#Ronan Lynch night wash

[doesephs]

Ronan Lynch, nightwash.

[a-lilguy]

“You are made of dreams and this world is not for you.”

[adamprrishcycle]

I wrote a silly little pynch fic set after they get engaged and it stars ronan lynch’s anxiety and abandonment issues (I couldn’t just let them live ok)

Adam sat at the table looking down at his left hand, his eyes seemingly drawn to the thick, gold band on his third finger.

Ronan watched him quietly from the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, not wanting to break the spell of Adam alone and left to his own devices.

Adam’s shoulders rose slowly and fell as he sighed heavily and lifted his head, looking over at the window. Ronan couldn’t decipher the sigh but he didn’t move or speak or make himself known. Not yet. He just watched for a few moments longer, savouring the way the morning light fell across Adam’s messy hair that Ronan had run his fingers through countless times last night, and the knowledge that he could now call Adam his fiancé.

“Hey,” he said finally and Adam turned to look at him, his serious face instantly breaking into a small smile. It wasn’t the grin that lit up his whole face, but it was the quiet kind of smile that he usually reserved for Ronan. The small, maddening smirk that he couldn’t fully control.

“Hey,” he replied and Ronan smiled back easily, his smile being something unchained and wild in recent months.

“How long have you been up?” He asked.

Adam got to his feet and approached Ronan, taking his wrist and kissing him once on the lips. As he pulled back, Ronan followed, kissing him again and bringing his free hand up to hold the back of Adam’s head, urging him closer. Ronan’s heart raced eagerly like every time he kissed Adam and when they broke apart, their faces lingering close together, Ronan noticed, vision slightly out of focus from such close proximity, the way Adam’s face fell fractionally.

It was nothing.

Ronan craned his neck backwards to get a better view of Adam’s whole face and in those few milliseconds that had passed, so had Adam’s expression and he was smiling once more.

It was nothing. It had been nothing. But Ronan found himself thinking on it for the rest of the day.

Later, as evening drew on, Adam was working on his laptop, sitting on the rug in front of the coffee table in the living room. The air still smelt of fried onions from dinner and Adam had lit the fire in the grate. His fingers tapped over the keys swiftly and Ronan rolled his aching shoulders as he removed his jacket in the doorway having shut the cows in for the night. Sometimes Adam helped, sometimes he didn’t but tonight it bothered Ronan that he hadn’t.

Despite this, he sat on the couch behind Adam heavily and he leaned forward, his hands snaking over Adam’s shoulders and massaging gently, thumbs digging into muscle.

“Your hands are freezing,” Adam commented without turning around and Ronan leaned forwards, his hands falling to Adam’s upper arms then into his lap and he rested his chin on his left shoulder, looking at the laptop screen.

“This shit is classified,” Adam told him and he lifted his left hand from the keyboard to pull the laptop screen downwards to avert it from Ronan’s gaze.

That’s when Ronan noticed his bare finger. He sat back. “Where’s your ring?”

All of a sudden the thoughts that had been on his mind all day didn’t seem so far-fetched and something inside him sunk.

Adam released the laptop and briefly balled his hand into a fist before opening it again as he turned to face Ronan, crossing his legs where he sat on the rug looking up at him. He was almost as tall as Ronan, but he looked small as he sat there looking up with big, serious eyes.

“I was washing the dishes,” Adam explained, “and I just forgot to put it back on.” He smiled and put his ringless hand on Ronan’s knee. “I’m not used to it yet.”

Ronan watched this happen, then stood up causing Adam’s hand to fall away and he went back into the kitchen and there was the ring on the windowsill above the sink. He took it, studying the fine gold in his hand as he walked back into the living room.

Adam was sitting on the couch where Ronan had sat and the laptop was closed. He extended his hand for the ring and Ronan gave it to him.

He put it back on. “What is it?” He asked seriously.

“If you don’t want it then don’t—“

“Of course I want it,” Adam interrupted, frowning. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have taken it from you in the first place.”

The fire crackled and Ronan stared at Adam’s hands instead of at his face. His hands were beautiful. Long, tan fingers, prominent knuckles, rough palms. And now a part of Ronan, something that had once belonged to his father, encircled one of Adam’s elegant digits. It made Ronan’s heart clench and he had only dared himself to think it a handful of times, but it signified that Adam was his.

Ronan felt restless on his feet as he remembered the feeling of Adam’s breath against his ear as he whispered I’m yours, over and over again last night. It felt daring to think it for himself but here he was, feeling some kind of claim over Adam because of a piece of jewelry and he felt guilty about it.

“I want it,” Adam repeated firmly, holding his left hand with his right, covering the ring as though Ronan was about to wrestle it from him. “I want you,” he added, lowering his voice.

“But there’s something,” Ronan said, trying not to sound like a sulking child, trying to stand himself even though he was being completely fucking pathetic.

Adam stood up and approached Ronan. “It’s gonna take some time to get used to. I mean, it’s been a day.”

“But I— you know how I feel about you,” Ronan said impatiently, running an anxious hand over his shaved head.

Adam sighed. “Let’s not fight over this.”

“We’re not fighting, Parrish. I gave you a fucking ring.”

Adam smiled but it wasn’t the easy smirk, it had a harsh edge to it. “A fucking ring,” he repeated. “Nice, Lynch.” He slumped back down onto the couch. He didn’t look at the ring now, he just sat there, staring at the fireplace, his face reflecting orange from the firelight.

Ronan stepped forward, pushing the laptop out of the way and sitting on the coffee table in front of Adam, blocking his view of the flames. His face fell into shadow and his eyebrows rose like he was asking Ronan a question.

“What?” Ronan asked back.

Adam smirked.

The feeling of unease that had arrived in mere moments instantly fled. He lifted one foot and rested it on the table beside Ronan and Ronan watched the motion, eyes sliding from Adam’s foot all the way up his leg, up his body and back to his face. Without words, Adam shifted, slumping further down where he sat and as he looked up at Ronan his eyes were deliberately restless.

“Asshole,” Ronan muttered but he was smiling too.

“Says you.”

[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.”

[kelliealtogether]

I'm deep in the Bloom feels 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 🌱 🪴 Do you have any more info about them in this AU?

Hi anon,

You're in luck! This is the AU I think about every night when I'm trying to fall asleep, so there. is. a. lot. Pull up a chair, because this is gonna get long.

At the end of Grow, it's decided Ronan's moving to DC, but full-time cohabitation in a one-bedroom condo is an adjustment. There are many arguments over not replacing empty toothpaste, dwindling space because of Adam's habit of rescuing half-dead plants people left out with their trash, and the fair and equitable splitting of bills. But there's nothing Adam likes more than waking up every morning with his arm trapped and numb beneath Ronan because Ronan slept on it all night.

On Adam's fortieth birthday, they go out to dinner with Gansey and Blue, and on the drive home (Adam's driving the BMW, the only present he'd accept from Ronan) when they're stopped at a red light, Ronan takes Adam's hand, turns it over, and puts a ring in Adam's palm. Adam puts it on and keeps driving when the light turns green. They have a small little thing at the Barns a few weeks later.

They do move to a house, because you can't really raise a kid in a one-bedroom condo and Ronan kind of hates the landlord where he's renting space for his woodshop, so he wants a basement/garage where he can work. Finding a house is a whole thing (because have you seen house prices recently?), and Adam goes into "finance spirals" (as Ronan calls them) while he's doing everyday tasks, which result in the kitchen sink overflowing while he's washing dishes and burnt scrambled eggs while he's making Saturday morning breakfast. Ronan just turns the sink off/turns the stove off, takes Adam's face in his hands, and says, "We will be fine," until Adam believes it. They eventually find something in their price range in Northwest DC, because Ronan's mantra throughout their house hunt was, "I am not moving to Maryland."

When they turn their attention to acquiring a child, Adam's already prepared with legal contacts, paperwork on what his benefits from work cover, and details on every different type of adoption. The latter goes out the window when Ronan says, "I want them to be a Lynch." They find a surrogate and an egg donor, and, after nine months of Adam and Ronan being equally both excited and terrified, Maeve Parrish-Lynch arrives with a Lynch's blue eyes and curls, except her hair is brilliantly and shockingly orange. Ronan holds her first and cries, and Adam takes a lot of photos he'll never share with anyone.

Then there's a lot of them being girl dads as Maeve grows up, and Adam being an awkward (at first) and adoring parent, the exact opposite of what he feared he'd be. They go to story time at the library. They hunt for caterpillars on walks around the neighborhood and sometimes make homes for them in old tupperware so Maeve can see the caterpillar make a chrysalis, then they go out in their tiny yard and let the butterfly go once it emerges. They build paper mache volcanoes and make them explode with red food coloring, baking soda, and vinegar. (They do a lot of messy arts and crafts and Adam and Ronan probably have more fun than Maeve.) They get a cat (named Chainsaw, of course) when Maeve asks for one, and she and Chainsaw become thick as thieves. And (this is the first scene that came to be outside the bounds of the fics in the series) they take Maeve to see a blooming corpse flower at the USBG conservatory, and when Adam picks her up to take a whiff of it, she pinches her nose and says, "Ew, daddy," then she looks at Ronan and says, "Smell that."

That's probably far, far more than you were looking for, anon, but this AU lives rent free in my head all day, every day. I love it so much.

[fatcowboys]

[id: art of Ronan Lynch from the Raven Cycle and the Dreamer Trilogy. Ronan, drawn in blue and black, is shown from the west up and wears a black leather jacket. One eye and his noise drip the black fluid of night wash. One hand, which has rings on three fingers, reaches up to rub the closed eye the night wash comes from. The other eye is open, staring straight ahead, the pupil blue and sclera red. The backgroumd behind him shows a sky the dame red color as his eye's sclera. A black church is silhouetted in front of the red sky, two twinkles of stars next to it. end id.]

Ronan Lynch ❤️‍🩹 just a good catholic boy

[philomelia]

@dreamlorn + 001, a convenience store past midnight.

the lynchs had been a passing, but nonetheless memorable, part of cassie's young life. their driveway had been terribly long, a stretch of skin that they had imprinted the van's tire tracks into (the van is currently parked outside, eating up gas as it rumbles away into the night- this time, it is absent of her parents, of her family, of the little trinkets they had brought to impress ronan's father . . . it carries only cassie and the weight of everything she is). ronan is washed out under the harsh light of the store, all violet veins and a buzzcut that shows the cruel shape of his head, all jagged in a way he hadn't been when he was a kid. she remembers him having more hair back then, but it is a child's memory, which is often not a good judge of anything real. when she spots him, she is sliding a packet of gum into the edge of her shirt, shoplifting only to see if she could get away with it. she stares at him, deer in headlights, then gives a smile that is all memory (he is familiar in the same way the perfume her long - dead aunt wore is: distant, crumbling, but shockingly particular). " lynch? " she says, hoping that it is the right name, that he is the right boy, that she hasn't stumbled into a misstep. " wow, your eyes are still devasting, aren't they? "

[internetcowboi]

You are made of dreams and this world is not for you

[lullsinelocution]

"Maybe I dreamt you"

- Maggie Stiefvater, Blue Lily, Lily Blue

[fatcowboys]

[id: three art pieces from Call Down the Hawk, the first book of the dreamer trilogy. The first shows the Lynch brothers, Ronan, Matthew and Declan, in a car. Rona. is in the passenger seat, pouring candy from a box into his mouth. Matthew is in the middle of the backseat, headphones on and smiling as he watches something on his phone. Declan is driving, holding a piece of candy and looking mildly annoyed as he drives.

the second image is of Adam and Ronan. the two are holding each other close in a deep hug. Ronan has his arms wrapped around Adam's torso, his face buried in his neck. Adam's arms are wrapped around Ronan's head, eyes closed as they hold each other.

third image shows Hennessey, lying on the ground on her back. She looks exhausted, a cigarette in her mouth and one arm splayed to the side. Night wash drips from her eye and nose and cursive text reads, "Heloise... your face." end id.]

some of my cdth drawings!! i ended up drawing the soft pynch scene 😤

pls don’t repost

[ardenetoile]

Washed nights

[crimeronan]

Ok so I’m into the dreamer trilogy and haven’t read the Raven cycle...what is Declan’s characterisation/journey there?

THIS MIGHT BE THE BEST ASK I’VE EVER RECEIVED. IMAGINE I’M STANDING WITH MY ARMS SPREAD USING DIFFERENT VOICES AND HAND GESTURES TO REENACT THIS STORY FOR A RESENTFUL CAPTIVE AUDIENCE

also declan’s TRC storyline is like. equal parts horribly fucking sad and unbelievably fucking hilarious so. i will try to strike a Balance

FIRST OFF.  there is exactly one (1) declan POV chapter in the entire series. it happens toward the end of the last book. up until then, everything we know about him comes from the observations and narration of others.

he is also a very minor character.  his importance grows throughout the series, but almost all of his actions happen offscreen.  it’s not until the last book that we know exactly how much he’s been dealing with the whole time.

when he’s introduced in the first book, he appears as a plot device.  here is a two-dimensional horrible controlling hardass who doesn’t give a shit about anything but his future political career.  look at his fake, smug fucking grin.  how did someone like ronan end up with a brother like him??  doesn’t matter.  it’s a convenient excuse for ronan to live with his best friend in a drafty warehouse, which means more room for YA hijinks!

declan’s introduction scene is Embroiled in Capital-D Douchebaggery. according to the narration (from gansey and adam), he loves to fuck women and then never call them back, cozy up to powerful people, and bitch about how ronan’s ruining his life by being sad about their dead parents.  SOME people can just get over their dead parents, ronan!

this intro scene is also Extremely Funny i 100% recommend reading it even if u don’t read the actual series.  ronan makes a nasty comment, declan goes “why are you the way that you are” and tries to salvage his date, gansey utters the phrase “man whore”

then later that night things go like. actually bad.

declan shows up at the same pizza place where ronan is with his friends.  this scene is gansey pov.  gansey runs out to the parking lot to find the two of them Very Literally Trying To Kill Each Other.  you don’t see that violence in cdth - there’s only the TINIEST shadow of it when declan confronts ronan over matthew - so i Cannot Express Enough that someone is going to end up hospitalized at BEST. ronan’s already slammed declan’s head on the car, declan’s already grabbed ronan and beaten the shit out of his face, like.

you do not get good old-fashioned Declan Lynch At His Actual Worst in cdth. u might be thinking, THAT guy???? doing THIS????

oh yeah. things are real bad between declan and ronan.

after gansey breaks up the fight (and gets punched in the face for his trouble, albeit accidentally), declan tells ronan that their dad would be fucking ashamed to see him now & that he’s washing his hands of it & basically if ronan wants to go off and fucking die, he can.

this is like. just a couple months after the magical suicide attempt referenced in cdth

in the aftermath of that scene it becomes clear that ronan absolutely unequivocally 100% will kill himself if he has to live with declan. hence. why he’s living with gansey instead.  gansey spends that whole night petrified that the declan altercation will lead to another attempt, and for Good Reason

so like, that’s how we first meet declan. he’s an uncaring wannabe corporate asshole who does not give a fuck and who only exists to exacerbate ronan’s mental health issues.

but then the opening of book 2 gets real interesting.

book 2 is where we start learning more about the lynch family.  we learn that ronan’s father was a dreamer who sold his creations on the black market, we learn that that’s why he was murdered. we learn that ronan’s a dreamer too. we learn that there are very powerful people looking for the greywaren, an artifact that takes objects from dreams. those powerful people just don’t realize it’s a person, yet.

so here’s the assassin who killed niall lynch.

he goes to declan’s dorm.

with everything we know about declan, the kid should be completely unprepared.  he can box, but the assassin knows that, so there’s no real advantage.  he’s alone, and he doesn’t have an escape route.

declan pulls out a gun.

this is an unexpected turn of events.

unfortunately he ends up getting beaten half to death with the butt of said gun, because he loses the ensuing physical struggle for the weapon.  the assassin is like, i need the greywaren.  declan is like, i know it exists but i don’t know what it is.  i’ll find it for you.  i’ll get it to you.  then you’ll leave me the fuck alone

now with everything we know of declan at this point - his attitude toward ronan, his general demeanor, and this new knowledge that he knew about the black market - there’s one obvious question.

will declan sell ronan out if he finds out about the dreaming.

and like, okay. their relationship is antagonistic in cdth but it is NOT what it is in trc. believe me when i tell you that at that point, when you’re reading, you can pretty reasonably go, “oh, god.  oh god.  oh god please no one ever tell declan what the greywaren is.  oh god.”

declan has some other interactions with ronan and the gang throughout the book, mostly where he’s just a hardass who tells ronan to stop causing trouble.  adam’s the only one who notices that declan is scared.  like bone-deep shaking to the core petrified.  about Something.

probably getting beaten to within an inch of his life by the man who murdered his father.  that’s the reasonable reader conclusion.

so imagine how everything changes when you find out that declan already knows.  that declan’s known about ronan’s dreaming for longer than ronan has.  that declan knew exactly what and who the greywaren was, and he lied to a man who was ready to torture him for information, and he got away with it.

suddenly a lot of things recontextualize.

“keep your head down and stop making trouble”? people are gonna NOTICE your magic bullshit, ronan, we do not have time for this!

“stop hanging with that loser druggie friend of yours”? you mean the loser druggie friend who sells on the magic black market and doesn’t care about protecting himself or anyone else?

“i got super weird for no reason about ronan sleeping close to adam”? i don’t have fucking TIME to be homophobic i’m busy with your POTENTIAL TO MANIFEST NIGHT TERRORS IN FRONT OF WITNESSES IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

“i’ll find out what the greywaren is and bring it to you”? i’ll die. i’m making a bargain to die. i’m never giving you the greywaren and i know you’re going to kill me about it and that’s fine as long as my brothers are safe

ronan doesn’t know that he dreamed matthew.  declan knows.  he’s known the whole time.  declan tells ronan in book 3.  and then things recontextualize even further, because ronan’s death is also matthew’s, and matthew IS close to declan in trc.

but declan never tells the goddamn truth unless it’s his last option.  he doesn’t tell ronan that he knows about the dreaming and he doesn’t tell ronan what specifically wants to hurt him and the lack of communication fucking destroys both of them.

in the last book, ronan realizes declan loves him.

more than that, he realizes declan’s loved him the whole time.

this is when declan finally tells the truth.  things are getting bad, plot-wise, and declan is scared, so he comes clean.  he tells ronan that niall specifically tasked declan with protecting ronan from the market.  he begs ronan to run from the danger.  “let’s pour gasoline on everything dad left and start over.”

this is also when ronan realizes that declan’s childhood was very different from ronan’s own.  and that niall and aurora lynch were not the same people to declan that they were to ronan.  and that their father’s decisions are what’s driven the wedge between him and declan all this time

(he’s still struggling with the cognitive dissonance of this in cdth. i don’t think he knows how to adjust his perception of declan to fit this new information.)

aaaaand the final scene with declan makes me cry every time i read it so instead of summarizing, here’s the important part:

Ronan delivered a sharp tap to the object, and a small cloud of fiery orbs sprayed up with a sparkling hiss.

“Jesus, Ronan!” Declan jerked his chin away.

“Please. Did you think I’d blow your face off?”

He demonstrated it again, that quick tap, that burst of brilliant orbs. He tipped it into Declan’s hand, and before Declan could say anything, jabbed it to activate it once more.

Orbs gasped up into the air. For a moment, he saw how his brother was caught inside them, watching them soar furiously around his face, each gold sun firing gold and white, and when he saw the spacious longing in Declan’s face, he realized how much Declan had missed by growing up neither dreamer nor dreamt. This had never been his home. The Lynches had never tried to make it Declan’s home.

“Declan?” Ronan asked.

Declan’s face cleared. “This is the most useful thing you’ve ever dreamt. You should name it.”

“I have. ORBMASTER. All caps.”

“Technically you’re the orbmaster though, right? And that’s just an orb.”

“Anyone who holds it becomes an ORBMASTER. You’re an ORBMASTER right now. There, keep it, put it in your pocket. D.C. ORBMASTER.”

Declan reached out and scuffed Ronan’s shaved head. “You’re such a little asshole.”

The last time they’d stood on this roof together, their parents had both been alive, and the cattle in these fields had been slowly grazing, and the world had been a smaller place. That time was gone, but for once, it was all right.

The brothers both looked back over the place that had made them, and then they climbed down from the roof together.

[ganseybois]

crossovers i’d pay to see: the raven cycle x all for the game

“This is our king, Gansey” Ronan said, sarcasm dripping with every damn syllable. Gansey had to hold himself from rolling his eyes. 

Interestingly enough, the short one named Andrew motioned to the tall black haired one. He was uncomfortably handsome in the same way Ronan was: pale with cold eyes that could probably haunt someone at night. “This is our queen, Kevin Day.”

Kevin, unlike Gansey, did roll his eyes. “Shithead.” he snapped. He walked forward to them. He held out his hand, and when Gansey shook it, he felt something of a thrill wash through him. 

Oh, he thought, it’s been a while since I felt that. 

Blue Sargent grinned, surveying the women, Adam Parrish seemed weary, and placed his hand gingerly on Ronan’s back. Henry Cheng smiled widely, keeping them all as calm as possible. 

They were there to see Matthew Lynch play, and somehow, this was already becoming so much bigger than they had anticipated. 

Kevin Day’s emerald eyes kept Gansey rooted to the spot. “It’s not the first time we play host to a raven king here. Hopefully you won’t be as disappointing as the last one.”

Gansey gave his most polite smile. “Many words have been used to describe me, but disappointing has never been one of them.”

Blue snorted louder than ever. 

“Well then,” Kevin Day’s eyes shined. “Welcome to my kingdom.”

[mychemicalrachel]

Oops my hand slipped...

A quick glimpse at Ronan told Adam that he still wasn't moving. Propped up in the passenger's seat, safely buckled in– probably the only time in his life Ronan used his seat belt and it was only because Adam had been the one to secure it, because Ronan hadn't been awake to complain.

Another glance. Adam couldn't keep his eyes off of him for long. His head lolled to the side, a puppet without strings. The scowl that always seemed permanently etched on his face was now smoothed out, casting Ronan in an almost peaceful light.

He looked dead.

Outside the car, the sign welcoming them to Baltimore city limits passed by in a blur.

He reached across the seat and put his hand on Ronan's arm. Nightwash stained the skin beneath his fingernails. It had the consistency of dried blood and if Adam hadn't seen Ronan bleed, he would wonder if this black ooze was all there was inside of him. Death, eating him from the inside out.

But he had seen Ronan bleed– fresh, bright, lovely red blood trickling from his picked scabs– and he knew that Ronan was more than this… this disease.

He was human.

He was alive.

His chest rose and fell with even breaths.

The worst part was his eyes.

When Adam stumbled across him, practically drowning in a pool of his own nightwish, his eyes were open. Deep, stormy blue– the color of the sky in summer before it rained. It reminded Adam of evenings at the Barns, standing in a downpour, waking up in Ronan's arms and kissing him, loving him.

Black seeped across his pupils, dying the iris like a nasty scar.

His eyes were open, but they didn't see. He didn't look at Adam, instead staring past him, through him.

Asleep.

Unmade.

“Just hold on,” Adam said. His voice held mostly steady. “We're almost home. I just need you to hold on, okay?”

Ronan didn't answer, but Adam didn't expect him to.

The miles disappeared behind them, chasing the sun into the night. Each second felt like a lifetime. Minutes dragged into hours. The road stretched endlessly ahead.

Adam's ears rang and rang and rang until he realized the sound wasn't coming from inside his head at all. His phone; he knew without looking that it would be Declan. He didn't answer.

He drove.

He talked, empty words spilling out of him to fill the silence.

… “You better hope that nightwash washes out, you're leaking all over the seat.”

… “Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad?”

… “It's okay. We're almost there. We're almost there.”

… “Wake up, Lynch. Please. Just wake the fuck up.”

… “I love you.”

… “Tamquam–”

“Alter idem.”

Adam’s head whipped around. His heart thundered, his chest ached, and he released a desperate sort of sob. Ronan's blue eyes were threaded with black veins and they blinked slowly at Adam, once then again.

The tires screeched when he slammed on the breaks.

Just ahead, bathed in the glow of headlights, was the Henrietta sign.

“You–”

You're awake.

You're alive.

“You,” Adam choked on an inhale, his breath lodging in his throat, “fucking asshole.”

A slow smile crept across Ronan’s face. Nightwash colored his teeth, caked in the corners of his mouth, staining the creases of his eyes. He'd never, Adam thought, looked more beautiful. When Adam kissed him, he tasted of rot and Ronan.

Like hope.

Like fear and pain and laughter and tears.

He tasted like survival.

Adam's mind spun, wrapping itself in knots around the kiss. What would happen now? He had already missed a day and a half of classes and, even if he turned back now, the drive alone meant he would miss more.

He was already thinking about the commute to Georgetown, the transfer paperwork, the gas it would cost and the extra shifts he would need to pick up to afford it.

He was thinking about his summer at the Barns and how it would look covered in snow, autumn's changing leaves and spring's blooming flowers. A lifetime ahead. A home. Ronan.

And then…

And then…

And then…

Adam didn't know and, for the first time, realized he didn't care. He held Ronan and let the nightwash stain them both. They would figure it out later. The only moment that mattered was this one.

ok but what if the murder crabs didn’t happen and ronan did move to cambridge. and adam goes to his new apartment one night and finds ronan, collapsed on the floor in a pool of nightwash. what then?

[crushpdf]

Prompt: “If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.”

Desire is a dangerous thing, Declan muses. It’s weighty, with enough gravitational pull to compel him forward, to send him tumbling into the unknown. Desire is impatient, unconcerned with carefully constructed plans. It storms through him like a flood, washing away rationality, and worst of all it feels good.

Declan spent his life shoving away happiness, and curiosity, and excitement. He learned to live without contentment, or hope. Good feelings were secondary needs, not nearly as important as security, and yet here desire came, feeling good.

Desire is a dangerous thing, and Declan muses all of this in the amount of time it takes to trace the pad of his thumb across Gansey’s lower lip.

It was inevitable, and he blames that inevitability to tamp down the guilt that threatens to rise instead. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see this coming from a mile away, like a car crash or a house fire: Gansey, his lips under Declan’s thumb. Gansey, his body silhouetted from the light on the other side of the Monmouth front door. Gansey, his eyes wide with anticipation, with uncertainty. Gansey, his heart a frightened rabbit pounding so loudly Declan can hear it in the quiet of the night.

Ronan’s not home, Gansey said quietly. I’ll go then, Declan responded. Stay, Gansey insisted, and his fist curled around Declan’s arm and their breath got all tangled up.

“You have to want this,” Declan says, and he speaks to both of them. There’s a danger here, in the desire of course, but also in the delicacy. He thinks of a story his mother once told him, of the Greek maiden who betrayed her kin by slipping a ball of yarn into her lover’s hand. He thinks of Ronan, and he knows Gansey is thinking the same.

Gansey’s fingers tighten around Declan’s shirt. His rabbit-heart beats.

“Do you understand control, Gansey?” Declan asks, and Gansey flinches against the words. Declan’s thumb crosses his cheek, runs under his jaw, finds his lips again and presses in. Gansey’s gums are warm and tender, his teeth smooth and firmly shut.

Declan removes his thumb and his hand finds Gansey’s waist instead. Desire prods at him, nudging him toward the edge. “Control is a little bit like desire,” he says, dragging his nose down Gansey’s nose. “Once the lid is removed, it’s hard to keep it all from spilling away.”

“Declan,” Gansey pleads. His fingers are digging bruises into Declan’s arm.

Declan’s lips hover just above Gansey’s mouth. Mint clouds his senses. Under his palm, Gansey’s pulse kicks like a tripped alarm. “If I kiss you right now,” Declan warns, “I won’t be able to stop.”

He tears his gaze from Gansey’s lips to look him firmly in the eye. There is a danger here, a danger that feels as familiar to Declan as his own last name.

But Gansey does not share that armor.

He draws back. His gaze falters. His fingers unclench. He nods.

Declan scans every inch of Gansey’s face, drinking it all in like a heady wine.

Then, he pulls back. He nods, too. He drops his hand from Gansey’s waist and uses it to remove Gansey’s clutch.

He puts distance between them.

He puts the lid back on desire, tightens it on control.

“Tell Ronan I stopped by,” he says, and he leaves before he changes his mind.

 ___

  Caution does not suit Gansey well. The Pig and her wheezing reminds him of this as he finds a spot in the Aglionby lot. Caution is for men who have never kissed death. It is for men who have seen death splattered on their driveways and run from the same fate. Caution is not backpacking across Europe, or Virgina during bee-season, or befriending death-kissed boys whose last name is Lynch.

Caution does not suit Gansey well, and he knows this as he ascends the dorm staircase.

Declan is unsurprised when he opens the door. A minute later, his hands are cupping Gansey’s face, Gansey’s fingers threading through his hair. It’s rushed and it’s hushed, their chests savage beasts as they heave with suppressed oxygen, as they thump with rabid hearts.

It’s dangerous to stay here: here in the dorm where anyone can walk by. Here in Declan’s shelter, as his control collapses inside him. Here, on this precipice of want and will finally coalescing.

Gansey has never been one to withhold. Gansey has never been one to withdraw.

He leans forward on his toes, just a little bit. He pulls Declan’s face closer to his own, just a little bit. He pauses, just a little bit. “If I kiss you right now,” he decides, “I won’t be able to stop.”

He looks down in time to see the corner of Declan’s lip quirk up, and then he presses his own against that smile.

Declan Lynch is good at this. His lips are firm and confident, his hands are firm are confident, his hips are firm and confident. Gansey—so green, so doe-eyed—suddenly feels like none of that matters, not when Declan has thrown caution to the wind and is kissing him like this.

You have to want this. Gansey does.

Do you understand control? Gansey does.

He gives up the latter for the former, gives himself into Declan, feels the bed give beneath him as Declan climbs on top of him.

Their lips move over each other, their tongues flick against teeth, and everywhere skin is pressed to skin. The dam flooded, the box was opened, the lids were removed, and desire is spilling across the floor.

“Don’t stop,” Gansey breaths, and they kiss.

“Don’t stop,” Declan begs, and they kiss again.

Control was a handsome thing on Declan, but his rumpled lust is even better. Caution had never suited Gansey well, and he throws it off him with reckless abandon. This, this is how they shine. Under the light of their longing, which bursts from their mouths as their lips press and part, press and part.

The precipice is high above him, and they fall together, clutching one another before they hit the ground.

[sorrowingsoldier]

here, have a piece of my NASCAR Driver!Ronan and Car Chief!Adam AU titled Thinking of Someone For Whom He Still Burns

“If I don’t feed you, who will?” 

They settle into a comfortable silence. Adam presses play on the remote, whatever show he’s got on resuming quietly with subtitles. Ronan leans back in the chair, balancing himself on the back two legs, trying not to stare at Adam as he eats, letting his mind wander to the previous race. He can feel the aches and pains in his bones, the need for sleep weighing heavy on his shoulders. But he wouldn’t give this up for the world, these quiet moments with Adam where they aren’t NASCAR driver and car chief. Where their conversations aren’t just bickering and playful jabs in front of friends and coworkers. Instead, they’re just Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish, men of similar age who don’t know how to put into words what they could be in the sunshine and only know how to be what they are in the night. 

 Adam finishes eating with a crumble of the paper bag, pushing himself off the bed to wash his hands in the bathroom. Ronan listens to the faucet run, the squeak of the towel rack, and the click of the door shutting when Adam comes back in. Something flutters in Ronan’s belly when Adam looks at him. His blue eyes seemingly all-knowing but face otherwise schooled to not reveal anything. Ronan wishes desperately to know what Adam’s thinking, to see the world out of his eyes, to understand every thread of conscious and automatic thought that flashes in his mind. 

“Staying the night?” Adam asks, crossing the room to fiddle with the thermostat. 

Their game continues, “Just a couple hours.” Ronan answers, watching as Adam turns the TV off and sets the remote on the bedside table. He continues watching, the care to keep up an image falling away as the night turns to early morning. As the minutes tick closer to sunrise than sunset. Adam settles under the thick hotel blankets, propping himself up on one elbow, a hand on the lamp switch. 

Ronan takes his cue, setting the front legs of the chair back on the ground. He makes a show of stretching, relishing in the way it burns his tight muscles, before settling himself on the floor beside the bed. The light cuts off, only the sound of Adam readjusting himself and the central heating kicking on. Ronan cushions his head with his hands and crosses his ankles, the jeans he wears aren’t the most comfortable to sleep in, but he doesn’t mind. Not for these moments. 

“If you weren’t a driver, what would you be?” Adam’s voice is quiet in the dark room, like speaking any louder would break the magic. And maybe it would. Maybe the barn mouse that lives in Ronan’s soul would grow skittish, overtaking the confident and cocky façade. 

They wind down nights like these sharing a secret. Just one, but after years of this routine with 36 races a season, the secrets they’ve shared could take up all the pages in a thick book. They could end a career, or if not a career at least an outward personality.

“I’d like a farm.” Something in Ronan craves a quiet life, longs for something stable and settled that’s his own. Seasons of racing made the taste of adrenaline and fame grow stale. At first it was exciting, his illegal hobby becoming a career. But now, he’s tired and wants more. The car he drives isn’t his, the brands that are printed on his chest aren’t guaranteed, and every race he has to do better. Be better. Go faster. The nomad life of going where the races are, missing moments with his little brother, missing moments with <em>himself</em>, isn’t one that’s sustainable. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. This is what I’m good at.”

If Ronan’s eyes were open, he’d roll them, “The question wasn’t ‘what’re you good at’, dumbass, it’s what would you be. In your wildest dreams, what would you be?”  

Beats of time pass, “A traveler, I’d like to see the world.” 

Ronan almost promises to show Adam the world, but he holds his tongue. Not tonight. 

They fall into another comfortable silence, secret sharing over. Ronan sighs, allowing his spine to settle down into the carpet, asking his shoulders to relax away from his ears. In the morning he’ll tell his trainer the soreness is from the race, and it won’t be a lie, but it’s also because he’s pushing thirty and floors don’t agree with his body like they used to.

“You can sleep on the bed, you know.”

This is outside of their usual game. The bed’s never been offered, and Ronan’s never asked, content with the proximity and never wanting more than Adam’s willing to give. He licks his lips, “You just want to use me as a personal heater, don’t you?” The weight of the offer is heavy on Ronan’s chest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. To say no, he’s fine, would be a lie. To say yes, and lay next to Adam, would be entering new territory that thrills and terrifies him.

Adam snorts, “Caught me.”