#ronan x gansey

[kazbiter]

you say adam parrish had a crush on both blue and ronan because they're so alike and nobody bats an eye but god forbid I say there is another person we know of who is attracted to blue sargent and has a bit too much of an investment in ronan lynch for it to be entirely hetero and I'm wrong

[lauradoestuff]

Gansey telling Adam not to break Ronan’s heart because Adam has broken Gansey’s heart so many times without even realising it, I’m going feral. 

Adam breaking Gansey’s heart because he is so self involved and preoccupied about himself and his station and his troubles that he’s always thought that Gansey is this king, Gansey only being able to be fully acknowledged at first by Blue, who had to peel back layers and layers and fall in love with just Gansey, but Ronan and Adam always see him as the king. 

So many rambling thoughts about the ending of this series I am losing my mind

[crushpdf]

Ronan & Gansey & Theo & Boris: hungry eyes

[ maggie stiefvater / maggie stiefvater / troye sivan / maggie stiefvater / maggie stiefvater / john crowley / maggie stiefvater / donna tartt / sophie davidson / maggie stiefvater / maggie stiefvater / maggie stiefvater / xavier dolan ]

[ravensonravens]

"But this was not Gansey as usual.

This was Gansey with a lofty tilt to his chin, a condescending quirk to his mouth...

Gansey said, “And what is it my dog needs?”

Ronan’s lips curled into a smile."

Please do not pet!! This dog bites!! (Unless you're the one holding his leash.)

We couldn't resist doing photos for this quote. It's god-tier content and I'm thankful for it every day. 🙌

Myself as Ronan, Jess as my Gansey. 💖

[billdenbrough]

“We’re out of juice,” is what Ronan says when he sits down beside Gansey, legs sprawling across the floor in contrast to Gansey’s carefully-crossed ones. Their knees still touch, like Ronan has been pulled into Gansey’s orbit so completely that it extends even to his limbs, a fact of the universe written out even on the most mundane of scales.

It’s a good representation of them: Gansey, cross-legged in soft cotton sweatpants, as if the lack of visible branding will make it any less evident to someone like Ronan—or Parrish, if he were here, but he’d know that the way he always does, the differences between him and Gansey mapped out on that invisible layer Adam holds between them, the one Gansey likes to pretend doesn’t exist—that they cost at least three figures; Ronan, leaning back a little, wearing his shitty expensive jeans that Parrish hates so much, the ones that cost at least four figures and Ronan doesn’t care about the washing instructions for, the ones fraying at the knee that Ronan has pressed up against the junction of where Gansey’s knee meets thigh.

This is the truth of things: two boys who look very, very different, but are more connected than you’d think, if you look closely enough. If it’s not their eyes, it’s their knees. If it’s not their knees, it’s their souls.

Ronan’s opinion on his soul’s eternal state is a complicated thing, but the way it matches Gansey’s is never in doubt. Not to him.

A two-headed-beast, Ronan thinks, staring out at Gansey’s insomnia-driven cardboard rendition of Henrietta. Gansey says excelsior, and Ronan’s the fucking sword cutting through. Onwards and upwards, no matter what.

“What, again?” Gansey replies.

Gansey looks like shit, so Ronan tells him so instead of answering. 

He also looks like a king, handsome and regal and untouchable. He also looks like a boy, young and soft around the edges, like how ink fades with time. He also looks like everything Ronan has ever believed in, like a room in Monmouth Manufacturing and driving to the Barns and chasing down Glendower and needing help with Latin, like the gasoline-lit curve of his mouth saying the difference is we matter / dream me the world / ronan, like Ronan’s name is somehow worth holding safe in his mouth.

Ronan does not tell him any of those things.

“It’s hard to meet the standards for male beauty without juice,” Gansey remarks.

Adam says that Ronan isn’t as honest as he says he is; that telling the truth is not the same as being honest, and that Ronan might not lie, but that’s not the same thing. He says this a lot, in various ways, but especially he says it when Ronan is looking at Gansey, and Adam is watching the way they move around each other.

He’s probably right. Otherwise Ronan would tell Gansey that there’s no version of him that isn’t beautiful, and not just because of his inherited pretty face and nice clothes. It’s the kind of knowledge that just is, the sort of thing you live with and learn to move around, like how a punch to the chest leaves an ache throbbing through your entire rib cage. Ronan is bruised with it, the knowledge of all Gansey is, how impossible and exquisite and fucking fundamental he is to Ronan’s continued existence.

“Sounds like a you problem, Dick,” Ronan replies. Gansey makes a face, always hearing the capital letter when Ronan says it, and Ronan grins at him, like always. It’s a routine, this; there is a rhythm to the way they co-exist, one that had been established prior to Ronan moving into Monmouth, but has only become more entrenched in their bones in the time since. “We could get some more.”

Gansey considers this. It’s a common occurrence, these two a.m. juice runs. It’s a wonder they never realised Noah was fucking dead, honestly, considering he never came with them but never gave any indication of sleeping either.

Then again, rituals leave little room for doubt, and nights like this are a ritual for them. They always have been, even before Monmouth, and Niall Lynch’s death, and Ronan forgetting how to smile without his mouth turning into a knife. Ronan-and-Gansey, always up against the world together, whether it be ley lines and dead fathers or an inability to sleep and a lack of acceptable beverage options.

There aren’t many things Ronan relies on. Richard Gansey III—all the versions of him, including his annoying Congresswoman’s son one, and the one that holds all the wild burning pieces inside him so the other Ganseys may remain contained and safe for consumption, and the one he has right now, this teenage boy with grand goals and hair mussed from tossing and turning on his pillow before he gave up—is one of them.

Nights like this, with the Henrietta air sweet with past rain and no fucking juice in the fridge but four of Blue’s favourite yoghurt for some goddamn reason and Gansey right beside him, are another.

“Okay,” Gansey says finally, pressing his knee a little deeper into Ronan’s in a bump of warmth and acknowledgement and something that burns quietly in that part of Ronan’s chest he does his best not to name. “Let’s go get some juice.”

[galamerapple]

superfruit is a ronan/kavinsky, ronan/gansey, pynch song send post

[squash1]

most ronan being a little bitch (affectionate) in trb to gansey <3

[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. 

[kazbiter]

thinking of her (that deleted scene where gansey just goes on and on about how good ronan looks next to the pool table for like an extreme amount of time)

[codename-adler]

this is ronsey. the OJ scene. that’s… that’s why.

[greetingsfromhenrietta]

ok so i finished greywaren and naturally i'm thinking about gansey.

the entire dt i kinda felt like basically everything that happened in trc was being completely reduced? like it was just some Fun Times ronan had during his youth and yea he was madly in love with gansey but nOW HE'S A WANTED OTHERWORLD ENTITY WITH THE LITERAL WORLD IN HIS HANDS and gansey and blue are just off channeling their inner vsco girls(◕‿◕✿) (this makes sense i swear)

but then it occurred to me

nonono.

the gangsey is still just as relevant as before, i mean think about it. the mirror, a half magical tree w/ intense amplification powers (and ties to glendower); the king, a normal dude who was given a second chance at life and made it his sole purpose to find out why, who was eventually given life (again🙄) by the physical manifestation of incomprehensible dream shit; the magician, an uncanny tryhard with the ability to make inhuman connections, including the aforementioned dream forest; and the greywaren.

but back to gansey. ik they kinda mentioned in the epilogue that this scenario had yet to happen but i could not stop thinking about Them.

i'm sure that on some level ronan felt the same way about gansey and blue as i did. i'm sure he thinks there's a void between them. but imagine. imagine ronan being confused about what on earth he is and what on earth he does and what on earth he went through and gansey, the person he's loved since the very beginning, the person who never had him doubting his own loyalty, his tether since the beginning, understanding. he knows what it's like, he's knows what it's like to not be able to stop obsessing over those exact questions, but gansey has come out of it all someone who just wants to live his life. and i'm sure he helped ronan, on some level, get there too.

[adamprrishcycle]

My all new and incessant need to fill in bits of TRC/TDT storyline we know probably happened but didn’t get to see. Started a series of sorts on ao3 called ‘missing pieces’ under the same username and here’s some post-TRK Ronsey I’m working on :)

As Gansey drives, he can sense Ronan’s gaze on him. He can see that his face is turned towards him in the corner of his vision and he knows his eyes will be flicking from Gansey’s hand on the stick, to the dashboard, to his face then back again.

Gansey savours the moment.

It’s something that had happened for the last time once and when it occurred, he had no idea it was going to be the last time. But now it’s happening like there was never a break, never a pause or a hitch between a Gansey and Ronan before and a Gansey and Ronan now.

Tomorrow, Gansey will be getting on a plane but right now, he doesn’t think about that.

There’s a thousand things he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how he can say them, even though he’s sat beside his best friend who would absorb it all.

Over the past year, Ronan has changed and Gansey can see more than a glimpse of who he was before his father was murdered. He’s getting used to a smile that doesn’t hurt to look at and a laugh that comes easy and at little cost.

It’s almost dark now, the sun bleeding apricot and blush across the cloudless sky and Gansey is so excited to start his adventure with Blue and with Henry but—

He looks over at Ronan finally and his eyes are dark as the car interior draws the dusky evening in closer. He’s wearing a jacket as though the late August day left behind them on the still warm asphalt spoke of chilly autumn mornings.

The smell in the car is gasoline, sharp and thick and it’s the scent of years passed and Gansey feels sad. For a moment. Just a moment.

“Let me drive it,” Ronan says, his voice perfectly in sync with the sputtering cadence of the Pig’s engine, “Just once.”

Gansey smiles at the road in front of him as the orange creature eats it up, hungry for the miles it’s easily consuming. God, Gansey loves this car.

“Just once?” He repeats, “Like this version didn’t come directly from your head?” You’ve dreamt it, you’ve thought it, you’ve driven it.”

Ronan laughs and Gansey glances at him and watches how the passenger seat cradles his body and the back of his skull. His laugh rumbles within him like he himself runs off an engine.

“When you’re gone—“

“When I’m gone, it’ll be in my dad’s garage,” Gansey interrupts, “You’re not getting your hands on it, Lynch.”

Ronan says nothing but he’s still smirking and Gansey wonders whether he’s thinking of a weekend the previous year when Gansey had taken Adam to DC and Ronan had stayed in Henrietta and got himself into trouble.

Dream me the world, Gansey had told him and he had wondered since then if he had tried.

The dreamt Pig was perfect and faultless, meaning it was imperfect and had many faults, one being the fact that the engine would sometimes give up. Ronan dreamt the car to do this because he knew Gansey loved the old car fiercely, even though at times it was difficult. Sometimes Gansey wasn’t sure if it was the car he loved or the dreamer who dreamt it anew.

They drive now to a destination that remains a secret kept from Gansey, though he is the one taking them there. Ronan tells him when to turn and they climb up into the mountains as the sky fills with stars.

At some point during the drive, Gansey realizes where they’re going but he doesn’t point it out and he doesn’t ask why. He lets Ronan guide him as they remain in silence. A comfortable, familiar silence, one that feels good to hold, to run a hand over.

[kairospy]

Ronan looking mean & dangerous but trying so hard to be a good person. He wants so desperately to be better.

Adam looking angelic & ethereal but being the greatest threat human race has come across in centuries. He could and would kill without remorse (in fact, he already has).