#Whatever she's living with Ronan and Adam at the Barns now

[lizpaige]

sunday snippet 📦

i got nothing like cute/juicy this time around. i'm just trying to write more and sometimes that means it all ends up getting cut, but here's a snippet from the declan outsider pov pynch chapter 2!

The Lynch brothers were helping Ronan move into his first apartment in DC. When Adam transferred for the third time to Georgetown and his financial aid and scholarships no longer covered room and board, they agreed to find a place together. Declan offered to help set up some of the apartment tours, but in the end, Adam found this affordable one bedroom on his own. 

It was a secure access building with a doorman and 24 hour security. It was a 10 minute metro ride and 20 minute full commute to Georgetown, a little longer of a commute to his new auto body shop part time job, but not unreasonable. He somehow managed to convince Ronan to compromise and split the rent 50/50 despite Ronan’s barely-touched trust fund. He had two years left of college, two years where even though DC was closer to Singer’s Falls, neither of them could stand the time apart anymore. 

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Matthew whined, hefting a cardboard box onto the desk in the living room. 

“We’re giving you all the lightest boxes,” Declan winced at the loud bang as Ronan let go of his side of the couch. “We’re the ones doing all the work here.”

“And you had way more shit when I helped you move to DC,” Ronan groaned as he stretched his back before knocking off Matthew’s hat and ruffling his curls. “I didn’t complain.”

Matthew swatted him away. “Yes you did!”

“Did not!” 

Declan raised his gaze to the ceiling as his brothers fell into an exhausted half-hearted wrestling match on the couch. He decided to take the time to look around the place. 

Declan trusted Adam’s judgment more than Ronan’s on the affordability, security, and overall fit of the apartment. So when Ronan begrudgingly told them a move-in date, Declan offered to help them move in. Somewhat because Adam seemed hesitant about the extra cost of hiring movers and also because Declan wanted to scope out the place.

The apartment itself was a modest one bedroom, with a large windowless closet marketed as a “den” by the apartment complex “perfect for a home office,” but Declan thought that was a joke. The bathroom was clean, spacious. There was even a washer and dryer in-unit and a dishwasher in the kitchen. The complex itself was pet friendly, although Chainsaw was not with them currently. No doubt she was shredding up Declan’s couch in their Boston apartment with Jordan. 

In the bedroom, in the corner by the window, were three modest boxes and a potted plant on the window sill. These were not boxes that they moved in, so these must belong to Adam.

It was then that Declan really realized most, if not all, of the stuff they moved was Ronan’s. Adam, despite being on his own for years now, never accumulated a lot of stuff. Even when he would visit the Barns or Boston for a week-long holiday, he would only ever have a small duffle bag over one shoulder with just enough room for a change of clothes and whatever textbooks he needed to complete his homework. 

Even the furniture they brought upstairs - the old desk was from Ronan's room, that they basically let collect dust as soon as they were old enough to have their own desks at school. The couch was another Barns hand-me-down, as well as some of the kitchen items. 

It all belonged to Ronan, legally, so Declan didn’t speak to it. Just another observation he kept to himself for fear of starting another argument. Even though they didn’t argue as much anymore, they still happened to fight. That was always going to be inevitable with the eldest Lynch brothers. Declan just knew how to avoid the landmines with a higher survival rate now.

[wintersshowers]

RONAN and ADAM and... ETHEL CAIN

(trust me its gonna be so good)

My thoughts on “crush” by Ethel Cain and The Raven Cycle (because my niche right now is rereading the raven cycle for the first time in 4 years and I just happened to see Ethel live and I cannot stop connecting them) 

As a prelude to my lyric/quote breakdown… Ethel Cain is a trans woman who writes hauntingly beautiful music.. She is religious and from the south, which is a HUGE part of why it is so undeniably apparent to me that she can be connected to specifically RONAN (gay catholic from the south with his barn house). Her music is so amazing and she is an awesome story teller so I hope you give her a listen.

Her most popular song CRUSH is so goddam Ronan and Adam I had to write this because I needed to put it somewhere. 

“His window's already passed, so he's shooting at the glass

Keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it

Like it's actually important, but he lied 'cause I sure did watch him

Showing up wearing black, and he knows that” 

His daddy's on death row, but he'll say it with his chest, though”

This is just very Ronan angst i don't feel like i need to explain.. 

“His friends move dope, he hasn't tried coke

But he's always had a problem saying no”

OKKK soooooo lets get into the the dream thieves helloooo 

Yes Kavinsky and Ronan’s relationship is very hard to define but whatever it is he takes up a lot of his time in dream thieves.. And he loves coke (or whatever the hell he dreamt up)… and Ronan is VERY BAD at saying no when it comes to any sort of challenge from Kavinsky.

OK NOW LETS GET INTO THE GOOD STUFF

“Can you read my mind? I've been watching you.”

“As they moved through the old barn, Adam felt Ronan’s eyes glance off him and away, his disinterest practiced but incomplete. Adam wondered if anyone else noticed.”

“Adam finally sat down on one of the pews. Laying his cheek against the smooth back of it, he looked at Ronan. Strangely enough, Ronan belonged here, too, just as he had at the Barns. This noisy, lush religion had created him just as much as his father's world of dreams; it seemed impossible for all of Ronan to exist in one person. Adam was beginning to realize that he hadn't known Ronan at all. Or rather, he had known part of him and assumed it was all of him.

The scent of Cabeswater, all trees after rain, drifted past Adam, and he realized that while he'd been looking at Ronan, Ronan had been looking at him.”

“When he opened his eyes, he saw that Ronan was looking at him, as he had been looking at him for months. Adam looked back, as he had been looking back for months.”

“Couldn't fight to save your life, but you look so cool”

“I’ve watched the evening news, Adam,” Gansey snapped. “Why don’t you let Ronan teach you to fight? He’s offered twice now. He means it.” With great care, Adam folded the greasy rag and draped it back over a toolbox. There was a lot of stuff in the carport. New tool racks and

calendars of topless women and heavy-duty air compressors and other things Mr. Parrish had decided were more valuable than Adam’s school

uniform. “Because then he will kill me.”

“Good men die too, oh, I'd rather be with you, you, you”

“See, Adam Parrish is wantable, worthy of a crush, not just by anyone, someone like Ronan, who could want Gansey or anyone else and chose Adam for his hungry eyes.”

HELLOOOOOOOOo are u kidding…. 

1st Gansey is the definition of a “good man”

2nd Adam is OBSESSED WITH THIS the whole damn series and is constantly attempting to model himself/who he wishes he was after gansey 

3rd to tie it all together… the whole series its like oh yea gansey is about to die (along with everyone else if we are being real) 

“I owe you a black eye and two kisses

Tell me when you wanna come and get 'em”

PLEASEEEEEE like this is MY WAY of describing the ANGST and SLOWWWWWburn of their relationship. When I hear her sing this I cannot help but giggle and kick my feet because of how amazingly it fits. 

“I only want him if he says it first to me”

"It was Adam’s ribs under Ronan’s hands and Adam’s mouth on his mouth, again and again and again. It was stubble on his lips and Ronan having to stop, to get his breath, to restart his heart. They were both hungry animals, but Adam had been starving for far longer.”

We all know the Ronan longing and it being a HUGE secret that he likes Adam... and Adam like knows and its like lol embarrassing (as if he isn't down bad as well)

ADAM is like oblivious to the legitimacy of his feelings until ronan gives him a little kissssss and then it's like he is all like “what is love” 

“He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro Reds”

HELLOOOOOo this is so adam are u kidding

“Ronan crossed his arms to wait, just looking. At Adam's fine cheekbones, his furrowed fair eyebrows, his beautiful hands, everything washed out by the light. He had memorized the shape of Adam’s hands in particular: the way his thumbs jutted awkwardly, boyishly; the roads of prominent veins; the large knuckles that protruded from his long fingers. In dreams Ronan put them to his mouth.” 

“Adam twisted off the lid. Inside was a colorless lotion that smelled of mist and moss. Replacing the lid with a frown, he turned the container over, looking for more identifying features. On the bottom, Ronan's handwriting labeled it merely: manibus. For your hands.”

“Something's been feeling weird lately

There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby)

Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy)

And piss him off 'til he hates me

Yeah right, he fucking loves me”

…… do i even need to say anything??

[amethystroselily]

I’m over halfway through the second book of the dreamer’s trilogy and Hennessy is such a tragic character to me, because when all of this is done what does she have? Like, Ronan’s actually invested in their cause and wants to be there, and when he inevitably changes his mind he has the barns, and Adam, and his brothers, and Gansey and Blue. Jordan, Declan, and Matthew are making a life for themselves in Boston and they’re happy, and even if something happens they’ll fall back on eachother. Hell, Farooq-Lane and Liliana have eachother and Carmen can always go back to her job in finances even if trying to prevent Liliana from accidentally exploding people and dealing with the repercussions of leaving the moderators proves to be an issue.

But Hennessy? What does she have? Her father doesn’t seem to give a fuck whether she’s alive or dead, most of her family died, the one person she truly cares about doesn’t really want to be a part of her life anymore and the saddest part about that is that Jordan is in the right there and Hennessy knows that, she knows that she’s stifling Jordan and that she deserves to truly live, and that’s got to hurt so much. And She doesn’t even really want to be a part of whatever Bryde’s doing, she knows it’s going to end badly. And she’s probably going to end up tricked into starting the apocalypse if Bryde isn’t stopped. And if there is a happy ending, she’s what? Stuck with Ronan? Neither of them are particularly nice to eachother but he takes it further than her most of the time. He desperately wants to keep her close but in his attempts to do so he is so cruel to her, and besides that he’s also probably ruining her a life a little (you know with the potential apocalypse starting). But honestly he might be her best bet at this point. And is she just going to go back to art forgery or like live on Ronan’s farm (which honestly might be worse) or something?

Like, I’m sure Jordan will still be willing to talk to her on occasion. And maybe she’ll make some new connections, or become friends with Farooq-lane and Liliana, or Ronan will stop being a dick to her once Bryde’s not in control. And maybe preventing the apocalypse will give a new sense of purpose and confidence. So like I guess she’ll probably be ok, but it’s looking a little rough right now.

[saywhatjessie]

Light Mange

It was Adam’s birthday. I made him and Ronan rescue his dog.

2.5k (read on on ao3)

Adam wasn’t homesick. Not really. Kind of.

Not homesick for the double wide trailer where he used to live and cower, but for one specific resident of the trailer park. A furry, four pawed resident with mange and a chunk missing from her left ear.

Thinking of her didn’t really inspire thoughts of home. He’d never really had a concept of home before the Barns. But companion sick? Maybe. He had companions, still.

“Heads up, Parrish.”

The warning came just a second too late as a goat came barreling into him, knocking him off-balance so his oblique collided with the hindquarters of the horse he’d been brushing. He released a soft ‘oof’ but otherwise recovered quickly to make sure the horse wasn’t startled.

He shouldn’t have been worried. The particular horse he was attending to was a dream thing, straight from Ronan’s head. It would take a lot more to startle such a creature.

Adam turned to Ronan, eyes narrowed but his mouth betraying just a hint of his amusement. “This is why I didn’t want to have kids with you.”

Ronan’s laugh was a firecracker – whimsical and dangerous.

There weren’t words to describe the Barns that couldn’t also be used for Ronan. They had the same spirit, the same softness, the same magic. Ronan was and wasn’t a home and a place and the Barns was and wasn’t cutting and violent and all of those things were true at the same time. Accepting that the Barns was more than Adam’s apartment at St. Agnes because it demanded so much more was what convinced Adam to let his lease run out and move in with Ronan for the summer.

Living at the Barns meant participating in chores. For Adam, at least for the first couple weeks, this meant maintaining the house and the young satyr girl living with Ronan inside of it. After Opal had grown into the idea of being ambassador to the farm animals, however, Adam had been given more responsibility on the grounds. Namely: doing whatever Opal told him the animals wanted.

Today, Mitsubishi wanted brushing.

Another goat glanced off of Adam’s shins.

“Is there a reason you’re propelling goats at me?”

Ronan shrugged, scratching under the chin of yet another goat. “You were looking pretty broody over there. So it’s like ‘Whinny for your thoughts?’”

Adam snorted. “It’s horses that whinny.”

“I can send a fucking horse at you, I just thought goats might be gentler.”

Adam laughed, hiding his face in the side of the horse.

A goat collided with the back of his knees.

“Fuck!” But he was still laughing when Ronan came up and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“For real, why are you pouting?”

Adam sighed, leaning into Ronan’s hold. “I’m not pouting,” he protested. Ronan’s thumb brushed his hip and Adam sunk deeper into his hold. “I was just thinking about Aayla.”

Ronan’s thumb stilled. “That blue chick from Star Wars?”

Adam laughed. “No! Well, yes, but my dog.” Adam shifted a bit. He didn’t like talking about the Before. “We got her when I was 10. I really liked the Clone Wars.”

Ronan grunted. “You have shit taste, Parrish.”

Adam hummed in acknowledgement.

He patted the horse on the ribs before turning in Ronan’s hold. His hand came up to cup Ronan’s elbow. “Did you ever meet her? When you would drop me off or pick me up?”

Ronan frowned, his eyebrows coming together in thought. “Did she ever take a snap at my tires?”

“Maybe.” Adam huffed a bit, an unamused laugh. “She didn’t pick up the best habits when it came to rich fuckers.”

Ronan grunted, rubbing at his jaw. It remembered well the kind of aggressive habits she might have picked up regarding rich fuckers.

“But she was a good dog” Adam continued, brushing Ronan’s jaw with his knuckle, once, before bringing his hand back down to Ronan’s arm. “It was nice having a living thing around that actually liked me.”

Ronan’s face went stony and Adam immediately regretted his cavalier words. He’d meant to help endear Ronan to his beloved mutt but all he’d done was remind Ronan of how much he hated Adam’s parents.

With a roughness that only came from years of fighting as a substitute for loving, Ronan crushed Adam against his chest, burying his cheek in Adam’s neck.

Adam was used to such aggressive displays of affection at this point but he still flinched away from the scratchy whiskers on Ronan’s face tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. Ronan deliberately rubbed the spot again with his chin and Adam laughed, shoving at him with no intent to actually push him away.

“We’re going to get that fucking dog.”

Adam did actually pull away this time. “What? Ronan–”

“Hey, everything in this house loves you, but if I can add something else to the ‘I love Adam Parrish’ party, you damn well bet I’m gonna.”

 The plan was this: Ronan didn’t have a plan.

That wasn’t entirely fair – Ronan had dreamt a scouting light that would go check to see if the Parrishes were home before they went in and grabbed Aayla. They would have asked to borrow Robobee for the mission but Henry was still off with Blue and Gansey exploring the greater mysteries of the world. And, according to Ronan, ‘Why would I need Cheng’s bee? I can dream something way cooler.’

Adam wasn’t sure if a floating light that would change color to tell them if it was safe or not was in any way ‘cooler’ but that wasn’t an argument he was willing to have right now.

They were waiting at the end of the dirt road that led into the cluster of double-wides. Adam’s eyes kept skipping around to the lights in the surrounding field, each time feeling disappointed that is was just an ordinary firefly.

Ronan grimaced at the front window, hands gripping the steering wheel in a chokehold of anxiety. His eyes never wavered.

Adam reached out and put a steadying hand on Ronan’s knee.

“You know,” he started, Henrietta accent buoying the vowels in his speech, making them shallow and twangy, “these fireflies are really romantic.”

He picked at the loose thread in the hole in Ronan’s jeans. “If we weren’t on a secret mission, we could be makin’ out right now.”

Ronan snorted, the sound seemingly startled out of him. “Like I need manufactured ambience to get you to make out with me, Parrish.”

Adam slid closer, the edge of his butt slipping off the seat and into the center console.

He nuzzled his face into Ronan’s neck. “It just seems a shame to waste it is all.”

He kissed the bolt of Ronan’s jaw. Ronan’s breath hitched.

But then, “There!”

There was another light floating toward them above the grass, clearly other from the fireflies that had set the mood. It was flying directly toward them, not in the dip and sway way of most insects but smooth like it was being pulled on a line.

It was also pulsing bright purple.

“Why purple?”

Ronan turned toward him. Adam could still make out his expression of disappointed disgust from two inches away. “What, you wanted it to be green? This is supposed to be a secret mission.”

Adam rolled his eyes and slid into back his seat as Ronan put the car in gear.

It was still early evening, not yet so dark that they couldn’t get away with driving without headlights. Ronan eased the bmw down the dirt road as stealthily as he could manage.

It didn’t make much difference that they were trying to be covert. Everyone in Adam’s old neighborhood knew this car. They knew this was the car of the boy who beat the shit out of Robert Parrish. They knew that this was the car Robert Parrish’s son drove back in only a month or so ago. They suspected the owner of the car’s relationship to Adam. They might have suspected that the car being back meant nothing good.

But, like all those years when Adam got hit and no one called the cops, they kept their heads down and minded their own business like good Virginia folk.

Ronan did a k-turn in front of the double wide, nose of the car facing back toward the road in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Adam had half-expected Aayla to have met them up the road, snapping at Ronan’s tires. That would have made everything easier.

If they could pull up to the trailer and she hadn’t yet come out to greet them, that meant she was inside.

“Fuck,” he said. Ronan rubbed his knee.

Adam didn’t think the trailer was locked but he had a spare key if it was. Robert Parrish held close to the mentality that no one would ever want to fuck with him and his things so he would leave his house open as a show of dominance. Really, he had nothing worth taking.

Nothing except the dog. Which Adam was actually there to take.

The screen door creaked alarmingly when it was opened and Adam tried not to flinch. He trusted Ronan’s dream-light, he knew no one was home, but that sound had for so many years been the split-second warning between Robert Parrish returning home and Adam having his teeth knocked in. Tensing up was just sense memory.

A hand clapped down on Adam’s shoulder and he did flinch.

It was only Ronan.

“Didn’t we agree you were going to stay in the car?”

Ronan smiled, cutting. “You shouldn’t put a skittish dog in a strange car with someone she doesn’t know. I’m going to let her know me first.”

Adam sighed. It was as good a reason as any but Adam suspected Ronan had ulterior motives.

Ronan didn’t want Adam coming back into the trailer alone.

He hadn’t wanted him to after graduation either but Adam hadn’t given him a choice back then. He didn’t think he’d given Ronan a choice now but here Ronan was.

Adam sighed.

He made his way to his old room, sure if Aayla was anywhere, she was there.

He knew she wouldn’t have come out when she heard the door open. She’d been trained out of that after the first few kicks she’d received as a puppy.

“Quit yapping, bitch. What, you tryin’ to trip me? You stay out of my face or I’ll take you out back and shoot you, you ain’t better than old yeller.”

Adam turned the corner and found the door to his old bedroom open. The room had been stripped, whatever Adam hadn’t taken with him probably sold and turned into beer. The only thing left was the bed that had come with the trailer, naked of bedclothes and the resting place of dirty animal, just waking.

Adam grinned, unrestrainedly, as he came up to cup her doggy head. “Hi, baby.”

Her tail started thumping before she’d even gotten a good look at Adam, responding to his gentle hands and soft words. Adam guessed she hadn’t received such affection since he’d left.

She started whining and hopping up and he sat down on the bed, allowing her to lick all over his face. “I know! I know!” he whispered, laughing, attempting to pet her into quietness. “I know, sweetheart, I missed you too. I hated leaving you here.”

Aayla curled into his lap, despite being just too big to quite fit. She squirmed and craned her neck to give Adam that many more kisses. Adam let her, hugging her close and bringing his own face down to kiss any part of her body he could reach.

When he finally looked up, he found Ronan leaning on the door frame, a complicated mix of emotions on his face. First and foremost, there was tenderness.

“Aayla, honey,” he gestured for Ronan to come forward. “This is Ronan.”

Ronan reached out a hand, palm up, for Aayla to sniff. She sniffed once before licking, trailer her tongue up Ronan’s wrist before turning back to Adam and licking his hair.

“Well looks like that’s something you didn’t have to worry about, Lynch.”

Ronan laughed, bringing his now slimy hand up to pet at the mutt’s head. “We’re gonna have to treat her mange, you know. I can’t have her spreading it to the other animals.”

Adam nodded, his head nuzzling Aayla’s ears. “I’m not worried. My boyfriend’s a farmer, he’s really good at caring for broken things.”

Ronan cuffed him on the head then immediately leaned down to kiss it.

Adam let himself enjoy it for three beats of his heart. Here, in this bed, in this room, in this double-wide, he’d always sat up and wanted exactly this. Someone who loved him, a loyal pet, a future he could hold with both hands.

The beats passed. Adam missed the Barns.

“We should go.”

Ronan nodded, gripping Adam extra tight before releasing him and backing out of the room.

“Hey, Aayla, you’re gonna come with me now, okay?”

Aayla just kept wagging her tail, trying to lick whatever part of Adam she could reach.

“Okay, girl, follow me.”

As soon as Adam stood up from the bed, Aayla shot out down the hallway. Adam jogged after her, laughing. Ronan held the front door open and she breached the night air, her tongue lolling out in a puppy smile, before, with no warning, her hackles raised and she started growling.

She’d spotted the BMW.

Everyone in Adam’s old neighborhood knew this car.

Adam rushed forward and crouched in front of her. “It’s okay! It’s okay! This is the car that’s going to take us away! We’re getting out of here, huh? Right?”

“Adam.”

Adam looked up. Ronan’s face and shoulders were tense. He was looking over Adam’s head to the top of the BMW. The light was flashing yellow.

“Shit.”

He looked back to Ronan who nodded and tore off to round the car. He jumped in the driver’s seat and turned the car on. Aayla started barking at the growl of the engine.

“No! No. Shh, shhh.” Adam could see headlights. “I love you, please don’t bite me.”

He wished he’d thought to have a blanket when he picked up this squirming dog, at least to spare his exposed arms from her claws as she squirmed. But he didn’t have time to dig for one in the trunk. The headlights were getting closer.

The passenger door swung wide as Ronan pushed it open from the inside. Adam collapsed in the seat, holding Aayla close and shushing her even while she continued to bark.

“Go!”

Ronan wasn’t used to dirt roads. He started off the mark as if he were street racing and the wheels spun out a bit underneath him before he slowed the car down enough for them to get traction.

Once he had the forward momentum he kept it. They did not pause as they passed Robert Parrish’s truck. They did not slow down when he tried to run them off the road. Ronan was a good driver: he swerved then kept on driving.

They burst onto the main road and Aayla stopped barking. She whined, she curled up close in Adam’s lap, she cried.

Adam didn’t stop stroking her. Petting her. “It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay.”

It was okay.

They were going to be okay.

[seavoice]

things i loved immensely in greywaren, in no particular order (positivity hour!):

- the world building with the entities and ronan and the lace...extremely romantic! i can’t think of another way to phrase it, it felt suffused with wonder and love and tenderness. maggie said something about how she wouldn’t have given chap 26 unless she was giving away this universe and i think all of her musings on humanity and beauty and fight came through in the world building of it. going out with a bang!

- the sweetmetal lore as well. now a trickier one this is! but i think i mosty love the metaphor? funny enough i wasn’t a great fan of all the implications of the sweetmetal details we learnt in this book, but still a solid solid metaphor for the dreaming and dreams.

- the writing was phenomenal. from a craft perspective. at certain points i was just awed at the writing.

- i am not really a soulmate eternal love girl, as in it doesn’t do anything special for me as a trope, but pynch ether/whatever scenes did make me go OH MAN. i think it was splendidly done. they were wanted, they were wanted, they were wanted. ronan choosing humanity again and again and again. choosing adam too! choosing humanity BECAUSE of adam (and the rest) in the end

- there were two gods in this church, baby!

- love the gangsey all being embroiled in this really intense multiship through magic forestry. CABESWATER YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS. when i eventually reread trb sometimes i know that the discovering cabeswater scene will get me bawling. their delight! their RELIEF! their love and wonder! all reframed in my brain. and ronan dreamt it for them...and gansey’s lives and deaths...

- Mother We Share now FIRMLY a lynch fam song

- Ode to My Family now FIRMLY a lynch fam song

- bryde meeting the girl and her holding a hand to her mouth, it was a powerful thing to know you weren’t alone...

- jordan played so small a part in this book, but when she was there she shined. i loved her fight with hennessy, her knowing what she wants, i loved her little domestic routine with declan, i loved being reminded of how resourceful and resilient and dynamic and clever she is in the nathan showdown scene. it made me remember that she was a caretaker for the girls for so many years, and all the love and care that she has cultivated. very thrilling implications of jordan being the hennessy without her mother, but even more so the implication of this jordan who has been standing so close to terror her whole life and not giving in. i wish we got more, but alas. what we got was extremely sweet. jordan flung her hand out at the sky, the wordless gesture for anything. i love that she was the one who got that last bit.

- adam and chainsaw did things to my heart. 

- mor’s story was extremely compelling in ways i did not expect. i really feel for her, even if i don’t necessarily vibe with her ending up in the barns apparently in frequent contact with her sons. felt a little like we skipped over all the interesting steps to that resolution. her objects of pain. how even her dreamt sleeping pill/painkiller tablet whatever is infused with misery and pain and the same scene with the kerry beach. the mary who ran away! the mary who wanted to kill god and played with god and ran from god. so many issues she had and created and also left her kids with, but also so many issues she 100% prevented by leaving. love her. i find her endlessly fascinating.

- new fenian and his bag of memories...he is so fun and cheery and upbeat and also definitely a FREAK. enjoy the heartbreaking ramifications of what would you do if your dead father’s love for you was stored in an unchanging version of him who will never be your father? SLAPS

- niall being so passive in this story, in this tragedy is what struck me most fascinating about him. he just lets everyone else make and take the decision, lets everyone else give the ideas and the cues. not mean or small or larger than life or bitter, just an useless king. pop went the mythic legend of niall lynch!

- marie lynch come back what did you want. sorry it’s so funny that she literally wasn’t relevant at all after all the speculation ince opal and her showing up in the book early. what a mental illlness dynasty

- low empathy mor + bipolar niall + curious reckless forest = ronan! call that jesus part two!!! what an origin story i LOVED IT

- loser cringefail marriage enjoyers RISSSEEEE UP

- many thoughts about niall giving ronan all his feelings. his desires and wants and wonders. mor giving him her pain and fear

- the “for the first summer, the barns was paradise to ronan lynch and adam parrish” chapter went SOOOOO HARD. i loved it. imagining a future is hard work! imagining it and changing it is even harder!

- you are made of dreams, he thought, and this world is not for you. the barns already looked like winter.

- paradise, paradise, why would he ever leave?

- i miss knowing where i was going HARDDDD AGREE ADAM PARRISH!!!

- mor-niall and adam-ronan parallels and it’s like. jordeclan you are soooo normal. you are literally so normal healthiest relationship ever sorry that i’d ever joke about you paralleling niall’s life choices 😭 this is a joke btw, i love the parallels of pynch and mor-niall; just makes the choice of them choosing truth and discomfort of facing your voices more hard fought. it’s what i’ve always loved about the pynch dynamic❤️ unable to imagine a future they’d be happy and making it themselves through trial and error

- jordeclan mwah mwah ❤️ i love them choosing each other over and over and how they are the easiest parts of each other’s life. the most honest. the lightest to carry. MAKES ME INSANE. dramatic art hoes

- niall loved declan and declan loved ronan and so ronan lived. can i get an amen! a yeehaw even?

- ronan’s first tether to the human world technically being declan really does so much for me as a concept. he chooses humanity and the only 100% human person he knows is who loves him first. BROTHERS!

- the first person who loves him in the human world is his big brother...rip that got me BAD.

- the freaky Forest. Annihilation ass shit. How delightful for a fan of horror and mythology. I love the haunted house/hungry forest/pleading god of the Barns’ setting.

- hennessy’s fucken mouse 🥺🥺

- declan’s fucken moth 🥺🥺

- we love a little creature...we love a little metaphor...

- carmen was a riot. i loved her becoming progressively unhinged. finally allowing herself to become rude and miserable and helpless. her and hennessy’s whole deal was extremely spicy and fun and i think really really needed and their scene were electric to me! her being like woops liliana is old now😬 kind of made me cackle but im still upset about what happened. her and declan being delusional together was great i love it actually. blasting german opera. rip parsifal and also that detail made me feel very tender

- “last men standing” (last men fucking shot😭) i just gotta mention the ink handover from mor feniall declan to carmen and hennessy because a) that was so funny. (“have you ever been shot?” asks maggie stiefvater character the new fenian dooming carmen into her fate), and b) what an insane line up of people to accomplish anything. to coordinate. ronan is so lucky everyone of them chose that day to not overcomplicate ideas and have no additional agendas, it’s like halley’s comet😭once in 76 years event only

- im not getting into the nathan of it all because this is a positive post and that plotline is something i struggle to be positive about but i did like carmen getting to shoot him for many reasons. one being that she did not actually shoot a single person until now. her finally finally doing something for herself without hundred wrong rationalisations.

- declan getting shot <3 and then immediately not having questions or a bone to pick. babygirl you are sooooo desensitised to inadvertent parental violence! and this wasn’t even that inadvertent

- matthew punching declan <3 we all clapped! him stealing the car and running away was amazing i love him so much. frankly should have smashed his laptop too wtf was declan’s horror story plan 

- hennessy’s ARC. her broken, broken, broken heart! that part when ronan is spying on jordan and is like omg jordan is so good at art just like hennessy! she’d amazed him with her casual art. anything could be a medium to hennessy. a discarded pen, dust gathered on the dashboard, convenience store makeup, melted candy, leftover ketchup. hennessy could be mean and clever when she spoke, with her art she was just clever. AND THEN SHE SKETCHES THE HEART AND THE MOUSE WAKES UP!

- omg the mouse woke up...

- i loved every bit of her art making journey here. it kind of brought me back to cdth where jordan is breaking her back with doing all the art and the forgery and and whatnot and hennessy doesnt really take too much of an interest...and all this time they could have aved the girls! but she will save her mouse! we get to see the flip and her careful watchul process and it kind of. it changed me.

- who was jordan hennessy without her mother? she was jordan.

- but also. who was jordan in white? she was hennessy despite everything despite her mother’s base it was HER who made her her...hennessy i love you. i’m glad you love yourself.

- an image she knew part of her would be pursuing for the rest of her life, if they survived this. hennessy’s pursuit of brilliance and excellence is something we don’t talk about enough but it is SUCH a big part of her. perfectionist. her eye for detail. and her taking it into how she wants to live her life wah <3

-her and ronan are so precious to me. the first friend who did not share her face.

- the lace scene where she find him and does not let him go they’d both been screaming.<3 you’re the only one i would. they’d both been screaming.

- “fuck you, this is so good.” SICK ASS BLACK OUT TATTOO. how hennessy’s human drive and friendship and recognition and cleverness and love literally infused ronan with comparable strength of sweetmetal to the ley line...THE MOMENT!

- snakeskin tattoo gets second mention i love it. calla <3 almost like you are psychic girl

- back to hennessy, i found the way her relationship with her mother to me dealt so wonderful. one thing that struck me was that scene with jordan in white where they are like “oh, didn’t know she was like that at home as well. i’m sorry that must be difficult” and that acknowledgement MATTERING to her. i think a lot about hennessy excising that memory of her mother from her copies; none of them really KNOW. no one has ever known her mother and said those words to her. no one knows her mother accept her lace. no one to tell about the horrific neglect and abuse except herself over and over until the last minute where she has to rip herself out and it’s with a version of herself who has never been touched by her mom. lots of thoughts.

- hennessy/carmen dynamic rocked idc rushed or not or whatever i was extremely extremely charmed by it for reasons i’ll elaborate later on, but mainly: two people suffering who finally get to be awful and horrible and real without worrying about the other person. without thinking the other person had the answers! and finding it thrilling and freeing but also painful!! because they don’t want to be caustic but also. they kind of do? i am UPSET BEYOND WORDS about carlianessy dreams being shattered because i was gunning for it sinc 2019 but i absolutely still love hennessy/carmen

- very sexy too. i love women. farooq-lane, burning. hennessy creating herself, now with intention!

- ronan’s monologues were beautiful. i wish we got a little more of awake ronan doing stuff, but asleep ronan having many beautiful musings about the nature of humanity and love was wonderful. he is full of love, he is the lynch pin (heh heh), he is the god and devotee!! character of all time

- he was sentimental of his lovingly decorated body 🥺

- chapter 26 you will always be famous. it touched me in ways i can’t fully articulate! numquam solus. a funeral or a baptism. thank you, thank you, thank you, ronan thought with such relief, such relief. maggie wrote that for all the bitches who had an almost academic and definitely unhealthy obsession with death/their death in their childhood.

- glad to know the answer to the age old fandom question of what would declan do if he lost both brothers in one fell swoop was: murder-suicide

- to be fair though if i thought of thoughts such as: he did not question that declan would want to keep him secure; he just assumed that he would while i wandered around the city trying to find out if my baby brother died i would have also gone for the same option. king shit

- loved declan’s story for many reasons, i loved him miserable and guilty and suffering. loved ch 27. but also what i possibly love most about ch 27 is the moment on the sidewalk where he’s like there’s a version of me that doesn’t get off this step until my heart stops because it’s all a little too much. but then he squares his shoulders goes and tries to get the sweetmetal for ronan anyway and frees the prisoners on the way. which is where i think his so far kind of parallel arc to niall’s splits off in the opposite direction. 

- i think i have such complicated feelings on the lynch fam resolution and declan’s memory of his father in particular, but there is so much going on there with him finally getting the memories of both his parents, it not fixing anything but it STILL being something that eases declan in a way, that i can love and feels incredibly true to his character. i think that proof of love does make a difference for him and his view of his father (someone who was a scared selfish short sighted dumb man, rather than a straight up cruel bitter one that didn’t care to teach ronan and thought declan was expendable) and genuinely in a more nuanced way than i’ve been shitposting about djcdscbfkc. also (would have) parallels (paralleled) ronan’s view on declan and niall and whatnot, if you know we had got ronan’s view on like, his family and friends, sometime in this book. but not the place for that lmao. positivity hour.

- i don’t think it should erase his anger at his father or the trauma that he brought into their lives, and am soooo not a fan of the whole my childhood was content actually the WHOLE view of my family was a grief-fuelled lie thing, i feel dissatisfied beyond words with that choice, but i do feel declan considering it on the other side of his childhood as someone who has fucked up with dealing with grief and trauma and magical wards is powerful on its own. also “to copy a person, one must become that person for a little while” policy of the dream memories imo make it more blurry. i think FEELING that fear and love and uh, stupidity, is more mind melting than just seeing the memories.

- side note, i love a lot about how maggie wrote the memories of mor and niall. i realised only in hindsight that the dreamy, blending nature of both their povs is supposed to signify declan viewing them both and getting both sides of the story? feeling both sides of the story. very nice.

- side note, fun short term exposition. long term, fucking INSANE to have both your parents worst/most awful/”loving but you didn’t get to have it” memories in your head. i love it what a bad but incredibly sexy to explore idea <3

- talking about dreams written well. ronan’s dreams in the battle!!! that battle rocked from a writing standpoint even if i didn’t care about nathan enough for me to fully like it to max potential. the repeating dreams and snippets of bryde’s monologues, and the lace and greywaren showdown. EPIC. 

- he woke up!

- HE WOKE UP.

- it was not a choice at all.

- i AM one of those things. freaking slayy

- big big fan of the parallels with adam and hennessy and i LOVE the further implication of her saving him, i loved that hennessy saved him for ronan and as a challenge to herself to save another person from the lace. i think great jumping off point. but unpopular opinion unfortunately in the context itself adamnessy did not do as much for me as i might have expected. that “hush i’ve worked too hard...” like it was fun, but i wish we could have got the situation in some other way. and maybe i would have liked to hear what you and jordan had to say to each other actually hennessy!!! all said and done this is in things i loved because RODAMNESSY IS REAL, and those two blokes WILL owe hennessy for the rest of their lives!!!

- adam rent asunder by the lace...rip to him. his mind orbs 😭 i actually really enjoyed jordan trying to keep him alive of it all. she’s so good. also bisexual solidarity

- matthew and bryde scenes were gold. clinical depression gesfvgdhffv. also i needed more from them, actually even this particular line of thinking but: if i had to learn to be sad, you had to learn to be happy. lot’s of feelings about matthew as the bridge between two siblings he considers as deeply unhappy individuals, one who was suicidal for a period of time in high school and one who he is starting to see recently as fallible and clueless on how to move forward, and how he has to re-contextualise that he was dreamt as an ebullient loving easy brother, who was the favorite of his dreamTM mother who was much the same. and even without the dream thing, just as a little boy in that situation :( we did not delve into it, but the crumbs of this was much appreciated. 

- also EXTREMELY hilarious. CHIROPRACTOR SONG.

- DUDIFER. matthew you are my son

- bryde amused me. what a shitty life. rip man you were BUILT for doom. ronan omg.

- talking about matthew i think i am doing the heavy lifting of liking his arc in my head, but for my peace of mind i do think it’s implied declan-matthew resolve their issues in a way by the time epilogue rolls around. the whole moth story got me for a bunch of reasons, but the biggest is nothing to do with niall but actually about matthew being the one to re-gift it as a wedding present and declan releasing it. crazy ass metaphor. they get better i gotta believe that. the both of them are SO important to me.

- the lynch brothers are friends again! they hugged! REJOICEEE

- foxway mention!!!! does it matter if the bride and groom know them or not??? this was for one person and that is MEEE

- i think getting wedded by your high school accountant/local psychic is a fun and eye opening experience. not inviting the hitman that beat you up and murdered your father is a fair choice, but i also think that would have been fun and eye-opening gdfcagfahg 

- seondeok mention! henry mention! I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THAT DIVORCE. rip a fulfilling non-traumatising arc for declan and henry though. they are just doing black market crime now? welp. this is positive because it’s tragically funny.

- boo no sarchengsey. love gansey and blue troubled academics but boo sociology. in my brain blue does dendrology and gansey archaeology i feel they’re really into fieldwork but oh well. academic rivals  <3 henry is the jilted lover they reunite with amen.

- ahhh ronsey. orange juice. past lives. them

- love ronan getting to travel and be free to guide and help other dreamers. i do not buy that he is so settled in his life he is completely hundred percent done with difficult responses to tragedy/anger/grief etc like the last bit of this book implied, but i guess nothing DISPROVED it either. we just don’t know enough.

- in the many, i’m sure riveting, christmas dinner battles of fed adam vs black market criminals henry and declan, i’m on the side of black market criminals henry and declan. 

-  art therapist hennessy CANON baby!!!!! how does it feel to only win. very good.

- again ronanessy, travelling this way and that four years later...love to see it <3

- sweet potato farm internship for matthew...love that for him

- jordeclan saving the sexy guestlist for the bigger wedding so they can convince the new fenian that the barns handcat wedding is the InTiMAtE one is my personal canon. personal jesus.

- “it occurred to Blue and me the other day that being a teenager really sucked.” <3 i will take that as really hopeful words with me out of this series. i didn’t need the really happy picture perfect ending from this series, but there is something really powerful in reading about a beautiful, magical, and painful too, but a really beautiful adolescence and having the character think back on it and say “oh, i didn’t know it could get better”. rest of their lives left, baby, and each slender present becoming the beautiful past you make your peace with and are actually, hey, kind of happy to leave behind, because there is some future left for you to discover.

[ravenvsfox]

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I��ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap.  “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

[jordantheehennessy]

hello good morning i have my iced coffee and im ready to talk about the love of my life <33

OKAY i actually screamed when adam appeared. like. yeah, i knew he was coming and everything. but when the narrative was like, and there was adam parrish, i had to pause it and scream a little because it had been so long since we’ve seen him and truly i do love adam so much. i also had chugged a couple things of coffee so my heart was already fucked up but that’s beside the point! 

the adam scense themselves were pretty short but i loved loved loved his interactions with declan. i also couldnt help but think back to dream theives when adam was watching declan and could read him like a fucking book and here’s declan now with adam being very open by adam’s standards and declan is still like ?? what fucking level is this guy even on??

hes really not physically present much but he’s extremely effective. i loved that bryde himself basically admitted that the reason there was no adam pov was because adam would have already figured it out which is just so. funny. but anyone saying that there’s no pynch in this book are wrong. pynch drama is the main source of ronan’s personal angst. like if you can’t see how much ronan cares for adam then i don’t really know what to tell you. it’s not even subtle?? between the agnostic tendencies bit and the work gloves bit it’s very obvious to see how ronan feels about adam and how much ronan’s insecurities are playing into it.

his one scene with ronan (yes there’s only the one) was so heartbreaking. adam talking to ronan without the accent was so so so much. like i completely understand why ronan was so thrown by it. because yeah, ronan is still living in the past and he has an idealized idea of what he wants things to be and anything that isn’t that is automatically bad and hurting him. which is not a good or healthy way to look at things and at the end of the day he’s just trying to protect himself so why should he grow past this? it’s always worked before, hasn’t it? why does adam insist on breaking things that were working perfectly fine?

assuming that adam got cut off from his body when the ley line went down and assuming ronan is still asleep and can’t be woken for whatever reasons (it seems that way anyway but, again, id need to relisten) it’s my professional opinion that they are going to find each other in dream space and have a very overdue talk about their relationship. maybe there will be references to the idyllic summer spent at the barn where they used to do this for fun?? it would be heartbreaking and i Need To See It. 

because the thing about adam and ronan (and well really all of them) is that at their cores they dont know themselves. or refuse to know themselves. they keep trying to find themselves in how other people reflect them while never really seeing anyone else for how they truly are either.  it’s like being surrounded by funhouse mirrors and picking whichever one makes you look the most appealing until you shift just enough and you hate the reflection. every single one of the characters are struggling with this and what is so funny is that of all the characters declan is the one furthest on the path to self acceptance. he’s at least pinpointed his fears and he’s slowly disentangling the whole fucked up yarnball of trauma that niall gave to him.  he’s by no means perfect and he’s still very much in the midst of a paradigm shift but he’s get a little bit of an edge over everyone else. well, actually farooq-lane is ahead of the curve there since she’s actively making decisions for herself.

BUT THIS ISN’T ABOUT ANY OF THEM SORRY

the point is: adam and ronan need to talk to each other holy lord please just communicate!! i don’t know if ronan ever mentioned to adam that he believes they’re going to get married and maybe he should mention that??? like, yes, adam has made it clear that he’s committed but they obviously have very different ideas of what that looks like and they really just need to get on the same page. adam also needs to come to terms that you can’t just try on faces for the fuck of it. and this isn’t even beginning to touch on how they might be trapped in dream space?? how ronan dreamt up his insecurities incarnate and now said incarnate insecurities is running around in the real world?? how ronan fucked with henness’y head and now he’s going to have to have a long talk with her too but he can’t do that until he comes to terms with himself and probably with adam too?? there’s just SO MUCH here and i’m really looking forward to the next book to see ho it plays out.

[parttimehuman]

Adam Parrish Vs. the KitchenBathroom at Monmouth

Adam had many actual reasons not to move in at Monmouth before he ran out of better options and caved eventually. Y’know, like his freedom. Never would he have counted on the bathroom situation there becoming his biggest problem. 

The first time it happens, it’s Gansey. It’s early on a Monday morning and Adam thinks he can forgive him. It’s Gansey, after all, who most likely hasn’t gotten more than one hour of sleep in total and who isn’t used to Adam living with him yet. Gansey who does and says weird things all the time without even noticing. 

What Gansey does this time is walking into the bathroom, making himself a coffee, placing the steaming cup on the windowsill next to the shower, pulling off his t-shirt and pajama pants and turning on the water. He nods a greeting at Adam, who’s sitting on the toilet, still kind of tired and frankly, a little too shocked to say anything. 

The thing is, Gansey almost isn’t a real human, right? Adam tries his best to ignore the amount of bare skin he’s seeing. He finishes quickly and quietly and leaves, thinking that he’s giving Gansey some privacy. 

Privacy is not a thing at Monmouth. 

Noah, compared to Gansey, is most certainly a real human, or at least was one, but he’s been dead for seven years, and they’ve all been having the general impression that death has taken its toll on him. Of course, Noah, too, is forgiven for coming to sit on the ledge of the bathtub while Adam is trying to take a shower, wanting to talk. 

Adam carefully asks whether there’s something like a schedule he needs to consider before occupying the bathroom. Gansey doesn’t understand the question, Noah only giggles, Ronan gives him a “Jesus, Parrish.” 

Seriously though, Adam can’t be the only one who has a different understanding of what it means to share a bathroom than the rest of them, right? 

The Gansey’s mansion in DC has more bathrooms than it has ever had residents and Adam happens to know there are at least two at the barns as well. He on the other hand grew up in a trailer, where privacy has never existed, and yet he’s never had company in a damn bathroom. 

Ronan is actually the one Adam thought should be on his side, but it turns out he was very wrong. Maybe it’s because Ronan has two brothers or maybe just because he’s Ronan, and rules are for people who are not.

Ronan walks into the bathroomkitchen a hundred times a day, almost violently tearing the fridge open to drink some orange juice right out of the container. They have the talk a couple of times but no, Ronan isn’t interested in using a glass and no, he doesn’t want to take the whole container with him to his room either, so Adam just gives it up. 

As a ghost, Noah doesn’t technically need to use the bathroom, but he still joins Ronan while on the toilet, sitting on a rug at Ronan’s feet so they can play cards. For a solid two weeks, Adam thinks it’s the most disturbing thing he’s ever witnessed. 

What changes his mind is the sight of a naked, bright red Ronan getting a full body wax from Noah after losing a bet. - “Parrish, you get here and do this. Noah is enjoying himself way too much.” - Adam has never in his life run faster than after that sentence leaving Ronan’s mouth. 

One time, Adam finds Ronan asleep in the bathtub, except as soon as he’s started brushing his teeth, it goes “SQUASH ONE, SQUASH TWO” from behind him and he almost chokes and dies. 

Blue is Adam’s last hope. At this point he doesn’t even remember why but he needs her to agree with him so badly. - “It’s weird that we’re four guys living at Monmouth and we only have one bathroom, right? And it’s even weirder that said bathroom doesn’t have a lock and that it’s also the laundry room and the kitchen, right? And it’s especially weird that it also seems to be the living room, if we’re being honest. Right, Blue? Normal people don’t have naked conversations over burnt toast while someone unclogs the toilet in the background.” 

She gives Adam a long look and he remembers that he doesn’t actually know the exact number of women living at 300 Fox Way. And there he was, assuming men were simply pigs, but it turns out this is just one more thing he never knew because he never had access to the life others lived. 

When Adam steps out of the shower and Matthew is sitting on top of one of the sinks eating cake, he thinks it really is enough now, but only days later Declan harshly pulls the shower curtain back to interrogate Adam about Ronan’s whereabouts and if that isn’t the scariest shit ever, he doesn’t know either. 

One thing that Adam kind of starts to like is how Chainsaw seems to watch him every time he shaves in front of the bathroon mirror. From the top of a cupboard at first and from the ledge of the sink later, but soon from Adam’s shoulder, getting pretty distressed when he accidentally cuts himself, immediately calling Ronan for help, which is absolutely not necessary but sweet in a way. 

Whatever the hell Blue and Gansey are doing at three in the morning with two cups of yogurt and only one spoon in the bathtub, Adam doesn’t even want to think about. 

Noah has a glitter-accident once and Gansey’s, Ronan’s and Adam’s Aglionby-uniforms sparkle for several weeks as a result. Henry Cheng compliments them on their new look and Adam wishes he could pretend to hate looking special in the same way as Ronan and Gansey. 

Adam’s birthday is celebrated at midnight in their common room, with cake a fully clothed shower for Adam by Ronan. Blue has hung up socks like a garland and someone thought it would be funny to gift Adam a new Coca-Cola-shirt. Dirty jokes in Latin are written on the mirror.

[crimeronan]

no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation.  partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters.  weird farmers are par for the course.  if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed.  however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities.  niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up.  aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there.  matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however.  the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public.  it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store.  it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life.  “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework.  neither is here to make friends.  adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care.  later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams.  this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby.  “she’s great.  she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this.  once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so.  more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind.  it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things.  to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high.  they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes.  eventually adam's invited to the barns.  his first few visits are normal.  suspiciously normal.  aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him.  less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous.  his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot.  that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again.  you sound like gansey.  come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond.  adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here.  i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457.  what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact.  it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away.  ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable.  he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him.  the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it.  “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.”  adam sits up, clutching his chest.  he can feel every bone in his body.  “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan.  she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute.  she is not wearing any shoes.  there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated.  “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says.  she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees.  it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net.  it’s also thirty feet in the air.  there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced.  adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree.  adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight.  as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again.  hugging the branch like a snake.  absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth.  then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground.  cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat.  adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell.  adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams.  she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing.  adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose.  it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation.  ronan has no sense of propriety.  adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked.  “ronan is the normal one”

[astudyinfreewill]

like july forever

an adam parrish birthday ficlet; 2.5k, adam/ronan, fluff+friendship (thanks to @theamagician​ for betaing -- all remaining mistakes are mine!)

'Cause we're the masters of our own fate We're the captains of our own souls There's no way for us to come away 'Cause boy we're gold, boy we're gold -- "Lust for Life”, Lana del Rey

Adam Parrish hadn’t always disliked his birthday. Some of them hadn’t been terrible – not great, but he didn’t have much to compare them against – which meant he could vividly recognise just how bad the terrible ones had been.

When he was three, his grandmother came to visit for the first time. He remembered her only very vaguely, because his three-year-old self was much more impressed by the cake she had brought. It had blue icing on it, and tasted better than anything Adam had ever had, which wasn’t saying much.

When he was four, his grandmother came to visit for the second and last time. She only made it as far as the door of the double-wide before she ran into his father. Adam didn’t know, at the time, what “being drunk” meant, but he could remember the screaming and anger and the sound of a bottle thrown. After that, his grandmother stopped visiting. His mother was the only one who still got to speak to her, in hushed and resentful tones on the phone.

The only thing Adam had left of her were the five envelopes that she had sent between his fifth and tenth birthdays. There had been no card for his eleventh. Adam didn’t know why they stopped – if she’d died or just stopped bothering. He’d never dared ask his mother, for fear that it would be the latter. After a while, it hadn’t seemed to matter anymore.

All of the envelopes contained a garish birthday card and a ten dollar note. Those had been the source of all his birthday presents, as far as he knew. His mother would take him to the dollar store when his father was at work, buy him a pack of cheap candy or chocolate chip cookies, and begrudgingly allow him to choose whatever toy he wanted.

On his seventh birthday, Adam bought himself a Transformer. It was originally meant to cost 15 dollars, but the paint on it was chipped, so it had been priced down. Adam didn’t care about the chipped paint. He’d never loved another toy more.

On his eighth birthday, Adam’s father hit him for the first time. Adam would spend years afterwards trying to remember what he’d done to incite it, and the answer was: nothing. He’d just come in from playing outside with a neighbor’s kid, and had poured himself a glass of water. He still vividly remembered the feeling of the chunky plastic tumbler in his hands when his father’s fist hit. Adam had only been drinking; his father had been drinking.

On either his ninth or his tenth birthday, Adam bought himself a Pontiac model car. He’d been playing with it when he heard his parents talking in the other room. I regret the minute I squirted him into you.

That was the last year Adam remembered buying a birthday present. Any extra money he found himself in possession of, after that, he used to buy candy bars, which he’d then store under his bed, for evenings when the kitchen turned into a war zone.

Sometimes the kids at school told him happy birthday. Sometimes they didn’t. Adam stopped minding, and – as he did with many other things – learned to make do.

*

On his eighteenth birthday, Adam was sleeping on the couch of three psychics, after unlocking a power inside him he’d never even dreamed he could have. It would take him a little longer to truly believe that he did.

*

On his nineteenth birthday, Adam Parrish woke up in Ronan Lynch’s bed in his childhood bedroom at the Barns, to the smell of coffee coming from somewhere to his left.

“Happy birthday, nerd.” Ronan himself was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing black gym shorts and nothing else, except for a smudge of flour on his cheek.

Adam blinked once, twice, then mumbled something sleepy while making a grabbing motion at the mug Ronan was holding. When Ronan handed it over, he accepted it gratefully, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It took the first sip of coffee for the words to properly connect.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess it is. I wasn’t really thinkin’ about it. Thanks,” he smiled.

“You are so welcome,” Ronan said, with teasing affectation. “I’ve got eggs and bacon waiting downstairs, so come on. Look alive, put some clothes on.” He grinned savagely. “Or don’t.”

Adam rolled his eyes, then leaned forward to thumb at the flour smudge on Ronan’s cheekbone, which made his expression shift from wolfish to slightly flustered. “Ah. Yeah. I, uh. I was making pancakes.”

Adam raised his eyebrows.

“They didn’t come out great, so I threw them away. Chainsaw was thrilled.”

Adam opened his mouth to start to protest, but Ronan shushed him with a quick kiss. “Yes, I know, we live in a consumerist nightmare of a society. You and Sargent can lecture me later. Now come downstairs before everything gets cold and gross.” And with that, he was out of the room.

Adam was left sitting in bed, cross-legged, steaming coffee in hand. “Later…?” was all he could mutter to himself, perplexed.

*

Breakfast didn’t feel much different from usual, which meant Adam felt at peace and profoundly happy in a way he rarely did, quietly eating toast held in one hand while Ronan played with his other hand across the table. Ten minutes in or so, Opal galloped into the kitchen in a flurry of excitement – which was also not unusual – and threw her grubby little arms around his middle. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!” she screeched excitedly. Adam reclaimed his hand from Ronan to ruffle her hair fondly. “Thank you. Do you even know what a birthday is?”

Opal nodded, her chest puffing out proudly. “Kerah said it’s a party to celebrate that someone exists, and I am very happy that you do!”

Adam’s chest clenched in a foreign and delightful way. “That is a lovely way to put it,” he said, voice a little rough, even as Ronan started very casually gathering plates to drop them in the sink with a clatter. She beamed up at him, and, after disentangling herself from him long enough to rummage in the pockets of her shirt (a long, ragged flannel thing that went down to her knees), proudly presented him with a small pile of rocks. There was nothing special about them, except – as Adam discovered after examining them carefully – that all of them had nooks and crannies that seemed to tuck into each other as if by design.

“Thank you, Opal. They’re beautiful,” he smiled, turning one over in his hand. Opal smiled back, and then – as uncomfortable with open emotion as her creator – skittered off to chase Chainsaw out of the kitchen. While Adam was halfway through buttering his second slice of toast, the unmistakable honk of a 1973 Camaro sounded from the driveway, and Ronan went to get the door. Adam frowned, trying to remember whether he or Ronan had made plans to hang out with the gang, and coming up blank. Curiosity propelled him out of his chair, buttered toast still in hand, to join Ronan and Opal on the porch.

Outside, Blue was in the driver’s seat of her brand new clean-energy Camaro – it was impressive how everything about it, from the horn to the (lack of) engine, sounded precisely like Gansey’s – and somehow already bickering with Ronan about how “if you really thought I was too short to reach the pedals then you shouldn’t have dreamed it for me, Ronan”. Next to her, Gansey was watching the proceedings with an expression between amused and exhausted; and in the backseat, spiky hair undefeated by the sweltering heat, Henry Cheng greeted him with a jovial “Birthday boy! Whoop whoop!”.

Adam turned to face Ronan, one eyebrow raised in question. “Do we have plans?”

Ronan, leaning against one of the posts and casually giving blue the middle finger, looked at him with a smirk playing on his lips. “We do. A full day, actually, so you’d better finish that piece of toast pretty damn fast.”

“There’s an area near where Cabeswater used to be that I’d like to explore,” Gansey said, helpfully. “The corn is growing in an extremely odd formation, and I think there’s something to it. Figured it can’t hurt to get our resident magician to check it out,” he smiled. “Also, happy birthday, Adam.”

“Yes,” Henry added, “and after that, we’re gonna do something that is actually fun, like go to the swimming pool or get ice cream or something.”

“And then Nino’s, because I have officially quit for the summer. No more Raven dicks to tell me what drinks to bring them!” Blue added gleefully.

Adam looked at all of them in turn, then to Ronan. Ronan shrugged. “I told them we weren’t doing anything uncool for your birthday, but unfortunately we don’t have a single cool friend.”

This was followed by a general squawk of protest from the car’s occupants. Adam was still reeling. “I thought you guys would be busy. Aren’t you leaving for your trip in like two days?”

Blue gave him a pitying look. “Like we were going to miss this?” Gansey leaned forward in his seat, somehow managing to look solemn even in his lime green polo. “Not a chance,” he said, steady and true.

Adam swallowed. “Oh. Alright. I’ll… go finish my toast?” Chainsaw landed on his shoulder and affectionately rubbed her head against his cheek. Then she stole the toast.

“Well, I suppose that takes care of that,” Adam said. He wasn’t sure how to feel – his stomach and heart were flipping through a lot at once, numb and giddy and helpless and exhilarated and surprised and grateful. His chest was aching a little, and he felt, for some reason, the urge to laugh. Instead, he smiled at his friends – at his boyfriend – his family. “I’ll grab the cards. Keep ‘er running, Blue.”

*

On Adam’s nineteenth birthday, there was friendship and magic and Ronan’s obnoxiously loud music played from the speakers of Blue’s dreamt Camaro. There was the sweat of summer clinging to their pores as they explored Gansey’s corn maze – there was Gansey, alive and vibrant and young and old all at the same time, because they’d saved him, they’d saved him – and there was the cool shade of the trees when they finally sat down for a rest (these were not magical trees, not strictly speaking, but although Adam missed Cabeswater sorely, the air seemed to be thrumming with a more powerful magic today).

There was ice cream, that Adam insisted he pay for, and there was birthday cake, that he didn’t. Actually, there were birthday cakes. A lavish red velvet affair bought by Gansey and Henry, and a yogurt-and-chocolate-chips cake baked by Blue. ("You didn’t have to do this,” Adam said, his throat tight. Blue patted his shoulder gently. “Of course we did. It’s your birthday, and I didn’t get you one last year, because someone didn’t tell me.” She glared daggers at all of them, Adam included, ignoring Henry’s protest that he didn’t even know her at the time).

There was the public swimming pool that neither Ronan nor Henry nor Gansey had ever been to, but that Adam and Blue knew well, and there was Blue cannon-balling herself into the water with a joyful shout, and then there was all of them splashing and yelling and throwing around a ball, and Ronan dunking Henry underwater until his perfect hair was ruined (“Lynch, you criminal”), and climbing on each other’s shoulders in turns to play chicken fight until the lifeguard threatened to kick them out.

There was Nino’s, with its familiar pizza and iced tea that was just the right amount of sweet; and by this point, Adam was so overfull on the day’s feasting – so overflowing with happiness and gratitude and love – that it didn’t even occur to him to protest when Ronan declared he was ordering two pizzas, and Adam could order one too, if he wanted to, but wouldn’t it be a shame for all that pizza to go to waste. You can have this, he reminded himself. You can let him do this for you and one day you’ll do the same for him. And for once, in the sticky booth that had been witness to their planning of adventures, comparing of school notes, and divining of magical forces, he knew with clarity that all of this wasn’t charity; it was friendship.

There were jokes and memes and group selfies (mostly taken by Henry) and off-key renditions of “Happy Birthday To You” (mostly started by Blue) and “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow” (mostly initiated by Gansey) and by the time Adam’s ears were burning pink and his face was buried in his hands, there was Ronan’s comforting hand on his leg, a grounding touch even as Ronan himself joined in the chorus.

Eventually, after night had fallen, they parted – with a fistbump from Gansey, a warm handshake from Henry, and a hug from Blue, lingering and fierce.

And after that, there was this:

The clean, crisp night breeze as he and Ronan drove back to Singer’s Falls, windows down, speed limit in the rearview mirror. The bass pounding softly from the speakers of the BMW, thumping in Adam’s chest and temples even as it echoed in his right ear. The absolute quiet of the fields at the Barns, except for the crickets’ song filling the air. The lights on the porch glowing softly to welcome them home, casting Opal in a golden shimmer where she slept on the recliner with Chainsaw perched next to her.

And inside, this:

Ronan’s hands in his hair, Ronan’s mouth on his mouth, Ronan’s hips against his hips as they stumbled through the hallway, past the living room, into the kitchen.

On the kitchen table, striking and flawless except for a handprint that matched Opal’s perfectly, was a third cake, with candles on them that must have been magical because they’d clearly been burning for a while without melting. Adam’s eyes felt damp.

“You baked a cake?” he asked, voice small, very aware that he was asking for confirmation of something that was extremely clear and obvious, but struggling to hold all his blessings together in this one single day.

“Did you really think I had failed at making pancakes? I’m the fucking pancake master, Parrish.”

Perhaps it was the fact that Ronan sounded so genuinely offended – which meant he wasn’t at all – that made Adam burst out laughing. He blew on the candles, one by one. He ran a finger through the icing, and smeared it on Ronan’s lips. Then he kissed Ronan until they were light-headed, breathless and staggering and clinging to each other with hands fisted in shirts.

Upstairs, he knew, the night was theirs: a night made for dreaming and not-sleeping, for kissing and laughing, for Ronan’s skin under Adam’s fingers and Ronan’s eyelashes against Adam’s cheeks, for learning each other’s bodies over and over and for talking until daybreak.

Adam hadn’t always disliked his birthday, but for the first time in his life, he thought he could learn to love it.

[cecereadsbooks]

I have so many hopes and dreams (ha) for the Dreamer Trilogy, what are some things you’re hoping will happen in it? (Other than the impossible, i. e. Ronan and Adam living happily ever after at the Barns with their goat-dream child/pet and cars, because Maggie Stiefvater wants to crush our souls.)

Ohhhh god, so many things.

i. Ok obviously I’m looking forward to more Adam/Ronan goodness, which I feel like we’ve all been guaranteed to a certain extent? Like, we know they aren’t breaking up. So even if they go through more emotional trauma (EVEN IF I DON’T WANT THAT BECAUSE THEY DESERVE HAPPINESS) I know that they’ll have each other, and I’m just seeking more softness like the stuff we got in the Opal short story

ii. LYNCH FAMILY GOODNESS. Maggie has been posting about Lynch family stuff for a few months, so again I feel like this is a guarantee. I fucking love Declan, and all I want is further exploration into the Lynch family, their relationships, their past traumas, and I hope to god some healing?? for all of them?? Like that shit in TRK with Declan ORBMASTER has had me emo for over a year and I feel like it’s a good predictor for the evolving relationship Ronan is going to have with his brothers. Also Matthew is my soft kid and I’m right there with him as far as being exasperated and full of love for his older bros

iii. Exploring the larger magical world. So we know that there are like other Cabeswaters in the world??? Excuse me?? And I want to know more about magic outside of Henrietta. Ronan is inherently magical, which I think means that the entire Dreamer trilogy is going to be more like TDT, and I really hope that means further exploration of the inherent magic of the rest of the world. 

iv. Other dreamers. I know we have that one line about there being many thieves, one greywaren, and I want that to be explored more. I mean, we know Kavinsky was a dreamer, but I want to know about other shades of dreamers. Where do they come from? Is it familial, the way it seemed to be from Niall to Ronan? Are there actually others we could consider “greywaren”, not just thieves? I don’t know, but I want Maggie to tell me.

v. The full backstory of that woman who broke into the barns just to shit on Niall Lynch’s life. I mean, I’m pretty sure we’ll get answers for all the stuff that was set up in the Opal short story, but I’m particularly looking for this payoff. This woman understands me on a particular level. She knows that we all want Niall to go fuck himself. She’s my hero, and I want to know her more. 

vi. Sarchengsey to make an appearance. Look, I know this is Ronan’s book. I respect that, and I’m thrilled to know more about him and his life as it evolves. He’s a fascinating character. But Gansey is MY GUY TO THE END and I will cry for roughly one and a half weeks if we never get to see him in these books. I don’t even necessarily need him in person (I SUPPOSE) but like phone calls?? Text updates?? Whatever it is, let me know how the road trip is going and if my boy Henry and my girl Blue are also doing okay.

vii. Psychic Adam storyline! We now have confirmation Adam has POV chapters, so I better get lots more about him being mysterious and loving himself in college. Like, I want him to have everything he wants. I want him to succeed in school and have a boyfriend who worships him. But I also think that him having power became something he appreciated so much about himself, a part of him that made him feel strong and complete. And now that we know he’s a psychic after the Opal story, I am hoping that will be more incorporated into whatever his particular storyline will be in the series.

viii. Ronan loving himself. This is self-explanatory, but I love him and I hope he knows how much love we all have for him. 

ix. 300 Fox Way to still be included. Like, the simple shit like them all coming over to dinner at the Barns to let Adam know he’s special? That’s the shit I live for, and I’ve been crying for months that we already got it. I just am really ready for a series that feels different and new for Ronan, but one that still incorporates the elements of the Raven Cycle I adore. I know that’s not a big ask, and we’ll most likely get it because Maggie knows her shit, but I GAH I want it

x. More sexuality discussion. I am honestly a big fan of how the sexuality aspects of TRC were handled, as a queer reader. Like, Ronan’s storyline of emerging from self hate to acceptance? Brilliant. Adam’s sexuality storyline not being all about him struggling to accept himself? I loved it. But I feel like with three new books of content, there is all this new space for them to really investigate how they feel about each other and their sexualities. I loved how Adam’s sexuality wasn’t a crisis in TRC, but I want him to be able to address what it means to be bisexual from the south in these new books. And for Ronan to be able to claim some power in his identity? Oh damn. 

Ok, that’s like ten things. I probably have more, but I should stop now. Honestly, I would accept a single piece of paper with like a scrawled note from Maggie that Ronan and Adam are doing ok and that they’re both still magical and happy though so I’m clearly just going to accept anything that I’m given and cry about it. 

[pnrrish]

♧ please I’m weak

♧: One character playing with the other’s hair

(soft warning for a brief mention of Adam’s father the rat bastard)

The screen door slams open with a crack of metal on brick, and the front door follows a second later, making a sound like it’s been kicked viciously with a boot. Chainsaw flutters down from somewhere upstairs or wherever and lands on the floor only a couple feet away from the couch where Ronan is–or was, up until a few seconds ago–taking a nap.

“Kerah,” she croaks. He cracks one eye open to ensure that she doesn’t steal his shoelace.

“What.”

She clucks, croaks his name again and a new sound she’s started making that means Adam (it’s mostly some kind of rattle-chirp that Ronan wouldn’t dream of trying to pronounce for fear of offending her by getting it hideously wrong) before waddling out of sight, entranced by the rustling sound of plastic bags in the front hall. Ronan heaves a put-upon sigh and sits up.

He hears, from the direction of the kitchen, Adam’s fatigued voice, “No, not now.” Again, more firmly. Then Chainsaw, indignant: “Kerah!”

“What! Jesus.” If she’s just tantrumming because her favorite person in the whole wide world left her line of sight for five seconds and now won’t pay attention to her…well, she’s a traitor devil bird anyway and has been ever since Adam moved in, so Ronan’s not too awfully sorry. To be honest, though, he really hadn’t expected to be having this fight with an adolescent corvid.

Time for yet another fabulous airing of Ronan Versus Chainsaw Super-Epic Love Showdown, Episode Whatever-The-Fuck: Who Loves Adam The Most?

(It’s definitely Ronan.)

The kitchen doesn’t at all look like he’d expected when he walks in. Chainsaw flutters from countertop to countertop and perches on every sink handle and towel rack en route, clearly upset but not really making too much noise about it. The grocery bags are piled in a corner next to the sink and the groceries are strewn out everywhere. There’s also a lot fewer of them than Ronan had expected.

Adam himself is the picture of agitation–panting like he ran the ten miles to the Barns instead of driving, slamming drawers, shoving food into the fridge haphazardly like it personally offended him on the drive over, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. One of the cupboard doors catches him in the shin and the jar in his hand tumbles to the floor, shatters loudly on the tile. Chainsaw shrieks. Adam stares in mute horror at the mess.

“Yeah, fuck those pickles,” Ronan says, a beat too late.

Adam’s head jerks up like he hadn’t even been aware of Ronan standing in the doorway. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, making abortive movements toward the paper towels. He looks a little frantic. “I didn’t mean to–” He shuts up when Ronan reaches out and wraps him in a crushing hug.

Ronan is just so much taller than Adam that his chin slots perfectly over the top of Adam’s head, if he stretches, and if Adam tucks his head a little, which he does. Ronan’s got one arm firmly around his boyfriend’s waist and the other hand stroking along his sweat-dampened hairline, tucking a single lock behind his ear, over and over and over.

Adam draws a deep, shuddering breath and curls into Ronan’s chest. The kitchen is quiet for long minutes, the silence broken only by Adam’s ragged holding-back-tears breathing and Chainsaw rolling in the pile of plastic bags on the counter.

“You okay?” Ronan asks into Adam’s right temple. More silence. Then:

“I ran into my dad.”

And oh, thank God Chainsaw picks that moment to noisily flap over and perch on Ronan’s shoulder, because otherwise Adam would have heard Ronan’s sharp inhale and the rush of his blood turning to lava, seen his face twist in hot possessiveness. He clutches Adam to him, swaying, one hand secure around Adam’s shoulders and the other tangled in his hair. His arms a steel wall bristling with barbed wire and a bold NO TRESPASSING sign hand-lettered in stark white. His mouth moving in silent prayer on Adam’s scalp.

Adam swallows hard. “I wasn’t expecting–I mean, he tried to talk to me, like everything was normal. And….”

Ronan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t breathe. Adam scrubs his face into the front of Ronan’s tee between his hands and sucks in a steadying breath.

“I wasn’t really…you know. All the way there. Like….” He wiggles his fingers in the cage of his shoulders and arms, trying to gesticulate what he can’t find the words to explain.

“I just–I had to go. I was completely blank. All I could think driving home was, I can’t wreck Ronan’s car.” He sniffs a little laugh, one that’s not a response to anything really funny but a noise when the only other option is a sob and that’s not much of an option at all.

“I wouldn’t have given a shit about the car,” Ronan mumbles, too caught up in the word home to further elaborate on the thump of his stomach hollowing out at the frankly terrifying thought of Adam-in-a-wreck, beemer or no. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat; it’ll keep for another time.

“I thought I was okay,” Adam whispers, and Ronan feels like he’s been hit with a frying pan. “I haven’t even thought about them for weeks, I should be able to go to the grocery store without–” His voice cracks horribly.

“Don’t,” Ronan says. “You’re doing fine, all right? Better than me, probably. I’d have beat the God out of that motherfucker without even thinking, gotten arrested again, and then you’d have to go around at your fancy college telling people your boyfriend’s in jail.”

Adam scoffs mildly (his mouth is turned up at the corner, though, Ronan can tell) and turns his head back to laying his right ear on the juncture of Ronan’s collar and neck, facing the kitchen. Chainsaw fusses a little with the hole in Ronan’s shirt under her talons, then makes a grab at Adam’s hand, holding on hard when he rears back in surprise. After a moment he relaxes, when he realizes she’s not biting, not really, and she fluffs her wings in triumph.

“Damn,” Ronan murmurs, brushing stray hairs off Adam’s forehead. “Little shit beat me to it.”

Adam makes a faint questioning noise. Ronan explains: “Ravens hold beaks to say ‘I love you.’ It’s like the bird equivalent of kissing, I guess. The ones that live in rehab centers and shit with humans tend go for the fingers.” At Adam’s continued skeptical gaze, Ronan goes on. “I was trying to figure out why she was suddenly biting me all the fucking time. Youtube is great.” He shrugs casually to disguise the taste of I love you rolling off his tongue, the way he said it so easily, the way they’ve never said it before, not with those words.

(You can stay if you want. I knew I could count on you. I’m so proud of you. I’m coming back, you know. These have all been I love you, too.)

Adam’s expression shifts to one of awe. His thumb closes against the bottom of Chainsaw’s beak, returning the gesture; she gurgles in happiness.

“Don’t,” Ronan repeats softly, more for his own benefit than Adam’s, reassuring himself that the crisis is past. His hands, restless and incessant, run through Adam’s hair, over and over and over. “You’re okay.” He repeats the mantra to himself, willing it. You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re o

Adam sighs and leans his head heavily into Ronan’s hands, closing his eyes, like a weight has fallen through him and he can barely hold himself up anymore, and his mouth barely moves when he says, voice low: “I love you, too.”

“Me?” Ronan gapes a little. “Or the chicken?”

His lips twist in a smile. “You, dumbass.”

Ronan can feel the bass notes of Adam’s fatigue trembling through his skin, all the way up his arms. He can feel his pulse skip along the beat of Adam’s voice (I love you, too). He can also feel the softness of Adam’s hair–longer than usual, at least that Ronan’s ever seen–between his fingers.

“Time for a haircut?” he teases, tugging a curl straight.

“Growing it out.” The glimmering between Adam’s cracked eyelids is bright and shit-eating. “You love it.”

Ronan can’t help a grin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, holding Adam as close as he can, burying his nose in the scent, combing through the strands with his fingers, not wanting to let go. Never wanting to let go. “Yeah, I do.”

[cc-kouga-blog]

These Are The Days 1/9

This is my fic for @quietrook as part of the Pynch Secret Santa moderated by @pynchsecretsanta .

It’s a bit late because a) I had to visit the dentist and b) this fic grew legs and ran away from me at the last minute. Also, I forgot my AO3 password so I have to do this on tumblr.. sorry

I don’t know if I succesfully incorporated any of the prompts, but hopefully it’s close enough. I will upload more parts soon-ish

Hope you enjoy this one Rook 😊😊😊😊

———————————————————————————

These Are The Days

Three days after his Aglionby graduation, Adam Parrish moved in to The Barns.

It wasn’t an easy decision to make for Adam. His apartment above St. Agnes was small and sad, but it was all his. It was the symbol of his independence. (He tried not to think too much about that one instance where Ronan secretly helped with the rent so he could pay his tuition). Moving in with Ronan felt like he gave up part of that independence, and one thing Adam Parrish hated as much as pity, was to be dependent on someone else.

But Ronan had approached him without his usual barb and instead presented two sheets of paper. On top of one, written in Ronan’s hand were the word ‘PROS’. There were only 4 items listed there.

- No rent = more money for text books.

- Excellent living conditions including but not limited to : decent mattress, decent pillows, air conditioner, fridge, TV.

- More time to spend with Opal and Chainsaw. (Ronan’s name was glaringly missing).

And the last one was written in a much smaller size than the rest. Adam had to squint to be able to read it.

- More time to make out with your boyfriend. If you want.

The other paper had ‘CONS’ on top and nothing else.

Ronan tried to act nonchalant as Adam read the short list, but he couldn’t quite mask his anxiousness. Adam re-read the list again and had to bite his lips to stop the grin threatening to take over his face.

“Are you sure there’s no con to this?” He asked.

Ronan scoffed. “It’s a fucking perfect plan Parrish.”

“I don’t know. You might snore.”

Ronan gave him a peculiar stare. “You know I don’t sleep much.”

Adam had to backtrack on that one. That way lied terrible memories he rather not discuss just yet, so he just shrugged. The offer bruised his pride a bit, but Adam had learned to bend. He was smart enough to realize that compromise was the key when dealing with Ronan.

In few short months he would be leaving for college, that meant leaving Ronan. He could finally admit to himself that he wanted Ronan, and it was obvious Ronan wanted him back. So he let himself be selfish and took whatever Ronan offered him. Adam needed to hoard the memories, the feels, and the taste of Ronan for those days they would spend apart.

“I don’t know, I might need a bit more convincing.” He finally said while rubbing his chin in mock seriousness.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Especially the parts about the mattress and the making out part.” Adam’s eyes glinted mischievously.

The tip of Ronan’s ear pinked nicely, but he didn’t hesitate to grab Adam’s hand.

“If you’ll follow me. I can be persuaded to convince you.”

Later, when they were curled up shirtless on Ronan’s bed, Adam nuzzled at Ronan’s neck.

“Okay, I’ll move in.” He whispered.

Ronan kissed the top of Adam’s head. “Fucking perfect.”

***

Adam Parrish’s summer days used to be something like this.

Woke up early for work. Worked until lunch break. Ate half a sandwich for lunch. Worked until afternoon. Took a one hour break to rest his weary bones before going back to work. Came home late at night to do his summer reading while eating the last half of the sandwich. A quick shower and then sleep. Repeat.

But since he moved in with Ronan, his schedule changed quite a bit. It went more like this.

Woke up early for work. Ronan was already downstair with two stack of pancakes and two glasses of orange juice. A thermos of coffee, ready to go, was inconspicuously left on the counter. 7 minutes of breakfast and a short kiss later, he went out the door.

Adam worked until lunch break. When he walked out of his workplace, Ronan and Opal would be waiting outside with a bag of takeout food, usually burger, fries and milkshake. They would sit at the curb, with Opal in the middle, munching on the burger wrappers and the milkshake lids. Sometimes Chainsaw would flew in and joined them. Ronan would feed him his fries and they would get looks from passerby. Adam knew they made quite the spectacle, and for once he didn’t care.

After lunch, Adam worked until afternoon. Ronan and Opal would be off to do some mischiefs but they would return just in time to pick Adam up for his one hour break. Though it stretched to two hours now and used for grocery runs, or a short library visit, or a quick peruse at the local music store or a drive around Henrietta, where Adam would take a nap in the passenger seat while Opal pointed at various things outside the windows, saying “Kerah! What is that?”.

When the two hours were up, Ronan would drop Adam at his next workplace. After another short kiss, Adam would exit the BMW and returned to work. He came home just in time for dinner. After dinner was bonding time with Opal over TV, with Ronan keeping a running commentary in the background. Then it was bedtime, which meant making sure Opal brushed her teeth before tucking her in.

A quick shower later, Adam was ready for bed. Ronan would be waiting in bed for him, all soft smile and warm eyes. A few minutes of just kissing and touching, before Adam sighed and burrowed into Ronan’s embrace.

“Good night.”

A kiss on top of Adam’s head.

“Good night.”

Lights out.

Repeat.

Oh, except on Sunday.

On Sunday, Ronan woke up early for church. Adam had taken the day off and he would be downstair waiting with bacon and eggs and coffee. Ronan would leave after they exchanged a kiss. Then it was laundry time. Opal would ran circles around Adam while he hung the clothes.

When it was done, he and Opal would go on a small adventure; traipsing in the woods surrounding the Barns, digging around in the fields, or petting baby mice in the barns. Sometimes they would collect pebbles or pick up wild flowers to bring home. The pebbles went to an empty fishbowl sitting at the kitchen’s window sill. The flowers would go in a green vase to be put on Ronan’s bedside table. Then Adam would cook something up for lunch while Opal cleaned herself up.

Around mid-morning, the Lynch brothers would arrived. Declan would shake Adam’s hand and Matthew would twirl Opal around. Then the brothers would have some bonding time which included lots of swearing (Declan and Ronan), protesting (Ronan and Matthew), and laughing (all three) while Opal helped Adam prepared lunch. After, they all sat down for lunch and catch up on each other lives. It was nice, it was homey. Once lunch was finished, Declan would help Ronan with the dishes while Matthew read a storybook for Opal. Declan and Matthew stayed until afternoon, before they drove back to D.C.

Then it was Ronan helping Adam fold the laundry while Opal played with the crayons; Declan bought her a coloring book and Adam had showed her how to color, but she mostly ended up nibbling the crayons instead. It was a relaxing time for Adam. He and Ronan would talk about nothing and everything, trading bad jokes and funny stories.

They would have a bit of time before dinner. Adam usually used it to research college stuff or just lounging on the couch, reading. Ronan spent it watching shows about cars, with his head lying on Adam’s lap. This was Adam’s favorite time. Where everything was quiet and warm and right. Sometimes Opal would worm her way between Adam and Ronan. Ronan would curse because her hooves kicked him in the shins, or Adam would yelped because her elbows dug painfully into his side. In the end all three would end up snickering in a tangle of limbs on the too small couch while Chainsaw observed from her perch on the back of the couch.

And Adam would be overtaken by awe, because this was his life now. This was his family. This brilliant boy and magical girl and beautiful bird. They were his as much as he was theirs. Adam had found a place where he belonged. He was known, and he didn’t mind at all.

[mychemicalrachel]

I started thinking about Adam at college and I accidentally wrote a thing.

Read on ao3. 

Adam had anticipated college to be stressful. The good kind of stress, if such a thing existed. He’d expected the overload of homework and reading, welcomed it readily. But with a full ride scholarship to one of the best schools in the country, for once in his life, Adam didn’t have to worry about where money for his next meal would come from. And that was the kind of stress he would gladly live without.

For the first few months, Adam still saved every penny like it might be his last. He kept a cereal box under his bed stuffed with extra cash, eventually giving in to opening a checking account at Gansey’s insistence. After getting a job at the local mechanic’s shop, Adam slowly came to realize that he didn’t have to scavenge for money anymore. For the first time, Adam had money he could spend on whatever he wanted.

It started to show in small ways at first; Adam splurged the extra two-dollars on the good toilet paper instead of the sand-paper off brand. He ordered coffee instead of water when he spent late hours studying at the campus coffee shop. He was even able to fill up the BMWs gas tank instead of buying gas in ten-dollar increments when it started getting low.

So yes, Adam had anticipated college to be stressful, and it was, but withdrawal from Henrietta was even more so. The first few weeks were the worst. Nightmares were still fresh in his mind, memories of Gansey’s death and Ronan’s almost unmaking. More often than not, he still dreamt of his own hands on Ronan’s throat, squeezing until he could feel the breath stop. Some nights, he simply dreamed of Cabeswater, what it was now that it was nothing.

He called Ronan on those particularly bad nights. On the occasions that Ronan didn’t answer, Opal did. She would talk to him, sometimes in English or Latin or that other language he didn’t understand. Somehow, she knew it didn’t matter what she said. Just to know that she was okay, that her and Ronan were safe, it was enough.

The days were even worse. Something small could set Adam off into a spiral; a girl who, in passing, looked like Blue; a boy whose laugh sounded like Gansey’s; a breeze would close a door and Noah’s name would slip off his tongue before he remembered that Noah was gone. Adam did his best to cope with their absence alone-- he couldn’t very well call his friends every time he missed them. They had lives, and Adam needed to let them be without worrying about him all the time.

The first pack of cigarettes Adam bought was for a friend who didn’t have the cash on him. His friend gratefully handed him a single cigarette from the pack, saying thanks. He left Adam alone, staring at the thin white stick curiously; he’d never smoked before. It had never occurred to him, never been an option or a lure, but staring at it now, it seemed to call to Adam. A pull that he hadn’t felt since the death of Cabeswater. Adam went back into the convenience store and bought a lighter.

He choked on the first drag. It burned his throat more than anything, left his lungs feeling full and deflated at the same time. He took another drag, slower, and exhaled. Staring into the smoke, like searching for shapes in the clouds, Adam felt himself relax.

When he crushed the butt of the cigarette against the pavement, he told himself it was a one time thing. One cigarette didn’t make you an addict.

Adam went back the next day and bought himself another pack.

By the time Adam’s first year of college had officially ended, he realized he might actually miss this place when he goes back to Virginia for the summer. For the past nine months, this dorm room had been his home. Leaving it feels surreal. But the draw of Ronan and Blue and Gansey is even stronger. He packs up the BMW and leaves college behind.

It’s an almost seven hour drive to Virginia, and Adam spends the whole time anxiously tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Blue texts him a few times, reminding him to pull over and rest if he gets too tired, but the pull of home fills him with adrenaline. He can’t wait to be back. Not to the town, or even to the Barns, but to see his friends again.

Everyone is waiting at the Barns when Adam parks the BMW and climbs out. He can see the Pig and his Hondayota parked to one side of the drive. The sun is kissing the horizon, the beginning of dusk leaving everything glowing orange and pink. Magical, as if the Barns could ever be anything but.

He’s not even up the porch steps when the front door crashes open and Blue is charging him. She flings herself at him, and Adam barely manages to grab her and steady them before they both fall down the stairs. He staggers back, laughing, as the familiarity swarms him. Gansey is right behind her, not even waiting for them to part before inserting himself into the hug. Over Gansey’s shoulder, he spots Ronan standing back, watching them. There’s a hint of a smirk tugging the corners of his lips.

Adam disentangles himself as best as he can. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, Ronan at the top, with four steps between them. Adam leans against the railing. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ronan mimics.

“Your hair is longer,” Adam notes. “It looks good.”

Ronan lifts a hand to brush through his hair, like he’s just noticed. Then he shrugs casually. “I figured you might want something to pull.”

Adam grins at him. “That’s presumptuous, Lynch.”

Ronan jumps down to the ground, not bothered to use to the steps. He casts a look toward Blue and Gansey. Blue, seeming to take the unsubtle hint, grabs Gansey’s arm. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” She tugs him back toward the house, leaving Adam and Ronan alone. Without an audience, Ronan seems to soften a bit. He nudges his shoe against Adam’s. “I was serious, what I said about my hair.”

Adam reaches up to pull a few fingers through the hair. He gives it a experimental tug and Ronan’s eyes narrow, either an invitation or a challenge. Adam assumes it’s a mixture of both and he finally leans in to capture Ronan’s lips. The heat that immediately surrounds him, the warmth that seems to come from the inside out, it’s all familiar. It’s addictive and safe and tantalizing, all at once.

And then Ronan pulls back, frowning. “You taste weird.”

“I didn’t brush my teeth,” Adam admits. “And I had onion rings for lunch.”

“No,” Ronan shakes his head. “That’s not it.” He watches Adam for a moment, rubs his thumb along his lower lip in a gesture that seems distinctly Gansey of him. Ronan frowns a little more. “Have you been smoking?”

“Oh,” Adam realizes. “Yeah. A little.”

“How do you smoke a little?” Ronan demands. “Either you’ve been smoking or you haven’t.”

“Okay,” Adam corrects himself. “Yes, I’ve been smoking. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so mad all of a sudden?”

“It’s fucking gross,” Ronan snaps. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since school is stressful, I guess.” Adam shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”

“They’re bad for you--”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about bad habits,” Adam laughs. “You’re the one who used to drink himself into oblivion to avoid dealing with feelings.”

Ronan chooses not to acknowledge that. “What if Gansey and Blue found out?”

“So what?” Adam asks. “I’m a big boy. Gansey is not my father. I can do whatever I want.”

“And you want to kill yourself?” Ronan says. “There are easier ways, man.”

Adam is taken aback. “What the fuck, Ronan?”

Ronan’s nostrils flare. He looks down, shuffling his feet. At his sides, his hands tighten into fists. Ronan turns to walk away, but Adam catches his wrist.

“No, Ronan. Do not just shut me out. What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m self-destructive,” Ronan snaps. “I know that. Sure, you’re right; I drink myself stupid sometimes. But I’ve never fucking smoked because those things kill, Parrish. They fucking kill you. Slowly. And I cannot lose you.”

Ronan drops his gaze, sighs, and Adam can see the way his shoulders deflate. The fight leaves him. For some reason, this Ronan seems harder to deal with than an angry Ronan. Adam says, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Ronan barks out a bitter laugh. “Thank God for that, huh? You’d never listen to me anyway.”

“I didn’t know you would hate it so much.” Adam nudges Ronan’s arm. “I figured it would make me look hot.”

Ronan rolls his eyes.

Adam clears his throat. “If you hate it so much, I can try to stop.”

“I’m not your fucking father,” Ronan says. “I’m not going to make you do anything. I’m not giving you some fucking ultimatum, like if you don’t stop I’ll break up with you.”

“I know,” Adam says. “But you don’t like it. Relationships are about compromise, right? And you grew your hair out just for me.” Adam laces his fingers through the hair and tugs at it again. It makes Ronan smile. “So I’ll try to stop. I’m not making an promises, though.”

“If it’s about stress, I can dream you something,” Ronan says. “There are millions of ways to relieve stress.” He pulls Adam into his arms, mouthing at Adam’s neck, his throat, his jaw. “I can dream you up a sex doll that looks just like me. Sex is shown to be a great stress reliever.”

Adam laughs, shoving at Ronan’s shoulders. “I would love to explain that to my roommate.”

Ronan bites down on his lip and watches Adam carefully, suddenly serious. “Promise me you’ll call if you get too stressed out. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, I will drive your shitty Hondayota all the way to New Jersey if you need me.”

And Adam knew that Ronan would be there for him, was always there for him, but hearing Ronan offer like that… it made something in Adam’s chest swell. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Good.” Ronan laces his fingers with Adam’s. “Now, we should go see the others. Opal missed you…”

Ronan leads him inside, launching into a story about Opal and Chainsaw. Adam smiles as he listens, feeling more settled than he ever had before. For the first time in months, his fingers don’t itch for a cigarette. He doesn’t feel the tension and the stress like a physical weight on his back. He feels calm, relaxed. He feels like he’s home.

[whenimawakeandwhenimasleep]

Pynchweek 1: Something old, something new, something borrowed

Ronan marries Adam in early September. Surrounded by friends and what remains of Ronan’s family. It’s one of those autumn days when light stays really low and golden and shatters through the forest as pillars.

The lawn at the back of the main house is big enough to accommodate the few dozen of them. Good food and lanterns and fireflies for the night. Adam had voted down a show wrestling, but they had agreed to pizza. Just them and the people they love. Nothing big, nothing showy, no fuzz, no nerves. Ronan had been so highly strung in the morning that he vomited between shower and putting his suit on.

Traditions were trivial to them, in a monumental way. There was very little room for we-should-do’s and it’s-always-been-this-way’s in their relationship when everything about them was new and untried. Someone else would have called Ronan and Adam adrift and rootless, but they had more history in each other than most people spanned in their entire lifetimes. Too much magic to hide away to pay attention to long-established conventions. No extensive families to appease, not people left to judge them. Their whole life together had been a ritual. Reconfiguring it to please others would have been a forced mock-up - and Ronan Lynch did not lie nor did Adam Parrish yield to the will of others.

They had woken up together and had decided to spend every single moment that led to the ceremony that way. No jinxes about seeing your spouse in the wedding attire before the wedding. What were curses for impossible boys? What were curses after being possessed and almost unmade? So, they had dressed up together and Adam had done his tie. He, on his part, had ruined Adam’s styled hair by running his fingers through it.

Just before the ceremony, there is a shift in the reality. Like time starts slowly picking up speed. It moves and weaves and leaves Ronan completely winded, but he hangs on against the current. The whole noon becomes a series of shots in his mind, beautiful minutes that suspend in front of him. Adam’s calm smile as they say their vows. Their hands together when the justice of peace has spoken. Adam’s hands. His hands clammy. Adam’s soft lips. So many people looking at them that if he doesn’t hold on tighter to Adam, he might lose his breath. The extra cream wedding cake that he insisted on having, in hindsight a problematic choice considering that it’s impossible to cut without the cream bursting around the piece. Adam’s laugh, shockingly clear, chimes inside him.

It’s only when they dance that Ronan seems to be able to pull the brakes. They’re turning with the rhythm of the music and time slots itself in the right gear around them. He doesn’t want to look around and Adam makes it so easy for him. A couple of inches shorter than him, Adam tilts his head up and leans against Ronan’s cheek. Strong fingers stroke against his hairline and between the soft skin and rougher hands, he has no other choice but to keep his eyes on his husband. After some time, he feels how other people join them on the dance floor. Henry and Blue waltz by them, the first channeling his inner Astaire, while the latter flashes them a crude gesture. Ronan’s chest inflates gratefully and he blesses the short fucker. He takes the lead back in their dance for a second, just to bump into to the other pair. In his periphery, he can see Declan and Gansey shaking their heads in unison.

Dusk settles into the valley. Most of the pizza is gone and the cake is on the verge of crumbling down because their guests have decided to eat most of the base layer. Matthew is, if possible, even more exuberant than usual, but Declan has taken away his punch cup. The witches are getting on well with the Ganseys and Ronan can’t decide which of the clans has done more humbling.

He is sitting at their table and watching as Adam dances with Opal at the other end of the dance floor. Oddly mismatched dance partners, his husband in a crisp, well-fitted white shirt and their kid in a wispy, uneven tulle dress that billows around Adam’s waist as he holds her up in his arms. She shrieks loudly every time Adam spins her around, completely off beat. After the justice had married them, Ronan had foolishly thought that his heart couldn’t be crushed into smaller pieces than it was then. But watching his two people twirling and laughing, he feels how his chest falls into amazing stardust that flies to his lungs like gun powder and sets his throat burning.

To push back the burning so that it won’t reach his eyes, Ronan plays with a piece of cake on the plate in front of him. It’s half-eaten and doesn’t have whipped cream on it. After Opal emerging, they haven’t taken any cake or cookies themselves; she tends to open Oreos and lick the filling or peel the cream of the cake and then dump the rests unceremoniously in front of them. He complains a lot about it and Adam never complains about it, so no wonder why the kid hasn’t learnt not to do it. What would he really do? Ronan has a sneaky feeling that  the rests are Opal’s own way of expressing love.

He is startled out of his thoughts when a firm arm entwines around him from behind.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Adam rests his chin on his shoulder and watches, just like him, as Blue and Calla dance their wild version of Salty Dog Rag. The air is warm and a bit humid and Ronan can feel how Adam’s sweat clings on his skin. He tries not to think how good it would feel like to trace it away with his tongue.

Instead, he leans back against his husband.

“Don’t get fucking desperate, not with your pay grade”, he retorts back and loosens his tie with his free hand.

“Gansey wanted to talk to you. He was beckonin’, but you didn’t look.” Across the floor, Gansey picks up his cardigan from the back of his chair and looks at him with fire in his eye. Sappy-happy occasions tend to bring out the younger, boyish Gansey out. “Suppose he wants to give brotherly advice to you and take you for a last ride before our trip.”

Whatever advice there ever was to give to him, Gansey gave it when they lived together. After his decision to quit school, Gansey stopped giving him advice and started asking him questions. No, this is Adam giving him a breather, a moment to gather his thoughts with his bestman.

Ronan gets up and turns around. He married a man who understands him wholly, who knows how overwhelming these things get to him, recognises when he needs to count to zero. He couldn’t have gotten luckier than he did and so he leans down against Adam’s lips and whispers: “Thanks, asshat.”

“Don’t stay away too late. We’ve got to say goodbye to these people in good time. And we’ve got a date tomorrow.”

“Jesus… Didn’t I just marry you so that I don’t have to date you?”

“Well, you should’ve picked someone who’s not so high maintenance”, Adam says with a dry smile and scratches Ronan’s sides gently through his shirt.

“Thought you’re the maintenance in this relationship.”

“Mmmm, am not, if that leaves you in charge.” With that, his husband pushes him towards their friend and taps his watch as a reminder. They move closer to where the cars are parked, him backing and Adam strolling slowly forward. Distance is nothing but a force between them, an unbreakable cord that resonates with each step. It’s been tested and tried a thousand times when they were younger. There’s a decided, calm authority in Adam that ignites the dust inside him.

“You didn’t tell me where we’re going tomorrow”, he shouts as he climbs into Blue’s car. Before he slams the door closed, he sees Adam shrug slightly with a winning smile. What an asshole.

Next day, he gets to drive them all the way to countryside near Charlottesville. Adam signs him to pull up to the side of the road and they switch drivers. Their night and morning had been unhurried, but filled with evident desperation. Still he feels a tight, hot pull in his insides when Adam floors the pedal cocksure and steers them to a smaller road.

The last town was miles ago and they’ve passed very few cars on their way. Guess they are the only ones dumb enough to get up so early. None of the fields or the forest look familiar to him, but then again, Ronan never drove this route north when Adam was studying.

“Care to tell me now where we’re going”, he says as he looks from the forest to his husband. To anyone else, it would seem like he is concentrating on driving. Keeping his eyes on the road, one hand languidly on the steering wheel and one leaning bent on the window. The problem is that Adam doesn’t need to concentrate when he drives. There’s not much difference between their ways of driving. He takes risks, while Adam calculates and then takes risks. All the same, the speed meter whines miserably every time either of them has an open road ahead.

“Nope”, his husband says and pops the final sound, just to annoy him.

Adam is nervous. As a rule, Ronan doesn’t want to face anything that makes a man like Adam nervous.

After thirty minutes, they pull up to a parking lot in front of a church. ‘Parking lot’ is stretching it, as the lot is mostly just gravel and patches of grass here and there. The building itself is small, dirty white, constantly apologising to the empty countryside surrounding it. Catholic, Ronan’s mind adds helpfully. Catholic, despite Ronan’s many problems with the institution, still mean family to him. Home. Faith. His faith and the faith of his parents and brothers.

“Take your jacket”, Adam says shortly when they get out. Ronan’s mind has yet to move forward from the thought of religion. In all honesty, he had thought they would drive to a bigger city to spend the night, but Adam had only told him to take his suit with him. Opal stayed behind at the Barns with Declan and Matthew.

As they climb the few steps to the open church door, Ronan sees that the father is already waiting for them. Adam greets him warmly and politely, so much like Gansey in his pleasantness, so much like himself in his frankness. Ronan takes the hand the older man offers, feeling helplessly puzzled.

“Well, then, Ronan. Would you like confess before we move to the blessing and the communion?”

There is nothing but stillness in him. It’s a sleeplike daze, the feeling he gets when he tries to wake up but he’s taking something with him from the dreams. They had asked the local parrishes for a Catholic blessing, but all of them had turned down a couple like them. It had hurt like hell, but Ronan had put it all in driving and working. Didn’t want to keep mourning it, because there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t even Adam’s religion, and his religion had rejected him.

Now here he is, in a quiet church, on his way to a confessional. He looks back at Adam who sits calmly in the pews and there’s a lightness inside him. It was there yesterday, when he said “I do” in front of the justice, but this feels refined. Collected. It’s not picking up speed, it lulls, swells. Mary looks upon them from her altar behind his husband and Ronan thinks of his mother.

The confession goes as it always has gone. There’s a lot to tell and he has to give a director’s cut of it, mostly because there’s too much magic and petty sins involved. He doesn’t need to confess any impure thoughts anymore, hasn’t done it in years and now confessing feels like it should feel. It’s a burden being lifted off, secrets poured out. It’s strange how Ronan has been finding his way back to his faith after he and Adam happened.

Afterwards, Adam confesses as well. It takes more time, which Ronan spends lying on a pew. The priest walks his husband through the process but the extra time spent in the confessional is no doubt due to Adam’s pedantic “leave no stone unturned” mentality. Once told to confess, there’s not a small filing cabinet he won’t open. There are vaults there, inside Adam’s head, that are only privy to Ronan; steel-walled and tucked nicely behind a system of locks that have been opened one by one over the years. Some of them, the most vulnerable ones, are still behind mazes and Ronan looks up the serene face of Mother Mary and promises that he will spend all his life guarding those.

The blessing, just like the confession, goes like it always goes. Just like the communion. But this time Ronan is present. He sees not only minutes, but seconds of it. Hears every word he says and hears every word Adam says. There’s no current, just him and his husband kneeling on the altar, the warmth of it all washing through him. The body of Christ and the blood of Christ are heavy on his tongue. Adam looks at him, a bit unsure, over the brim of the cup. To ask if this is what he wanted. If Adam had read him correctly. If this was what was missing. Ronan wants to scream out all the warmth that’s nestling next to his heart.

Outside the church, they thank the father, Ronan now more talkative than what he was when they arrived. The father tells Ronan to visit the mass despite his differences with the local church and wishes Adam to take part in the tradition of weekly mass, as well. Adam smiles sweetly and politely, even though that Ronan knows Sunday mornings to be Adam’s own time which won’t be spent worshipping God.

They look at each quietly as they get in the car.

“Where did you find out about him? That he was cool with, you know?” Ronan says and he feels how his throat begins to constrict shut around the vowels. There’s a lot inside now, has been since yesterday and he just hasn’t got it out yet.

Adam looks down and plays with his wedding ring, with Blimblim as Opal fondly refers to it after mishearing Blue’s name for the dream-made band.

“Well, there’s internet, you know?” Adam’s words get a longer quality, a hushed nasality that emerges when he is doubting or sad or angry. Ronan is so full of love for the man in front of him that he can barely take full breaths in. It’s like there’s no vacancy and his body is choosing Adam over oxygen. That hardly surprises him.

Adam leans  forward to turn the key in the ignition, a faint ashamed blush on his cheeks and his neck, but Ronan throws his jacket and tie on the backseat and himself at his husband. They smash against the driver’s side door, hands desperately grasping each other’s sides and neck. There’s a low murmur that escape Adam’s lips and Ronan can feel how they turn into a smile against him.

“We’re not going to make out in front of a priest”, Adam tells him breathily and shoves him away. Ronan leans in to give him one last peck and kicks the door open.

“Why not? We’ve done worse in a church. Now let me drive to the Barns.”

Ronan burns most of his adrenaline away when he drives them back. When he slides their car to an abrupt full-stop in front of the main house, he’s settled down and ready to talk when the time comes.

The time doesn’t come straightaway. In fact, it takes many hours and a family dinner until they’re left alone. Opal wants her time at the center of their attention and Declan and Matthew stay the night to eat yesterday’s leftovers. Between pizza and old cake, Ronan tells Declan quietly where they spent the better part of the day. It’s a sobering emotion, having that talk with his older brother. They have had their share of fights and animosity and distrust, a youth spent in raw misunderstanding. But when it comes to this, there is no one else Ronan would want to talk to. Declan understands the importance of what happened in the church. When Adam, Matthew and Opal commandeer their strangely private conversation, Declan lays his hand on his neck. It’s heavy in pride and feels home, just like the communion wine. Ronan will never tell his brother this.

After everyone else has gone to bed, Adam and Ronan stay outside on the porch. And that’s when he can begin to explain it.

Ronan talks of his disappointment and shame when the priest in Henrietta had turned them down and his silent desperation when the priest in the next town over had done the same. How he had visited his old thoughts that made him sick sometimes. Thoughts that told him that loving men was wrong. Adam lies in his arms on the couch and squeezes his hand.

Then he also reaches inside himself and brings out everything that went through his head in front of that priest. How it fits together with everything that happened in front of the justice. And how nothing would have been worse if Adam had not arranged that, but how it would have been different for him. How happy he was yesterday and how happy he is today. It’s more talk of emotions that he is usually capable of but after all the trouble, Adam deserves to hear it.

In his turn, Adam tells Ronan how he is a damned idiot for thinking that Adam wouldn’t see the hurt. How he looked and reached out to the gay communities in the state to find a Catholic priest who would bless their marriage. He didn’t do it in the fear of Ronan being unhappy with the wedding and he didn’t do it so that he could be reassured of his importance to Ronan. Those days are long, long gone. No more fear, no more uncertainty. He did it because it means a lot to Ronan.

Being known and being understood has always been synonymous with being loved in their relationship. Sometimes it requires work, a conscious effort to decode actions and put words in the right order. But Ronan knows it’s what they vowed to do for the rest of their lives.

Adam’s hand burn on his arm, like an echo of those vows. A hum that arises from their bones and core. Ronan bows down to kiss his husband and breathes in that sound, knowing it will never stop resounding.

Their wedding song:

Heal / Tom Odell

[ridleymocki]

There's a Brand New Dance, But I Don't Know Its Name

Written for Pynch Week 17 Day 1, prompt: Something old // Something new // Something borrowed.

Summary: Ronan picks Adam up from work and struggles with the way that old baggy t-shirt makes him look, prompting Adam to share a good memory from his past, in a way he so rarely does. Ronan loves the way the two of them work together, Adam thinks his boyfriend is away with the faeries half the time.They have a quiet, cute evening together, with some gratuitous Gangsey shenanigans at the end.

Notes: Guys this is my first Pynch fic and it’s amazingly self-indulgent but that’s just going to be the tone for this week, I think. A big thanks to the organisers of Pynch Week 17, you guys are great. (I’m also posting from Aust, so sorry if the times are off for you international peeps).

also on ao3

There was a hole in the collar of Adam’s t-shirt when Ronan picked him up from work, a stretched out and threadbare t-shirt that was driving Ronan goddamn fucking crazy. Streaks of black were littering Adam’s hands and forearms, one across his brow, but the shirt was clean for all that it was ratty as hell. His hair was heavy with a few days dirt but the smile was the same. The whole ensemble was strangely new.

Ronan had never seen him quite like this. Adam had looked tired at times; beaten down, or worn out. But he’d never looked vulnerable. He had ridden a moving dolly behind Ronan’s car and held a demon in his bones, for god’s sake; he never, ever looked vulnerable. But the shadow from the loose collar made Adam’s chest look concave, it’s faded colour washed him out, and Ronan had the infuriating urge to gather him to his own body and shake out whatever made him look so small.

 It was an urge Ronan rarely got: to protect Adam Parrish. All the facts seemed to suggest the opposite; he’d beaten the shit out Adam’s dad, after all. But if anyone knew about wanting people to treat you as though you were your own master, it was Ronan. And Adam wasn’t some wilting rose you had to tiptoe around lest his petals fall. Adam could be more dangerous than Ronan himself in many ways and Ronan was keenly aware of it. Attracted to it, even. Just like he loved Adam’s dark stare and his dismissive comments, the glimmer of something hard and jagged and ready. Ronan had been pinned by that stare more than once, and it was always thrilling.

 But that fucking shirt. It was wrong on him. Made him look skinny and ill-matched to his body. The way it made Ronan want to protect him was infuriating because he knew Adam would hate it. They cared for each other by insulting one another then laughing together, touching like they were entitled, being there when needed and leaving be when that was needed, instead. By giving each other the dignity of their respective strength – not by treating one as weak.

 “Earth to Lynch. Where’ve you gone?” Adam snapped his fingers in front of his face and Ronan blinked, hurtling back to reality.

 “Whatever,” he snarled. Adam only smirked at him. “You look awful. Don’t get grease stains everywhere.”

 “Didn’t seem to bother you much the other night,” Adam said lowly, buckling into the passenger seat of the BMW. Ronan felt his neck go hot as he pulled back onto the road, trying hard not to look in the rear view mirror to the back seat, and fuel the memories of what they’d done there. Adam’s crassness was oddly relieving, though. Pierced the dishevelment so Ronan saw him sharply again.

 “What the hell happened? Did you get stuck under a car?” He reached over to thumb the stain on Adam’s brow, and Adam swatted his hand away with a grumble.

 “Just an engine that looked like it’d been dragged from the sea. Bastard of a thing. I actually had to change, I haven’t done that in years. Honestly, the shit people do to their cars…” He trailed off, distracted with retying a shoelace.

 “That explains the shirt.”

 “What about the shirt?”

 “It has holes in it,” Ronan said plainly. “You never wear anything with holes.” Adam got a sad little twist to his mouth at that. It was true, of course, Ronan knew. Adam’s Aglionby uniform had always been impeccable, and if he’d just never sat next to another student, made obvious the way his uniform was slightly faded, it might have looked new.

 “It’s old,” Adam said, “I found it in my locker.” Ronan had taken the road on the edge of town, and it was blessedly bare of other cars, because he kept looking over at his passenger.

 Adam picked at another hole in the hem of his shirt, the cotton knit peeling back like worn paper. After a few moments he said, “There was this guy that lived in our street for a while,” and Ronan looked back to the road, aware of how rarely Adam talked about his old place. “He wasn’t that old but he acted like he’d lived through the punk era or something, safety pins in his ears and shit,” Adam smiled to himself. “Anyway, his name was Gary and he was cool, you know? Decent guy. Not brave, exactly. I mean, he knew what was going on with me the way everyone did. But he was nice.” The unspoken everyone knew and didn’t do anything made Ronan grind his teeth together. Adam seemed to frown at his own memories, and they filled up the car, hovering.

 “And?” Ronan said lowly, after a moment. Adam recalled himself.

 “And, one day he saw me walking out of the lot to go to school, with a blood stain on my shirt. Gary, he was out smoking on his front step, asked if I wanted to change. I told him I was locked out. Then he just disappeared inside his trailer and came out with this,” Adam tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “I wore it that day and then kept it at work. Totally forgot about it, actually, until just now.”

 “Why at work?” Ronan asked, then immediately wondered if that was the wrong thing to ask. This second-guessing shit was all Gansey’s fault, he swore. He reminded himself that Adam didn’t care when he was blunt.

 “Because I didn’t want my parents to find it. It was just– it was mine. And I didn’t want Gary to get shit for it.”

 Ronan nodded. “What happened to him?”

 Adam shrugged. “He moved a few years back, chasing some music dream or something. I only knew him for a couple months.”

 They lapsed into silence, spent mostly with Adam rolling his shoulders and neck, and Ronan sneaking as many glances at him in the orange setting light as safety would allow.

 Before long they pulled up at Monmouth. The windows were dark, seeing as no one was here these days but Ronan, the others off on their intrepid adventures.

 “You still need a damn shower, though,” he said, slamming the door shut.

 Adam snorted. “You offering to give me one, Lynch?”

 “Oh fuck off,” Ronan said with a smile.

 …………………………

 Adam did shower, but he did it alone and threw water around the curtain at Ronan when he came in to grab a soda from the fridge. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it,” he laughed on the way out.

 When Adam emerged, towel around his waist with another rubbing at his hair, pink from the water and smirking, he said, “If Blue were here she’d be biting your ear off about consent.”

 Ronan huffed, dragging his eyes away from the droplet of water on Adam’s stomach. “I’d willingly cut my ear off before she opened her mouth.”

 “I’ve learned from experience that she’ll just walk to your other side and get your good ear.” Ronan made a face at him. “Too soon?” And there, right there, was the asshole he knew and quietly loved. Adam’s feigned look of concern slowly melted away into a smug grin, his eyes dark. Ronan stretched a little where he sprawled on the couch and openly stared, letting his eyes run over the breadth of Adam’s shoulders, the graceful slope of his cheek, trailing down his neck and chest, ending at the strong hand that gripped the towel he’d stopped using to dry his hair. Said hair flopped in attractive disarray over his forehead, making him look touchable and real. When Ronan caught his gaze again, Adam’s smile had shifted into something soft and amused.

 “What were we talking about, again?” Ronan said, unbothered. Adam laughed at him and swatted him with a towel as he walked behind the couch and into Ronan’s room. It was only once he was out of sight that Ronan realised the towel he’d swatted with hadn’t been the one Adam had pressed to his hair, and he groaned. “You’re a fucking tease,” he called out.

 This summer was being incredibly good to him, Ronan thought. The fact the others were away made things very quiet, but they kept in touch and the feeling of their absence never veered into loneliness. On Friday, when Adam finished work, they’d drive to the Barns for the weekend and while away hours in the too-warm sun surrounded by dream things. Adam would do a reading for him out on the porch in the middle of the night, fireflies about and circling. He’d try to do it on intuition but end up pulling out a book on tarot anyway, and Ronan would tease him for being a nerd. Ronan would wake up next to him the next morning, seek out his warmth under the covers, and wonder how in the hell they, of all people, managed to end up here. They’d get up at crashing sounds in the kitchen and find Opal throwing cereal pieces to Chainsaw, the bird hopping manically in the small space to get to them. Adam would press a kiss to his shoulder and start on the coffee.

 It had been more or less the same for the last few weekends in a row, and the predictability of it just made Ronan grateful, instead of annoyed.

 “You’re drifting off a lot today,” Adam said right before he flopped on top of Ronan where he lay on the couch, head pressed to his throat and chest to chest. “Everything good?”

 Ronan was nodding without having to think about it, and he ran a hand down Adam’s spine. It was a testament to their relationship that Adam accepted that response and didn’t press further. The fabric beneath Ronan’s fingers was softer than he expected and he looked down to see Adam was wearing one of his own black t-shirts. “You changed.”

 Adam propped himself on an elbow to look at him, suppressing a smile. “You hated the other shirt,” he said, matter of fact, and Ronan raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you, Lynch.” He said lowly, and leaned down to press their lips together. Kissing Adam was still a little leap of faith, like he was giving himself up, giving in, allowing another person too near. It was as dizzying as the first time. But they had lots of kinds of kisses now. This one was content and easy, and they drew it out for longer and longer.

 “You wanna get pizza later? Skype the others?” Ronan asked when they separated. This was something of a routine, as well. And Gansey would never let them hear the end of it if they left it another day without checking in. Adam nodded at him and resettled on his chest, the silent yes, but later coming through loud and clear, regardless. Ronan let his head fall back, the shadows of Monmouth’s dusty eaves growing broad as the sun met the horizon. He toyed with the fabric under his fingers, liking that it was warm from Adam’s body and fit him well, liking it in a way he couldn’t explain. There were a lot of things he couldn’t explain about this new thing they had, and not everything in his life was alright, but damn it, this was.

 This was alright.

 This was good.

 …………………………….

 (They overslept and had to race to Nino’s before it shut, even though the summer night was probably too warm for pizza. Blue took smug screenshots of their Skype chat when she saw they were, in fact, wearing the same shirt. Henry joked that he would make an Instagram account to document their married life, and then looked wounded when Ronan very slowly and appreciatively ate the pizza that Henry couldn’t get to if he tried. Gansey looked well slept for once and, with the unwitting confidence of someone who thinks their concern is valid, told Ronan and Adam that they had better be taking care of themselves. “You’re the one in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Adam laughed at him.

 “Adam. It’s Henrietta.” Gansey got very close to the camera and widened his eyes as if to psychically convey the weight of what he was saying.

 “There’s magic in them thar hills,” Blue said behind him, rolling her eyes. Adam cracked up.

 “Thank you, Dad,” Ronan said, “we’ll be sure to use the buddy system.”

 Gansey sent them ‘mental hugs’ – “It’s a thing, Ronan, accept my affection” – as Henry waved goodbye on screen, and ridiculously, Ronan and Blue fist-bumped their respective cameras at each other, making Adam snort into his shoulder.

 This was good.)

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Thanks for reading! <3