fuck off. I said it's nothing. It’ll pass”.

”Ronan, you really should see a dentist-”

”No, I don’t!” Ronan iturrupted, growing visibly agitated, discomfort etched across his entire posture.

That's when Adam had his revelation. The urge to chuckle at his conclusion threatened to bubble up, but he swallowed it down, knowing it would only irritate Ronan even more. Instead, he approached him with a calm step, removed the squeezed juice carton from his grasp and put his arms around Ronan’s waist. In the gentlest voice he could muster, he asked: "Are you afraid of the dentist?"

Ronan tensed briefly, attempting to wriggle free from the embrace, but Adam held him firmly against the kitchen counter. Tips of Ronan's ears reddened, though Adam couldn't be sure whether it was from anger or embarrassment.

”Ronan?” Adam pressed.

”For fuck's sake, Adam. Why are you so-?”

”Just answer me.”

For a moment, Ronan only breathed deeply, and his eyes hurled thunderbolts in Adam's direction. After a long pause, he tilted his head, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "I really, really bloody hate dentists."

Adam struggled to stifle his laughter, failing miserably. He snorted, and Ronan seemed genuinely affronted. ”Fuck you, Parrish.”

Adam shooked his head and pressed his forehead to Ronan’s arm, still unable to suppress his amusemenr. Ronan, meanwhile, attempted to explain himself:

”Dentists are the worst," he lamented. "Their offices reek of sterility, and their tools look like miniature torture devices. Those drills and chainsaws! And you can’t even see what they're doing to you! You're just perched in that infernal chair of theirs, while they prod, drill, and tinker inside your mouth. Who knows, maybe they're just putting hole after hole-,”

Adam interrupted by placing his hand on the back of Ronan's neck and forcing him to meet his gaze. "Alright, I think I understand. Do you want me to schedule an appointment for you?”

”Fuck, no!”

”Ronan”

”Okay, okay. Fine! I’ll go.”

Two days later Adam parked the car in front of the dentist's office, an ominous silence hanging between them since morning. Ronan hadn't uttered a word, even concending to Adam's decision to drive. He remained eerily still during the entire drive, only alternating between a pallor and a sickly shade of green.

Adam could only shake his head, exiting the car and circling it to open the passenger-side door. He extended his hand to Ronan, who swatted it away with an irritated roll of his eyes.

”I am not a child," he grumbled, emerging from the car and slamming the door shut.

”Are you sure about that?” Adam retorted with a sly smile. "And now," he urged, guiding Ronan toward the dentist's office, "be a big, brave man and face the inevitable".

[lizpaige]

can we get a sunday snippet today 👉👈 simply love your writing!!!! you get these characters so well

OMG anon 💕 shutup this is so nice thank you!!!! here's a fluffy sunday snippet for you from the next chapter of the declan outside pynch pov fic, fáilte (inspired by that moment in greywaren after Matthew punched Declan in the face and steals his car, then drives around Boston without a license, very, very poorly. boy needs some lessons, so who better to teach him than Adam?)

“What did I fucking say?” Ronan shouted over the engine, but he was laughing. 

Behind the wheel of the shark-nosed BMW was Matthew’s blonde curly mop and Adam was beside him in the passenger seat, his hand out the window flipping Ronan off. Ronan was still laughing as he tumbled down the steps out into the drive to walk along Matthew’s criminally slow, cautious crawl across the lot. It took Declan a moment or two before he realized he was trying to parallel park between Adam’s jalopy and a trash can. 

As he approached, Matthew struggled to crank down the window. “I said I wanted to learn!” 

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I said I’d teach you, you impatient little turd.”

“I want Adam to, he doesn’t yell!” 

“You’re yelling right now!” 

“You started it!”

Sensing this was getting out of hand quickly, while inexperienced driver Matthew was behind the wheel of a much-beloved vehicle and distracted by Ronan, Declan decided to step in. “Matthew, cut the engine, would you?” 

Matthew did. 

“Let me get this straight, you’re mad because Adam is teaching him and not because he’s driving dad’s car?” Declan asked Ronan, who just shrugged. “You never let me drive dad’s car!” 

Ronan smirked. “Yeah, so?” 

Declan knocked his fist on the hood twice, familiar frustrated blood simmering. He looked toward Matthew. “So driving my car through Boston and getting it blown up was all the motivation you needed to get your license?” 

Ronan leaned in to fist bump Matthew. “Thank fuck, that car sucked.” 

“I’ve always wanted my license!” Matthew protested. “I just didn’t have anyone who could teach me.” 

Declan and Ronan’s jaws dropped, looking between each other. “Uh?? We taught you!” 

“Yeah, but…”

Ronan leaned over the car. “You fucking love this, don’t you?” he asked Adam, who was quietly smiling. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he held his hands up in fake surrender. Declan noted his thick Virginian accent was back in full force, slowed vowels and swooping consonants.

“I taught you how to drive stick.”

“He said you cursed at him a lot,” Matthew cut in and then reached out to push Ronan back. “Can I get back to my lesson now?”

[jordanshenessy]

I got Dream Thieves sooner than I expected! It's good to get back into the groove of the series.

I definitely missed Ronan and all the moments where it's revealed how sweet he is and how he comes off as mean or rude because he is protective of the people he loves. I particularly appreciate his relationship with Matthew (such a golden retriever, the sweet boy!!!). I almost wonder if his rough exterior is perpetuated by the way people treat him- like even the way Calla calls him "Snake", surely that must continue a cycle where he feels the need to outwardly be a "bad boy".

Golly gee, I forgot everything Blue goes through in this book- kissing Noah, breaking up with Adam, her night car ride with Gansey. This girl sure has the romantic drama!

It does make me sad, though, how Noah kinda loses his importaces after the first book? Like, ofc he's still there and the catalyst of it all, but... he's a fading boy.

Also, I know the whole point of Adam's story is that he's changing because of Cabeswater and the power/influence waking the ley line gives him. (Maybe even the confidence to pave his own way in life!) but the line about him and Gansey being on perpendicular paths, not parallel ones, actually hit so hard. Like yeah... sometimes life's that way, and it really does suck, and you just have to keep on living it, even if your best friend has to follow a different route.

(I forgot Kavinsky died, but whoooooops. I also kinda love and hate his role, like ik he kinda has to be there for Ronan's Adam awakening, but also... I feel like he really pulls Ronan into his toxic circle before he goes out.)

Anywayyyy

Thanks for listening to my ramble. I'm taking a book break before Blue Lily, Lily Blue, but I will be back!

Take care ♡

Hiii! Ronan 😔✋ he was going through it in this book and I also think it’s bc he’s just always feeling like he’s so other and doesn’t fit into this world bc of his dreaming and everything (especially given greywaren) So yeah Ronan goes through life with a hard exterior bc I think after his father’s death, he has the stress of making sure he doesn’t become a cause of another one. He’s had to learn to keep his distance and try not to care but he cares so much and it fucks him up inside. Also the tension between him and Declan and how Matthew ironically tethers him in this world bc Ronan loves him so much and after Declan’s pov in the dreamer trilogy the lynch brothers will forever have changed me.

Kavinsky ma boi! (I actually also hated him when I was first reading lmao)

Omg blue was also going through it in this book 😭 and also when I first read it I was so annoyed that Adam just kept wanting to kiss blue and wasn’t taking the no (like being all pissy and sad) cuz I was like she shouldn’t. have. to give. you. a reason! But then I was also like Adam just wants to be loved and to be wanted and blue DID want to kiss him but she didn’t want to risk it cuz like imagine you kiss a dude bc you think ur not soulmates and then u end up killing him anyway OOF so their breakup was so angsty but much needed cuz they just were not ready for each other (Adam bc he was just getting frustrated blue was keeping something from him and Blue bc she wasn’t ready to tell him about the curse)

And so! When blue and Noah kissed I was like this is so fucked up just let them all kiss each other 😭

I will also always be so bittersweet about Noah bc from a storytelling perspective yes him fading away and being forgotten is important but also…noah come back 😭

Adam and gansey will always take my organs and mix them all up in my insides like a salad

They are so alike. They are so different. They want to be each other. They want each other. They want they want they want.

“I wish you could be kissed, Jane,” he said. “Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.”

Cannot wait for when you reread blue lily lily blue have a nice break mwuah mwuah 💕

[threewaywithdelusion]

It Echoes A Spark (Ronsey)

This fic is on AO3, you can find it here. But I just went down a Ronsey rabbit-hole, so I felt like sharing it. This takes place during the Gansey on fire scene.

He was good at dangerous things, both in his sleep and while awake.

“Maybe,” Ronan replied. Gansey was moving away from Kavinsky, towards a tangle of parked cars. They looked like a dark, mechanical forest growing under the floodlights. “I’ll light a candle for your car.”

“You aren’t leaving? Harsh.”

If Gansey was going, Ronan was going. 

He exchanged a few more words, sharp like teeth, with Kavinsky. Then he followed Gansey, snagging an abandoned bottle of vodka along the way.

Gansey did not get inside the BMW as Ronan had expected. Instead, he crossed to the other side of it, the side facing away from Kavinsky and the drugged-out kids at the party. Though they were exposed under the bright floodlights, Ronan felt as if they were hidden. The cars went all around them, a wall between them and the world. Only the music and the smell of weed invaded this sanctuary.

It was just the two of them. The way it had been before Adam. Before Noah. 

Gansey was still on fire. The lights threw sharp shadows across his body. Across one eye, under the sharp line of his jaw. A little puddle of darkness above his collarbone. 

He didn’t look like King Gansey. Neither did he look like the attainable boy from the Dollar City. He looked like a dark god, an ethereal, otherworldly being. He looked dangerous. 

Ronan’s pulse jumped like his heart had stepped on the accelerator. 

While Ronan had been staring, Gansey had been staring back at him. A rush of shame rose in Ronan, but there was no censure in Gansey’s eyes. 

Ronan decided to play with fire. 

He stepped forwards so he was closer to Gansey. Gansey didn’t step away, though there was a foot of space between his back and the door of the BMW. 

Ronan lifted the bottle of vodka to his own lips and took a few deep gulps. It felt like inhaling fire. It felt like being alive. 

He passed the bottle to Gansey. Gansey took it. He tipped his head back, swigging straight from the bottle, his throat moving as he swallowed. 

“We’re different from them,” said Gansey when he pulled the bottle away. “From Kavinsky. We matter.”

Ronan stepped closer. Gansey stepped towards the BMW. 

“Why?” It was a demand. 

“Because we’re more,” said Gansey. “We love. We dream. We want.”

Ronan stepped closer. Gansey stepped back. 

“They want too,” said Ronan. “Speed, drugs, sex.”

“That’s not wanting,” said Gansey. “That’s the absence of want. That’s trying to escape.”

Ronan stepped forwards. Gansey stepped back. Gansey’s spine hit the car door. 

“You don’t ever want to escape?” asked Ronan. 

“Escape what?” asked Gansey. “Henrietta? No.”

“Not fucking Henrietta,” snarled Ronan. “Your head. Your thoughts. Your dreams.”

Gansey was quiet, but not a patient, put-together sort of quiet. It was a dangerous, anticipatory quiet. Like the moment after the fuse had been lit, but before the spark reached the gunpowder. 

He met Ronan’s eyes and his gaze was ablaze. “Yes. All the time.”

Ronan rested a hand against the metal of his car, to the right of Gansey’s head. It felt hot to the touch. 

“What are you running from?” demanded Ronan.

“Death,” said Gansey. “What are you running from?”

He didn’t ask if Ronan was running. He didn’t need to. 

“Myself,” said Ronan. 

Gansey didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. 

Ronan leaned closer, committing himself to burning. Gansey’s gaze changed. For half a moment as realization crawled across his face, he reverted to normal Gansey. He was dragging himself from the inferno. 

Ronan hated it. He kissed him. 

Gansey hardly hesitated before he kissed back. His lips were soft but demanding. He clearly knew was he was doing, moving in a way that sends sparks down all of Ronan’s extremities. Ronan didn’t know how to kiss, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the kiss. It was about him. It was about Gansey. It was about burning. 

Glass shattered next to them as Gansey dropped the bottle. His hands rose to Ronan’s head, faltering when there was no hair for him to pull. He lowered his hands to the collar of Ronan’s leather jacket, yanking Ronan harder against him. 

Ronan went willingly, the way he always did. Only for Gansey. Always for Gansey.

He bit at Gansey’s lip and Gansey gasped. Then Gansey’s tongue was in Ronan’s mouth and the kiss changed. It became deeper, more nuanced, and all Ronan could do was hang on and try to give as good as he got. 

He loved this Gansey, reckless and powerful and hungry. He loved him fearlessly, the love not dulled by the anger that washed over every other emotion.

This Gansey matched Ronan’s fierce darkness in a way the other one almost never did. For Ronan, it was like looking into a mirror and not hating what gazed back. Gansey was himself made better. Gansey was a twin soul with a different kind of pain. Ronan wore his on his sleeve, while Gansey hid it in his heart. Ronan bared his teeth to scare others away while Gansey smiled wide to pretend he was fine. 

They were burning. 

Ronan had dreamt of Gansey’s mouth. He’d imagined what it might feel like. He’d fantasized about what it might taste like. 

For once, Ronan’s dream were paltry things compared to reality. 

He hadn’t imagined the way Gansey growled into his mouth. He hadn’t imagined Gansey’s hands, soft and firm, pressing into the small of his back. He hadn’t imaged Gansey’s chest, broad and muscled from rowing, against his. 

Ronan pulled his mouth from Gansey’s. Gansey inhaled sharply and before he could react, Ronan trailed his lips down. He kissed along Gansey’s jaw, then down his neck. Gansey’s hands tightened where they held Ronan’s shoulder.

Gansey was a good few inches shorter than Ronan and Ronan had to bent considerably as he trailed kisses lower. He had lost count of how many times his eyes had snagged on the sharp corners of Gansey’s collarbones, and he wanted to taste them. 

Gansey gasped as Ronan tugged the collar of his shirt aside. Ronan traced the outline of his collarbone with his tongue. Gansey let out a soft moan, his body shifting under Ronan. Gansey was coming undone before him, and he felt a surge of something that he was able to do this to Gansey. He wondered if anyone had ever seen Gansey come apart before. 

He wasn’t sure he ever had, before tonight.

He surged back up to Gansey’s mouth, pressing them forcefully together and letting Gansey take control of the kiss. 

This was everything Ronan hadn’t let himself think about. Muscled arms and a chiseled jaw and the musky scent of a boy’s sweat. Dick. Dick Gansey III. A hand cupping Ronan’s cheekbone, the skin soft and too smooth, having never seen a day of manual labor. 

This was almost everything Ronan hadn’t let himself think about. 

Ronan backed away from the kiss, raising his chin defiantly. Ronan had just given Gansey one of his biggest secrets and he was burning. Depending on what happened next, he could be turned into bitter ash. 

Gansey straightened from the car, slowly sliding pieces of regular Gansey into place. It was like watching origami fold, little corners disappearing until the end result looked nothing like the original paper. Secrets tucking into hidden pockets. 

Gansey, put-together and scholarly, met Ronan’s eyes. “You’re not like Kavinsky.”

“I am,” said Ronan. Dreams and kisses and the speedometer in his veins. 

“You may appear alike on the surface, but you’re different underneath.” 

The exact opposite of him and Gansey, the rebel and the scholar united by magic.

“What makes me and K so different?” sneered Ronan. “Am I knock-off brand of fucked up? The kind even Parrish could afford at the Dollar City?”

“No,” said Gansey. “You have a good heart.”

Ronan scoffed, looking away. In the distance, shadows flickered among the trees. He could tell there was a fire, but not what it consumed. Not if the fire was forging something or melting it apart.

“Ronan,” said Gansey sharply. 

Ronan faced him again. 

“You have a good heart,” Gansey repeated. 

The fire in Ronan swelled and settled. He didn’t turn to ash. He didn’t become an inferno that scorched everyone around him. He didn’t burn and burn and burn.

Gansey knew. And everything was alright.

Ronan stepped around Gansey, unlocking the BMW and sliding smoothly into the driver’s seat. It took mere seconds for Gansey to walk around the car, but those few heartbeats gave Ronan a chance to look out the window, beyond the small bubble of solitude they had created for themselves. 

K was visible in the distance, leaning against a car and laughing, Prokopenko and a huddle of girls beside him. Kavinsky felt distant, all of a sudden. Nowhere near as real as he’d felt earlier tonight. Nowhere near as tempting. 

Gansey cut into Ronan’s line of vision as he got into passenger seat. Gansey was real, but he was also less tempting than he’d been. 

The almost-right part. 

“If you tell Parrish about this,” Ronan began. 

“I won’t,” said Gansey seriously. 

“If you tell Parrish, I will sick Chainsaw on the Pig until it’s covered in shit,” Ronan threatened. 

“Ronan, I wouldn’t.”

Gansey met Ronan’s eyes, a mirror that saw too much. 

Ronan scowled, turning away and starting the engine. He waited until he was sure Gansey was looking away, watching the explosions in the distance, then let a small smile play over his lips. 

A tiny flicker, a safe fire. But it wouldn’t go out. 

[runekeepershymnal]

AO3 still down, huh? Anyone want a chunk of the TRC Noah-is-alive and Adam-is-the-ghost AU?

Big time warnings for suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, injury, depression, grief, and hospitals.

Tentativvely titled “After,” and this is a chunk of a WIP that I don’t know if I will finish.

—

Everything was different, after.

When Ronan found himself in a pool of his own blood, torn apart by his own self-loathing, he thought idly that it was just as obvious that a hospital would not help him any more than it would have helped his father. Blood or brains, there was only so much of oneself that could exist outside the barriers of skin and bone before the shell of the body was emptied out.

Ronan had wondered, idly, if the Catholic prohibition against suicide extended to being involuntarily brutalized by his own unconscicous mind.

He wondered if he was going to Hell.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed between his waking, the post-dream paralysis, and what followed. It all came in flashes, a slow strobe light of moments disconnected by hypovolemic shock.

First, he heard the door of his dorm room, currently shared with his younger brother Matthew, slam open. The pale kid from one of his classes was on the other side. The lapels of his Aglionby blazer festooned with buttons from various punk bands new and old, and he was always bruised or scraped someplace or other from skateboarding. Maybe that was why he didn’t flinch as he skidded to his knees at Ronan’s side on the floor. Ronan read the buttons as the kid yanked his own tie off, then Ronan’s, wrapping each around one of Ronan’s arms in the middle of his forearm, spiraling down to his wrists as far as they would go, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Buzzcocks. Black Flag.

Second, the kid then dialed 911 with shaking hands smeared in crimson which was slowly drying to black-brown. Ronan didn’t hear much of the call, only registering someone outside saying,

“Noah? What’s going—”

“Keep Matthew out of here,” the pale boy snapped in tense terror.

“Oh dear god—”

“Gansey, close the fucking door, please? Don’t let anyone in but an EMT or a nurse or… whoever.”

Noah. That was skate punk’s name. The Living End. Ronan did not want Matthew to see him like this. Ronan didn’t even want Declan to see him like this. He’d forgotten Noah knew Gansey. Gansey had bought a warehouse. NOFX. What… however-old-Gansey-was year-old bought a warehouse? Op Ivy. But it had been the warehouse where K held his annual illegal Halloween rave, so the inconvenience to K negated any stupidity of Gansey’s. Mr. Bungle.

Gansey, not stupidly, closed the door. Ronan could hear Gansey’s voice, distantly, explaining to people that they could not come in, that there was an emergency, but it was being handled. Ronan even heard the house-parent of Effervescence having a discussion with Gansey which somehow resulted in the former waiting outside to direct the EMTs. But then, this was Gansey after all, who’d talked the cops into burning trash in the warehouse parking lot with them just ten days ago.

Ronan’s vision was starting to blur, the various safety pins and one inch buttons on Noah’s lapel starting to run together. There was one that said “The Aglionby Killbillies” which looked like it had been scribbled by hand on scantron paper and then made into a button.

“Hey, stay awake, Ronan,” Noah ordered, patting Ronan’s cheek firmly. Ronan could feel him leaving tacky splotches of Ronan’s own blood against his cheek.

“Who the fuck are the Aglionby Killbillies?” Ronan rasped.

Noah glanced down at his own jacket, then back at Ronan.

“It’s my band,” Noah said, yanking the sheet off Ronan’s bed and trying to put more pressure on his wrists.

“You named your band after this shithole?” Ronan asked him. Noah scowled.

“Is this really the time?” he muttered, still more afraid than angry.

“Just like… Aglionby isn’t very punk, is it.”

Ronan’s ears were starting to ring.

“Don’t worry about it,” he slurred. “Sucks that you had to see this.”

“Stay awake!” Noah begged, shaking Ronan by the shoulders. Ronan’s head lolled to his left as his vision tunneled. There was one button closer to Noah’s collar that had been obscured by his fluffy hair.

Suicidal Tendencies.

Ronan Lynch passed out laughing.

—-

It certainly didn’t look like Hell.

Maybe it was Hades instead, Ronan considered as he walked between the trees. Maybe this was the Wood of Suicides.

Wait. That was Dante.

It was dark, but in a fairytale way, not an Inferno way, despite the fact that there were Hieronymous Bosch monsters all over the place. The black, greasy feathered beasts with their sickle claws and their guillotine beaks were peering malevolently from the trees, clicking and hissing and snapping at him. One spread its wings, preparing to dive at him. Ronan didn’t know if he should bother to run, but then, thunder rumbled, and the nightmare did something Ronan had never seen it do:

It flinched.

The nightmares hissed in outrage, and the sky flickered. The next thunderclap was louder, closer, and instead of diving, they rose into the air in a single, panicked flock, fleeing from this part of the forest.

A voice echoed beside the thunder, different from the whispers Ronan always heard from the trees here. There was weight behind it, and it was singular, not a chorus. Ronan wasn’t sure if it was addressing him or the departing nightmares when it said,

“Nice try.”

—-

Ronan woke up under stiff hospital sheets. Matthew was asleep in a chair to his left, explained by Gansey, who was reading to them both from his leather journal, seated on his right. Matthew never once managed to stay awake through the end of any of Gansey's Glendower stories. Ronan had a terrible headache. His arms hurt, and the cannula of the IV felt foreign and horrible in his vein. He wanted to tear everything off and out, the gauze wrapped around his wrists, the stitches that were no doubt underneath, and the tube restoring his fluids. He wanted to capsize the beeping machine that confirmed he was alive, tear the TV showing the weather channel from its mount near the ceiling, launch one of the shitty wooden chairs with its stained upholstery through the glass of the window and then leap after it.

“Don’t,” Declan said tersely from the doorway. Gansey startled, though Matthew slept on, and accepted the Starbucks cup Declan held out to him. Declan didn’t sit, but leaned his back against the wall near the door and looked up at the ceiling, shutting his eyes.

There was no telling what Declan was telling Ronan not to do. Probably any of the things that Ronan wanted to do besides lie there. Gansey’s chair made an awful noise against the floor as he dragged it close enough to Ronan’s bed to reach under the bar designed to keep Ronan from falling out and wrap his fingers around Ronan’s hand.

“I won’t ask why,” Gansey said at last. His eyes were red, either from crying or from having had his contacts in for Christ only knew how long or both. The noise from Gansey’s chair woke Matthew, who staggered to his feet only to drag his own chair forward and yank Ronan’s head to his chest.

“You can’t do that,” Mathew said wetly against the top of Ronan’s head. “Okay? You can’t. What would Mom say?”

Their mom wouldn’t say anything, because she was in a coma. Their dad wouldn’t say anything, because he was dead. Declan wouldn’t say anything because there wasn’t anything to say to one’s grieving sibling who had very nearly piled on yet more grief.

“Gansey and I have made a deal,” Declan said instead, not looking at Ronan, not even opening his eyes.

“The fuck?” Ronan rasped out, and Matthew loosened his grip enough that Ronan could look around again. “Why the fuck does my throat hurt?”

“Because you had a goddamned breathing tube because you nearly goddamn died,” Declan said tersely. Ronan finally noticed that Declan in his rolled up shirtsleeves, Gansey in his horrible magenta polo, and Matthew in his ratty t-shirt from a charity walk three years ago, all had bandaids at the crooks of their respective elbows.

Declan and Matthew’s blood probably cancelled each other out, thank God, Ronan would just have to watch out for bees, polo shirts, and obsessiveness over dead Welsh kings until that worked its way out of his system.

“Should you be drinking coffee?” Ronan asked the space between Declan and Gansey and Matthew’s chest. “Shouldn’t you be drinking fuckin’… orange juice, or tomato juice or some shit?”

“What?” Gansey asked, the glanced at his elbow. “Oh. No, that was days ago, I just forgot to take it off."

All three of them had. Apparently Ronan hadn't been exaggerating the seriousness of his own situation to himself.

"Fuck," Ronan said.

"No fucking kidding, Ronan!" Declan exploded, unplanned. Declan hadn't exploded at Ronan since his theft of the BMW. "I thought someone had murdered you! It nearly hit a goddamn artery! I thought that I was going to have to…"

Declan trailed off there. His eyes glistened, but his jaw was clenched for war, not stoicism.

"Declan, take a walk," Gansey said, quiet but firm. Declan's tension unraveled

"Christ, you're an asshole," he said instead, and Ronan didn't know how Declan made such fighting words sound so goddamn sad. Gansey looked up sharply.

"Declan. Take a walk."

Declan turned and left the room without another word, and the remaining three of them suffered in the silence that followed.

"Declan and I have made a deal," Gansey repeated Declan's earlier, cryptic words. "You're going to come live with me at the warehouse instead of the dorms. You're going to keep going to class, once you're healed up enough, and you're going to pass those classes. You're going to stay out of trouble with the law, and you're going to see a therapist for at least three weeks after you're discharged. You're going to go to church with your brothers every Sunday, and you're going to abide by the terms of your father's will."

Ronan swallowed, his throat still aching terribly. He hated living at Aglionby, but…

"Does Declan not want me around Matthew?" Ronan forced out.

"You don't listen to me," Matthew sniffled. Ronan turned to look at him, and there wasn't any resentment there. Matthew's face wouldn't know how to show it anyway. "And you don't listen to Declan either, pal. You do listen to Gansey, though."

Ronan bristled. He prided himself on the fact that he didn't listen to anyone, not anymore. Gansey had just listed off the next steps of Ronan's life, though, not as a suggestion or a request, and there was no question in Ronan's mind that this was what would happen.

Fuck, he really must've lost a huge amount of blood.

"Whatever," Ronan agreed, as much as he could bear to. Gansey nodded, patted Ronan's hand and stood.

"I'll find him and make the arrangements," Gansey declared, as though all those arrangements hadn't already been made.

"It'll be okay," Matthew said once Gansey was gone. "You know you can talk to me, right? Like, you don't have to… you can tell me when you get sad like that."

Matthew's lip quivered just a little. He looked like the Cabanel painting of the weeping Lucifer, minus all the anger.

Ronan tried to imagine a Matthew who could bear the weight of Ronan's pain on top of his own, and there was no such person. To unburden himself into Matthew would be the worst thing Ronan could do, worse even than tearing himself apart, with or without intent.

What would even be the point? Ronan couldn't put this weight down, he could only use it to crush someone else alongside him.

"It's gonna be fine, Matty," Ronan rasped out. "I didn't mean to, not really."

No one should've believed that. That sort of hurt wasn't something that could happen by accident, not to anyone other than Ronan, anyway. Matthew believed it because Ronan didn't lie, and because he was Matthew.

Because he was Matthew, he hugged Ronan again. Buried against his little brother's chest, Ronan did not know how to fix this.

[dawning-day]

RONAN LYNCH IN A TIME LOOP SAY MORE AT ONCE (but only if you want to no pressure the all caps is just my enthusiasm and also my brain being broken by those tags and that concept)

apologies in advance for what this turned into <3

so for context of me personally i absolutely adore a timeloop au in any context in general like there is something so funky so fresh about the whole idea of a guy getting worn down by time while everyone around him is experiencing something for the first time?? to be so jaded but still have to wait for the other people to go through surprise/shock at something that's already gotten old for the guy who's seen it more times than they can count????

so that's already delicious but Most Specifically i am a fan of the version of the time loop that is "a guy who has to go back and re-do the worst thing that ever happened over and over until they fix it" both from the perspective of (a) the lingering doubt of no matter what they change does it ever actually make a difference? is there anything that could be done that would Matter enough or is fate always going to lead them to the same place and we are doomed to repeat our mistakes ect ect but also (b) the thing about the worst thing that ever happened to a guy is that uhhh it sucks? like having to relive any period of time repeatedly is already concerning but when it's a moment that fundamentally defined the subsequent period of life ? to have so much urgency but still be repeatedly brought back to square one !!! and to have to see that worst thing over and over and knowing they failed !!!!!!!!!!!! terrible !!!!!

and if that wasn't already a bucket of laughs the most very absolute worst part is always when the person has to waste so much of their very limited time the loop resets and then they're all alone again??? to not have one person in the entire world who understands what they're going through and to have any progress they've made immediately get undone, but to do it all again anyways because fuck what other choice is there ??

all of this to say. ronan lynch. bc i'm not sure if you noticed by now but these freaks are literally all ride or die for each other from MINUTE ONE like ronan walked up and said hey i pulled this bird out of my dreams and no one blinked? like mild spoiler the third book and holy fuck especially the fourth one really lean into the?? fantasy side of things?? kind of?? (it will make sense in retrospect i promise) but never not one single page are any of these books about them not believing each other. there is an inherent irrevocable acceptance that when one of them has A Problem it is Their Problem and that's part of the reason they are soooo <333333

but yeah you'd damn better believe if ronan sat down and told those freaks this was his 18th wednesday in a row they would believe him without question or cause there would be none of that wasting time on that stupid trope of "ronan knowing everything the other person's about to say and that's why they believe him" nonsense. they are his family and they are fundamentally there for one another when it matters. when it doesn't matter. everything in between.

so ronan's time loop is just immediately about the finding solutions part??? about gansey sneaking Meaningful Glances at adam across the table because they both know ronan's more unhinged about this than he's letting on. maybe blue convinces them to go to fox way to ask maura and calla and persephone to read his future and the first time blue has ever seen those women look Genuinely Scared is when they have to tell him point blank that they don't see one. not that it's blurry or that the signs are unclear but that ronan lynch fundamentally does not have anything other than the Now.

ronan lynch the dreamer the dreamed afraid to go to sleep not because of what he can do when he dreams but because this time being awake is the scary part??? because he doesn't know where or when he'll be when he wakes up???? to have something so. core to who he is. be so fractured. and his family not really being able to help but being so willing to try anyway????

anyways sorry i didn't realize i had so many thoughts about this hi tldr i wanna humble that maniac sooooo bad

[kelliealtogether]

Speaking of filling in the blanks, how do you feel about Adam and Ronan not having a HQ? I love the concept of them being each other's homes and love that Ronan is finally free to go wherever he wants, and also the fact that they came such a long way in their relationship they don't need to be physically tethered to each other to know they're loved and wanted always, but some part of me will forever mourn that first summer at the barns. Although I know the whole point was for them to stop limiting themselves to having only one thing or the other (and technically I know they now get to take the best of that summer with them everywhere they make a temporary home, because they're so much better at this whole taking care of themselves and therefore better at taking care of each other thing now) but still it truly feels like the end or an era (which is not a bad thing, I know.) I wonder what kind of useless stuff they bicker about now.

Do you have any fics planned for the 4 years gap or something after? Or any other ones after the werewolf one is over? (Just asking because I love your writing)

So, I had to have a bit of a think on this one, anon. Because my initial reaction to Adam and Ronan doing their things and coming together from time to time was not negative, but it wasn't positive either. I 100% agree with what you wrote, that they're each others' homes and that now Ronan finally is free to wander anywhere he wants they don't need to be attached at the hip, but there was something about them not having a home together that didn't hit for me at first. I think mostly because the concept of having a home, like a physical place, was so important to both of them in TRC. Them realizing their future doesn't have to be what they thought it would at seventeen or eighteen is a big part of TDT, and I like that growth for them, but I still wanted a place where they could be together that wasn't just transient in nature between Ronan doing his ley line stuff and Adam doing his super secret government stuff. It didn't have to be the Barns (Oh, it burns me that Mór and New Fenian got the Barns. I detest this), but I wanted them to have a shared address.

But the more I think about it, the more I like them going off, doing their work, and coming back together at random places all over country (world?). Because they're young. They're 23/24 in the epilogue. I would have killed to be traveling all over the place on someone else's dime at 24. They know they'll always have one another, that what they have is on lock. They have all the goddamned time in the world to settle down somewhere together, and I headcanon that they will in the future after they've gone and fucked in all 50 states (maybe 51 by then?) and all the United States territories. (I just hope Ronan gets much better at using his phone and doesn't yeet it out the window when Adam says/does something that upsets him. Ronan really has a thing for defenestration.)

(It still burns me so much that Mór and New Fenian got the Barns.)

I don't have anything planned for the four year gap or after at the moment. I don't exactly write a lot of canon compliant fic, but the ones I do write usually come from little things that I pick up on during re-reads. Things that hit different a third, fourth, seventh time around. So I might get ideas for something after I re-read Greywaren, but I don't have anything canon compliant planned right now. As for anything else planned, I have one more bad fic prompt I'm ruminating on, and then after NaNoWriMo, I'm going to dive into the Persuasion AU I outlined a little while ago. After that, who knows! 🤷‍♀️

Thank you for this lovely, thoughtful message, anon! You really made me think. 🥰

[itwasabout]

There’s No Place Like My Room (1/1)

Summary: GREYWAREN SPOILERS. Sometimes endings are endings, but sometimes they’re just middles and the real ending is very, very far away. Or, the days between Ch. 53 and the Epilogue.

Please excuse any mistakes, I’m a wreck after finishing Greywaren :’)

Read on ao3  | Rated M | For the sake of spoilers, I’ve got the entire fic under the cut. 

Adam’s winter break is the only thing keeping Ronan from departing his corporeal form again. Because there’s a very real possibility that if Ronan had to turn around and go right back to long distance, with its missed phone calls and sporadic texts and unspoken I miss you’s , he’d never get out of bed. 

“I don’t have to go back until January 10th,” Adam had told him on the drive back to the Barns. Ronan’s grip on Adam’s knee had tightened. He was so far beyond playing it cool.  

“That gives us almost a full month.” Ronan turned a grin back to the road, shaking his head. “A full fucking month. Shit.” Adam smiled too, like even he couldn’t believe it.  

Now, they’re laying in Ronan’s childhood bed. It’s the same bed they shared the summer before, and it smells like that summer too, all clean sheets and the musky scent of the shampoo they both used when they were both here. Adam’s got one hand tugging the quilts up over his chin and the other flung across Ronan’s bare waist, fingers grazing over the fresh tattoo on Ronan’s arm. The curtains are pulled aside, allowing swaths of moonlight to flood over the bed and across Adam’s face. Ronan can make out the freckles there, mourns how they’ve faded with distance from the sun. Distance from Ronan. 

This isn’t the first night since everything ended, but it is the deepest Adam has slept since then. Something about this house. Something about being in Ronan’s arms without Declan’s footsteps padding alarmingly nearby or the seams of his soul feeling loose in connection to his body. He sleeps so soundly that Ronan runs the pad of his fingertip along the length of Adam’s elegant nose. The Adam who had once sacrificed his eyes and his hands to a magical forest, the Adam who could feel normal about touch, would have flinched awake. This Adam, the Adam that had killed all the others, sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. And oh, Ronan loves him.

He pauses the gentle strokes down Adam’s nose and looks at the watch on his wrist. The time is 3:37am, but Ronan doesn’t think about how early it is or about how tired he’ll be in the morning. Instead, he’s back on the ground, stuck in the lace and a molten hot misery, as Adam straps the watch around Ronan’s wrist. 

Ronan’s eyes fall shut. He tries to call to memory how much nicer it had been to give Adam the watch in the first place. How beautiful it had looked against his boyish hand. How the strap was dreamt to be the perfect size and material to suit Adam. How even though the moving watch hands always told the right time, the ticking was in time with Ronan’s heartbeat. But the latest memory is stronger and Ronan feels like he is drowning in it. 

Careful not to wake Adam, Ronan slips his fingers into the freckled hand holding the quilts. Adam stirs, but only for a second. Only to snuggle closer to Ronan, sighing lips pressed against Ronan’s shoulder. When he settles, Ronan tugs the hand into the cool air and presses it against his face. Palm to nose. Fingers to eyes. Lips to wrist. Then, he carefully returns the watch to its rightful place on Adam’s wrist. He presses a kiss to where the clasp sits against Adam’s skin. 

“Don’t take it off this time,” Ronan whispers. 

In his sleep, Adam’s hold on his waist tightens. 

*

Around 5AM, Ronan slips out of bed and calls Gansey. 

It’s 10AM wherever the Sarchengsey train is in Europe, so Ronan hopes that his late-rising friends will have a moment to spare. 

Apparently, they don’t. Gansey rejects the call. Ronan doesn’t have time to let his heart sink, because Gansey is calling back only a few seconds later, this time on Facetime. 

Ronan has a love-hate relationship with video calls. On one hand, Gansey and Blue’s faces are so supremely comforting, that they take Ronan right back to a time where everyone was in one place. A year when there were dead kings, thin-aired hikes, and so many boxes of pizza. A year when Ronan wasn’t sure who he was, but it didn’t matter because his friends knew him and that was good enough for him. But video-calls also mean seeing his own face, and seeing his own face means being reminded just how much he didn’t know. Just how alone he’d been. 

Only, this time he isn’t alone, is he? Adam is just in the other room. Declan and Jordan and Hennessy and Carmen are all their way, would be there by dinnertime. And after traveling with Bryde, after talking with Declan, Ronan knows more about himself than he thinks he ever has in his life. 

Ronan sits down on his porch steps. He accepts the call. 

“You’ll never guess where we are,” Gansey says without preamble. His hair looks like it’s been through a wind storm and there’s a glossy bead of sweat on his brow. In the background, Ronan hears Blue telling Henry a story he can’t make out the words to. His gaze travels behind Gansey’s shoulder, as if he’ll find Thing Two and Thing Three there, but all he sees is a cliffside and a distant speck that might be castle ruins. Ronan’s heart becomes heavy with a not-unpleasant ache. They’re in Ireland. 

“Ronan?” Gansey asks, because Ronan still hasn’t said anything. 

Then, Ronan covers his face with his hand and starts to cry. 

“Oh, oh Ronan,” Gansey murmurs. There’s some awkward fumbling as Gansey pulls out his wireless headphones and puts them in his ears. “What’s the matter?” 

“God Gansey,” is all Ronan can say. His voice is all hitches and scratches. He cries so honestly, he wonders for a moment if he’ll ever speak normally again. “God.” 

Gansey is an expert in comforting Ronan, but being half a world away brings a unique challenge. If he was here, he’d pull Ronan’s shorn head to his shoulder and run his hand up and down his back. He’d tell Ronan some silly story about a time he’d been in England with Mallory, until Ronan was ready to speak. But here, it’s just Ronan, the sleeping cows, and a fickle full moon.

“Ronan,” says Gansey in a voice that woke the dead. “What’s going on? Do we need to come home?” 

With the back of his hand, Ronan wipes the tears on his cheeks into dried smears. 

“No, don’t come home,” he says. The thought of Gansey coming home just so they could take more drives through the mountain in the Camaro is so tempting, it makes Ronan’s face crumple again. 

“That doesn’t look very certain,” Gansey falters. 

Stronger this time, “Don’t come home. Just.” Ronan wipes at his face again. “Everything was so close to just falling completely apart and I think it’s all just hitting me now. Like I had to choose between Adam’s life and saving the world. Who fucking put me in charge of saving the goddamn planet? And Jesus Gansey, I hesitated. I hesitated because I wasn’t sure I wanted the world if it didn’t have Adam in it.But then I knew that he would have never forgiven me if I had chosen his soul over everything else. I keep picturing an existence where even one thing had gone differently and we failed and—” He draws a deep breath in, forcing himself to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “Why should I get so many second chances, you know? What have I done to deserve another chance?” 

Gansey is sitting now, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. He says exactly what Ronan hopes he will. 

“Because even though you hesitated, you made the right choice,” he says simply. “I don’t know what you’ve been going through. I expect it’ll take more than a single phone call to catch me up. But I do know that you are good, Ronan. You sometimes make mistakes, but you always do the right thing. You shoulder more responsibility than any other human has, and you do your best. I really admire that about you. I hope you know that.” 

Another stray tear slides down the side of Ronan’s nose and onto the wooden step before him. The strong winter chill bites his damp cheeks and Ronan gnaws on his lip so hard he tastes blood. He hasn’t told Gansey everything. The look on Ganseys face tells Ronan he almost doesn’t want to ask.

“And…Adam?” 

“He’s okay. Hennessey — my friend, another dreamer — she knew that…She saved him. He was lost, but she brought him back to himself. He’s exactly the same, Gansey. He’s alive.” 

Gansey nods, words unable to cover his relief,  but his jaw is tense. “What else? There’s something you need to say.” 

If Declan can tell him without breaking apart, Ronan can tell Gansey.

“Matthew’s dead.” 

A stunned breath whooshes out of Gansey. “What?” he whispers, voice cracking. 

“There was an attack on a hospital. An explosion. He was there.” 

Now Gansey is trying to be the strong one, but his eyes are wet and Ronan can see the news has pierced him down to old roots of this soul. He knows the feeling. 

“Ronan, God. No wonder. I’m so sorry.” He presses his lips together, bolsters himself. “Is everyone else okay? Declan? Your friend Hennessy?” 

“Yes.” 

“And—and Bryde?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Okay.” There’s a beat of silence where Gansey’s audio wooshes with the thunder of wind. Blue isn’t telling her story anymore. “I’m coming home. I know Adam is probably going back to school soon and I don’t want you to be alone at the Barns.” 

Ronan opens his mouth to argue, but Gansey cuts him off. “This is not up for debate.” Ronan hears the unspoken You’re my priority. You’re my highest priority and I need to be there with you. 

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m going to go back to bed. I don’t want Adam to wake up alone.” 

“Good. You both sleep in, okay?” Ronan nods, but his head feels like it’s filled with cotton. “Listen. I love you, man. You’re going to be okay.” 

There were days when a sixteen-year-old Ronan would’ve rolled his eyes and told Gansey to go fuck himself. But this Ronan only runs a hand over the skin around his new tattoo and swallows the rock in his throat. 

“Love you too, Gans. See you soon.” 

Then he hangs up. Ronan sits there for a few seconds, unsure if his legs will carry him back upstairs if he stands.  

A warm, comforting hand finds Ronan’s shoulder blade. He knows Adam’s touch without even turning around, leans into the steadfast comfort the simple gesture brings. The hand is joined by the other, sliding firmly over Ronan’s tense muscles and across his shoulders. Adam’s lips find his hair, a single press, then another, then another, until the kiss is at the nape of Ronan’s neck and he feels like he might start crying again. 

Adam seems to sense this, because he pulls back and moves to Ronan’s front. He says nothing about Ronan’s bloodshot eyes, or the deep frown on his face. He doesn’t complain about how cold it is, or the fact that he isn’t wearing any socks. The lines of his face, beautiful in the daytime and the waking, are somehow even lovelier in the night’s darkness. His lips move around a single word, so quiet it’s lost in another strong breeze. But Ronan already knows what word it is. He’s whispering back the answer. 

“Alter idem.” 

*

They sleep until noon. Adam hasn’t moved much since he wrapped himself around Ronan in an attempt to warm him up. The cold aching that had seemed so unconquerable just a few hours ago is dull and distant now, replaced by the heat of Adam’s body. Chest against chest, pulse falling into sync. Ronan is awake, but it’s only a few minutes before Adam is nuzzling his dusty curls into the skin above Ronan’s heart. 

“What are you thinking about so loudly?” Adam grumbles. 

“If it’s so loud, you tell me,” Ronan answers, the words tangling in Adam’s hair. 

Adam hums, the sound not too far off from another throaty sound Ronan has heard him make before. It turns his insides to something molten and soft. 

“You’re thinking that you’re crazy about me. So crazy, that you’re going to write a poem in latin about my eyes. Or you’ll commission Hennessy to paint a nude portrait of me just so you can stare at it while I’m away, and people will think you’ve become a hermit, but really you’re just—”

“Alright asshole,” Ronan growls. He wraps both arms around him, rolling them until he’s hovering above Adam. The air between them is so thick, Ronan thinks he’d be able to stick his tongue out and taste the need there. Adam’s hands are above his head, pliant and trusting. Ronan makes no move, so Adam smiles. Then, the leash snaps and suddenly Ronan is kissing Adam within an inch of his life. 

It’s not the first kiss they’ve had since Adam’s surprise visit to the Barns, but it’s the first one that Ronan doesn’t worry about. 

There had been a kiss minutes after Ronan had woken up, something so tender and quick, Hennessy had teased them and called them virgins. Then there’d been a kiss goodnight their last evening in Boston, clumsy enough that Ronan felt shaky and out of practice. At the time, he’d been so desperate for another chance, but too outside of himself to feel steady enough to try it.

This kiss is the one with their names scribed into it with red, soulmate string. It tastes like kisses used to before Bryde, before Moderators, before the end of the world. It tastes like Ronan’s prayers for a boy on a bike and every long car ride Adam ever made to the Barns. It tastes different than a second secret, better than snowfall at the Barns, warmer than anything Ronan has ever felt. 

And oh, Ronan loves him, loves him, loves him. 

Adam’s legs fall open, cradling Ronan’s body with needy, tender care.  

Just like that, Ronan feels like he’s been struck and rolls away. His chest is heaving, and though he wants nothing more than to press rewind and situate himself where Adam is hard and aching, he finds he cannot breathe. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? He wants this. In the months of separation, in the days on the run, the only real thing Ronan wanted was to be with Adam — kissing him, holding him, making him feel more loved than anyone else in a 500 mile radius. Now that they’re here, why does Ronan feel like he’ll die if he touches Adam for too long like this? 

It’s in the silent space Adam gives him that Ronan remembers they haven’t had sex in nearly a month. And it’s not the quantity of the separation that turns Ronan’s stomach sour — the piled up number of days — but the reasons . The way he’s changed. The way Adam’s changed. It feels like he’s been doused in ice water to realize that the man he loves — here, right now — is not the same man he’d last made love to. He doesn’t know what sex with this Adam looks like. He doesn’t know how it’s different because of him, either. Are they compatible? Will Adam still love what he sees when he strips Ronan bare, knowing what Ronan is? 

But Adam doesn’t blame him for it—for any of it. Maybe he’s wondering the same thing. If he is, he’s coming to a much more optimistic conclusion. He runs his thumb under the dark circles beneath Ronan’s eyes and gives a gentle smile. 

For a moment, Ronan thinks Adam is about to ask, Are you okay? Or Will you tell me when you’re ready to try again?

He’s relieved to find the question isn’t either of these things. It isn’t a question at all, really.

“You must be hungry.” 

I am hungry, Ronan thinks. Hungry to be able to breathe in air and not feel it burn. Hungry to feel equal parts dreamer and dreamt in his own skin. Hungry for more time. Hungry for the memories of days when he and his brothers were all alive, were friends. Hungry for every trace of skin on Adam’s body and every square inch below it, as far deep into him as he’d let Ronan go.

Ronan answers honestly. “I’m starving.”

In the kitchen, Ronan flips store-bought eggs because the chickens stopped laying in the wintertime. Across the counter, Adam is sipping his coffee (black, two ice cubes, and a splash and a half of creamer — like an insane person), munching on some toast. Without the stress of sleeping boyfriends and lost souls, the color has started to return to his face and his cheeks are almost back to their usual fullness. Ronan still has plans to fatten him up with a make-up Thanksgiving feast and a full Christmas dinner. 

Then, Ronan catches Adam looking at the watch on his wrist. He’s frozen, as if he just noticed it was there. Or, more accurately, as if he’d been so used to it being there in the first place that he’d forgotten it wasn’t supposed to be there. Because he’d taken it off when he tried to leave Ronan. 

The eggs on the stove burned at the edges. 

“I can…take it back. If you don’t want it,” Ronan hears himself say. This is a courtesy, something Ronan very seriously does not want to do. Surely Adam can tell this. Because if the watch had meant Remember me, think of me, Ronan does not want Adam to return that affection, those feelings, to sender. He does not want to move backwards with Adam. Not after everything. 

“I want it,” Adam replies quietly, easily. There’s something hooking back all of what Adam wants to say, but it doesn’t have to do with Ronan. Adam is frustrated with himself.

Ronan wants to cross the room. To pull Adam’s hands into his pockets to warm them. To wrap himself so completely around Adam’s frame that Adam becomes incapable of holding any negative feeling for himself. To speak in clear, articulate words just how highly Ronan regards him, how he believes to his core that Adam is even more magical and beautiful than he is. 

He does none of these things. But he does turn off the stove to keep the eggs from starting a campfire and gives his full attention to Adam. 

“Do you remember in the sweetmetal sea when we were…communicating? Share our, uh, thoughts?” Adam asks. The pit of Ronan’s stomach sinks and suddenly, he isn’t hungry for breakfast anymore. Whatever Adam is trying to get at, it isn’t about bliss of being one soul, or the awe of simply knowing the truth. 

Ronan nods, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from frowning. 

“You showed me that memory of the way you felt when I took the watch off and left. And I keep seeing it. Ronan, I’ve felt pain and despair, but…” I never wanted to make you feel that way, Ronan hears in the silence. “If it had been the other way around…” 

If it had been the other way around, Adam’s trust would have been broken forever. If Ronan had left Adam sleeping, alone, in the dark, even a shared swim in the sweetmetal sea wouldn’t have been enough to repair the betrayal.

“But you didn’t leave. You came back. I knew every time you came back,” Ronan says. “We already apologized and forgave each other.”

“But you still think there’s a chance I’ll return this to you, like I don’t know what it means.” Adam holds up his wrist. Ronan sees his reflection in the clear glass, has to look away. “I do know what it means. I’m not giving it back.” 

There had been a time just four months ago when Ronan would have tried desperately to believe him. Then, he would’ve come to the conclusion that Adam believed his own words for now, and Ronan just had to be thankful for what he had before he lost it. 

Now, Ronan believes it, because he is well acquainted with the truth and he is even better acquainted with Adam. He loves both. 

“Okay,” says Ronan finally. “Don’t give it back. Come here instead.” 

He opens his arms and Adam falls into them. He smells like their bed and that strange, watered down coffee concoction he likes, and for the first time in several hours, Ronan feels like he can breathe again. 

Adam snuggles further into Ronan, sliding his hands down into the waist of Ronan’s pants so they can rest on the dip before his ass swells. It sends a bolt of electricity from the base of Ronan’s spine to the rest of his body. And in that moment, they are Ronan-and-Adam who survived the end of the world. But they are also Ronan-and-Adam who slow danced on Ronan’s birthday. They are Ronan-and-Adam who plan to fight tooth and nail for this Ronan-and-Adam thing they have. They are each other’s second self. 

“I kinda miss that weird sweetmetal communication thing we did,” Adam mumbles into Ronan’s neck. His breath is damp and hot where Ronan is sensitive, so he can only respond after a few moments of pulling himself together. He wants Adam’s breath, his feelings, his thoughts everywhere. Just the way it had been. 

“Yeah,” Ronan concurs, drawing a finger up Adam’s spine. “Me too.” 

*

Declan, the twins, and Carmen arrive as planned for dinner time. The first thing Ronan feels when they drop their luggage in the entryway is regret that he and Adam never did take advantage of having the house to themselves. But they have time. They have years. An eternity, if their souls wind up in the same place. 

Ronan is too busy mourning the solitude to notice the way Declan drops his last bag and marches toward him. Ronan is engulfed in the second brotherly hug he’s had in the last seventy-two hours, which is two more than he’s had in the last five years. 

“Don’t mind him,” Jordan says, hanging up her coat and scarf. The edges around each of her words are softer than the ones around Hennessy’s. It makes it easier to tell them apart. “He spiraled on the car ride down. Full on mental collapse. I think he very nearly convinced himself that you were still asleep and that he’d hallucinated the last three days.” 

Ronan digs his fingers further into Declan, then. He can’t blame his brother for the disbelief. There’s been a fair share in his own chest. 

“Hi Deklo,” Ronan murmurs, patting his brother hard on the shoulder. Declan mumbles something about how next time, he’s flying down. But he doesn’t let Ronan go. 

“Actually, I think I’m the one who’s hallucinating,” says a familiar voice in the doorway. 

Ronan jolts back and there is Richard Campbell Gansey III, beautiful and familiar and so much older than Ronan remembered him being. Maybe it’s the travel, maybe it’s the sun, maybe it’s living without fear of death. Beside him is Blue Sargeant, holding onto Gansey’s shoulder as she kicks snow off her heels. 

“My god, Gans, no one asked you,” she says. Then she’s sliding across the hardwood in her fuzzy socks into a hug of her own. Ronan catches her before she can glide right into the Christmas tree he and Adam spent the day putting up, hoisting her up so she can place the obligatory kiss on his cheek. Gansey falls to his other side, kissing his other cheek, creating a very misshapan Ronan sandwich. Blue reaches her hand for Adam, who rolls his eyes and joins the pile. And Ronan…Ronan holds on as tight as he can. 

Because there’s a lot that’s gone wrong over the last several days, weeks, months. During the moments he remembers Matthew, he feels so desperate for a redo that he wonders if a person can physically cut themselves on grief. 

But a lot has gone right too. And really? He’s just thankful his friends are home. 

*

Every time there’s a gathering at the Barns, the group just gets stranger and stranger. Three days after the world almost ended, the Barns is hosting its strangest group yet. 

There’s Carmen, the woman who tried multiple times to kill, then save Ronan. She’s sitting mulled wine they picked up in Henrietta on the way in, counting the number of trees covered in snow she can see from the window. She does not know what family looks like anymore, but Hennessy says she’s willing to learn with her.

There’s Gansey and Blue, napping on the loveseat across from the fireplace.

There’s Hennessy at Carmen’s side. Ronan found her one of his old sketchbooks, and it sits in her lap like it had been destined to be there since he dreamt it up in middle school. Her eyes open and close as she sketches what the lace looked like before the memory is erased from unpleasant history forever. 

There’s Jordan, sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table looking through the old Lynch photo album. She doesn’t say anything about how most of the pictures are of Matthew, or how the most creative captions are written in Niall’s script next to pictures of Ronan. She only runs her finger delicately over images of Declan, smiles, and says, “My, how dauntless you look.” 

There’s Declan beside her, careful not to look at the album for fear he’ll see a picture of Matthew that breaks through his careful resolve. Instead, he lays his head on her shoulder, rubbing her left ring finger, trying to imagine the ring he wants to buy her. 

There’s Adam in Ronan’s lap. He’s halfway through some book on government intelligence and how it can aid American social work, undisturbed by Jordan’s chuckling or Gansey’s snoring. 

There’s Ronan carding his fingers through Adam’s hair, also trying not to think about Matthew. Or the ornaments they’d put on the tree that day that Matthew had made in school. Or Matthew’s portrait on the banister. Ronan has to close his eyes. 

Then, there’s Matthew, coming in the back door as if he had only been out for groceries and not presumed dead. 

Declan sees him first, a broken sort of wail falling out of his lips. It’s enough to make Ronan open his eyes, before a shattered cry of his own has interrupted Matthew saying, “Hey, I’m home.” 

No one moves. Matthew’s shoulders droop.

“I walked,” he says simply.

Adam moves out of the way just in time to avoid being flung on the floor as Ronan practically tackles Matthew to the ground. His hold around Matthew’s back is crushing, and it doesn’t matter that he’s in front of a woman who tried to kill him or his brother’s girlfriend — he’s weeping. Declan comes to the back side of Ronan where Matthew’s face is squished up over Ronan’s shoulder. He twists his fingers into Matthew’s hair and presses his lips to his forehead. 

Their knees hit the ground in an unattractive heap, but Ronan feels like he’s finally learned to breathe on his own and the air is fresh, fresh, fresh. 

There’s questions about Bryde, questions about where Matthew has been, apologies, more tears. Then Blue Sargeant is wiping her eyes on the sleeves on her sweater and caressing the side of Matthew’s face. 

“Well, Mattie, are you hungry? There are leftovers.” 

Matthew practically sprints to the kitchen and it’s Dinner 2.0. Matthew eats two helpings of leftovers and gets to have as much dessert as he wants. Declan doesn’t stop him from talking with his mouth full. Ronan doesn’t shrug him off when he insists on eating with one arm hooked through his. All that matters is Matthew came home. 

Matthew came home, Matthew came home, Matthew came home. 

* 

When the commotion has ended, Ronan does the dishes, makes sure everyone has enough blankets, then slips out the back door. He can feel Adam’s gaze on him, even as the screen door screeches to a close. But he needs to get out of the house and if Adam wants to come, then Adam will follow. He always does. 

The frost stiff grass cracks beneath his feet. Cold seeps in through the soles of his boots, but the sensation is so grounding that it takes everything in Ronan to stop from stripping his coat off and lying in the dirt. He can’t remember when he began to feel numb, didn’t even realize how dazed he’d become, until it began to melt away.

 A few paces behind, the grass crunches as another person joins him in the middle of his empty field. 

Ronan turns to Adam, blue eyes bright and crystalline. He’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, so he grins some more. There’s laughter teeming at his lips, like a boiling pot about to spill over. Through the patchy moonlight, Adam raises a brow. 

“What is it?” he asks. 

“Post tenebras lux,” Ronan says. And then he does laugh. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, because there has to be a sound for all this overwhelming joy and it can’t be tears. He’s cried enough. 

It ends up being a failed effort, because once Adam joins in the laughter, they’re both doubled over in the field, wiping tears from their eyes. Hands clutch into stomachs, lungs heave in desperation to get ahead of the laughter, but they can’t stop. In the mess, their knees knock together and they tumble into the snowy mud. Ronan doesn’t care if they look crazy from the house window. He wants to live in this moment as long as he can — he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy in his life. 

Eventually, the laughter dies down but the joy doesn’t. Ronan reaches for Adam, but finds that Adam is already reaching for him. They embrace — this new Adam, this new Ronan. They fit so perfectly together, it was a wonder Ronan ever doubted they would.

“I don’t think I’ve ever believed until now that I had the rest of my life ahead of me, you know?” he admits, swaying blissfully in Adam’s arms. “Especially when Glendower ended. Especially when the nightwash started. I was so angry and so lonely because I had it in my head that I had like, a year left. And a part of me was holding out for the future we talked about, but the more it crumbled about, the more I just resigned myself to the fact that I’d never be happy. No matter how hard I tried.” 

“And now?” Adam whispers. 

“And now I’m so fucking happy I feel like I’m gonna puke rainbows.” 

Adam groans. “Ugh, please don’t.” He presses a kiss to the underside of Ronan’s jaw, lingering longer than he probably planned to. “I know the feeling. When I lost my hearing and I left home, it felt like all my efforts were just worthless. But then someone helped me find an apartment, and then someone paid my rent, and I was on my feet again. But the best part was, I got to find out what it felt like to fall in love. That’s when I knew I could be happy.” This time he kissed Ronan’s mouth. “Now I get to help return the favor. But Ronan, you deserve to be happy, because you’ve worked for it. Those people in that house wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.” 

For the first time, Ronan feels himself believing it. Just a little. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Is it normal, he wonders, to adore a person so much? To feel your own blood, equal parts red and longing? It’s making his skin itch to be touched and his soul press hard against his ribs, trying an escape. But god, the ache is so nice. He wants more. He wants to feel Adam under his skin. 

He wants Adam to touch him. 

Across the field, the wind rustles the treetops into a quiet shhh noise. The apples of Adam’s cheek had turned bright red from the wintry bite. Ronan’s own are stinging. He tangles their fingers together in the cold dirt. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he says, love in every vowel and consonant. 

“We should probably take a hot shower. We’re filthy,” Adam laughs. 

“Okay,” Ronan agrees. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go to bed.” 

Now Adam’s face is red for a different reason. His eyes dart to Ronan’s chapped lips, then back up to his eyes. He doesn’t speak — only stands up, pulls Ronan up after him, and leads him into the house. 

The house is quiet in a way only Springer’s Falls can be as the extended Lynch family finds some well deserved rest. Ronan’s heart tugs hard when Adam navigates the house, successfully avoiding every creaky floorboard, every squeaky stair. He belongs here, Ronan’s heart sings. He’s always coming back. This is his home. He belongs here. 

When the bathroom door clicks locked, Adam undresses Ronan in the dark. He’s done this dozens of times — in bright summer morning light, in the dusky orange of the sunset, and in the blackness of their room. His movements are confident and faultless as Ronan’s shirt drops to the floor, then his pants, then his boxers. Adam’s touch is running up and down the length of Ronan’s strong thighs, dangerously close to where Ronan wants him. Adam reaches for him, ready to take him into his mouth, but Ronan drags him up by the chin. They’re eye to eye now, chests heaving. 

“You next,” Ronan murmurs, but he’s already tugging Adam’s shirt over his head. He takes his time, the way people unwrap Christmas presents when they know something fragile is waiting for them. His hands slide flat across Adam’s ribs and he can feel the racing of his heart underneath. His breaths come out in hot puffs against Adam’s bare shoulder. “Do you know that when I first saw you, I asked for divine intervention?” 

 A shiver trails through Adam, but he laughs. “You what?” 

“You became the subject of many, many desperate prayers” Ronan says, trailing his lips across Adam’s collarbone and up his neck. “Tell me, Parrish, do you think they were answered?” 

This time it’s Adam tugging Ronan by the jaw, pulling him into a sloppy kiss that’s all groans and tongue. 

“Not sure,” Adam replies, breathless. “But I want to give you everything, just to be sure.” 

He turns on the water almost as hot as it will go and pulls them both under the steaming spray. Ronan lets Adam fuck his hand until he’s gasping and teetering on a dangerous edge,  switching out Adam’s painfully hard cock for a bar of soap. Adam sags against the tile with a frustrated moan, though he leans into Ronan as he runs the soap up and down his back. 

For once, Ronan can take his time. They had fucked slow before, made love so tenderly it would’ve made Cupid cry. But in all those other instances, there’d been a quiet thought in his mind that he was taking his time because one day, he’d run out of it. 

Now they have forever. 

When they’re bare, under the quilts they woke up in that morning, Ronan feels that soul-deep longing under his skin once more. Adam is too far, he thinks. There’s barely an inch between them and they’re too far apart. 

“Touch me,” Ronan begs. Laughter trickles out of Adam because he already is touching him — up and down his legs, along his sides, across the swell of his ass. But Ronan can’t think straight, can’t hold onto words that are more than just mush in his mouth. “God, don’t stop touching me. Adam, please. ” 

Adam takes Ronan into his hand, giving a few perfect tugs. It feels unbearably good. It feels like Ronan is possibly on the verge of death. It feels like it isn’t nearly enough. 

With a snarl, Ronan fills his hands with Adam’s bare ass and tugs him into his lap. Caught off guard, Adam falls forward, chest to chest — just as they had been that morning. Ronan catches Adam’s mouth, paying him back tenfold for the filthy kiss he’d gotten earlier. How could he ever want anyone other than Adam Parrish? How could anyone in the world want someone who isn’t Adam Parrish? Each bite of lips in teeth is a staked claim, tossed back and forth between them until the message is unmistakable: I am yours, you are mine, I am yours, you are mine. 

The weight of Adam laying across him is still not enough. Ronan’s fingers tangle in the hand Adam is holding the back of his neck with, guiding it down between his legs. Adam mistakes the gesture, almost wrapping his beautiful hand around Ronan’s weeping dick. But Ronan shifts the lower, making Adam drop his face into Ronan’s chest. 

“God, yes. Whatever you want. Ronan, whatever you want. Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.” 

They work in tandem —  Ronan pulling one of his pillows to rest beneath his hips, Adam leaning over to the bedside drawer for a condom and the bottle of lube. 

Their foreheads are pressed tight together when Adam slips the first finger inside Ronan. The sensation is good, like the first piece of Adam’s being has begun to meld into him. The second finger brings some bite with it — it’s been too long since Ronan has had the privacy to do this himself. Too long since Adam has been around to help him. But eventually the muscle gives, and with the last finger, Ronan is writhing and ready. 

Ronan thinks there’s rustling as Adam puts the condom on and gives himself a few strong, lubed strokes, but he can barely focus over the roaring in his ears. Everything is Adam, Adam, Adam. He wonders if this is what it feels like to drown. To let your body go lax and slip deeper under a force that won’t let you breathe. If it is, it’s an awfully good way to go. 

Adam is lined up into place — one arm propped up next to Ronan’s head, the other guiding himself at the right angle. But before he can drift forward, Ronan grabs his cheeks. 

He’s overwhelmed, he thinks. If he doesn’t say this, he’ll start to cry. Or maybe he’ll cry either way. 

“I love you,” Ronan gasps. The tingling longing under his skin is finally breaking out. “I love you so much, Adam Parrish. Tamquam alter idem and all that shit, okay? I really love you.” 

With a single push, Adam presses in. Ronan bites his knuckles to keep from keening, but Adam brushes the hand away and kisses him. 

“I love you too, weirdo.” 

Then he’s moving slow and hard. What a fucking miracle, Ronan thinks, that this is all his. He gets to have this . What a miracle that he’s in Adam’s arms and he gets to just be Ronan Lynch. Not the Greywaren, not the Zed responsible for the end of the world, not the dreamer who brought so much good and bad into existence. Just Adam’s Ronan. 

Adam fucks Ronan with precision Ronan forget he had. But how could he have forgotten? Adam is studious about the things he likes. And this? This might’ve been one of Adam’s favorite things to learn. 

He tugs Ronan’s knee up, changing the angle, immediately hitting the spot that makes Ronan forget he’s a person. With Adam like this, he’s just energy of a man, not unlike the Lace, only purer and safer. Adam is muttering with each push forward. Something about how fucking beautiful you are, Ronan Lynch. I just can’t get over how much I love seeing you like this, gasping and begging for it. You’ll always let me have you like this, won’t you? Shit fucking damn. 

He must be getting close, because he reaches down and clasps  his hand tight over Ronan’s cock. Ronan gasps, fisting his hands into the sheets and letting himself give in to every last burst of pleasure as it swells and swells and finally crests over. Adam muffles Ronan’s broken cry with his mouth,  lips on lips for the sake of contact, but too far gone for a real kiss. Ronan wraps his legs tight around Adam’s ass, holding him in place and they both spend themselves. 

Ronan doesn’t want Adam to move, but he’s too sensitive to lay like this forever. Adam seems to sense this and carefully pulls himself away. He shifts to the edge of the bed to dispose of the condom, but Ronan doesn’t let him get very far. 

“I’m just going to get a washcloth,” Adam says, pressing his lips to Ronan’s forehead. 

It’s only when the door clicks shut behind Adam that Ronan covers his face with his hands and ponders how supremely fucked he is. But when Adam returns with a smile and a towel, Ronan opens his arms and decides he doesn’t want it any other way. 

*

According to the watch on Adam’s wrist, it’s 3:37AM. Adam is fast asleep and naked pressed up against Ronan. It’s convenient, Ronan thinks, that he found a life partner who looks so pretty when he sleeps. Otherwise being an insomniac would be pretty boring. 

Only, this isn’t one of the sleepless nights. Up until about two minutes ago, Ronan had been sleeping just as peacefully as Adam. There were dreams, of what though, he can’t quite remember. All he does know is that when he woke, there was a thin gold ring in his hand. Somehow, even in the dark, Ronan knows that the etchings he feels on the surface are mountains and trees — a recall to this place, to the Blue Ridge, to Cabeswater, to Lindenmere, to the Forest that dreamt him. 

It’s too early to give it to Adam yet, though. He still has three and a half years of college, and after that, who knew? But he’d give it to Adam — someday. 

Ronan slipped out of bed, just as he had the night before. Only this time, it’s to hide the ring away in a drawer of his father’s clothes. 

When he returns to bed, Adam stirs. 

“You alright?” he rasps, running a hand over Ronan’s chest. 

“Yes,” Ronan says truthfully. “I’m alright.” 

[iammistressofmyfate]

Arranged Marriage AU

If Adam hadn’t been sure of his love for Ronan before, he was very sure of it now. Their months of dancing around one another and slowly peeling off layers had come to an end, every layer stripped away over the course of a night. For a moment, Adam had considered that he only felt this way because he and Ronan finally fucked. They’d built up so much sexual tension between them and it had been so long since Adam had been with someone, that that relief and the satisfaction of it was just masking things, making it appear as if he was in love. But Adam didn’t think that he would cry over just someone he had had sex with. It hadn’t just been sex. Adam knew Ronan meant it when he said ‘I love you’, every action backing up his words. There was mounting evidence to suggest that Ronan was indeed a true, honest man, one of the first in Adam’s life.

[deathless--aphrodite]

For want of a nail in “it was like you” where Ronan comes back up after he realizes he left his shirt

you KNEW what you were doing when you requested this, anon, and i respect you. i would like to add that if something had happened like this in actual canon, ronan would have been out. of. there. he would've turned around and driven to the next state. he wouldn't have been emotionally able to handle it. however, here you go:

Adam brought the shirt back to his face, frustrated. He didn’t need to picture anything when he was breathing in the pure smell of Ronan, he could get off on that alone. He swore, feeling pre-cum gather at the tip of his cock. He wanted to put his mouth at the space between Ronan’s neck and his shoulder, where the smell of him must’ve been the strongest. He wanted to put his teeth there. He wanted to put his hands on Ronan’s hips and feel the muscles of his stomach flex and make him say Oh -

The moment he hears his door open is probably one of the worst moments of his entire life. “Parrish,” Ronan says, “I left my shirt in - oh.” Adam covers his face with the alleged shirt and sinks down the floor, very slowly. “Um —“ “Oh my god,” Adam says, muffled. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die. I’m just - turn around, Lynch.”

He thinks that Ronan does turn, but he doesn’t look up to make sure. He can’t. He’s dying. Ronan begins a few aborted sentences, um, you -, huh. Eventually, he settles on, “Man, Parrish, I didn’t know you were such a perv.” His voice wobbles with what sounds like panic. 

“I’m not - god. You’re such a shithead.” 

“You were the one jerking off into my clothes, Parrish.” Adam hurriedly tucks his dick back into his sweatpants, stands, and goes over to the sink to splash some water on his face. He’s dying. “If you’re too poor to afford rags you could’ve just asked, you know.” “Ronan,” he says, feeling himself whine. “Quit it. Please.” He stalks out of the bathroom and, eyes focused on the floor, shoves the shirt toward Ronan, who takes it. 

“Was it - do I smell that good?” Ronan lets out a laugh, and Adam realises what he’d earlier mistook for panic is actually giddiness. Delight. He lets himself look up, finding Ronan’s eyes. “Well, Parrish? Explain yourself. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure to do more of it.” 

“Fine,” Adam says, gently, playing the game. “Yes, you smell good. It doesn’t make you less of an asshole.”

Ronan takes a step towards him, very nearly crowding him up against the wall. “I think you might like it, Parrish.” He's smiling, smug and happy, and he does smell so good, even under Adam's cheap body wash and that godawful organic deodorant.

Adam takes a deep breath. “Alright. Yeah. I was gonna jerk off thinking about fucking your mouth. I think you’d like if I did that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, Adam.” He watches Ronan swallow, tip his head down to the ground. He puts a hand against the wall, bracketing Adam in; his heart kicks up in response, leaning closer on instinct. 

Adam whispers, “Do you wanna stop?” Ronan shakes his head resolutely. His face his lovely and flushed. 

“I’ve gotta go to church,” he says. “Or Declan’ll kick my ass.” Adam makes a mournful sound, reaching out and fisting a hand in Ronan’s jacket. If Ronan leaves now, this will start feeling like a dream, a faerie story.

“Stay. Stay. When have you ever cared about Declan kicking your ass?” 

Ronan lets out another laugh, sighs, looks Adam over with an infuriating flick of his eyes. “You want me to stay?” Adam nods quickly. “Stay, and make you come? And kiss you?” Adam hears himself make a little, desperate sound; something about the thought of Ronan kissing him is hotter than the thought of Ronan jerking him off, hotter than Ronan’s mouth on his cock. Ronan pulls back suddenly, out of Adam’s grip. He throws his shirt back to Adam, who only just catches it. “Finish yourself off, this time. I’ve gotta go pray.” 

He winks at Adam before he leaves, grinning. Adam lets his head fall back against the wall, driven almost to distraction, breathless.

[silouvertongues]

FULL THOUGHTS ON THE RAVEN CYCLE PLEASE fave book fave character fave relationship??

HIIII it's so funny whenever u ask me questions like this about media I've consumed just bc. i don't think i have enough braincells to have coherent thoughts but im gonna try <33

ok fave book i can't pick one and bc i kinda read them back to back to back things are sorta blending together but i really liked the dream thieves bc the dream stuff is just really cool and ronan is so fun to read and there was quite a bit of him in it but i also loved the raven king bc all their little friendships and relationships sorta solidified and i loved it more than i can put into words. actually i think plot wise the third book was the strongest for me just because the stuff that happened felt more substantial? maybe? i loved how everything was written in the last one and how it kinda happened but i was expecting it to happen like that so i wasn't like . in awe or in shock yk

now the fave character . i love them all so immensely its a little crazy i didn't think I'd be this attached !! blue is literally my baby i need to shrink her and put her on my shoulder so we can be best friends forever i need to have her with me forever.

the funniest thing about gansey is that he's the stupidest genius around like my boy is so silly i love him for it but also idk how else to describe it but i have the like admiration for him that everyone in the book did??? idk if it was bc I read the others' povs but the way they were like we'd do anything for this man. yeah . yeah .

ADAM . ok this is ridiculous but i went in thinking I'd adore him right away and then i started reading it and the first book i did really like him but then the second book i. i didn't feel so good about him at times and i just couldn't understand why because it's adam and i thought I'd love him so much but then i realized it was bc he was a little too real? idk how else to describe it i was reading his pov and suddenly there was a mirror somehow despite me never having been in a situation like his before and then i understood why he was getting on my nerves and then i got over it as the books went on and he became less of a mirror lol and i am simply so fond of this boy now i need to take care of him and give him several hugs and put him on my other shoulder.

i don't even know what to say about this next guy im. immmmmmm . feeling very much jane austen if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more. now this one i also knew i would like bc he's just . angsty angry little guy with a softest spot for the people he loves and im always gonna be a sucker for that BUT MYYYYYYY GOD he's like . he's in my heart he's around it he's inside it he's everywhere i love him :(( i think part of it was also because his story had more depth imo and was more interesting to me personally so I just enjoyed reading his bits more but he's so so lovely idk what else to even say

this is way longer than i thought it was gonna be so im gonna be basic and say my fav relationship was just all 4 (5 ig hi noah) of them i cried so many times over just like little moments of love between them im so insanely attached like they're all seriously in love with each other and i loveeeeee them i have moments just running through my head on loop since last night but also like romantic relationships wise i think i feel equally insane about the two main ones (well maybe a teeny tiny bit more insane about THE OBJECTS OF RONAN'S WORSHIP BEING FOCUSED IN ONE DOWNTOWN BLOCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCKK but also gansey feeling homesick and calling blue made me lose it i lost it i went insane)

[nialltlynch]

from the fridge: until the sky falls dowwn on me and the working for the knife (feniall version)

ehehehe the sky fall one is my One and Only foray into canon compliant pynch WHICH should make it obvious why it is in the fridge. the difficulty came from having basically two ideas 1) the outward expression of oncoming, inevitable winter paralleling the uncertainty of a relationships future and 2) ronan and adam fucking in ronan's parent's old bed and being Decidedly Weird about it. two very different vibes so hopefully you can understand my trouble. and yeah it was named after that savage garden song.

are you familiar with my aurora knife fic ?? (feniall version) is a spiritual companion piece that explores feniall and mór's relationship in a similar way. it hinges on the magical memory bag and how that... is a fucked up concept !!! i may actually finish this one since i have very many thoughts about this.

my wip fridge: the post

until the sky falls down on me

Morning arrives as usual.

Slow and tantalizing, a sudden creep of clarity in the deep night. It is early enough that the only light in the room glows off two small spheres the size of marbles caught in elliptical orbit. The flicker like natural fire but Ronan knows they are cool, almost liquid to the touch. Not that there is anything to be done in his current state. Ronan doesn't flinch as he watches the bauble graze closer and closer to Adam's sleeping face. Each pass spreads thin, gauzy shadows over the slopes and ridges Ronan has become so familiar with these past few months.

He's learned to breathe through these things.

Time eating away at the fabric of the Barns seems unfathomable. The summer had been a glimpse of unattainable myth and now here it is, the reality of it on the cusp of vanishing.In the dark it's easy to think that nothing has changed and easier still to imagine sameness forever. Ronan can remember when the thought had been terrifying. Something delicate had shifted, small increments barely noticed, until there had been no single moment when he had changed his mind except that the same fervor he'd ran from routine he now ran toward it. This is a morning like all the others. He prays it never ends.

The Adam tucked between Ronan and the familiar wooden walls of this room is the same Adam as all the other nights. Here in the slow, familiar morning, Ronan still has Adam as he remembers.

Ronan blinks as the light sparks in his eyes, the familiar warmth of the bed falling over him. His hands reach for Adam like instinct, snaking through the dark without need for sight. Fear is a constant thing  that sleeps in his body - stuck in his muscles, taking up space in his throat. He wakes each morning intensely afraid that something in between night and now might have changed irreparably. Even in the dark Ronan can feel the moment Adam snaps awake and this, too, is graciously familiar.

Adam shifts under the covers and reaches out to catch one of the light baubles in the gentle pinch of his fingers. It spins on itself, growing listless and less robust in the absence of its twin. Adam releases it. Gravity stabilizes the two lights back into delighted dancing orbit. He turns to Ronan.

working for the knife (feniall version)

I find the memory again, splintered and weaved into others that look just like it, but I recognize the crease of his eyelid. The curl in his hair. This is already done.

I hold my palm to her trembling mouth, force her to swallow the whisps of her regret.

"You're going to remember this, love, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I hold it for her. Every heavy thing. But this I will not take away. She will ask me night after night (these I will gather to be lost in the river. do not call me a hypocrite. this is not my fault) but I will not lessen her burden. She must know the pain she's caused him. Feel it even if she does not understand it. This is all I ask her to carry.

Some things are too heavy even for me.