#and it's not like Parrish fucking raised her or anything

[clotpolesonly]

did you miss the "don't infantilize Malia" part of my post?

Malia is, i repeat, a grown-ass woman. 32 years old, actually, if the movie is set 15 years after Allison's death when Malia was 17. even if you subtract her years as a coyote from her age entirely, which is already ludicrous, she would still have lived 24 fucking years as a human, which is more than enough for her to consent to having sex with whomever she damn well pleases.

when has she ever, even within canon as a recently-turned-back-to-human teenager, displayed any concrete sign that she was incapable of understanding the concepts of sex and consent? just because you feel like she should have displayed those signs and behaved/been treated like she was still 9 years old, there's a point at which you have to take what was given to us on screen for what it is and accept that she didn't. she was presented as a socially out-of-touch but otherwise intelligent and perceptive teenage girl who caught up with her peers very quickly and finished out high school on par with them by just about all developmental standards.

and now she has been living, as an adult fully integrated with human society, for 15 years. she has been human again for almost twice as long as she was a coyote in the first place. at what point does she earn back her right to be treated as a functional and independent person?

not to mention the entire concept of "mental age" is incredibly ableist, developed by eugenicists, used as a justification for stripping developmentally and intellectually disabled adults of their right to have agency in and control over their own lives and to restrict their right to have children (because, if a person is "mentally" a child themselves, then clearly it would be morally repugnant to allow them to have sex and breed). adults with mental disabilities can and do form adult relationships, have sex, and become parents on a regular basis, and no one else has absolutely any right to cast judgment on them or on their partners because of it.

there is no such thing as "mental age". there are only adults who may have limitations in their cognitive function and be in need of support in some areas. Malia is not and has never been "mentally still 9 years old". she was 17 years old in the show and she is 32 years old in this movie, and regardless of any lasting effect her time in the wild may have had on her (which, according to the evidence, is very little, none of which would reasonably interfere with her ability to consent to sex with another consenting adult), she will continue to be "mentally" a 32 year old adult woman. if you have a problem with a 32 year old woman having a relationship with a man also in his 30s, then you have drunk some serious puritan koolaid.

in summary, your argument is both ridiculous and offensive. find something else to be angry about.

another incorrect reason to hate the TW movie: Malia and Parrish's "age gap". y'all, they are both grown-ass adults, she is fucking 30 YEARS OLD by this point. he is not "taking advantage" of her because he is 37, they are both adults and long-time friends who are engaging in a consensual relationship. criticize them for being a bland and poorly formulated subplot if you want (i certainly do), but don't infantilize Malia and invent a power imbalance where there isn't one.

(also a 7 year age gap is an intensely hypocritical thing for Sterek shippers to condemn. just saying.)

[awyeahitssam]

Stiles figures out the whole werewolf thing when he’s nine years old, and never mentions it.

Not when he’s eleven and his dad is stressing over mountain lion manslaughter, when he’s fifteen and his best friend ditches him for the Hale brood, or when he’s seventeen and Cora punctures his tires with claws after he beats her out for first place in a countywide Young Writers competition.

If the Hale’s want to kill supernaturals invading their territory, that’s their right. If Scott wants to pretend they weren’t once brothers to each other just because he’s no longer dangerously asthmatic or socially stunted, Stiles can accept that too. And if Cora wants to take out her petty frustrations on Claudia Stilinski’s jeep - well, fuck yes will he get his vengeance but he’s certainly not going to blackmail her just because she’s stupid enough to pop claws in broad daylight. 

(Instead Stiles threatened to leak photos of Cora making out with her twin’s ex-girlfriend in the bathroom of the local diner - time stamped before they broke up. It was enough to make her personally change and finance his baby’s tires, plus teach the stunted bitch a lesson on messing with Stiles.

It may also help the girls' dismal attempts at subterfuge.

He doubted it, though.) 

For all that people go on about Stiles not being able to keep his smart mouth shut, he’s very good at saying nothing of substance.

In the end Stiles moved away for college without anybody discovering he knew all about Beacon Hill's supernatural secret. 

(He warded the Sheriff’s house to kingdom come. It was subtle enough that the local pack wouldn’t notice, but if anything looking to hurt his dad came bumping through the night they would sooner be burned to ash than touch a hair on the Sheriff’s oblivious human head.) 

Stiles gets the call on Christmas Eve. 

Parrish - the only Deputy he doesn’t have a file full of blackmail on - tells him his father is in the hospital and might not make it. He says he hasn’t been shot when asked, but stays vague when Stiles demands to know what happened even as he throws together a bag and sends an all-caps text to Jocelyn, a study partner who works at the airport and will be able to get him on the soonest available flight to San Francisco. 

Stiles emotionally manipulates and cajoles and blackmails, and still gets nothing more than vague replies from Jordan. Clark, Whittings and Jones don’t answer their phones.

When Stiles gets to Beacon Hills heads are going to roll.

- Stiles pulls into Beacon Memorial at three in the morning Christmas day, parks in the first spot he sees (because fuck reserved parking) and hightails it towards the nurse’s station.

“Get me the status of the Sheriff,” he orders a vaguely familiar nurse, who doesn’t even bat a lash at his brisk tone. The hospital staff is almost as familiar as the police force; they helped raise him when his mother couldn’t, and even after, when he hung around after school with Scott. 

Beacon Hills residents acknowledged that Stiles Stilinski didn’t mess around about his father's health. 

(When Stiles was fourteen the Sheriff got shot in the gut. The condescending prick of a doctor who refused to give ‘a child’ information on his father was fired, ruined, and run out of town within the month.)

“He was found with a head wound but it’s stopped bleeding, and I know his vitals have stabilized,” she says, first off. “You’ll have to ask his doctor for more information, hon. Room 317.”

Stiles doesn’t relax, can’t until he sees his father is perfectly alright for himself, but he nods and tries for a smile. It strains across his face and drops within a few seconds, so he turns and makes for the ICU. 

“And Stiles?” calls the nurse. “He has visitors.” 

It turns out ‘visitors’ means that there are three Hale’s, an Argent, and an ex-best friend hanging outside the Sheriff’s room. Stiles feels well on his way to bashing in a couple of faces, especially when Scott looks up at him like he’s an injured puppy and says, empathetic, “Stiles.” 

See, this is why it took some convincing to get Stiles to accept his full-ride to NYU. Stiles just fucking knew that his dad would get drawn into supernatural shit while he was gone, and he had been stupid enough to believe that the Deputy’s would actually do as ordered and keep him updated on more than just his father’s eating habits.

Oh, he would be having words with Robins. 

Out of the assembled Hale’s - Talia, Laura, and Peter - two look long-suffering and one is arranging their face into something resembling sorry. Chris Argent is showing no emotion but the way he watches Stiles is careful, almost wary. And Scott just looks plain guilty, which isn’t a good sign for his continued health because Stiles has killed to keep his dad safe before and he would damn sure do it again.

(Maybe he’ll kill them all, if the Sheriff dies.)

Stiles drops the calm facade that he’s been clutching at for the past twelve goddamned hours, takes a step forward, and stares down the local Alpha.

“What are you doing here?” he demands. It’s inconspicuous enough, something an oblivious human would ask when apparent strangers were crowding the waiting area. 

“Stiles, isn’t it?” Talia asks, standing to meet his height and reaching out for a handshake. He doesn’t spare the limb a glance, narrowed eyes demanding answers. “We were assisting your father on a case when he was injured. We’re here to make sure he’s alright.”

Stiles modulates his scent, his heartbeat, his rage. His eyes turn to Scott and a sneer pulls at his mouth. “You too, Scotty? Were you helping my father on a case?” 

Scott McCall is a terrible liar and everybody knows it.

His throat bobs, his eyes dart to Talia, and then to Chris, and then back to Stiles, who is considering punching his lights out.

Peter Hale is Talia’s enforcer. Laura Hale is set to inherit the mantle of Alpha. Chris Argent is the local hunter. They all have a reason to be here, to be involved, but Scott - Scott is just a beta, which means Scott is probably what pulled the Sheriff into this mess. Why else would a low ranking, bitten wolf be here? 

“I, uh. Yeah, I was. Y’know. Helping. There were animals involved, and I’m studying to be a vet, so, aha, he - he was going to ask Deaton, but he’s… out of town. So your dad ended up consulting me instead?”

Yes. Truly terrible.

“I see. So instead of using a qualified veterinary technician, my dad decided to ask a first year from BH’s community college, who likely hasn’t completed his introductory courses. That makes so much sense. Your logic is so very sound. Ten out of ten.”

Stiles skin itched. He was getting impatient.

He was getting angry.

Stiles turned his back on the small crowd, pushing into the Sheriff’s room without mind to the sputtering Scott. The doctor wasn’t there so he grabbed the chart from the end of the bed, scanning it quickly, adding it to what he already knew. 

His dad had no physical wounds. He had been found unconscious in the parking lot of the police station. He wouldn’t wake up. 

Something supernatural was going on here, and no amount of human medicine would help, period. 

Stiles laid the chart back down and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a quick text, before giving his dad’s hand a lingering squeeze and exiting the room.

Everyone was watching him with sharp eyes, except Scott who was scowling at the ground. It seemed unimpressive and childish on his twenty year old face.

“Argent,” Stiles says, zoning in on Chris. He’s never liked Talia, never appreciated all she let her children get away with and the obviousness of her pack. Chris, however, he had extensively researched. He was a hunter coming into Stiles’ town, but unlike the werewolves he was discreet. Smart. “What are you hunting?”

Chris’ brow creases at his phrasing, but he didn’t acknowledge it as anything odd. “I don’t know much about who did this. He was found unconscious in the parking lot at the police station, and the doctors are still running tests to determine the cause of his condition.”

“Tests that won’t find anything,” Stiles says back, as calmly as he can when it feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin. “Most shifters would have left some kind of outward marking, and there’s no sense of magic around him so I doubt it was a Druid or Wiccan. I’m assuming you all know, so tell me. What. Was. It.” 

“Stiles, you know—”

Talia interrupts Scott. Just as well, because Stiles feels like hitting something the longer they stall. “Just what do you know about all this, Stiles?”

“Your family has never been the most subtle, I figured out about the supernatural when I was nine. My dad, however, wasn’t wrapped up in any of this until I left for college — presumably, he only got involved in the past few months, since his deputy’s haven’t informed me that he suddenly started hanging around Argent, Deaton, or you Hale’s.”

Talia opened her mouth again, and Stiles held up a finger. “Stop. I don’t have time to deal with your insipid questions. Just tell me what we are dealing with. Now.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Stiles slanted his eyes to the hunter. 

“I’ve been hunting a rogue fae,” Argent said. “Several people in town have fallen comatose, including one of your father’s officers.”

“Fae. Of fucking course, it always has to be fae. What kind?” 

Argent looked at him blankly.

“Come on. Was it seelie or unseelie? An elemental? Changeling? Elf?" Argent's forehead creased. "For chrissakes, did it even originate in this country, or do I have to brush up on my Welsh?”

A throat cleared behind him, and Stiles spun to face the enforcer. “Sweetheart, Christopher has no clue what you’re talking about. I doubt the Argent bestiary takes time to classify the fae beyond methods for killing them.”

“But you don’t even kill them all the same way! It’s—” Stiles groaned in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Forget it. Did anybody get a good look at it? Scott?” 

Scott jolted, mouth snapping shut. “Uh, why do you think I—?”

“Because you’re here, so either you’ve seen it or you dragged my dad into this shitshow. Which one?” Scott shifted.

“Both,” Peter chimed in unhelpfully. Stiles considered wringing his neck, but he was the only one providing any actual information.

“Okay. Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Was it male or female?”

Scott didn’t say anything, glancing towards Talia again.

“Scott, answer my goddamn questions! This is my dad we’re talking about!”

Scott winced back at his decibel, jerking his eyes from Talia to the floor. He looked guilty, as well he should. “A-a girl.”

“Tall or short? What did her skin look like?”

“Uh, tall. Like, taller than you. She was grey, and her eyes—they were completely black.”

Stiles' magic spiked, sparking out of his fingers unhelpfully. Stiles clenched his hands shut and ignored it. “Were there any markings on her forehead?”

“Yeah, there were, like, purple swirls—”

Stiles cursed. Explicitly. 

Talia looked scandalized.

“How long has it been since dad? When was he found?” 

“Eleven hours ago. Parrish called you almost immediately.”

“At least one of the deputy’s are being a good boy,” Stiles murmured thoughtlessly, pacing now. “How long has she been waiting between victims?”

“There have been two a day for the last week.” Peter offered.

Stiles frowned, stilling. “That doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t have such an appetite, unless…”

“Unless what?” Peter prodded.

“Unless she’s pregnant,” Stiles whispered. He sounded like he was about to faint, and looked little better. “Oh god, a pregnant Aatmanand. I’m surprised this town is still standing.”

He pulled out his phone, flipping through his contacts and trying to ignore the way his hand was trembling.

She picked up on the second ring.

“What is it, Stiles? I’m trying to study.”

“I need your help.”

The person on the other line’s breath hitched, before coming back, smooth as silk. “Are you calling in your favor, Spark?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come to you?”

Stiles glanced at the camera in the room and short circuited it with a spark of energy. Someone gasped. 

“Yes.”

In a flash of light, Adelaide appeared. She was still in her human form except for her gleaming quicksilver eyes, blonde hair tumbling down her back in unruly waves, wearing a monochromatic polka dot pajama set. She took in her audience briefly before turning to Stiles, eyebrow cocking.

“What will you have me do?”

“I have an Aatmanad problem.”

Adelaide took a step towards him, nails sharpening to a point. Her smile was all pointed teeth. “You know I hate those uptight prigs. Just point me in the direction, little Spark.” 

“You can’t kill her,” Stiles ground out, fingers clenching. Adelaide’s nostrils flared, eyes dilating with rage. Stiles held up a hand to stall her protests. “She’s pregnant.” 

“Excuse me? I will not meddle with the Expecting, even for you!” Adelaide hissed.

“I’m not asking you to,” Stiles said impatiently. “I can track her down without you. I just need you to release the knots she weaved about one of the victim’s souls, and drain her leftover magic into a rune.”

Adelaide’s expression twisted again, this time in amusement. “You think much of my abilities. My kind has never been known for this capability.”

“Your kind has never been known for a lot of things,” Stiles returned. That earned him a laugh, quick and dark.

“Very good, Spark. If I do you this favor, my debt is repaid.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait a minute.” Stiles turned to Talia, eyes narrowed. 

“We may not have a minute,” he said coolly. “They die at the twelve hour mark, don’t they? Otherwise Parrish wouldn’t have bothered to say his condition was life threatening. That’s how long it takes her to properly establish her hold and drain them.”

Talia frowned. “You may know something about the supernatural, but this is my land. You cannot summon creatures here without my permission.”

Stiles stared at her. Behind him, Adelaide laughed. 

“What a stupid little wolf,” she smiled. “I can kill her for free, Spark. Alpha’s have the most exquisite aftertaste.”

Peter stood, taking his place behind Talia’s left shoulder. His face was cleared of the previous smirk, eyes hard and calculating. 

“Go fulfill our deal. If I need to kill anybody, I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re no fun,” Adelaide sighed. “I need the rune first.”

Stiles gave her a look, but she just grinned back. Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing the Sheriff’s badge from his pocket to obscure the transportation spell from curious eyes. 

He held out his hand expectantly, and Adelaide grinned at him, snatching his wrist and gouging into his index finger with a claw. Somebody growled, low and threatening. 

Stiles didn’t wince, just cleared his throat until she dropped his appendage with a pout. 

He drew the anchor rune quickly, all too aware of the eyes in him, and gave her the badge. 

“Remember what I told you when we met,” he warned, when she turned to the room. Adelaide stiffened, glancing over her shoulder at him, and nodded. 

“I would not go against a Spark.”

Stiles turned back to the red eyed Talia. “I don’t fall under your laws,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “As your enforcer could tell you. And even if I did, that is my father. I would tear apart worlds to keep him safe.”

Talia frowned, glancing at her brother. “Peter?”

“He is a Spark, Talia. The Councils combined don’t have enough power to put a leash on his kind.”

“He can’t be,” Laura said, standing to meet her pack. “We would have noticed anything that powerful growing up here. He went to school with Cora, Mia and Scott.”

“‘He’ is right here,” Stiles said drolly. “And consequently doesn’t care what you think.”

[rotisseries]

the pack plus theo and quinn and jiang and tierney are about to go outside. scott asks lydia if shes ready, she nods. scott turns around and malia flashes her fangs, liam flicks out his claws and then everyone turns to theo whos like 😑 and puts his claws up petty asf . but then stilinski stops them and says "nobodys going anywhere" and lydia is like "i can get through them" and he ssays "we're not gonna fire the first shot. now get back from the door. all of you." and tells parrish to get jiang and tierney back to their cell. scott asked stilinski what happened with monroe. "she gave us til midnight" she wants them, dead or alive, she wants them brought to her band of rebels. anyway everyone helps barricate the doors . monroe is also jamming cell phones and the radio . and its clear that the person who was recruits by monroe is in the station bc ... who else would ahve access to something that can jam a law enforcement transmitter. anyway then the power goes out and someone asks "how easy is it to cut off the power to a police station?" and one of the deputies says "too easy" and shoves nolan into the center of the room. and liam immediately says "Throw him out." and nolan is like "no-no you cant . okay please dont. she'll know i screwed up." and liam says "hes with them." and scott gives him a warning little "Liam.." then liam says "hes a liar and hes sick in the head." and scott is so fucking concerned he doesnt ask right awsy but he looks at liam and nolan ans hes like . what the hell is making him so angry? anyway then sheriff throws nolan in the lock up. turns out nolan and jiang knew each other. idrc ab that. i feel bad for nolan to an extent but like bro. you are highly susceptible to peer pressure and you have anxiety in your eyes. go to therapy and dont beat up your classmates i feel as if that is simple. anyway. for some reasom it cuts to theo dragging liam into the bathroom....? i never understood the point of this scene. have they been talking before this? did theo notice his mood change when nolan came around? things we'll never know. anyway convo goes like 

theo: monroe's not gonna stop. nothing we say is gonna make them get in their cars and drive away. those two losers killed hunters. 

liam: who killed their pack

theo: so what? i mean, monroe's gonna tear through anything standing between her and them. that means you, lydia, malia, and scott. You gonna watch your friends die? 

liam: are you gonna watch hunters murder them? jiang and tierney werent the only ones that were apart of satomi's pack

theo: yeah...right....the hit and run. sorry if im not losing sleep over some random roadkill!

liam: THEY WERE MURDERED. BRETT AND LORI. THEY DIDNT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS. 

theo: so what you think saving those two is gonna make everything feel better? (scoffs) your dead friends are dead. and theyre gonna STAY DEAD no matter WHAT you d- 

and then liam punches the fuck out of him. literallt mean i heard something break he dropppppeddd to the fllooorrr. literally caught the wall and started sliding down it until he was on the floor lying down. effectivelt shutted him the fuck up.  and then liam steps over him and says "by the way im still working on my anger." and theo raises a hand as liam walks out the bathroom and says "good to know." <-hoarse and raspy. 

hope u know during the whollleee fight they were getting closer n closer to each other so like they literally went into the bathroom for a quickie argument to release the tension ig. now that i think about it theo probably dragged him in there bc hes the only one he trusts to talk to besides the fact liam gets so worked up around him sometimes. funny how he talks about not losing sleep over brett n lori but hes for sure losing sleep . my bad

[embrace-the-mutation]

final bingo card. circles indicate too-close-to-call's. if you count the sheriff getting Thanos snapped by the Oni, we bingoed. also, if that weird shit between Malia and Parrish counts as....anything, then we bingoed again. bonus for the ridic "happy" ending cuz everyone was making out after Derek "died"

fam. this movie is Bad. hand it 59 razzies. it's just a nothin ass movie. everyone look dusty and their hair's uneven... Scott looks like he smells like weed and beer and wood chips. why does Malia still dress like she's 17? ISNT ALLISON TECHNICALLY STILL 17?? why did they punk out Lydia like that? Who exactly is Hikari? cuz she seemed dope but we get absolutely no backstory on her (like I know that's rewritten Kira, but damn. give the girl her own history). how come Deaton can't do rad druid magic stuff anymore? Makes sense in LA but not BH and also Melissa didn't do any rad emissary stuff either. idgaf about Eli like at all. hes a punkbitch. why is jackson there at all? all he do is be catty and eat. Derek was a bad father. how you gonna be raised with wolves and humans but not gonna clue in your kid about what he fucking is???? this movie wack it's just wack her pussy stank.

[lizpaige]

hi i wrote it. also posting on tumblr below the cut.

Adam just finished a double shift at Boyd’s and he was the kind of tired that set into your bones, deep and unrelenting. Stubborn as ever, he had agreed to grab dinner with everyone at Nino’s when he was done, so he made his way to Monmouth even though his body was yearning to just collapse on his lumpy mattress back at the church. He parked in the gravel lot, tossed a backpack with a change of clothes over one shoulder, and slowly made his way up the front steps. 

He could already hear a commotion before he even opened the front door. 

“Ow, what the fuck!”

“Don’t be such a baby!”

After winter break, the strangest thing was Blue and Ronan developing a friendship. They were getting on like a house on fire, explosive and cataclysmic. Somehow between the insults thrown like poison darts and the pushing and flicking and physicality of it, they would tumble into devious laughter, sharing an inside joke that Gansey and Adam were puzzled by and never let in on. 

So despite the words Adam was hearing, he wasn’t super concerned about what was going on.

Sure enough, when he entered Monmouth, the shrieking only continued. Looking down at his feet, a green apple rolled across the uneven flooring toward him, but he stopped it with his foot then leaned down to pick it up. Looking up he saw what all the commotion was about. Sort of. 

Gansey was pacing, breathing into a paper bag. On every exhale, his glasses would fog and he would take them off and rub them on his salmon polo shirt, before starting the cycle again. 

Behind him was Ronan sitting on the edge of Gansey’s bed, a beer can in one hand and an empty clenched fist on his knee. Standing on his right was Blue, with a long sewing needle in between her teeth, and a sharpie in one hand. She was making a mark on Ronan’s ear lobe. 

“Oh thank god, Adam’s here,” Gansey said in a rush, still hyperventilating. 

“Parrish,” Ronan acknowledged with his trademark smirk of mischief and of the understanding that Adam wouldn’t talk him out of anything despite Gansey’s pleas.

“Lynch,” Adam replied, dropping his backpack at his feet. “What’s going on?”

“Have you ever seen The Parent Trap?” 

“Uh…” He tried to think back, but his exhaustion was keeping his thoughts surface level. 

Blue was focused on her dot on Ronan’s ear, turning his head to the side and then straight on to make sure it was at a good place. “Twins separated at birth meet at summer camp and they bunk together? Oreos and peanut butter? Ear piercings?” 

“Ah,” he was catching up. “That doesn’t seem sanitary.”

Blue huffed and held her hand out, Ronan wordlessly dropped a lighter into her open palm. She lit it up and held the sewing needle over the flame. She raised an eyebrow at Adam as if to say see? Adam smirked.

“You’re going to regret it!” Gansey squeaked. “The infection alone will… you’ll lose an ear!”

Ronan shrugged, smiling only for Adam now. He always had a different kind of smile when he was doing something stupid like asking Adam to get in the grocery cart and race down the parking lot or asking Adam to do donuts in the muddy back fields at the Barns. It was the type of smile that you knew meant Ronan would probably do whatever it was even if Adam said no, but he really wanted the company. The audience. 

“Can you pass me that?” Ronan nodded toward Adam’s hand, toward the apple. 

Adam tossed it to him, Ronan caught it easily. 

“I can’t watch,” Gansey huffed and walked out of the room. 

“Ice your ear, asshole,” Blue kicked Ronan’s boot with hers, gaze unwavering on the needle. 

“I already iced it, shithead.”

“Yeah, but then I put marker all over it and it's probably not numb anymore-”

“What the fuck ever, man, I-”

“What’s the apple for?” Adam cut in, moving over to sit on Gansey’s desk chair. Still in his coveralls he felt too dirty to sit on Gansey’s bed. He was hoping to shower between now and when they headed off to Nino’s, but now he couldn’t really look away from this. 

“Holds the ear steady,” Blue said, tone shifting from venomous with Ronan to casual with Adam. “The ears are all squishy, needs something stiff behind it so I go straight through and it doesn’t turn out all wonky.”

Adam nodded as if this all was logical and didn’t just come from a movie. “Have you done this before?” 

“Nah, but Orla did her own belly button so how hard could an ear be?” 

Adam’s eyes flickered over to Ronan, who was using Blue’s switchblade to cut a chunk of apple off that would better fit behind his ear. “Gonna do the belly button next, Lynch?”

Ronan grinned. “Why? Does that get you hot, Parrish?”

“Eugh, gross. Stop that right now,” Blue cut in, flicking off the lighter. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

It was anticlimactic in the end. Ronan took a deep breath, Blue lined up her needle, bracing his ear lobe against the apple slice. She poked through, Ronan exhaled, unclenched his fist, and soon enough Blue was exchanging the needle for the piercing. The pearly silver stud stood out harshly against the bright red skin of Ronan’s ear lobe. Blue handed Ronan the bowl of ice, but Ronan swatted it away, admiring the piercing in the mirror. 

“Fuck you, this is awesome.”

Blue smiled, turning to look at the reflection as well. “Yeah, it looks good.” She hummed, paused, then rocked back on her heels. “The face could use some work though.”

“Ha, ha,” Ronan rolled his eyes. He lowered the mirror and looked at Adam. “What do you think?”

Adam thought it was hot as hell, but he didn’t want to vocalize those thoughts with Blue present and Gansey lingering in the doorway.

Sure enough, Gansey interrupted before Adam could answer, calling, anxiety-ridden, from the kitchen-slash-bathroom, “Is it over?!”

“Yes!” Blue called back with a laugh. 

“I think we should do the other side, too,” Ronan said, loud enough for Gansey to hear. 

Adam could hear a helpless Jesus Christ from Gansey and the crinkling of a paper bag. 

adam showing up at monmouth after work and gansey is breathing into a paper bag while blue pierces ronan’s ear with a sewing needle and an apple parent trap style.

[zephfair]

Helloooo!!! I love your fics. Idk why but I would love to read a haunted house pynch version of you haha :D I mean, if you ever need some ideas and feel inclined to write that... I would be super happy!! But obviously it is just an idea, I dont mean to say you have to write anything I say :) I just love how you write pynch, your humour, and generally your fics. And I have been craving a haunted house fic :D Anyway, all the best!!

AAAh, thank you so much! You are way too kind to me!😭 I'm sorry it took me a while to write this, and it's pre-pynch, but I hope you like it! Please let me know if this hit your craving for a haunted house fic!💖💖💖

Rated T for language, I think the only other warning is talking about standard haunted house stuff.

This could take place in canon, soon before The Raven King and definitely before Ronan's birthday and the 😘

“I’m just saying,” Ronan said for at least the fourth time in an hour, “why do you want to go to a stupid haunted house when you live with a fucking ghost?”

“That’s a good question,” Noah suddenly appeared right at his shoulder, and Ronan jumped straight into the air and grabbed his chest.

“Holy Christ, you little shit!” he yelled in a very manly voice, certainly not a screech.

“Sorry,” Noah said, sounding not sorry at all. “Did I scare you?”

Ronan swore again. “I think you gave me a heart attack.”

“I don’t know, Lynch, you might not be fit to even go into this haunted house,” Adam said.

“If you’re uncomfortable, Ronan,” Gansey began but Ronan cut off that bullshit real quick.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he sneered. “And I’m not not fit,” he said with some confusion but then he found his stride. “I’m just saying that haunted houses suck, especially when you’ve seen some of the shit we’ve seen. Why should I have to pay for someone else to try and fail to scare me?”

“In other words, you’ve dreamed up unworldly, eldritch abominations that were out to kill you...and now you’re afraid to go into a haunted house created by Henrietta high kids,” Adam spelled it out.

Ronan bristled immediately, somehow looking just like Chainsaw when she fluffed herself out in defense. “I’m not afraid!”

“Does this have something to do with your religion?” Gansey worried at his lip and eyed Ronan carefully. “I know some religions forbid celebrating anything that reeks of a pagan ceremony. Although, the origins of Halloween are—”

“I don’t have anything against Halloween,” Ronan grit out. “In fact, let’s go trick or treating right the fuck now. I’m just saying that haunted houses … are stupid,” he finished weakly.

“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s go, Gansey,” Adam said, already turning away from the car.

“I just thought it would be a fun evening together. Parrish has the night off, and Jane told us about this project that her school does to raise funds for local children.”

“Oh, so that’s why you wanted to come. What, is she going to swoon into your arms in fright, the damsel in distress you can save?” Ronan said with as much sarcasm as he could slather on it.

Gansey froze him with a Look. “Jane is actually working tonight. I thought this would be a boys-night only activity.”

Ronan snorted and looked away. The haunted house was in an old faux-Victorian house on the outskirts of town. Ronan had heard about it before, that the high school theater kids manned the event with a lot of adult supervision to raise money for boys and girls clubs. It definitely wasn’t a high tech or expensive endeavor, but Ronan didn’t like the way his stomach clenched when he looked at the covered windows that were flashing from bright lights inside.

Adam sighed loudly. “Come on, if you’re coming, Lynch. I don’t want to spend my one night off just standing in a parking lot.”

Ronan told him what he could do to himself instead. Adam just glared, unimpressed by the vulgarity.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Gansey said, clearly uncomfortable by their attitudes.

“No! Go in! It’ll be fun,” Noah said and nudged Ronan in the ribs, making him shiver. “Do you want me to come with to protect you?”

Ronan shivered again. “I’m more likely to have a heart attack if you keep blowing your coldass ghost breath in my ear.”

“Come on, Lynch,” Adam said again but then he smirked. “I’ll even hold your hand, if it makes you feel better.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ronan grumbled but slowly and very reluctantly got out of the car. Gansey smiled beatifically and led the way toward the entrance while Ronan followed even more slowly. He didn’t want to admit that holding Adam’s hand probably would make him feel better.

The line to get in moved more quickly than Ronan would’ve liked, and the screams and loud noises audible from inside were more disturbing that he would’ve liked too. They finally entered a sort of lean-to that had been built around the exterior entrance to the house’s basement.

There, a bubbly high school girl briefly spelled out the rules (no alcohol, no drugs, no guns, no knives, no violence) and warned them to stay together in the groups she made and not deviate from the marked path. They would start in the basement, working their way up through the horrors of the house until the grand finale on the third floor after which they got to take an inflatable slide to the ground again.

That was the only part Ronan looked forward to.

Then she said, “If you’re with a friend who you think might have a violent or extreme reaction to a jump scare, we ask that you please help restrain them. We value the safety of our performers. Maybe hold hands so your group doesn’t get separated and you all stay together.”

Gansey and Adam shared a Look then each grabbed one of Ronan’s arms—Gansey clutching his right bicep tightly, Adam latching onto Ronan’s left forearm. “Oh fuck you guys,” he hissed.

“We never know how our fight or flight reactions will react until they’re triggered,” Gansey hissed back.

But Ronan did know. He knew the reactions to stress were fight, flight, or freeze. And he’d seen Gansey face enough potential wasp and bee catastrophes to know that he was firmly in the freeze category. And Adam had never once fought back or fled from his father so he was another freezer.

While Ronan, well, he knew that he’d be the first to flee, if that was a choice. Sure, he might throw a punch to gain some time, but if he was alone and not having to protect his loved ones, he’d be away.

So he wasn’t amused that his friends felt the need to restrain him. But his bitterness eased a little when they moved to go down the basement steps, and Adam’s hand slid down his arm to take his hand. Gansey had done the same, casually holding onto his hand like he would a child waiting to cross the street. But Adam, he slid their hands together then entwined their fingers until his bony thumb caressed over the top of Ronan’s.

Ronan gulped and was thankful that the dark hid his burning cheeks and the loud sound effects covered his little whimper.

The first basement room wasn’t that bad as a recreation of a witch’s lair. It was dark with strategic red and purple lights on different scary looking implements. Ronan mumbled, “Satanic magic bullshit,” when a loud witch’s cackle rolled through the room and the witch popped up right in front of them.

Gansey yelled and stepped back right onto Ronan’s foot, which made him yell and swear and jerk back into Adam, which made him yell and squeeze Ronan’s hand so tightly he yelled again.

At least, that’s what they all agreed to afterward.

As the witch’s cackle continued, Gansey hurried them toward the door. “Well, that wasn’t frightening at all,” he shouted over his shoulder. Ronan didn’t answer, too busy brushing fake cobwebs off his head and out of his mouth. That was the problem with letting shorter Gansey go first—it left all the higher decorations smacking Ronan in the face and head.

Adam snickered against his back until Ronan purposely ducked so Adam got a faceful of sticky spiderweb and spit it out with a yuck.

The second room was a graveyard with fake tomb stones and several plastic skeletons that dropped from the ceiling. It was too loud to talk, with recorded screams and other so-called scary noises coming at irregular intervals.

Ronan was starting to feel a little like a stress ball, Gansey first pulling him along then stopping abruptly at a jump scare while squeezing his hand. From behind him, Adam alternately held back, straining Ronan’s arm then crowded tight against his back. Ronan wasn’t about to complain about that. He just tried to balance between the two and shut his eyes at times to keep the flashing lights from giving him a worse headache.

After the last zombie had popped up from a gravestone and menaced them, Gansey spotted the stairs and started pulling them along.

“Holy fuck, this fucking noise,” Ronan ground out, shaking his head.

He didn’t know how Adam even heard him over the growing din from the next room, but he must have. Adam pressed up against his side and breathed hotly in his ear, “How can you complain about this noise when I’ve heard the so-called music you listen to?”

“Oh fuck you,” Ronan said right as a man wearing a leather mask brandished a chainsaw at them. They all obligingly screamed and Ronan felt torn apart again as the other two jostled him in different directions.

Eventually they all got going the same way, headed down a very narrow corridor that apparently wound in a maze through the ground floor. There were scary mirrors, scary zombies, scary clowns, scary fake tarantulas and snakes, whatever was a common fear was represented somewhere.

Ronan was almost getting used to it by the second floor. The horribly loud noises were off-putting, and the flashing lights with alternating pitch-black darkness were jarring, but the jump-scares were actually tame in comparison to the stuff they’d seen.

Even Adam seemed like he was relaxing, and Ronan thought he heard Adam laugh with his forehead pressed against Ronan’s shoulder blade when Gansey got a fake snake around the neck and shrieked doing a little get-it-off-me dance.

Until they got to the stairway to the top floor. There was thick fog floating down, and blue UV lights that made white glow but left everything else in darkness. Gansey squeezed Ronan’s hand and glanced back over his shoulder. “Excelsior!” he cried and started up the stairs.

“Fuck this,” Ronan yelled back and Adam clenched his hand in agreement.

The noises had redoubled, this time combined with a pounding bass beat that was more similar to Ronan’s music than he’d admit but what also sounded like the house had a very arrhythmic, racing heartbeat. It was dark and thick with fog, only the UV light strobing occasionally.

Ronan had to admit it was unnerving. There were definitely people there, just out of reach, but the strobing light made their motion unnatural, unearthly, and only lit parts of their outfits so they flitted from place to place. Ronan couldn’t even push them away as they came closer, circling the group of three.

Then all the lights went out and something collided hard with Ronan’s right arm. He clutched Gansey’s hand even harder and yelled. Gansey had stopped so Ronan took a step closer and whatever hit him didn’t try again.

But the movement had taken him further from Adam and when something rammed into their hands, he felt Adam’s fingers slipping. Ronan was off balance and tried to turn back to move closer to where Adam should be, but something that felt like a human body fell heavily where they were linked, and Adam’s hand disappeared.

“Adam,” Ronan screamed as loudly as he could, wildly reaching, swinging his arm in every direction feeling for Adam.

“Lynch, come on,” Gansey pulled him in the opposite direction in the darkness, but Ronan was turned around in the blackness and kept reaching for where he thought Adam should be.

When he felt his hand brush soft material, he thanked God, almost sobbing, and fisted his hand in Adam’s shirt. Ronan pulled with all his strength, and Adam moved willingly toward him even as Gansey continued to pull him away.

But it was okay, he had a handful of Adam and he was never letting go again. The darkness pressed in on him, he gasped for breath, the fake fog choking him, and his hand sweated in the cotton of Adam’s shirt, his arm wrenched behind him painfully to keep clinging to Adam.

He didn’t understand why Adam let himself be pulled along, it couldn’t be comfortable, why didn’t Adam take his hand again.

Then he looked back right as the black light strobed. And he knew why Adam didn’t respond.

It wasn’t Adam he was clutching.

It was some kind of evil, possessed, Victorian doll but child-sized, in a torn frilly dress, its face a gaping maw of a black mouth and gaping black holes where the eyes should be.

Ronan screamed. He couldn’t even let go of the tight grasp he had on the doll’s sleeve—he just froze and screamed.

When the doll stepped closer right as the light went off, Ronan tore free from Gansey and ran.

Right into a wall that knocked him right onto his ass.

At least it made him stop screaming. He sat on the floor, shaking, rubbing the growing bump on his forehead until the light flashed on again.

And the doll was standing right above him.

He screamed again then saw another shirt glowing behind the doll. A familiar hand landed on the doll’s shoulder and pulled it back.

“I think you’ve scared him enough, Blue,” Adam said.

**********

Ronan sat on the curb down the street from the haunted house and gasped for air. His head hung between his knees which were currently somewhere up around his ears. He hadn’t passed out, exactly, but things had gone black around the edges and he didn’t really remember getting out of the building.

Apparently, Gansey had joined them and between the three of them, they got Ronan onto the slide that took them down to the parking lot. There a volunteer medic had examined Ronan’s forehead, offered him a bandaid, and told him to sit down for a while.

“Here, Lynch,” Adam said, and a sweating bottle of water was pushed into his face.

Ronan took it gratefully, sitting up enough to twist it open and take a long drink. It helped a little, or at least, helped calm his hyperventilating while he chugged and swallowed.

He wiped his mouth with his forearm and shivered. He still couldn’t look Adam in the eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined your one night out or whatever,” he muttered.

Adam sighed and sat down beside him, close enough that his shoulder and arm were solidly pressing against Ronan’s. It made Ronan feel grounded in a way he didn’t realize he was missing.

“You didn’t ruin my night,” Adam said, nudging him a little in the ribs. “It wasn’t my idea to come to this.”

“Yeah, but you were looking forward to it, and then I went and ruined it.”

“First, you didn’t ruin anything. And second, I was just looking forward to being with you. And Gansey,” he added a beat later.

“So you guys weren’t planning this all along?” Ronan had to ask, had to voice his growing fear that somehow they’d all conspired to laugh at him.

“Hell no,” Adam said and pulled away.

Ronan shut his eyes. Of course he had to go and piss off Adam. Way to go, Ronan.

“Lynch. Ronan, look at me.” But Adam had only withdrawn far enough so he could turn to face Ronan. He put his hands on Ronan’s shoulders and tried to turn him a little too.

Ronan finally opened his eyes to see Adam leaning very close but he hung his head again. “Do you really think we would do something to hurt you? You know Gansey loves you like a brother, and Blue loves you like a menace, and I … well, we wouldn’t ever do that to you.”

“I didn’t want to come.”

“We shouldn’t have made you, whatever your reason for not wanting to come. It was a pretty lame haunted house, anyway. And now I’ve got a splitting headache from the noises.”

“Oh shit,” Ronan’s head jerked up. “I didn’t even think about that. God, that must have been torture with your ear. Can I do anything for you?”

Adam looked at him with an expression Ronan couldn’t decipher. Finally he said, “Give me a drink?”

Ronan passed over the water bottle and watched Adam’s throat move as he drank the rest of it. He was trying not to think about swapping spit and backwash with Adam when it hit him.

“Did you actually buy me a bottle of water?” Ronan demanded. “Lemme pay you back.”

“It’s okay, Lynch,” Adam put the cap back on the empty bottle. “My treat.”

“No, that’s not right. I owe you—”

“Ronan. It’s fine. I can afford to get you a water.” Adam stretched out, leaning back on his elbows and looking way more casual than Ronan felt at the moment.

“Well, then I’ll pay you back.”

“Maybe you can buy me a burger. For lunch tomorrow?”

“That’d be awesome. Yeah. Sure.” The words tumbled out of Ronan, and Adam grinned up at him.

Ronan grinned back then hung his head again. “I just can’t believe this was such a clusterfuck. Dick is going to kill me if I ruined his night too.”

“You wanna talk about why you didn’t want to come in the first place?”

“The fuck would I want to talk about?” Ronan muttered and Adam didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a moment until he said, “I just don’t like shit like that.”

“Halloween shit? Haunted shit? Badly performed high school productions?”

Ronan smirked in gratitude at Adam’s casual snark. “Just...shit that only pretends to be scary. Like, one part of your mind is trying to fool the rest into thinking it’s reality just so it can pretend to be scared and get all that adrenaline and shit. It’s like a big con of yourself.”

“Like a lie?”

“Yeah, exactly. I get enough of that in dreams, only in my dreams, what my mind might manifest will actually kill me. If I thought up a creepy haunted doll, that thing is going to murder everyone I love. This,” he gestured back at the house, “This is just weird. I don’t get why people want to pay to put themselves in a fake situation that they know isn’t real just to feel real fear.”

Adam crinkled the water bottle until Ronan looked over at him. “I get it. I think. It’s about vulnerability and control. In your dreams, reality is terrifying and surreal and you might have to run for your life. Or come up with a way to stop the creepy haunted doll. But it’s you doing it. You have the choice to run or fight for your life, so you’re ultimately in control of what happens.”

“Yes,” Ronan said, grateful that somehow he got it. “I’m not chained down and forced to see and do things I don’t want to do. I’m in charge.”

Adam nodded slowly and nudged him. “So no more haunted houses. How do you feel about roller coasters?”

“My driving is the best answer to anyone who wants to ride an artificial scary ride,” Ronan boasted, mostly to make Adam laugh, which he did. Then Adam nudged into his side and they stayed there in companionable silence until Gansey and Blue stood over them.

“Here, Ronan. They say sugar is good for shock, so we got you some hot chocolate,” Gansey held the cup down to him.

Ronan glanced over at Adam who shrugged. “Fine,” he grumbled and accepted the cup.

“I had no idea it would happen like that, Ronan,” Blue said.

Ronan shrugged and swirled the lukewarm hot chocolate.

“I must say, I was mightily surprised to see you there, Jane. After you said you couldn’t make it,” Gansey said cheerily.

“I talked to one of the girls I know in the theater club, and she helped me out with a costume. They sneaked me in to the top floor where I just kind of hung out until they signaled you were coming up.”

Ronan looked up at Blue who looked much less diabolical under the ordinary street light. Her dress and wig were obviously threadbare and worn, and the makeup that had transformed her face into a waking nightmare looked just dark and odd without the UV light.

She shrugged sheepishly under Ronan’s glare. “I didn’t plan it to happen like that. We were going to separate you and Gansey so I’d be holding his hand when he looked back and freaked out. But when I Red Rovered you two, I couldn’t separate you.”

“Red Rovered?” Gansey interrupted.

“You know, that kids’ game? When you hold hands in a line and another kid runs at your arms to try and break you apart?”

Gansey shook his head, never having partaken in the games of ordinary schoolchildren.

“Anyway,” Blue continued, “you and Gansey were, like, glued together so I tried you and Adam instead, and that worked. Two of the other girls had to grab Adam to hold him back while I got in his place.”

They all looked over at Adam. “All I felt was someone run into me and Ronan’s hands until I couldn’t hold on anymore. When I tried to grab him again, people were holding my arms. I thought it was part of the performance until the light came on and I recognized you. And what you were doing to Ronan.”

“I didn’t mean to do anything to Ronan!” Blue insisted. “I’m sorry it freaked you out so bad; I didn’t know that would happen. I just wanted to scare Gansey.”

“It’s okay, Sargent,” Ronan said, proud that his voice was now steady. “It totally freaked me out. Your makeup is badass. You looked like a crazyass doll possessed by the devil.”

Blue smiled proudly and held out her fist. Ronan bumped it with his own. He felt Adam take a deep breath beside him and let it out in relief. Ronan bumped his shoulder into Adam’s.

“Well, I don’t know how I feel about you going to all that trouble just to frighten me,” Gansey said with a little pout.

“Drink your hot chocolate, Gansey,” Adam said and Gansey obeyed.

“So what now? Are you guys ready to grab something to eat?” he said after a long sip. “I feel like burgers.”

“Nah,” Ronan said. “I don’t want a burger tonight. Maybe tomorrow,” he glanced at Adam out of the corner of his eye, “but not now.”

“Who said you get to pick?” Blue asked.

Ronan pointed to his forehead. “I’m the one who got injured. I should get to pick.”

“That sub place out in the strip mall is doing a buy one-get one special,” Adam said.

“Perfect,” Ronan said and Blue nodded. She held out her hand which confused Ronan at first, but then he realized what she was offering. He took her hand for show but got himself to his feet then reached down and ruffled her hair. “Wear that get-up into the sub shop and they might run out screaming so we could get free food.”

She laughed, and Ronan knew they’d be okay. He turned to see Adam smiling up at the two of them so he stuck out his hand. Adam laughed and took it, letting Ronan bear some of his weight. Ronan made a big deal out of pulling him harder and closer than necessary.

“Do I get to hold your hand again too, Ronan?” Gansey’s voice broke Ronan out of his reverie.

Ronan let go of Adam and turned to Gansey. “Any time you want, Dick, any time. Even though you did leave me to the mercies of the evil doll. And you let me run into a wall.”

“Well, next time, I won’t let go,” Gansey promised with a sincerity that made Ronan a little embarrassed.

“Wow, Dick, that’s really romantic,” he sneered, to make all of them roll their eyes and say his name in various tones of frustration.

Then he slung his arm over Gansey’s shoulder and started off toward the Pig, calling behind him, “C’mon you two. Parrish, bring the doll so Gansey can play with her later.”

Then Gansey sputtered and Blue started yelling again, and Ronan felt like they were back to normal. As long as he never, ever had to go into another haunted house again.

[stylenskii]

JORDAN PARRİSH SMUT

LET ME GO! I'M INCLUDED! YOU CAN'T ARREST!" My screams surrounded me, but it was hardly possible.

A policeman came to me. He had a notebook in his hand, and he got in the car with me and sat next to me. "Tell me, lad." he said and rubbed the pen on the paper in his hand. "Why did you commit this murder? There's a string on the victim's throat."

I took a deep breath with a trembling voice. I stammered with fear, "I-I. I don't know anything!" I shouted at last.

The policeman covered my mouth with his veiny hands, "Don't raise your voice at me, newbie!" Tears welled up in my eyes as he shouted. "Now I'm going to take my hand off your mouth and you're only going to answer the questions I ask. Understood?!" I nodded quickly.

"Uh huh."

I took a deep breath as he removed his hand from my mouth. "I don't know anything. I heard wolf howls. There were a few high school teenagers. They were drinking and distracted. And… and it was like they were howling."

He turned to me with his whole body, as if interested, "Did you see his eyes?" My body trembled as my eyes met his.

I quickly shook my head. "But—but why are you asking me that?" His hand suddenly went to my arm, and he squeezed it terribly hard. A painful moan escaped my mouth.

"I told you! only my questions!"

I swallowed with fear. "I couldn't see their eyes... they weren't exactly obvious. But they were the color I wasn't used to. They were shining. But it was short lived." I said.

A short time later, we arrived at the police station. The man in front spoke for the first time, "Officer Parrish. It's time for us to land."

It hurt me by tightening my handcuffs even more. He grabbed my neck and pulled me out. "Are you retarded!?" ' he shouted, giving me a menacing look.

They grabbed my handcuffs and threw me in a cell. Then he came again. "No? It's you again. Are you in love with me or something?" I asked sarcastically.

He looked so muscular and sexy in his uniform that I could have ejaculated where I was. His belt tightening around his waist was turning me on. He took the key from his belt and opened the cell.

I wanted to get up quickly, but he grabbed me by the chest and threw me back. He himself entered the cell and locked us both in the cell.

"So Jane sallrore." said. That was my first and last name.

"Why are you saying that?" Then my eyes landed on the card on the uniform above his muscular chest. "So Jordan Parrish." I said.

He shook his head. "You were like that when you were little! You would hit on anyone!" I shouted. In front of me, the whole police. He was my middle school friend. Now it's been years since middle school.

He brought his hand to my neck. And he laughed grimly, "And now I'm hitting on you." When he said that, I understood why he had arrested me.

"So you arrested me for fucking me?"

"Exactly."

My eyes traveled over her body, "I thought you didn't want to be a cop." ' I asked, my eyes shifting to his evident masculinity.

He laughed, and withdrew. He showed himself with his hand. "Look, I'm a cop now. Half of this town is low enough to do as I say." said.

He took another step towards me. "So you think you're going to shut everybody down." I said looking into your eyes.

Then he squeezed my buttocks with his strong arms. "Don't be quiet..."

I laughed and bit my lip. "Or will you punish me?" ' he squeezed my hip even more as I asked, as if warning.

"You may remember me banging a middle-end girl in the bathroom."

"I remember."

"I punished him as well. And when he dislocated, he was injured all over." He laughed and looked at his belt. "I'll beat you so hard with this belt that they won't recognize your body."

My hand reflexively stuck to his manhood. "What if I want you to command me with this belt while you fuck me?"

"I'll give orders anyway. You'll fall into my arms, begging me to fuck you." said. I kneeled before him.

He chuckled and grabbed my hair. And he pulled me back, making me look at him. "Now you'll make me happy. And I'll make you happy too."

I quickly took it off as my hands went to his belt. "Fuck me, come on do it!" God he was so sexy. My hands went over his uniform to his muscles.

She slapped me on the back with her belt. "Mh!"

"Keep moaning like that." she ordered.

He quickly peeled them off. And she put on her pants too. It was as if she wasn't wearing any special underwear for the day. I reached straight to his tough and veiny masculinity. "Lick." she said.

I quickly took it in my mouth and made it come and go. He couldn't stand it any longer and lifted me up in the air. He came in suddenly.

He slapped my hips with his wide hands as he slowly took possession of my body. "Be like this." she said as my moans filled her ears.

My body was his now, giving control and direction as he wanted.

He's got me now.

Me too.

Our bodies united in a single night.

[ronans-sepiaphotograph]

Pynch headcanons I'm currently thinking about-

Adam writes LoVe LeTtErS to Ronan via email when he's very busy and can't talk or video chat, much to Ronan's dismay. They're just random things he thought about throughout the day that he writes and sends them when he comes back from classes.

Ronan claims to hate them, because he would rather see Adam's face but he has all of them saved in a folder called Love letters from Adam <3

Ronan dreams up a lot of stuff, a majority of them being rings of god knows what materials. But he's never satisfied because Adam Parrish and his fucking beautiful hands.

He has a secret drawer full of rings, nobody knows, even Opal because she will obviously spew it in front of Adam.

On weekends when Ronan won't sleep, he will drive to Harvard and stay in a hotel and wait to surprise Adam.

Adam's friends are very alarmed by this scary and pissed boy until Adam introduces Ronan and they just completely lose it.

"oh so this is your farmer boyfriend?" "Yes, this is the famer boyfriend" "are you sure Adam?" "Pretty much"

Ronan is not amused much to Adam's joy.

They got out to dinner when Ronan Is in town and Ronan will forcefully take him to the fanciest restaurant

"Ronan this is expe-" "fuck the canteen food Parrish" "Lynch" "shut the fuck up Parrish"

Chainsaw agrees with Ronan. She wil nibble at Adam's ear until he gives up and they eat dinner at some fancy restaurant and complain about the prices anyway.

Adam will complete homework a little too quickly because god he can't wait to kiss him senseless, Ronan quietly pets Chainsaw, waiting for Adam except for the occassional cursing.

"this is just like St. Agnes Parrish" "it is Lynch, but you couldn't kiss me then" "Fuck you" "I was hoping to"

Ronan flips him off and buries his face in the pillow while Adam chuckles and Chainsaw flaps her wings in agreement.

They kiss and sleep, both of them being tired to do anything further and Adam sleeps with his head on Ronan's lap and all Ronan prays for is to get to keep this boy forever, no matter what.

They wake up with the floor blooming, full of orange chrysanthemums. They're both equally amused and aghast.

Chrysanthemums are Adam's favourite flower.

Ronan wants to die of embarassment while Adam just cooes at him because only his dreamer boyfriend could turn his room into a garden overnight.

They go out for breakfast at Adam's favourite 60's diner.

"you're an old man Parrish" "they have amazing waffles"

Ronan huffs but gets the waffles anyway. He also gets a donut and a raised eyebrow from Adam.

"live a little Lynch" "fine Parrish, I'll get rainbow sprinkles okay?"

Adam's smile could power Harvard for a month.

Adam will take pictures of random things that remind him of Ronan when he goes out.

Combat boots, fancy denim jackets, a journal with a cover similar to his tattoo, an old antique shop which looks like it came from Ronan's dreams.

He saves money to buy a snow globe, but it has a little forest inside, very similar to Cabeswater for Ronan's birthday.

Adam's friends won't believe that his farmer boy boyfriend wear combat boots and tank tops and ripped jeans.

"do they fucking expect me to wear flannel shirts and straw hats?""maybe" "fuck off"

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.57

Word Count: 2,938

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Jordan Parrish, Lydia Martin, Braeden, Liam Dunbar, Reader, OC Characters

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst, small fluff

A/N: ----

Masterlist       Series Masterlist

“You've been so focused on me you’re not even realizing what’s going on with you!” you ran your fingers through your hair, letting out a soft sigh.

You felt sick again in the next few hours, unable to hide it from Derek as he stood across from you.

“Can we not do this right now?” you felt exhausted as you walked out of the bathroom, only for Derek to stop you once again.

“How long has this been going on?!” he asked.

“Not for too long, like 3 or 4 days,” you shrugged.

“Why are you… You do realize that you can't get sick, right? What if you’re dying?! What if this thing that Kate did to me is affecting you?!” his face softened into a more worried look as he took a step back from you.

“I just killed you,” he shook his head.

“What? No, Derek, I am not dying! Look, it honestly isn't that bad. I just feel a little sick once or twice a day. If anything, I’m getting stronger,” you tried to calm him down as he frowned.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Well, I healed, actually,” you started.

You could see Derek’s worry grow as he paced around the loft before you put your hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn't tell you, okay? But, you need to just take a breath. I am fine. If something happens and I’m not fine then I will let you know, okay?” you stroked his cheek softly as he clenched his jaw, before sighing.

He closed his eyes, nodding softly as you kissed his cheek. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you slightly as you buried your head into his neck, pressing another kiss to his neck.

You heard a knock on the door as you looked up, rolling your eyes.

“Why does everyone decide to bother us at three in the morning,” you groaned.

“It’s because you’re their mother,” he shrugged, before giving a small smirk.

You pushed him gently, going to open the door, only to see Lydia, Scott, and Parrish in front of you.

“Uhm, is everything all right?” you frowned.

“No, actually. Can we come in?”

---

“You seem normal to me,” you continued to scan Parrish’s body, along with his hands, hair, and nails.

“That’s because I am. He lit me on fire, and somehow, I’m completely normal,” he explained.

“Even your nails and hair grew back,” you noticed.

“What do you think that means?” you turned to Derek.

“He’s not a wolf. I mean, setting one of us on fire would definitely kill one of us,” Derek replied.

“Witch?” Scott suggested.

“If he was a witch, I would feel him. And the fire would have killed him?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Vampire?” Derek asked.

“This far west?” you asked.

“You’re right,” Derek sighed.

“Okay, well, tell us more about what happened. I knew I hated Haigh for a reason,” you shook your head.

“Well, it seemed like he didn't know what he was doing,” he started.

“Well, that’s given,” you replied.

“Yeah… well, I don’t really know. He said that I was worth 5 million, covered me in oil, and then tried to kill me,” he explained.

“But Haigh wasn't a hunter, right? Scott, how long as he worked there for?” you asked.

“A few years, actually,” Scott replied.

“That means maybe it's not just professionals. Maybe if anyone who can get access to it. No one’s safe,” Derek pulled on your arm gently, holding your hand.

“Okay, can someone just explain to me what’s happening? From the beginning?” Parrish asked, you could see him getting slightly frustrated.

“Okay, long story short, Lydia is a banshee, Scott and Derek are werewolves, Scott’s an alpha, which is like the leader. I’m a witch, Stiles is human…”

---  

You made your way to Liam’s house, about to knock at his door before he opened it quickly.

“Sorry, my parents are asleep,” he explained.

You nodded your head, as he led you up to his room. There were papers all over his floor, while you raised an eyebrow.

“I-I was sleeping, well, I was trying to sleep, and then my printer started up, and it started printing out the Deadpool. It has everyone else’s names crossed off, I’m worth more, and-” he paused to take a breath, before putting his hands on his head.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid. Just take a breath. Let me look at it,” you picked up a few pieces of paper, looking at the lists 

Sean Walcott 250

David Walcott 250

Michael Walcott 250

Christina Walcott 250

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) 20

Lydia Martin 20

Scott McCall 25

Demarco Montana 250

Carrie Hudson 250

You panicked slightly, seeing your value go up, and seeing Derek’s was no longer there. You turned the paper, looking at the other lists.

Kate Argent 12

Noshiko Yukimura 5

Joanne Mclaughlin 1

Steve Grace 1 

Tom Hill 1

Brett Talbot 1

Reed Schull 250

Richard Benefield 250

You paused, taking a deep breath, before looking back at Liam. He sat on his bed, curled up into a ball as he wrapped his arms around himself. You paused, putting the papers down, before walking over to him.

“What else happened?” you asked softly, sitting in front of him.

“Nothing,” he shook his head.

“I’m great at picking up when people are lying,” you replied.

“I can’t sleep,” he sighed.

“Well, it’s still early in the night-” you looked at the clock to see that it was nearly 5 in the morning.

“What did Kate Argent do to all of you?” Liam asked.

“Okay, storytime,” you moved further back onto his bed, resting his head on your lap as he frowned.

“Maybe you’ll fall asleep, it’s a long one,” you replied.

He nodded, pulling the blanket over himself as you started.

“When Derek and Kate were teenagers…”

---

“Where were you last night? You didn't come home from Liam’s,” Derek questioned you as soon as you walked into the loft, placing his gun down, while you saw Braeden standing across from him.

“Training?” you asked her, while he nodded.

“You should get back to that,” you replied.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Derek walked to you, pulling your arm slightly.

“I’m sorry for getting mad with you,” he apologized.

“I’m sorry too, I should've told you. But honestly, it’s not that bad,” you said.

He nodded, while you smiled softly, stroking his cheek. He looked back at you, kissing your hand softly.

“As cute as the two of you are, I don’t have all day. Derek, we need to train. He can barely load a gun correctly, (Y/N),” Braeden called out.

“Yeah, I get it. She’s really hardcore,” Derek muttered.

“It wouldn't be any easier if I was training you,” you replied.

He sighed before you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’d love to stay and watch you get beaten by Braeden, but I have to go meet Stiles and Lydia. They’re trying to crack her grandmother’s code,” you explained.

“Good luck,” you waved to him and Braeden before leaving the loft once again.

---

“It has to be Maddy. One hundred percent it’s Maddy,” Stiles said.

You could hear Stiles’ printer beeping as you rolled your eyes.

Lydia typed Maddy onto the computer, getting an error message.

“No,” you replied.

“What about Lydia?” Lydia sighed, rolling her eyes before typing in her name, receiving another error message. 

“Mom’s name?” you suggested.

NATALIE

Another error message. Another beep from Stiles’ printer.

“Okay, look. We know it’s for Lydia, right? Did you and your grandmother have any place that the two of you went to? Anything inside jokes or anything like that?” you asked.

“Nothing that I can think of,” she groaned.

“If this stupid printer doesn't shut the hell up,” Stiles yelled.

“Put fucking paper in it!” you yelled back.

“There! Happy now?!” he shoved the paper in the printer, pressing the reset button.

You turned your attention back to Lydia, seeing a look on her face.

“What? What is it?” you asked.

“When I was younger, we used to read The Little Mermaid to each other, all the time. My parents got annoyed, for a month I only answered to Ariel… my grandma thought it was adorable,” she remembered.

“Try the little mermaid!” Stiles said.

She typed it, receiving another error message.

“Or maybe try Ariel?” you raised an eyebrow, looking at Stiles. He subbed, nodding his head.

The list unlocked, appearing on the screen as the three of you tensed up, looking at the names.

Tamra Johansen

Alice Duffy

Paula Brasch

Trey Lockhart

Josh Morris

Elisa Chin

Peter Mcelroy

Taylor Freeman

Terrence Shuman

Lorraine Martin

“Are any of these names familiar to you?” you asked Lydia.

“No, just my grandmothers,” she shook her head.

“Okay, print out a list…” you heard Stiles’ printer going off, while multiple sheets began to print.

“What are you doing?” you looked at Stiles.

“I didn't do anything,” he shook his head.

You picked up the sheets, seeing the Deadpool, feeling a sense of coldness and uncomfortable feelings washing over you.

“It’s the Deadpool,” you said.

“The same thing happened to Liam last night,” you turned to face the two of them.

“It’s becoming easier and easier to access… Now anyone can see it,” Stiles said, baffled.

“We need to be extra… we need to be careful,” you said to Lydia.

“Call Scott. Lydia, print out the new list, we’ll run the names at the station, I’ll text Parrish,” the two of them nodded, while Stiles pulled out his phone, and you texted Parrish.

---

“All of them are dead?” you asked.

“Within the last ten years,” Parrish nodded.

“How did they die?” Stiles asked.

“Looks like they were all suicides,” he looked at the screen.

Lydia looked over the screen, before gasping softly.

“Look at where they all took place,” she said.

Eichen house

“Of course it was,” you sighed.

“Well, we can buy Brunski out for information,” Stiles said.

“So, let’s go to Eichen House,” you nodded.

“Actually, not you,” Parrish pointed at you, while you frowned.

“Sheriff Stilinski wanted me to ask you if you could go to the school. There’s that lacrosse bonfire thingy,” he explained.

“With everything that happened, maybe a little unnatural support could do some good,” you scrunched your face, hearing him say unnatural.

“Crap, he’s right. Liam and Scott are probably gonna be there,” Stiles sighed.

“Okay, fine. Just call me when you figure it out, okay? Parrish, if they’re not back in an hour or two, will you go to Eichen, please?” you asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, they’ll be fine,” he nodded.

You sighed softly, nodding your head before leaving the police station.

---

“Scott,” you shoved yourself through a group of teenagers, trying to make your way to Scott, with great difficulty.

The music was too loud for anyone's good, even with his werewolf hearing, Scott wouldn't hear you.

“Scott!” you finally made your way to him, as he looked up at you, slightly surprised.

“What are you doing here?!” he asked.

“Well, I’m supposed to be monitoring but I don’t think they need any more help,” you motioned to the group of security guards shooting you dirty looks.

You saw Liam sitting with his friend, holding some bottle of alcohol in one hand, and a water bottle in the other.

“Does he know-” you started.

“I tried to tell him. He won’t listen, same with Malia,” you raised an eyebrow.

“She’s here?” you looked behind Scott, seeing her dancing by herself, holding a flask in her hands before slumping over, nearly falling to the floor.

“Malia,” you quickly grabbed her, helping her up.

“Oh, sorry!” her voice was different, her speech was slurred and she was sweating.

“Scott… she's drunk,” you frowned, looking over to Scott.

“What?” you grabbed the flask from her, handing it to Scott.

“It smells normal to me,” he shook his head.

“What about Liam?” Malia held onto Scott, bending over slightly.

“That doesn't feel too good,” she groaned.

You made your way to Liam, seeing his friend holding on his arm.

“Liam,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m Mason,” his friend said.

“(Y/N). Cool earrings,” you nodded your head.

“Thanks. He drank like two whole bottles,” you lifted Liam’s head up, looking for any wound or anything that would give concern.

“Malia’s not getting any better,” Scott put Malia against the bench.

“I don’t get what’s happening,” you put your hand on Malia’s forehead, before feeling an overwhelming sensation of pain hit your head as you winced, stumbling back a few steps.

Your head was throbbing as you tried to keep your eyes open, looking at Scott, while he stumbled slightly.

“How much did you two have to drink?” Mason asked.

“Nothing at all,” your vision blurred as you wrapped your arms around your stomach, feeling a sharp pain hitting you.

“Oh god,” you groaned.

“(Y/N/N)... it’s the music,” Scott gasped.

“I-I’ll go turn it off, okay? Mason, Scott, get them out of here,” the two of them nodded as you made your way back through the crowd, hearing the music getting louder as you frowned softly, wrapping your hands around your ears, trying to shut it out. 

You scrunched your eyes, nearly falling over before you felt someone grab your arm roughly, pulling you up.

“Let me go,” you tried pulling away.

“How much have you had to drink, (Y/N)?” you heard one of the deputies ask, throwing you onto his back.

“Stop… I didn't drink anything,” your speech was slurred, as you noticed the smirk on his face, as he reached for his walkie.

“I just got her,” you heard him say as you tensed up.

He carried you into the locker room, seeing Scott, Liam, and Malia in the hallway.

“Scott!” you tried to yell out, feeling your entire body aching, as you tried to keep your eyes open.

“There isn't a single person on this force who doesn't hate you, who doesn't loathe you. Who doesn't want to kill you,” he put his hand on your head, lifting it up as you clenched your jaw, taking deep breaths trying to control yourself. Not that your powers would do much given your current focus level.

“Being Stilinski’s number one. You waltzed into that station and he handed you a badge and a gun for free!” he barked at you.

“You can't even imagine the relief we all felt when Haigh said you were worth 20 million on that Deadpool,” he reached for a run of gasoline as you gasped, tensing up.

He poured it over you, as you tried to hold in a cry, biting your lip. He flipped open a lighter, waving in front of your face as you felt your heart aching as you felt the heat on your face.

You could hear screaming, memories of you yelling for your mom, remembering your house on fire.

Please not like this

You heard the music stop, taking a deep breath as your eyes glew purple.

“Dis,” you used your magic, pushing him off of you and grabbing the lighter before shutting it.

You heard him hit the lockers before he reached for his gun from his back pocket.

He aimed it at you, before you jumped, seeing multiple gunshots hit him in the chest before he fell over.

“(Y/N),” Derek ran to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you buried your face in his neck, trying to hold in your cries.

“You’re shaking,” he held onto you, wiping your face before putting his hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes.

“It was just the fire,” you shook your head.

“Come on,” he put his arm over your shoulder, walking out of the locker room.

“Are you guys okay?” you asked the three of them.

They nodded their heads before asking you.

“Go home now. All of you,” you said, while they nodded.

You continued holding Derek’s hand, while you, him, and Braeden made your way out of the school.

---

After getting back to the loft, you quickly stripped off your clothes, going to take a shower. You finally exited the bathroom after what seemed like an hour. 

You remained quiet, slowly making your way onto the bed, before looking down at your hands, playing with the blanket.

“(Y/N/N),” Derek held your hand, pulling you slightly to face him.

You sniffled softly, looking down as he put his hand on your cheek, stroking it softly.

You closed your eyes, feeling a tear slip down before he wiped it away.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” your voice broke slightly as he nodded his head.

“Don’t think about all the bad things that happened, just think about all those times that fire almost killed you, and you didn't let it. You're strong, (Y/N),” you nodded, biting your lip to hold in a cry before opening your eyes to look at him.

“I’m tired,” you said.

He laid down on the bed, while you laid on top of him, resting your head on his chest. You could feel his chest slowly rising and falling, hearing his heart beating slightly.

“Your name's not on the Deadpool anymore,” you said softly.

“I know. Just don't think about that right now. Let’s just take a break from everything else that's going on, okay?” you nodded your head, before he kissed your forehead, pulling you in close.

“I love you, (Y/N/N).”

“I love you too, Derek.”

[the-ace-with-spades]

(6/6) the best is yet to be

five times someone realized Ronan and Adam were basically married and one time they actually were

Part 1 │Part 2 │Part 3 │Part 4 │Part 5 Read on ao3

They were getting married.

It wasn't exactly planned — any part of it, really, all just came up on its own or spiraled into place after years of floating in the air. Adam came from his final year earlier than expected — than Ronan expected, really, apparently Adam planned it to be a surprise — having taken a heavier workload in the first semester and finishing his dissertation in March. He had told Ronan he would miss Easter and he did, coming only two days later.

It was the beginning of April and the weather that week had been unexpectedly good and they sat in the fields, Ronan was braiding his third flower crown — one had been eaten by Opal, one was on Adam's head.

"It's so warm in Virginia," Adam said, directing his face into the sun. He always complained about Harvard being cold, no matter how many blankets and sweaters Ronan had sent him. "It's the most dream-like part here. We should get married in spring and have a wedding in the meadows, it would look like from a Victorian novel."

He said it way too casually to justify Ronan's heart attempting to escape his ribcage at such alarming speed. He also didn't add anything, just leaned further on his elbows, touching Ronan's shoulder with his forehead.

Ronan didn't even think before he got up, making Adam fell on his face, and told him, "Fucking wait here and don't move even an inch."

It took him twenty minutes to run to the house, throw away all the cookbooks from the shelf in the kitchen — the shelf Adam was forbidden from touching after his third attempt at crêpes — grab a small cardboard box from behind the backboard, and run back. Making his way through the meadow, he wished he had put it in something better-looking and not just left it in the same box he picked it up from the jewelry shop.

Adam was still sitting where he left him, this time with Opal on his knees, showing her how to finish the flower crown Ronan abandoned.

Ronan felt his hands sweat.

He kneeled down.

Adam stared at him, his arms going limp around Opal. He frowned. "Ronan?"

He said it so softly Ronan could feel his heart growing at the sound.

When he resized the ring — one of his mom's, one of the few she wore outside of her wedding band — he had told himself that he will make a plan. At first, he thought about taking Adam to Lindenmere, but they were there too often for it to be something special and Ronan wanted it to be something special. He thought about restaurants and hikes and dreamt fireworks and writing it on a cow's fur and going on a boat on the lake. He thought about putting the ring in a birthday cupcake — although with Ronan's luck, Adam would choke on it — or in a flute of champagne — Adam didn't drink alcohol — and he thought about a hundred different foods he could cook for him. It all didn't seem right, seemed overly cheesy or normal or conventional, and they were anything but that.

Adam was anything but that.

So Ronan kneeled there, in the meadow full of spring flowers and fresh grass, and both of his knees were getting wet from the muddy ground and he had the most gorgeous view of Adam's face drawn by a flower crown made of buttercups, golden ragworts, and with Virginia bluebells falling onto his forehead and ears. With his warm complexion and light freckles and even warmer blue eyes, Adam looked like the spring personified.

They had to marry in spring.

"Fuck," he said finally. "I don't know what to—how to..."

Adam turned around to the side more, Opal's head falling more onto his right shoulder. They were both looking at him, the same shade of blue piercing through Ronan's soul.

Adam raised one hand to his face, stroking his thumb over Ronan's cheekbone. "Hey," he said. "You don't have to."

He did have to.

Ronan ripped the box, throwing the scraps on the ground.

"Marry me."

Adam's hand moved down, curving around Ronan's nape. "Of course."

It wasn't a question and it wasn't a yes, but—

But it was enough and they were engaged. And Adam Parrish, the boy of his dreams, was his fiancé.

When they got back home — and Ronan hadn't let go of Adam's hand the whole time, even when Ronan protested saying she wanted them to swing her back and forth between them — Adam stopped in the foyer.

"Go wait in the kitchen," he said and went upstairs in a quick stride.

So Ronan did. He made them coffee and sat down, suddenly feeling nervous, the tension fleeting back into his tightly wound shoulders.

Adam came back downstairs, sat on the other side of the table with a grin.

"I got you a ring too," he said, lying a velvet box onto the table. "I was going to propose on my graduation day."

He opened the box. It was a simple black gold ring with Celtic engraving but it must have cost at least a month of unstopping hard work, divided between a longer time — it meant so much more if one knew the true value.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, Ronan could only hear the humming coming from their old fridge and his own thoughts sprinting through his head.

Ronan started crying.

It was an involuntary response. He didn't know he needed it, needed to know that Adam wanted it as much as Ronan did, that he wanted Ronan to feel as special as Ronan wanted Adam to feel. He thought that it was implied, that he was the one to notice when Adam was ready and he was the one to propose then.

Adam was still smiling. "Is that a yes?"

"Have I ever fucking said no to you?"

Adam licked his lips. "Well, yesterday, I asked you to do the laundry and—"

"Just give me the ring, Parrish."

So Adam takes it out of the box — which was way prettier than Ronan's because it was Adam and Adam paid attention to every detail, always — grabs Ronan's hand with an unbelievable gentle touch and puts the ring on his finger.

He leaned over the table, holding Ronan's hand in both of his, and pulled it closer to his lips, kissing Ronan's in slow and light as a feather movement.

Ronan couldn't stop crying for good fifteen minutes.

The next Sunday, Ronan asked Adam to go to the mass with him. He had never asked before but Adam sometimes came with him — when he was back from Harvard only for the weekend and didn't want to leave Ronan even for an hour — and Ronan always celebrated it deep within his heart. He didn't tell him why he wanted him to come with him.

The mass ended, people started to leave and Ronan went the opposite way, to Father Cohen who was still standing at the front of the altar.

"Boys," he said, despite the two of them being twenty-three. "I haven't talked to you in a while. How are you doing?"

Adam opened his mouth to say something that was probably polite and good-natured, but Ronan said instead, "When is the closest opening for a marriage ceremony?"

Adam turned around and raised his eyebrow. Father Cohen didn't look any less surprised than him either, wide-eyed, his mouth open but not making a sound.

"Let me grab our calendar," he said after a very long silence. He was clearly stunned that Ronan, who he had known since he was about two and was brought to church for the first time, was getting married.

Ronan was stunned too.

He left to the sacristy in a daze and Adam, as soon as he was out of sight, asked, "What are you doing?"

"What? You said you want a spring wedding. It's spring."

Because St. Agnes was a small church, Father Cohen gave them a list of dates that weren't open, rather than the open ones. It consisted of a whole total of three dates in the next three months, the first open spot being in two weeks.

Ronan said they would take it.

They — or rather Ronan, seeing as Adam was still so shellshocked that Ronan felt like he was tricking him into this marriage — thanked him and Ronan gave Father Cohen Adam's email to forward them any documents they needed to fill.

They were outside the church and Adam still didn't say a word.

"If you don't want to get married now—"

"Do you know how much paperwork it's going to be?" Adam interrupted him.

Ronan blinked, very slowly and — if he dared to admit — fondly. This was the man he chose to marry. The man who agreed to marry him. Who asked him to marry him back.

"Are you fucking serious?" he asked. "This is what you're worried about? We just have to get the marriage license and we're done."

Done sounded like this was something Ronan was forced into.

"Yeah, but I'll have to call DMV, SSA, my bank," Adam listed off. "I'll have to pay for the last-minute change of my diploma if Harvard even lets me change it so close to graduation."

He wasn't making sense. "What? Are they suddenly adding married to on a diploma?"

Adam scrunched his eyebrows in the manner that always made Ronan want to kiss his forehead — he would always do that when dealing with someone stupid.

"No, but I'd prefer not to deal with the explanation why my name doesn't match the one on my diploma to any of my future employers."

Oh. Oh.

"You want to—like, take my name?"

Adam smacked his side. "Don't be an idiot," he said, frowning. "Of course I—I mean, unless you don't want me to—"

"I want you to," Ronan replied instantly.

"Well, then you're helping me fill all those documents."

They filled the paperwork Father Cohen sent Adam and went to the courthouse the next day, getting a marriage license and leaving it, and newly bought wedding bands, in church on the way home.

Then came the first problem — telling everyone.

They had been sitting on the couch, both of their phones on the coffee table in front of them, and argued about who was going to tell Gansey.

It was, technically, not a big deal. Gansey would be, in the end, happy for them, but in the end was the keyword here — it'd be proceeded by a rant, a scolding, lots of detailed questions like, why didn't you tell us sooner, and none of them knew how to answer them. Calling Blue would result in the same outcome, as Gansey was bound to butt into the conversation once Blue forwarded the message.

"Maybe we just don't fucking tell him and the maggot," Ronan suggested.

"And how is gonna know to show up for the wedding?"

Ronan groaned, hitting his forehead on Adam's shoulder. Repetitively.

"Maybe I'll just text him," he added. "Or you text him. He's used to being ghosted by you after you text him."

This wasn't actually such a horrible idea so Ronan took his phone, typed out something that would have minimal detail, showing it to Adam, who retyped something else.

The final result was, bring maggot and cheng next sunday to the barns at 1. wear something nice.

Ronan sent the text. Gansey called him within three minutes. Ronan declined the call. Gansey called Adam after another two minutes, which he also declined. Instead, Adam texted Maura, with the same but slightly more polite message.

It left them with Declan and Matthew.

"They are your brothers," Adam said when Ronan suggested he could call them.

"I texted Dick," he countered. "It's your turn."

"It's your turn," Adam mocked. "Is this how it's gonna be for the rest of our life?"

Ronan grinned. The rest of their life sounded so good. "Yeah, get used to that."

Adam bit his lip, holding himself back from grinning back. "Fine."

Adam texted Declan, Church is at 1 30 next week, be at the Barns at 1, kind of lying. The important thing was, Ronan didn't have to deal with Declan. If he was the one to send such a text, Declan would inevitably start calling him as soon as he read it, not giving up until Ronan picked up or straight up driving from DC just to know what was going on.

Which put them on Sunday next week, preparing for the arrival of everyone.

They had prepared the meadow the day before, taking a dreamt stretchable tent there and carried the grill there, among with the living room table and chairs and a dreamt stereo that connected to Spotify despite now electricity or no Internet connection. The field now turned mostly yellow, with occasional bluebell here or there, but it was still an amazing view — Ronan planned to make another flower crown for Adam, once they were already married. Right now they left the tent without food, watched by Chainsaw who soared in circles, sitting on the table from time to time.

It was cozy, probably cozier than even the smallest wedding receptions were but Adam would never agree to have a big party in some rented venue and Ronan hated any venue he had looked up online. It suited them.

Opal was ready, dressed first out of the three of them. She had insisted she wanted to be a flower girl — they didn't even know she knew what that was — and allowed them to put herself in a better-looking pair of culottes and a white shirt.

She had a fool basket of dandelions and buttercups ready — hidden, so she wouldn't eat it before they even left for the church — and probably was already muddy, seeing as she left the house as soon as Adam told her she was done.

It left Ronan and Adam, squeezing in front of the main bathroom mirror while they both put on their suits.

"So, how pissed Dick will be?"

Adam didn't look at Ronan when answering, concentrating on making his tie straight instead. Ronan planned to crook it again as soon as he was done.

"Gansey? He'll be fine, he is used to you, isn't he," he said. "I'm more worried about Blue. Or your brother."

Declan. It was clear he meant Declan.

They had become better over the years, to the point that Ronan could finally, without any guilt or any anger, call him family. The first time he had referred to him just as his older brother and not his dickhead older brother, about two years ago, Ronan was taken aback but not with an unpleasant aftertaste. They talked about the stuff that made them angry and about their dad, but he still could easily come off as judgemental towards Ronan's impulsive life decisions and Ronan had never really learned what he thought about him and Adam, and those two things were unvaryingly connected in this case.

"You don't think he will, like, leave?"

Adam turned around, his full attention on Ronan. His face softened in a way that used to be foreign as he took Ronan's face into his hands.

"No, Ronan, of course he won't," he said. "I'm sure he's going to have gray hair before he turns twenty-seven, but he won't leave. Jordan would make him sleep on the couch if he did."

He smiled at Ronan, the reassuring kind of smile that was mostly transmitted through his eyes.

Ronan grabbed one of his palms and kissed it. Then he crooked Adam's tie.

Fifteen minutes before everyone was about to arrive, Ronan and Adam sat down on the porch. Opal was sitting in the grass behind the banister, her pants already a bit muddy, observing snails. Or maybe eating them.

The first car came, the obnoxious orange of it visible from the beginning of the long driveway, followed by a shiny black Volvo.

Adam and Ronan stayed seated until all seven of them were out of the cars.

"What is going on?" Blue asked.

Hennessy, Jordan, Declan, and Matthew were standing on the right of the stairs to the porch, and Gansey, Cheng, and Blue were standing on the left. Ronan felt surrounded, especially with Adam now pushing his lower back and staring at him like he wanted Ronan to begin.

Ronan was not going to begin. "You go first, Parrish."

"You shithead," he grumbled under his breath, sending him a death glare. "Can't believe I'm signing myself for an eternity of this."

Ronan's grin widened.

Loud enough for everyone to hear it, Adam said, "We're getting married."

"What?"

"In half an hour," Adam added.

And the chaos erupted.

Matty, bless his heart — and Cheng, but without the blessing — was as excited as if it was his wedding, Blue was asking, again and again, how could they not tell her, and Gansey and Declan kept on asking, shouting over each other, whether this was a joke. Hennessy had to step away because she was laughing so loud.

"I hate this," Adam told him, close to his ear. "Why did we decide to get married again?"

"So you can have a brand new name and steal my fortune?" he said, nudging him with his elbow. He got a beautiful chuckle as a reward. "Cover your ear, baby."

Ronan came to the agreement with Adam — after an argument about Murder Squash in the car — that Adam's hearing was to be prioritized and he was to avoid ear-splitting noises at all costs. So no sudden, loud noises around Adam.

Adam covered his ear and stepped aside.

"SHUT UP," he shouted with the voice of someone who trained traditional Irish singing for ten years, making everyone quiet down. "We're getting married, end of the story. You can now move along with the crowd or leave."

Ronan hoped nobody left.

Nobody left, but everyone did shut up. Blue, Gansey, and Declan were all looking like they wanted to say something still, and Jordan now looked as amused as Hennessy.

Adam stepped up closer to the stairs, grabbing Ronan's hand on the way. "Gansey, you're going to be our witness."

Ronan squeezed his hand. "And you, Dickwad," he said, clearly looking at Declan, "are our second witness."

There was a very long silence when everyone stared at Ronan as if he grew a second head, Declan, in particular, like he was about to cry. Adam squeezed his hand.

When they discussed who they wanted to be the witness at their wedding, they agreed on Gansey immediately. Declan was Ronan's first choice for the second person, Blue was Adam's. Adam wasn't surprised, even expected that apparently, but Ronan realized that while his and Declan's relationship was getting better, there was a lot that they would never fully leave behind. Ronan didn't mind that and this was supposed to convey it without using the words. Clearly, it was a very bold statement.

"I told you I should have put on a suit," Gansey broke the silence, turning to Blue. "I can't go to church just in a shirt." He had dress pants and a white shirt on.

"Jesus fuck, Dick, you're not walking Adam down the aisle, you don't need a three-piece suit," Ronan said, hoping they have somehow omitted the rant and the scolding for now.

"Yeah, but Declan might walk Ronan," Adam added with a smirk. Ronan squeezed his hand hard enough to be uncomfortable, but he didn't budge, continuing, "Opal wanted to be a flower girl so someone has to do it."

Declan still didn't say anything.

Everyone packed back into their cars, Adam managed to put Opal in her car seat without getting the mud on his white suit while Ronan grabbed her flower basket from the house.

In the church — where Calla, Maura, and Dean were already waiting — the two of them left Opal with everyone and went to Father Cohen. After that, Adam told him he would go to the bathroom before the ceremony began and asked Ronan to watch that Opal didn't eat the flowers.

"Hey," he spoke up before Adam left. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He tapped his cheek and Adam chuckled.

"I'll be back in less than five minutes," he noticed.

"Don't care."

Adam rolled his eyes. Ronan leaned in and Adam kissed him on the cheek.

"I'll be back. In less than five minutes."

"I'm counting," Ronan told him.

He was left alone in front of the altar, what with almost everyone sitting down, Gansey having Blue adjust Dean's tie under his collar — it was too long to ever fit him properly — and with Father Cohen back at the sacristy.

It, unfortunately, left Ronan alone with Declan. "Ronan," he said.

"Yes, this is my fucking name."

He made a face. "Can you be serious for a moment?"

Ronan could, if he wanted to, but right now, he wasn't in the mood.

"Do you really want me to—to be your witness?"

This was exactly why Ronan didn't want to tell him about the wedding.

"You just have to sign your name on a stupid piece of paper," Ronan said, which was technically the truth but also not really. "It's not a big deal."

And Declan didn't say anything, just stared at Ronan with a blank face. If he wasn't so used to it, it'd make him fidget.

And then he hugged Ronan. It wasn't even the arm-clapping-his-back hug, it was the arms-around-shoulders and I'm-not-letting-you-go hug that he used to give Ronan when he didn't want to go to elementary school.

Over Declan's shoulder, he saw Jordan, giving him a two-handed thumbs up. Ronan hated all the weirdos in this family equally.

Which meant not at all.

"You will get snot on my jacket if you start crying," he said. It was probably too late for that.

Before he knew it, Matty was sandwiching the both of them in between his arms with a grip of someone who played in a college league lacrosse team, squeezing them to the point that both Declan and Ronan had to protest. Together.

Adam came back in front of the altar with Father Cohen in tow.

Ronan stood on the left side, Adam stood on the right. Declan was behind Ronan, Gansey behind Adam. Opal, right now holding their rings on a cushion that was tucked into her flower basket, was in between them.

Ronan smiled and Adam smiled back.

The ceremony began.

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,�� Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[snorlaxlovesme]

you’d come over, right?

Ronan's world ended months ago, when the person he loved most left without a goodbye. And now, with the actual apocalypse on his doorstep, coping isn't coming easy.

Pynch. Angst. (With a happy ending. Ish.) ~3k words 

Sometimes you listen to sad pop songs and get inspired to burn down the entire world in the TRC/Dreamer Trilogy franchise just for the sole purpose of pynch reunion hugs. That’s normal, right? 

(note: this fic is unrelated to the plot of the Dreamer Trilogy, this apocalypse was not caused by Ronan Lynch)

AO3 link

                                      -------------------------

The earth vibrated beneath Ronan’s feet, and he knew he didn’t have much time. The goats were still in the fields and the pole barn was still open and his car was still parked in the driveway and none of that should have mattered. But during the goddamn apocalypse he didn’t know what to do, so he grabbed two pygmy goats by the horns and dragged them towards the second barn, trying not to look at the blood red sky or the smoke coming from the east. They kicked viciously and shrieked in fear, chilling Ronan to the bone. While he knew it wouldn’t do them any good, the barn would not save them from the impending doom raining down on them, he chucked them in the pen with the rest of them and ran back to the fields for more.

He was alone. Opal was in Lindenmere right now, which might be safer, maybe, and Declan and Matthew were in D.C. He hadn’t heard from them in days, so for all he knew they could already be—

He grabbed more goats.

The air crackled with an electric charge that could have meant an oncoming thunderstorm, because of course there’d be a storm, and Ronan hastened his wrangling, feeling the goats’ animal terror almost more strongly than his own. The least he could do was get them inside. It was better than nothing. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck despite the cold wind whipping around him, and he grabbed the last goat, a small thing frozen in petrified fear. He gathered her in his arms and wished he could do more to help. Murmuring words of encouragement to a fucking goat, he ran back to the second barn and put her with the others, locking the metal pin on their enclosure and looking at them for what was probably the last time before running back outside.

After shutting up the pole barn (it would do them no good) Ronan raced towards his car. There was no point to any of this, but the panic igniting his nerves was causing his mind to do stupid shit, like desperately saving goats or refusing to leave his father’s car in the driveway when ground was shaking as badly as it was. He could barely stay on his feet as he tried to navigate the crushed gravel path to the car. He needed to get it into the garage, then everything would be in its place when the ground finally split, or the lighting struck, or the sulfurous smell of fire finally approached the house. His life would end full of regrets, things he could never hope to change now, but the least he could do was move the damn car.

He ripped open the driver’s side door and slammed it closed. It was quieter inside, without the reedy screeching of the wind, and somehow that made it worse. If the sky wasn’t pulsing like a punctured artery he could almost convince himself that this wasn’t happening. That Ronan was tumbling into this car with another body, hot and heady with lust and laughing when he hit his head on the visor like he always did. Ronan had spent months trying to forget rolling down blue coveralls and the smell of gasoline mixed with sweat, but what is certain death without painful flashbacks? He threw the car into reverse and let them play out, knowing that it would be the last time.

The painfully attractive snickering as he tried to pull legs from oil-stained pantlegs, the “What’re you doin’ down there? I thought you were good at this” because the asshole loved making fun of him and loved torturing him with his Henrietta accent in the worst possible moments. Car sex is something that should never be allowed outside of movies; there’s no room and it hurts your neck and your stupid boyfriend will spend the next three months poking fun at you for wanting it before leaving in the dead of night for Harvard and never coming back.

Not the most eloquent of goodbyes, but it wasn’t the most eloquent of fights that caused him to leave either. Selfishness is what it came down to, from both of them, like it always did. When you can’t see why something so unimportant to you could mean the world to someone else, how could you possibly expect a relationship like that to last?

Something under the car bumped and Ronan gripped the gearshift tighter. Maybe he didn’t have time for regrets right now.

Jesus fucking Christ, for all the time he spent dreaming this place into fantastical perfection, he never bothered to put an automatic opener on the garage door. Ronan tore out of the car and grabbed at the tiny handle at the bottom of the garage door and pulled. Nothing.

The key. The goddamned key. It was back in the house.

He was sprinting again, to the farmhouse this time, tripping over his own feet when the ground pitched and shifted. What normally looked like an idyllic country home now looked marred with horror. The earthquakes had shattered two of the windows. The wind had ripped away at the shutters that he didn’t even bother to close. The swelling storm clouds gathering behind it in the distance were coming closer. He wished he would have paid more attention to how the house looked before this. Ronan Lynch, known for his attention and care in the details, for dreaming up perfect facsimiles of objects beyond anything the human mind could comprehend, had never given proper attention to the way the front door of his childhood house looked in the light of the golden sun, and he regretted it now as the sky painted his house a dismal burgundy, the sun long gone in favor of a crime scene.

The house was dark, not that he expected any different. The power was the first thing to go, the first sign of the end of times. Because of course electricity is the thing people cared about most. They dismissed the shaking ground along no perceivable fault line just fine, rolled their eyes as twisters ripped their way through the most populated metropolitan areas, but when the blackout happened it’s like everyone knew.

If Ronan could dream up power for the whole world to get back on its feet again, he would’ve. But all he had instead was this: a dreamt phone with unlimited battery life that was just about as useful as a normal fucking flashlight. He unlocked the screen for the millionth time and wished that a call would come through, a text, anything, but it remained miserably silent. No power equaled no working towers. Not that he’d be getting any calls regardless. He’d burned too many bridges for goodbyes at this point.

He turned on the flashlight feature and swung the beam of light around the living room, searching for the key to the garage. A loud BANG caused him to flinch instinctively. Debris was hitting the siding on the house. God, he hadn’t even shut the door to the BMW before coming here. It could be smashed to bits now for all he knew. This was pointless. But it was all Ronan had, so he searched for the stupid key. He scraped furniture legs on the hardwood floor and ripped cushions from couches, a human disaster blowing through before anything outside could wreak havoc on this place. It made sense that the final moments he had in here would be destruction. Lynches were best at that.

The outside world howled away, and Ronan wished for one more moment of peaceful quiet. He missed this place at its most serene, right before sunrise when he was gearing up for chores in the Barns. He missed the morning coffee, pressed shoulder to shoulder kitchen, the “there’s a Starbucks in town, you know” and the “yours is better” conversations whispered as they gazed out the window and watched the steam rise from the fields. That could have meant “I can’t afford Starbucks coffee” but Ronan always took it to mean “I can’t afford to miss out on mornings with you,” whether that was the intention or not.

But even that couldn’t last, not with Lynch Destruction running through his veins, proud and true. Soon morning coffee turned to shouting matches over dinner. “Your dreams are what make you special” became “You have to face reality, Ronan,” and that just wasn’t a problem he could fix with another dreamt gift. So he didn’t fix it. His father taught him to hit where it would hurt the most, and without laying a single finger on that perfect head he dealt the finishing blow.

“For someone so worldly you don’t seem to have a hard time mooching off of me,” he’d parsed evenly, knowing that a controlled tone would mean more than a shout. And it did. The headlights of the shitbox shined through their bedroom window as it backed out of the driveway for the final time that night, and Ronan watched it leave without a word.

Another bang, quieter this time, came from the front door, startling Ronan. Maybe the twisters would take him out before the fires could. Maybe his house would collapse before he could see the sky open up and lightning rain down. Trying to pinpoint when it was going to end was almost worse than the actual ending, in a way. He knew that better than most.

The door bang ed again, and the flashlight beam finally illuminated the garage key, dangling from a Harvard lanyard, of all fucking things, hung on a hook in the kitchen. If he got the car in the garage, everything would be fine. Then he could die peacefully amongst the rubble, knowing he had checked off his final inane task on his apocalypse to-do list.

He ripped open the front door, keys in hand, and almost ran straight into Adam Parrish, hand raised like he was going to continue politely knocking even as the world crashed down around him.

“Parrish?” Ronan asked, skidding almost cartoonishly to a stop. This wasn’t real. Of all the unreal things that had happened today, Adam Parrish standing on his front porch was the unreal-est.

His colorless hair was whipped into a frenzied mess from the aggressive gales. His faded Harvard sweatshirt was mucked and ripped. And his face. Ronan never thought he’d see it again, and here it was in front of him, expression bleak and desperate and just as shocked to see Ronan as Ronan was to see him.

“What are you—” was all he could utter before Adam was crushing Ronan to him, pulling him into a hug that cracked all his ribs, squeezed and splattered his heart. He had no words because he had no air, and Ronan decided he didn’t need it. Oxygen was pointless if it meant leaving Adam’s arms.

“I saw the BMW,” Adam said breathlessly in his ear. “You left the doors open and the house looked so fucking dark and I thought—I thought maybe you’d already—that I wasn’t fast enough—”

He pulled back and gripped Ronan’s face in his hands, the motion rough in execution when it probably should have been tender. It had been months. They were both out of practice with gentleness. But Ronan forgave him. He forgave him he forgave him he forgave him for every bad thing he had ever done.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asked, still breathless, still marveling at the hands that held him and the eyes cutting through him.

Adam let out a surprised laugh. Of all things, he laughed, still holding onto Ronan’s cheeks tighter than he would have months ago, back when he still called Ronan sweetheart , before he called him fucking asshole and left him behind. They were horrible to each other, but Ronan forgave him for it all. He wanted to wrap that laugh around him like a blanket to stave off the oncoming doom.

“Have you seen what’s going on outside?” Adam said, still laughing.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ronan said stupidly. His mind was still reeling from Adam’s presence, his heart drunk on the feeling of his calloused hands.

“Traffic was a fucking nightmare,” Adam said, and it began to sink in that amidst the chaos of, well, everything, Adam was here. He’d come back.

“Parrish,” he said. “Adam. Why—”

“Are you stupid?” Adam interrupted. Not cruelly, but angry all of a sudden, laughter gone. It seemed it was finally sinking in for him too. He was looking at the ruined Barns around them like this mess was all Ronan’s fault. “God, Ronan, you didn’t even close the shutters. Are you even taking this seriously? Do you see what’s happening? If I’d come any later you could have already been dead , do you get that?”

“Why, though?” Ronan asked. “Why did you even come all this way?”

The smell of smoke was getting stronger. The fires. He’d cleared away as much of the brush as he could around the farm, but the wind could easily carry the embers to the house. Ronan hoped the world could wait one more goddamn minute before killing him. One more minute to hear this answer.

Half of him expected another fight. They were good at that. Their friendship was built on fights so he didn’t know why he’d expected their relationship to be any different. It was all they did at the end of it, the real end of the world, the one that ended with the screen door slamming shut in the middle of the night and one half of their bed sitting vacant.

But the other half of him expected sarcasm. I left my last will and testament here and didn’t want to die without my affairs in order. They never did feelings right. If everything wasn’t wrapped up in five layers of bullshit and jokes then it wasn’t worth saying at all. The sky was falling and the fires were closing in on The Barns and Adam Parrish was impossibly here, so it only made sense for Ronan’s life to end with one final punchline.

But Adam didn’t say anything. He took his hands from Ronan’s face and brought them to his waist, thumbs resting on his hip bones delicately. His freckled face looked wrecked with an emotion that Ronan couldn’t place, but the sight of it made him want to cry.

“I had to.”

He closed his eyes when Adam kissed him, the hearth in his chest flickering with warmth for the first time since Ronan made the decision not to go after Adam that night. He let himself be kissed like they were 18 and still madly in love. Like they had actually been meant for each other. Like he was worth coming back to.

The crack of thunder made them flinch.

“We should go inside,” Adam whispered against Ronan’s lips. Ronan could have told him that the feeble walls weren’t going to protect them. The end wasn’t far off now, whatever that end may be, and the farmhouse protected them just as much as the now goat-less field could have. But he didn’t. He pulled Adam into the house, and wrapped his arms around him, breathing in the scent of him and wishing that the apocalypse wasn’t the only thing that could bring them back together. I love you could have fixed this. Or, even better, I’m sorry.

But this was good, too. Adam’s hands roved up and down Ronan’s body as his tongue traced his bottom lip, and Ronan imagined what would have been. If he had been smarter, if he had been kinder, if he had been less stubborn and had run after Adam that night. If he had taken the keys from his hands and told him that he’d work harder to be more understanding.  To rely less on dreams and more on the concrete. He’d tell Adam that he didn’t mean any of that shit he’d said, that he had never said anything more untrue. It would have all led to this, probably.

He could have gone on kissing Adam until the world ended (a few more minutes give or take), but there was something else he wanted to do. Slowly untangling himself from Adam, he led him by the hand to the kitchen, guiding himself through the house one last time by touch. The fingertips of his left hand grazed over wooden chairs and countertops while the fingers of his right entwined with Adam’s, warm and solid. When Adam saw him begin stoking the wood stove, he let out that surprised laugh again, bewilderment in his voice.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we don’t have a lot of time,” he said to Ronan. The wind was a monster outside, tearing down trees and threatening to rip the siding right off the house. Ronan ignored it.

“We have a little time.”

Something that had been knocked askew inside of him for months had finally settled back into place, and he wasn’t afraid anymore. Adam watched as he poured water into a tin kettle and placed it on the stove, the light reflecting in his eyes. It would be the last time he would do this, the last time he would do anything, probably, and he wanted the last thing on his apocalypse to-do list to matter. So Ronan pulled Adam’s favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink, the one that could have been smashed by the earthquakes or Ronan’s own anger but had survived despite the potential destruction of this house. He threw a few filters on top of the pot and looked to Adam, waiting for him to take the cue to search the pantry for the dark roast they both liked. Adam smirked at him as he passed the can of grounds to him, an expression that Ronan should have taken the time to appreciate before, when he had the time.

Ronan took the kettle from the fire and let a stream of hot water soak the grounds suspended above the pot in the shittiest version of pour-over coffee in the world. But none of that mattered after he’d finally given Adam his mug. He watched Adam breathe it in before taking a drink.

“This really is better than Starbucks, you know,” Adam said after a moment, mug still held close to his face.

Ronan barked out a laugh that almost drowned out the whistling of the wind outside. A long sip from his own mug told Ronan that the coffee tasted just as awful as it always had, but the smell of it masked the smoke from outside, and Adam’s smile masked just about every other bad thing in the entire stupid world. So Ronan sidled up beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of enjoying coffee with the person he loved one last time. The pole barn was probably gone by now, the BMW blown halfway across the state, but Ronan had this. Adam snaked an arm around his shoulders and Ronan let out a shaking breath.

He had this.

Ronan had Adam.

[in-a-pynch]

Talk to Me

A Pynch Fic

Words: 2919

TW: Abuse (typical Robert Parrish bullshit), Food issues due to anxiety

Ronan paused in the entry way to the dorms at Harvard, struck by what some might call anxiety. Except it’s not. Because Ronan doesn’t get anxious.

What if he doesn’t want me here? What if everything is fine and I’m overreacting?

Ronan clamped down on that idea fast. He knew Adam. And because he knew Adam, he also knew that things have been off, and Adam was trying to pretend that they weren’t. At first, Ronan was going to wait for Adam to come to him, like the adults they were. Ronan didn’t like the idea of him having to beg Adam for information any time something was wrong. But that was before Adam’s roommate, Eliot, texted Ronan. Ronan swiped at his screen to look at the message again.

Yesterday 5:30 PM

Crybaby 1

Hey, I hate to do this but I’ve got to ask, is anything up with you and Adam? He’s been acting strange and distant for like 3 weeks now and every time we mention it he says he’s “fine.” The man is running exclusively on 5 hour energy drinks and granola bars twice a day. We’re getting worried but he won’t talk to us.

That text was what put Ronan over the edge. 

He’d hoped that if Adam wasn’t talking to him, he would at least be getting support from his other friends. He hadn’t seen it until late, but he had immediately sent a response.

Yesterday 10:03 PM

No idea. Be up tomorrow.

Ronan paused, then:

Don’t tell Adam.

So now Ronan was in Cambridge. Standing outside his boyfriend’s building like some sort of coward. He knew Adam missed him. At least, he sure missed Adam. Still, the fear that Adam wouldn’t tell him what has been bothering him or, worse, Ronan is what has been bothering Adam, kept him glued to the sidewalk.

Deep breaths. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Ronan decided to take the stairs. For exercise, obviously. Not because he was nervous. Despite his racing thoughts, Ronan had to admit he was excited to see his boyfriend. Adam hadn’t made it back for spring break this year, and it had been far too long since Ronan had a chance to see his Magician. Stopping in front of Adam’s door, Ronan shrugged his backpack more squarely onto his shoulders, gave his trademarked slouch, rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness, and then knocked.

The door opened. Adam stared. Ronan blinked. It was Adam that broke the silence.

“Ro? What are you doing here?”

For a second, Ronan had to gather himself, not really believing his eyes.

What the fuck Parrish?

Ronan wrapped his arms around Adam and pressed his cheek to the top of Adam’s head. Rather than give a real reply, a reply which Adam certainly would not have liked, he shrugged into the embrace and simply said,

“I missed you.”

Ronan doesn’t lie, but he also loves his boyfriend enough not to tell the whole truth. Yet. Instead, Ronan squeezed tighter.

Fuck he’s lost weight… Eliot wasn’t kidding about the granola bars.

Adam pulled away enough to look at Ronan’s face, likely trying to read his expression to see if there was more. Whatever he decided, he didn’t elaborate, replying with a tentative smile and a kiss.

“Yeah, well I missed you too, you sap.”

Ronan scowled without any real malice. “Shut up Parrish.”

Adam pulled away fully, but linked their fingers together, using them to tug Ronan into the dorm. Ronan shut the door and followed Adam into the tiny, but still cozy, bedroom. Ronan tossed his backpack on the floor and turned around to Adam pushing himself up onto the slightly elevated twin bed. Ronan stopped and took Adam in for just a moment.

As sexy as his boyfriend was, it was not a good moment.

Despite the smirk on Adam’s face as he watched Ronan get situated, his face showed the marks of what could only be pure exhaustion. Dark circles lined his kind eyes, and his bottom lip was chapped from where Adam nervously chewed on it. Just like he was doing right now, as Ronan so obviously analyzed his appearance. Fuck. Ronan forced himself to smile, he didn’t want to ruin the reunion.

We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Parrish.

“You know, Opal’s going to kill me for coming to see you without her,” Ronan admitted.

Adam laughed.

Damn if I didn’t miss that laugh more than anything.

“Oh yeah?” He replied, “Chainsaw isn’t enough to keep her occupied for the weekend? What ever will she do without you there to brood at her?”

“No you idiot,” Ronan vaulted himself onto the bed, planting himself firmly on the pillows. “The problem isn’t that I’m not there. The problem is that she isn’t here with your smiling face…” Ronan faltered for a second, realizing that if Eliot was being honest, this is probably the first time Adam has smiled in a while. Ronan pulled his leg onto the bed to untie his combat boots. Pulling one off and chucking it at the wall, before repeating the process with the other to procrastinate starting another conversation other than, ‘What is your deal?’. Adam must have sensed his hesitation, quickly saying,

“So, have you completed any of those projects you had set out to do on the farm the last time I was home?”

Ronan glowed at Adam’s description of the Barns as home and, just like that, Ronan and Adam talked as though nothing was wrong. Chattering about the new floors Ronan was putting in one of the stables and the new cow Opal had taken a liking to. Time slipped away as the two boys filled each other in on things too trivial to be worth mentioning in their phone calls. Not that Ronan didn’t notice Adam deflecting questions about himself or how his classes were going or what he had been up to with his friends lately. Ronan absolutely did, and each denial and topic change had his hackles raising because why won’t he just tell me what’s wrong?

Ronan was uncomfortably reminded of the early days of his and Adam’s friendship. When it had been clear that they had more in common than Gansey’s unyielding loyalty, but still didn’t quite trust each other with the things that mattered. The days when Adam would show up with a black eye and reply “Oh this? My hand slipped at the shop and I dropped a tool on my own face while under a car, dumb right?” Or the weeks after that god-awful dream when Ronan didn’t sleep because “fuck off Parrish, if I needed another Gansey I’d let you know.”

Ronan went to pick up pizza so as not to absolutely lose it.

And it worked. Mostly. Well, it worked until Adam sat there on the bed claiming he was full after having only picked at one small piece of pizza. Ronan ignored him, shoving another slice of veggie into Adam’s hand.

“You need to eat. Chainsaw eats more than you.”

Adam sighed, putting the pizza back into the box, not doing anything to help Ronan’s already stellar mood.

“I eat.”

“Fuck off with that bullshit, Parrish. When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

“Ronan,” Adam rolled his eyes playfully, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “You’re overreacting—“

“Am I Adam? You see, I don’t think I am, because it appears this isn’t the only thing you’ve not been upfront with me on recently.”

Adam’s eyes went cold.

“Cool, I was wondering when we were going to get to the actual reason you’re here right now.”

“Can I not just want to see my boyfriend after two fucking months apart?”

“Don’t lie to me, Ronan. You’re bad at it.”

“That’s fucking rich coming from you.” Ronan combated dryly, trying to restrain his frustration.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Ronan laughed without humor. “It means that for some fucking reason my boyfriend has been falling apart at the seams for weeks and didn’t tell me shit until it got so bad that his roommate texted me to see if he was okay! It means that you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping enough and you definitely haven’t been eating enough but you still start every phone call with ‘I’m doing fine how ‘bout you, Ro?’ It means that for some reason I’m being shut out, and you won’t tell me what I did wrong!”

After airing his frustrations, Ronan deflated. He rubbed his hands over his face, then through his hair to rest on his neck, curling in on himself. He sighed, resigning himself to whatever answer his boyfriend had to give. 

“What did I do wrong, Adam?” His voice cracked.

Ronan looked up at Adam, who looked smaller than Ronan had seen him in a long time. As soon as the question had sunk in, Adam was immediately shaking his head, reaching to hold Ronan’s face between his warm dry palms.

“No, no.. Fuck, Ro, this isn’t your fault at all.”

Ronan put his hands on top of Adam’s, whose thumbs were rubbing small circles on Ronan’s cheeks.

“Then what is going on Adam? If it isn’t me that’s the problem, then why won’t you open up to me? I haven’t felt this distant from you since before you left that fucking trailer—“

Adam froze, a look in his eyes that Ronan hadn’t seen in a while: fear and… is that guilt? Ronan grabbed Adam’s hands tighter as the realization seeped in.

Robert Fucking Parrish.

“When?” Ronan said with steel in his voice, lowering their hands from his face but still gripping them tightly.

Adam avoided his eyes and gritted his teeth. “When what?”

“When did he fucking contact you Adam?”

“Ro you don’t get it. This is my fault.”

“In what universe has anything he’s ever done to you been your fault..”

“I told them they could—“

“Could what?!”

“Could contact me and—“

“And why the fuck did you tell him that?!”

“For god’s sake Ronan would you let me finish?” Adam said harshly.

Ronan closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and then opened it to use a word he’d been practicing.

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

Adam’s face softened, and then returned to the guilty look from earlier.

“When I graduated..” Adam swallowed. “When I graduated I went back to see my mom. I did it while my dad was at work. I had some crazy idea in my head that now that I had graduated and made it into an Ivy League that she would maybe listen to me for the first time in my life…” Adam trailed off, lost in his thoughts.

Ronan squeezed his hands and Adam’s eyes focused again.

“I had gotten it in my head,” he continued, “that my mom wanted to leave just as bad as I did. That she too was tired of my da— Robert’s behavior and would want to leave if she had another option. I asked her to move to Cambridge with me.”

Ronan inhaled sharply. Why didn’t he tell me?

“I figured that we could get an apartment and drop off of Robert Parrish’s map. It wouldn’t have been easy, but god if I didn’t want to do for her what you did for me.” Adam’s eyes went glassy and he squeezed Ronan’s hands tighter. “She said no, of course. Told me that she loves him and everything that happened was my fault, but it was obvious she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.” Adam took a big inhale and then exhaled. “I said okay. I know as well as anyone that you can’t leave a situation like that until you’re ready, and even then sometimes it just doesn’t work out like that.” A tear leaked down his cheek, which he wiped clumsily on his shoulder as to not let go of Ronan’s hands.

“I gave her my phone number, just in case she changed her mind. I wanted to let her know that there’s a way out, even if she chooses not to take it.” Adam stopped, trying to calm himself, but Ronan could tell that wasn’t the end of the story.

“She called for the first time about a month ago and told me she was done, that she wanted to leave. I was so relieved. I told her to pack a bag and let me know a time and place, that I would drive down to pick her up. That we would figure something out. I immediately got online and started looking for apartments… I even applied for another job so that I could pay for it. But then I didn’t hear from her for a whole day, and I was getting worried. I didn’t want to call her in case he picked up because then she wouldn’t be safe, so I waited. A day and a half after she called the first time she called again and said she had made a mistake. That I needed to stop planting ideas in her head and that their marital problems were all my fault anyway. I could tell she didn’t mean it, that she was scared, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.” The tears were flowing freely down Adam’s face at this point, but he seemed not able to bring himself to care.

“To make things even better, somehow Robert got ahold of my number,”

Ronan felt his shoulders tense.

“And, now, he calls me three or four times a week to remind me of how I ruined him and my mother, how his drunkenness is a result of how difficult I have made their lives, and how my entitlement was really the root of his inability to hold a job. Somehow.” Adam managed a watery chuckle in spite of himself, and then sobered. “I can’t block him because mom might change her mind. I can’t possibly imagine where I would be if you and Gansey gave up on me every time it caused you a bit of trouble.”

Ronan’s heart ached in his chest, knowing Adam was never any trouble to either him or Gansey, but also knowing Adam was not in a place to hear this. Instead, he pulled Adam into his arms, as if cradling him to the source of the hurt would soothe the pain. In some ways it worked. Ronan took a minute to gather his thoughts (also something he had been practicing) before he spoke.

“You have the kindest heart of anyone I know and the patience of a saint, Adam Parrish. You shouldn’t be punished for that kindness.”

Adam shook his head and the tears ran faster down his face as Adam turned around and swung his leg over Ronan’s. Now straddling him, Adam leaned his head on Ronan’s chest, hearing his voice vibrate through his good ear.

“I know you think that there is no other way to deal with this other than continually putting yourself through the very abuse you worked so hard to escape from. I want you to remember that, as much as your mom is a victim, she also had a duty as your mom to protect you and care for you.” Ronan kissed the top of Adam’s head. “She hasn’t held up her end of the bargain for the last 20 years. It’s a lot to ask of yourself to play the part she should have been playing all along when it means you have to face the very same verbal abuse she was complicit in.”

Adam nodded, but Ronan could tell that, while Adam knew logically that his mom’s situation is not his burden to bear, he couldn’t yet make his emotions reflect that reality. Suddenly, Adam sat up, face to face with Ronan.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Ronan,” he said softly. “I was embarrassed I got myself into this, and I knew you wouldn’t have approved of me talking to my mom again. I didn’t want to burden you with a problem that you would have been able to avoid.”

Ronan scoffed gently. “Idiot. I wouldn’t have known if I could avoid that problem or not because I’m not you. As much as I care about your experiences and try to empathize, it would be very unfair of me to make assumption based on my own life. I need you to talk to me. It sucks feeling distant and hopeless.”

Adam sniffed though the slowing tears, but smiled slightly. “Yeah, okay, Ro.”

“And we can handle this however you want. I am here for you regardless.” Ronan pulled his sleeves over his hands and used them to gently wipe off Adam’s face. “I just need you to work towards being okay again. Eating, sleeping… you know the basic bullshit we have to do as humans.” Ronan said with a half-smile.

Adam just looked at Ronan for a minute, giving him time to think, damn I’m lucky, before being pulled into a gentle kiss.

“Now,” Ronan said with a yawn and a smile, “it’s time to catch up on some of that sleep you desperately need.” He ran his thumbs feather-light over Adam’s dark circles before tipping the two of them over in bed.

Ronan tangled their legs as he pulled the covers over them both.

Fuck, I missed this.

“Tamquam,” Adam whispered into Ronan’s neck.

“Alter idem.”

Ronan closed his eyes as Adam snored softly.  

This was my first fic so I’d love to know your thoughts!

AO3 @ in_a_pynch 

[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]

Could you maybe do something like Adam and Ronan hanging out with Blue and Gansey near the beginning of their relationship and Ronan marvelling at how he actually gets to hold Adam's hand now and it feels too good to be true 🥺

dear anon... i’m so sorry. this spiralled from the intended 500 words of cute hand holding to 2500 words of group dynamics. i have no excuse. hopefully there is still enough hand-holding to fit the bill 😅

since this got long-ish, you can also find it over at my AO3 if you prefer to read there!

and at every table, i’ll save you a seat

adam/ronan, fluff, 2.5k. takes place after the main events of trk but before the trk epilogue.

“I’m just saying, if he starts shit, I’m gonna walk out. I don’t need that drama in my life right now.” Ronan huffed, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his leather jacket pockets. His breath condensed in the cold early December air. “Noted,” Adam replied, with the patient tone of someone who had heard the threat before and was not particularly concerned.

Ronan glowered - not at Adam or at anyone in particular, he just glowered. He did mean it. He couldn’t be fighting with Gansey right now, he just couldn’t.

Technically, they were already in a fight. This was new: historically, it was Adam and Ronan snarking at each other until one of them snapped, much to Gansey’s great exasperation; or Adam and Gansey waging cold war at each other until Ronan got tired of it and did something purposefully outrageous just so they’d get mad at him and forget whatever argument they were having. It usually wasn’t Ronan and Gansey. But then Ronan had dropped out of school.

The argument that had followed hadn’t been big and explosive, but rather drawn out into instalments: interrupted before things could get too bad and then picked up again at a different time, with Gansey pleading and needling and insisting graduation was mere months away. Ronan had endured a week of this before dealing with it the only way he could conceive of: by moving himself out of Monmouth and back into the Barns, which had been the plan anyway.

Adam had been a quiet bystander in this. He did not approve of Ronan dropping out, and it was clear in the tight line of his mouth when Ronan had told him. But he had always been good at picking his battles, and he had clearly decided not to fight Ronan’s for him. “Are you sure?” he had asked, looking at Ronan with narrowed blue eyes that, as usual, saw far too much. “Yeah,” Ronan had replied. In all honesty, he hadn’t exactly thought it through, because he could not think it through right now - but that was exactly why he was dropping out. He couldn’t be around people. He couldn’t be expected to function and show up and act like an engaged student and study for exams after– everything. So he said again, “Yeah.” And Adam had nodded, and that had been that.

Of course Gansey, correctly guessing that Adam would disapprove of anyone giving up on education, had tried to gain access to his – recently increased - leverage, but his efforts had fallen flat as far as Ronan could tell.

“But you must realise it’s a mistake”, he’d said on the only occasion Ronan had been witness to, one time when he’d arrived early to pick Adam up from work. “Don’t tell me you agree with him!”

“I don’t, but it’s his mistake to make,” Adam had replied, his annoyance clear even from Ronan’s sightless spot around  the corner of Boyd’s main entrance. “Leave him alone, Gansey. Just because your friends want different things from you doesn’t mean they’re not your friends anymore.”

God, but Ronan loved him.

There had been a long pause filled with Gansey’s chastised silence. This wasn’t solely about Ronan’s choices, and they all knew it.

After that, Gansey’s tactical maneuvers had stopped, but Ronan still hadn’t really spoken to him since dropping out, which was less a hostile decision and more due to Ronan not being in school and refusing to answer his phone. When he left the Barns, it was to spend the night at St. Agnes or go for a long drive with Adam, who knew better than to try to play peacemaker on those occasions.

But now it was Gansey’s birthday, and Blue had summoned them at Nino’s, and apparently would never ever speak to him again if he did not show up. So, whatever, fine. It’s not like Ronan would ever miss Gansey’s birthday anyway. He wasn’t that shitty of a  friend. He just didn’t want any drama.

“I’m just saying he needs to lay off,” he added, defensive.

“Fine,” Adam rolled his eyes. “Now are you gonna stop being a big baby?” he held out his hand for Ronan to take. “We’ve been out here for ages. Let’s go inside, I’m cold.”

“Now who’s being a big baby,” Ronan shot back, but took Adam’s hand anyway. He couldn’t help the little electric thrill that went through him at the sensation of skin on skin. It had been almost a month now since he and Adam had gotten together, since their first kiss on Ronan’s birthday, and he still wasn’t used to the idea of this being offered so casually, like something he could just have. Because he could just have it now.

They walked into Nino’s to see Blue waving at them energetically to signal her position. There was no need for it, of course, because she was sitting at the same booth they always sat in. “God, so dramatic,” Ronan moaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Ain’t that the truth,” Adam commented, his lips tilting into a smirk. Ronan gave his hand a little squeeze.

Blue, satisfied with her flagging-down antics, had sat back down, and now was placidly nestled into Gansey’s side, looking like one of those small angry birds who puff up and tuck their head into their body until they’re perfectly round. On Gansey’s other side, perusing the menu intently as if it didn’t have the same 12 choices as always, was Henry Cheng, his hair looking like an abstract painting and his t-shirt screaming out a Kylie Minogue logo.

And Gansey himself looked… the same as usual, which was to say, it was both impossible to tell and impossible to forget that he had died and been resuscitated in the past month. He also looked anxious. That, Ronan mused, was also usual. He just didn’t usually look anxious about greeting Ronan, and Ronan wasn’t sure he liked that. He chewed on his lip, then gave Gansey a reluctant half smile and hoped it didn’t look like too much of a snarl. Gansey also gave a half smile that looked like a gastritis grimace.

Progress.

“Hey y’all,” Adam greeted. “Hi Blue. Cheng,” he nodded. Then he turned towards Gansey, starting to raise his right fist reflexively; he paused, looked briefly down at where his left hand was joined with Ronan’s, then seemed to make a split-second decision and raised that hand instead, curling his fingers into a fist around Ronan’s, making it so they both fist-bumped Gansey at once. It was embarrassing and looked silly and awkward, but somehow, afterwards, Ronan didn’t feel quite so tentative, and Gansey’s grimace was more and more reminiscent of a smile.

“Very fucking clever,” he muttered in Adam’s ear as they slid into the booth.

“I know, right?” Adam replied with a cheery smile. “I should be a counsellor or something.”

Ronan shoved his shoulder into Adam’s good-naturedly. Adam jostled him right back. Neither let go of the other’s hand.

Immediately, they were pulled into conversation by Blue and required to arbitrate a discussion between her and Henry on whether reality shows were morally bankrupt or a fascinating social experiment. Adam, who had never watched a reality show, sided with Blue out of principle. Gansey, who for very different reasons had also never watched a reality show, was discreetly trying to pull Ronan’s focus with an entreating look; Ronan, warily, let him.

“How have you been, Lynch?” Gansey asked.

Ronan shrugged. “How have you been?”Gansey looked for a moment like he was going to lose his patience. Instead, his face cracked in a different direction, an almost melancholy expression coloring it. “Alright. Adjusting, I suppose. To… everything.”

Everything being “dying and coming back to life as a patchwork tangle of ley line forest”.

“That’s rough, man.” Ronan raised his glass sympathetically, and Gansey tilted his own back.

“You must also be… adjusting. To everything.”

Everything being losing his mother, losing Cabeswater, and almost dying himself.

The undercurrent of things unsaid, hovering just under the surface, was too much; Ronan was going to scream.

But then Gansey did the unexpected.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Ronan choked on his drink a little.

“I shouldn’t have hassled you about school. I just…” Gansey waved a vague hand.

“Think you know better than everyone?” Ronan supplied dryly. Damn, maybe Parrish was rubbing off on him.

Gansey tilted his head. “Perhaps. I made a few bad calls. I, uh. I may have sold Monmouth Manufacturing to get Child to let you stay in school.”

The words were like an ice pick in Ronan’s heart. He felt Adam’s hand tighten around his, despite the fact he was ostensibly still listening to Blue. Adam knew, then. Ronan could only imagine that argument.

“Dick. You did what?”, he rasped. “I never, ever asked you to do anything like that, you colossal fucking-”“I know, I know,” Gansey said, raising a placating hand. “It was stupid. I was maybe not thinking straight. Bit concerned with my own impending death. It’s alright. I managed to buy it back.”

The storm cloud threatening to explode in Ronan’s chest dispelled. Monmouth was safe. Monmouth, with its tall windows and its dusty floors and its walls that held a thousand stories of insomnia and grief and laughter and companionship and fights and friendship. Brotherhood.

“Good,” he said, a little hoarsely. “You love that place.”

“I do,” Gansey admitted wistfully. “It’s just been a little… well. Different. Now that it is just me, I mean. I don’t see you at school, and I don’t see you at ho– at Monmouth. And it’s a big place, and I suppose maybe I was – there is a chance that I perhaps might have been a little afraid of being… well. Lonely. I guess.”

Well. That was a low blow. Or maybe it only felt like one because Ronan had not stopped to think about that and was caught unawares now – but he was gonna go with low blow anyway. It seemed wrong for Gansey – Gansey, of all people – to be lonely. He had always been the one collecting lonely people, the glue holding them all together. Ronan had spent so much time worried about losing Gansey’s friendship, so it was a baffling change of pace for Gansey to miss him.

It made him feel a little bad, but he also knew he was doing the right thing. He needed to be at home right now - his real home, his childhood home, to process everything. And Gansey had other people now – he had Blue and he had Henry, and Ronan had Adam – well, he’d had Adam before, in a manner of speaking, but it was different now. They were both following their own paths. But it didn’t mean Ronan couldn’t be there for him.

“You can still text me, you know,” he said as casually as he could.

Gansey glared at him. “I have been.”“Really?” Ronan said even more casually, scratching at his stubble. He shrugged. “Try again,” he added, more sincerely, holding Gansey’s gaze.

Gansey gave him a small, earnest smile. “I will.”

And just like that, things were okay again. Ronan leaned over the table to give Gansey an amicable punch in the shoulder, but had to raise his right hand, still entwined with Adam’s, to reach forward. It didn’t occur to him that their joined hands were visibly resting above the table until Gansey’s eyes shot down to them and quickly away, his expression doing something complicated but not displeased. He nodded, that little unguarded smile still on his face. Approval, perhaps. Ronan had not asked for it nor did he need it – but it was still nice.

Not as nice as actually getting to hold Adam’s hand though. Now that he’d been reminded of it, he couldn’t stop focusing on it – the warmth, the contact of thumb crossed over thumb, his fingertips brushing over Adam’s still slightly chapped knuckles, the way Adam’s calluses were familiar to him now in a way he’d never expected to know outside of a dream.

Adam – who by this point was wryly arguing with Henry over whether there was even a point to a student council when everyone on it was part of the 1%, to Henry’s impassioned retorts that there are more issues than just classism, Parrish – absently shifted his hand so it was resting palm up on the table, an open invitation, a gentle suggestion to readjust. Ronan followed in kind, resting the back of his hand against Adam’s palm. Adam wrapped his long fingers around the side of Ronan’s palm – Ronan closed his fingers over Adam’s.

He felt warm all over. He took a sip of his iced tea but couldn’t hide the small, private smile playing on his lips, nor could he stop staring at their hands crisscrossed over each other’s on top of the table.

And then he was rudely snapped out of it by Blue’s teasing Awww, cute.

Ronan raised his head slowly, making sure to narrow his eyes menacingly despite the distinct heat he could feel on his cheeks.

Blue was staring at their hands, an unrepentant grin on her face. She met Ronan’s eyes without a trace of concern, taking a big, leisurely gulp of her tea.

“You got somethin’ to say, Sargent?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yeah,” she replied defiantly. “I said you guys are cute.”

This was all new terrain. Ronan had never been teased for being in a relationship, but he’d also never been in a relationship, and hell – he’d all but avoided thinking about the mere idea of a relationship until last year.

Then Adam pressed his leg against Ronan’s under the table, a private show of support, a quiet reminder that it wasn’t Adam and Ronan, but Adam-and-Ronan. It was such a small thing, but it meant so much. Less than a year ago, Ronan had been sitting in this same booth, watching Adam hold hands with Blue and feeling like he’d swallowed his own heart and it was slowly poisoning him from the inside.

And now, it was Adam-and-Ronan.

He tilted his chin haughtily. “Maybe we fucking are, Sargent”.

Blue scrunched up her nose, her expression going from teasing to earnest. “Yeah, you are. It’s nice to see you looking like that for a change.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Cute?”

Blue leaned her chin on her hand. “Happy.”

Oh.

Well, how about that.

Ronan exhaled loudly from his nose and threw himself back against the headrest of the booth; but he also extended a leg under the table so he could knock into Blue’s tiny booted foot. She bumped his boot right back.

At his side, Adam leaned into him lightly, shoulder pressed warmly to shoulder, his head tilted in a way that suggested he might soon be resting it against Ronan’s temple, as he sometimes did when he was tired after a long shift.

Yeah. Ronan supposed that, all considered, he was pretty happy.