#sometimes about love and putting the work in and that scene where ronan talked about Adam's shoes by the door | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whoslaurapalmer · 3 years

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so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.) -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room.

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera. haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions.

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in. -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult. -but, angel of my a p p l e

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.) -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion.

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho. -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic. -steal from your unused fic.

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it.

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style.

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours. -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy.

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter.

#lulu talks about the sad lemon man

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happyandticklish · 3 years

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Careless Intimacy

Notes: Me? Writing a soft fic for Declan instead of all the requests I have lined up? More likely than you might think.

I’m sorry your honor, I simply love him.

Summary: Declan never allowed anyone to enter his life—until Jordan came along.

An invitation to dinner with the Lynches was a harrowing affair. Few came and even less were allowed to stay. One Lynch was manageable enough, considering you had the proper fore knowledge. Two at once and you walked the razor’s edge. Putting three in a room together was a death wish.

Yet Declan had asked Jordan to come. It was the first girl—the first person, really—that he had ever deigned to bring home. There had been many before Jordan, but Declan had never allowed himself to grow fond enough of any of them to breach that particular gap. There had been an attempt made to do the same with Jordan, but for some reason he had found it difficult not to give into that vague yet dangerous grin, the lingering touches that left him wanting more. Even after he discovered what she was, a dream, an imitation, he found it didn’t change anything. She was still Jordan to him, even if the name ended in Hennessy.

Now, pulling anxious fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth out the already perfect curls, he wondered why he had decided to put himself through this.

“It won’t be nice,” he warned her. “Ronan can be—”

“I know,” she responded with a wry grin. “I have met the boy before.”

He kept sneaking glances over at her where she sat on the bed. She wore a shirt she had cut holes and stitches into, making it hang dangerously high, and a skirt that cascaded in waves down her legs, parting in moments so that he could see the sudden flash of an ankle or a kneecap. He swallowed, forcing his gaze away.

“I don’t mean like that,” he corrected, needing her to understand that while Ronan was the cutting edge of a knife while alone, he became a bombshell when cornered. “We don’t exactly get along.”

“Family can be complicated.”

“No, family is complicated. Lynches are catastrophes waiting to happen.”

“And you are dramatic,” Jordan replied with a roll of her eyes, stretching her body from the bed in one fluid motion and coming to stand besides him. Together they stared at Declan’s reflection in the mirror. Two sets of eyes, one cautious, one amused. “Whatever it is, I’m certain I can handle it.”

Declan couldn’t find the same conviction in himself.

Surprisingly, Ronan had shown up. Or rather stayed. Every month or so Declan liked to arrange a family dinner between the three of them, and seeing as Ronan refused to come to Declan’s loft, it was usually held at the Barns. Despite this, Ronan often found excuses to get out of the dinners, or simply skipped with no explanation. Declan had failed to mention the fact that he would be bringing an added guest to him, worried it would make his constant absences worse.

Throwing open the door with a wild abandon that only he could accomplish, Ronan raised his eyebrows as he was met with the sight of them.

“Declan.” His gaze slitted over to her, calculating. In the background, Declan could hear the vague sounds of music, though the words and rhythm were unidentifiable from their position in the doorway. “Hennessy.”

“Jordan,” she corrected swiftly. “The double, or fake, if you will. I would ask that you make an effort to remember it. I might be here a while.”

Her tone implied here was more than just that dinner, that night.

“Jordan,” he adjusted with a grin. “I thought we weren’t supposed to bring guests.”

“We never specified,” Declan cut in.

“It was implied.”

“Didn’t you bring Adam to the last one?”

“Adam isn’t a guest.”

“Neither is Jordan.”

The two held eye contact for a tense moment. Jordan watched their dance, pride and amusement flickering over her expressions. For some reason, the sight made Declan’s heart skip a beat in his chest. He cleared his throat, unnecessarily, and moved past Ronan. Jordan followed, patting Ronan lightly on the shoulder as she went. Declan choked on a tiny laugh that he quickly swallowed down, remembering that this night was supposed to be civil.

Declan had not expected dinner to be prepared as Ronan rarely deigned to set foot in a kitchen, but he had clearly miscalculated for the involvement of Matthew. The kitchen itself was a tatterdemalion of ingredients and forgotten, dusted off baking tools. There was flour scattered over the counter, a bowl of poorly mixed batter sitting in the center of it. The oven was on, but whether or not anything was actually cooking inside of it was unclear. The music was coming from a radio in the kitchen, though radio was a vague term for what it was. It was one of Neill’s inventions, an old-timey radio that played the desired music of its user, regardless of genre, era, or existence. Right now, it shrieked something upbeat with a pounding bass that Matthew merrily danced around the kitchen to. His eyes widened when he noticed them, a wild and infectious grin taking over his features.

“Declan!” he exclaimed, moving to hug him but not entirely stopping his dance so that he half swung the other around when he did. He noticed Jordan with a smile. “Declan’s friend!”

“What are you… doing?” Declan asked slowly, disentangling himself and examining the scene.

“I’m making scones.”

“Scones?”

“Scones,” Matthew agreed.

“For dinner?”

“He wanted to help,” Ronan interjected, swinging around into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter, plucking a strawberry from the mess and swallowing the whole thing in one bite, his words coming out slightly muffled as he continued. “Is there a problem with that?”

Declan could feel the crease of exhaustion between his brows, but before he could speak, Jordan moved forward, her presence easy and light. “I love scones. Sometimes Hennessy would buy some for us when she was feeling charitable that night, or to be more specific, guilty. Do you mind if I help, Matthew?”

Matthew’s grin grew wider if that was possible. “Yeah! I’ve already started on a batch—it’s in the oven right now.”

Jordan leaned down cautiously, opening up the oven to reveal a tray of black, gooey clumps. “No offense Matthew, you seem nice, but these are shit. There is no way we could possibly ingest this into our bodies.”

Declan’s stomach dropped to the floor at her words, words that in a million years he would never have the confidence to reveal. He stepped forward to intervene, but Jordan was already continuing, taking the tray out with a towel in place of a missing hot pad. “Why don’t I help you make some new ones? Ronan here can help.”

Ronan made a disgusted noise at the idea, but Matthew merely shrugged, dumping the burnt tray into the trash. “Alright. I’m terrible at cooking anyway. So, where do we start?”

Declan watched as the three of them set into motion, bustling about the kitchen and grabbing out proper ingredients. Even Ronan helped clear the counters, with a moody reluctance. Slowly, a weight on his shoulders lifted and he allowed himself to let out a soft sigh of relief, grabbing out plates for the table.

The scones turned out halfway decent due to Jordan’s involvement; it had quickly became clear that she too possessed minimal knowledge of baking, but with the three of them combined everything had turned out alright. Sitting around civilly at a table eating scones had certainly not been the way Declan had predicted the night to turn out, but he couldn’t say he minded it.

As Ronan and Matthew chatted idly between the two of them, Jordan nudged his shoulder subtly. “You should smile,” she whispered, her lips quirking into one herself as she spoke the words. “I know you’re enjoying yourself, despite what you would like to think.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Declan recited, his face smooth except for the telltale twitch of his eyebrows. Deep down he knew what he was doing, but he refused to wise up to himself the game they were playing.

“Oh?” A quick tap against his leg that he recognized to be Jordan’s foot. “And what if I force you to give up this little charade of yours?”

Declan’s breath caught in his throat. Ronan glanced across the table at them, catching onto to their little whisper fest. “I’m trying to eat my dinner here, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer if you didn’t discuss your fucking plans at the table.”

Jordan snorted. Matthew’s eyes were wide with delight at the use of the word fuck at the dinner table. Declan kept a cool tone as he replied, “Last week I caught Adam with his tongue halfway down your throat at the supermarket, I hardly think I’m the one who needs to worry about decen—”

His words broke off into a strangled yelp as he felt Jordan’s foot once more, gently tracing a line up his leg. Her shot her a questioning glare and she simply shrugged, playing the innocent. Again her foot, dragging up and down, and quite suddenly Declan was aware of her play as his nerve endings sprung to life.

Declan was an amalgamation of secrets and Jordan had a tendency of discovering them. Last week had revealed one he had been hoping to hold on to for much, much longer, possibly forever—Declan Lynch was ticklish. Horridly ticklish. Unfairly ticklish. Ticklish in places that had no right to be so. And thusly as her foot traveled a lazy path along his calf and ankles, Declan found himself gripping his glass tighter, his lips screwing together into a repressed smile. He had hoped she had forgotten about this particular factoid of his person, seeing as she had left it alone for this long, but evidently she had simply been biding her time.

“Did the exorcism finally work?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow and reminding Declan that there were others still in the room with him. “Is the devil finally leaving your body for good?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Declan gritted out. “Choked on water.”

“Damn.”

“Damn,” Matthew repeated solemnly, wanting to be included.

“As I was saying,” Declan continued tensely. “I hardly think you have any room to talk with the way you and Adam have been going at it like r-rabbits for the past week.”

Ronan leaned back in his chair, taking a large bite of scone off of Matthew’s plate. “My house, my rules.”

“Our house.”

“But you don’t live in it,” Ronan pointed out.

Declan was finding it difficult to concentrate as Jordan continued to circle this one spot on his ankle. A giggle was trapped in his throat, and he clamped down on his next sentence in an effort to keep it there.

Fortunately, Jordan saved him from having to respond but in the process presented him with a whole new realm of problems. “You know, you guys are always talking about Adam, and yet I still don’t know the first thing about him. Would you care to enlighten me on the subject?”

This last sentence was directed at Ronan, who found himself caught between the oppurtunity to discuss Adam and the mortifying ideal of being nice to a stranger. Meanwhile, Declan was quickly realizing just how long this dinner might take and weighing that against his ability to hold in his reactions. It wasn’t difficult to see he was fighting a losing battle.

He managed to last another couple minutes after Ronan gave in, the urge to brag about his boyfriend ultimately too strong to resist. Declan remained silent throughout the conversation, his fingers tapping out an anxious melody against the table as he fought to avoid the sensations. It was when Jordan swept a teasing touch up the underside of his shin suddenly that his resistance finally broke.

“Jordan,” he said firmly, launching suddenly up from the table and interrupting whatever Ronan had been about to say, a fact the other seemed less than pleased with. Even now, with annoyance ringing through his words, Declan still felt a strange thrill at saying her name. “I need to discuss something with you in the other room.”

The sparkle in her eyes said she knew exactly what he was doing. “Something you can’t say here at the table?”

He fixed her with a look.

She smirked.

He sighed and stalked from the room, knowing, in the end, that she would follow him.

She did.

“Get a room,” Ronan scoffed as they left.

Matthew gasped as he glanced down at his plate. “You’ve been stealing my scones!”

Meanwhile, Declan frowned down at Jordan as she pressed him against the wall the minute the two had retired upstairs. They had quickly found their way to a bedroom, though whose it was Declan couldn’t be certain. “That was entirely uncalled for.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, hands already moving to his sides where they remained curled preemptively.

“Jordan,” he warned, his lips tugging up at the corners as he tensed under her touch. “Please.”

“Is the great Declan Lynch begging?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, but then her fingers dug in with a light but vicious glee and his held-in laughter escaped him all at once in a startled burst. His legs weakened as he doubled up against her attack, his hands circling her wrists but doing little to stop her.

“W-Wahahait!” he protested, his words tripping over laughter. “Thihis ihihis—”

“Begging and giggling?” she exclaimed, not even attempting to hide the delight in her voice. “And I was certain this night couldn’t get any better.”

“Johohordan!”

“Declan,” she mocked teasingly.

His name spoken between those lips felt like a fatal misstep on the stairs, his stomach dropping and rising quickly in succession. A flush scattered across his cheeks, tinging the tips of his ears pink. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. He wasn’t supposed to lose control like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like waves crashing inside him when he looked at her. It wasn’t supposed to be wild, uncontrolled laughter and fingers that wrenched any power he might have had away from him.

Despite this, as she led him to the bed, the two crashing gracelessly into it, he found he didn’t really mind the loss. There was something freeing about the sensation, unbearable and euphoric all at the same time—he wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could. And so, despite the fact that he could stop her at any time, he fisted his hands in the sheets, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the moment. It was delightfully vulnerable and he wouldn’t have exchanged it for anything else in the world.

“Ohohoho mihihi gohohod!” he gasped, squirming as her fingers danced a waltz along his ribs. He was giggling, he realized, the sounds escaping him suddenly and not of his own volition. “Ihihit, ahaha—”

“Tickles?” she guessed.

“Y-Yeheheah!”

“That’s kind of the point here.” Her touch traveled carelessly along his torso which twitched and jerked helplessly underneath her. “You know, I’ve decided I like seeing you like this. We’ll have to do this more in the future.”

Declan huffed indignantly, but the sound was soon lost to a sudden yelp as her nails found their way to his hips, protected only by the thin dress shirt he had worn to the dinner. He lurched forward, grasping her wrists and pulling them away.

“No,” he said, his words breathless with a nervous smile. “Not there.”

Jordan appeared unbothered by her trapped hands, giving him a knowing look. “Is that a bad spot, then?”

“Possibly.”

“Then I think there is exactly where we need to explore.”

“Why do you insist on tormenting me in these ways?” he moaned, his words light as he dropped his forehead against hers. She leaned in, accepting the gesture and tilting her neck up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Was that a no?” she whispered afterwards, her words a dare left hanging in the air. Declan had refused many a dare in the past, and prided himself on resisting their temptation. He knew if he wanted to, he could call this all off and go back to dinner once more.

But Declan was feeling reckless that night.

Moments later, laughter roared from his lips as he thrashed on the bed, wanting to crawl out of his own skin as thumbs pressed deviously into the divot of his hips. His hands fisted in his hair, stopping him from doing anything to prevent it. He didn’t protest for he had long since passed the ability for words. He had never needed anything to stop as bad as he did then, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to end it yet, not now, not when electricity soared in his veins.

They stayed like that for a while, just fingers on skin and laughter spilling helplessly from his lips in that forgotten bedroom. Dinner had quickly been forgotten by the both of them. Eventually Declan would return downstairs, hair disheveled and face flushed with Jordan at his side, as he fought for some explanation for their absence. Yet for now, he was content to lose himself to the moment and the intolerable sensations coursing throughout him.

Declan couldn’t imagine how he had ever thought this night would end badly.

#tickle fic #the raven cycle #declan lynch #tickling #trc #jordan hennessy #declan x jordan #ronan lynch #matthew lynch #the lynch brothers #fanfiction

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toast-the-unknowing · 4 years

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11, 14, 18, because I'm greedy :P!

I DID YOURS LAST BECAUSE YOU’RE SO GREEDY. Or because I knew 18 was going to take a while, one of those two.

11. If you could only write angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your life, which would it be?

I often have a little angst in my fluff, or a little fluff/humor/comfort in my angst, and either some angst or some fluff in my smut, so it's not even just a question of "you don't get to write the others" it's that "you don't get to write hybrids," that's the part that makes this question tricky. I suppose of the three genres, the one that I most often write in its purest form is fluff, because that lends itself to comedy better than the other two, and I like writing comedy. So I’d have to say fluff. But I wouldn’t like saying fluff.

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Blue for being practical and hard-working and Henry for company/morale boost.

A part of this consideration was picking two characters that get along well with each other, because oof, the last thing you need on a desert island is drama.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

I worked really fucking hard on it all will fall, fall right into place and I am really fucking proud of the whole thing, but I think my favorite scene might be the one where Ronan talks to Adam’s mom. So that’s the one you’re getting. I am putting it behind a cut and I am sooooooooo sorry if the cut doesn’t work for people, because it’s long.

Adam's dad is seeing a doctor the next morning; Adam says he might visit in the afternoon, depending on how that goes. His voice is totally flat.

The main reason we don’t get actual dialogue of Adam talking here is just practical, to avoid needing a mini-scene of that conversation, but I do like that it has the effect of distancing us from Adam, stripping some of his agency away from him. So much of this fic is about Adam being disconnected from what’s going on inside his own head, that I like this moment where we take away his voice.

Ronan hopes the nurses will tell Adam that Robert isn't up to visitors, that he got rushed to the ER, that he's dead, so he doesn't leave the hospital after Adam disappears inside of it. He ditches the car in the parking lot and slinks back to main entrance, prepared to pace back and forth for a minute or an hour or the rest of the day.

The hospital visits are set up for a progression where Ronan stays at the hospital longer each time, as the situation wears him down more and more. He’s less and less willing to let Adam out of his sight, but he has to, since that’s one of the very few things Adam actually asks him for.

Except he comes to a dead halt ten feet away from the entrance, because while he was parking, Adam's mom arrived.

Relatively early in working on this fic I had the thought of “oh, FUCK, Ronan’s going to have to talk to Adam’s mom at some point, isn’t he?” It was one of the moments that I was the most interested in writing, so there was a lot of excitement attached to it once the horror cleared up, but my first impression was also correct. I suspected this scene would be an absolute bitch to write and it absolutely was. I worked on this fic a lot while riding my commuter bus and I cannot tell you how many afternoons I spent working on this scene, only to come away with one or two new sentences to show for the entire hour.

He hasn't seen her since that night in LA. She'd caught a flight back the morning after her dinner with Adam, so they hadn't all had to travel together, thank fuck. He doesn't know what he would have done stuck on an airplane with her. He doesn't know what he's going to do now.

The moment of Adam’s mom ambushing him in front of his friends was one of the very first things I knew would happen in this fic; the moment of Adam meeting her for dinner came a bit later, I forget when exactly. It was only MUCH later that I put together that this timeline makes no sense from her point of view. She ambushes him on a Monday; he calls her on either Thursday or Friday. That means she paid for three nights in a hotel or motel, without knowing if Adam was going to get in touch with her (and with more reason to assume he wouldn’t than that he would). I don’t think it’s hard to believe that she would fly out to LA in the first place, once Adam refused to take her calls; it’d be the only way to get in touch with him, and she’d know that the shock of seeing her, and the guilt she could lay on him about how she had to fly all this way because he wouldn’t just talk to her on the phone like a son is supposed to, would be effective manipulation. But it’s hard to buy she’d spend the money staying in LA, and spend the time away from Henrietta when Robert’s condition is so serious.

But I really LIKED the idea of Adam meeting her for dinner, and the scene after dinner is such an essential part of the story – and I don’t think it would have been as effective after just a phone call, although I suppose he’d have been pretty wrecked after a phone call, too. So I had to make a call on whether a character would do this thing that doesn’t make any practical sense, or change it and risk weakening the story.

Sometimes you have to take something out of a story that you really love, but I generally hold that that’s if the element in question is causing problems within the story itself; e.g. if a joke is really funny but is ruining the tension or the mood of a scene. My own writing philosophy is that good scene work is more important that rigidly holding true to details of reality, but a different writer might have made a different call.

So here is an answer to the question of “when did Adam’s mom go back to Virginia,” whether it’s the right answer or not. And, of course, the answer to “why did she go back on a different day than Adam and Ronan did” is “I didn’t want to ruin this scene by having Ronan spend any time with her before now.”

She spots him at the same moment he spots her. She doesn't have the decency to look away or try to hide. There's something eating at her and she's making up her mind about how nasty she's going to be when she lets it out. Ronan hates that he knows that; Adam twists the corner of his mouth the same way.

I like the idea of Ronan – and, by implication, Adam – noticing the ways that Adam looks like his parents. I also liked having the gesture that reminds Ronan of Adam be a negative one. It ties in with the bit later, of Ronan being aware of Adam’s flaws.

"You just going to stand there all day?" is what she goes with.

"What," Ronan spits, "you think I want to talk to you?"

"You could leave," she suggests. "Better for your eyes than gawking."

"Don't pretend you care. You didn't know I existed a week ago."

"Wouldn't've pictured he'd have someone like you," she agrees, breezy in a way that turns his stomach inside out.

Probably Adam’s mom didn’t know he was bi until a couple night’s before this, when he took her out to dinner – I don’t imagine he would have told her before then, and I imagine there was some awkward “so how has the last decade+ since we stopped abusing you been” conversation during that dinner. Which raises the question of how she and/or Robert feel about Adam being in a relationship with a man, but honestly, I didn’t want to muddy the waters by bringing homophobia into the story. I wanted to deal with the abuse, that was the part that was interesting to me emotionally, which is more or less the approach that canon takes, too. So for “someone like you” I really meant it to be more about “someone with a giant tattoo and a foul mouth” but I suppose it could also be read as “someone with a dick.” In either case she’s intending to be very dismissive of Ronan.

"You don't know anything about him."

"But you know me, is that it? I can see you judging me. You don't know anything."

"I know what you two did to him."

"Is that how he tells it?" she asks, like she isn't interested in an answer. "He makes it sound like any of us had it easy? Three people in that little trailer, never any space, any quiet, never enough of anything. Robert'd work all day and come home and there's the kid getting in the way again, making trouble, telling lies...anyone could lose their temper. I did my best to keep Adam out of the way, but I'm just one woman. He never did learn to listen to someone who knows better."

There’s for sure one time in canon where Robert accuses Adam of lying to him (when he finds Adam’s pay stubs, the night of the concussion) and I feel like there are others, but I may be misremembering. In any case I find it an interesting accusation – because it probably is true at least sometimes, Adam would have to lie to his parents in some situations. But there are probably others where he isn’t lying, and that’s an interesting bit of psychology to me, this idea that his parents might think of him as a fundamentally dishonest person -- because they HAVE to think of him that way, because they cannot reconcile “Adam tells the truth” with “we are decent human beings.”

Beyond that: this paragraph got reworked about ten thousand times, and usually that means that I’m never really happy with the result (because maybe one of the 9,999 other ways was slightly better, because maybe 10,001st time was the charm) but this? I’m pretty happy with this paragraph. It’s awful in exactly the way I wanted this scene to be awful.

"Yeah, I'm sure it would have been really convenient for you if he'd just made himself stop existing," Ronan spits. "It would have been pretty great for him if that shitbag had gone to jail."

"Right," she says. "He goes off the jail. Makes a dollar a day. Gets out with a record and now no one'll hire him. Now there's no money coming in, all on account of a couple of bruises, that would've been better for Adam?"

The reason this scene was so hard to write, which was also the whole reason I WANTED to write this scene at all, was that it meant getting into her head and explaining what the abuse looked like, to her. What story does she tell herself about her husband hitting her son? How could she allow it to happen, for years? How does she live with herself? I wanted to get her point of view across, not to justify it, but just to make her an actual person. I didn’t want her to be a cartoon-moustache-twirling villain.

(I suppose I could have had a version of her that had realized what they’d done to Adam was wrong, but that’s so far out of line with the rest of the tone and plot of this story that it literally only occurred to me now, months after I finished the story and months more since I started it. That’s not interesting to me.)

She absolutely believes what she’s saying here: a couple of bruises are better than starvation. On its face, that’s a reasonable sentence! But oh, how convenient it is that she plays down the extent of the abuse; how convenient it is to pretend that those were the only two options; how convenient that Adam doesn’t get to express a preference between those choices.

"Having nothing would have been better for Adam than having you."

She shakes her head, unfazed. "That right there tells me you've never had nothing."

I think it’s reasonable to assume that she grew up poor, which makes this another of those uncomfortable parallel moments between Adam and his mom. Ronan has absolutely heard Adam point it out to him before, when he unintentionally shows off his privilege.

"If you were such a great fucking mom you could've taken him and left."

She doesn't answer right away. Ronan doesn't want to give her any space to feel comfortable in, to come up with these lies, but he can't force any more words out. His whole mind is one blaring siren, lights and sound, emergency emergency emergency.

There’s a bit of advice I’ve gotten in improv, that if you don’t know what else to do in a scene, you can just say how you, the actual improviser, feel in the moment: “I’m confused,” “I don’t understand,” “why are we doing this again?” Endow your character with those feelings.

I didn’t want to give Ronan another line of dialogue here, but I didn’t know what he’d be thinking or why he’d let Adam’s mom just take her sweet time coming up with horrible things to say to him, so I just went with “Ronan doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t like this and he can’t even make thoughts happen.”

"You think you're gonna marry my boy?"

"Yes." He never figured he'd say that with so much hate. He never figured she'd be the first person to ask.

The whole “are you going to marry my son” bit of the conversation was something I knew was going to be in this scene basically since the moment I realized this scene was going to exist, but this exactly line about Adam’s mom being the first person to ask was one that just happened during writing. It was a complete surprise and I love it so much.

"You think he's perfect?"

Ronan clenches his jaw. Adam is a stubborn control freak with a temper and intimacy issues a mile wide. Ronan knows that, and he doesn't care; he doesn't need Adam to be perfect.

Adam and Ronan recognizing each other’s flaws is one of my absolute favorite things about the ship.

But he's not going to say that to her. Adam is a god compared to her. She should be walking door to door proselytizing for him. She should be proud of him.

When you’re listing things, you generally want to get stronger as you go through the list; if you’re e.g. writing a joke, you want the funniest item on the list to be the last one (unless the joke is that you’ve messed up the list; Leslie Knope’s “I gotta stop ending on that boring thing” is a good example). This one plays out the other way. The list of things gets more reasonable as it goes along, to emphasize how tragic it is that Adam’s mom cannot do this one very reasonable thing.

"You know what marriage is?" she asks. "It's picking a man and saying, I choose this one, even though he's not perfect. If you can't stay with him when he makes a mistake then you don't marry him."

Another moment where Adam’s mom puts words together in a way that is completely true and rational and yet also a horrifying nightmare sentence when you put it in context!

Everything stops.

He can't speak. He can't move. Every living part of him is blasted away by a scalding wave of outrage. His vision blurs out and Adam's mom fades out of existence -- and then it slams back into place, everything too sharp against his eyes, and she's still there.

He wants her to stop talking. He wants to strangle her so she has to stop talking. He wants to drag her through the streets while people throw things and scream her sins at her. He wants her to admit that she did something wrong. He understands, in a sudden, terrible way, why Adam doesn't expect his father to apologize, and he's shaking with all of the things he's not doing.

Oh my lord these paragraphs. THESE PARAGRAPH. I mean this whole scene was painstakingly forged one word at a time, like I was making chain mail or some shit, but THESE PARAGRAPHS probably took a week’s worth of afternoon commutes all on their own. The thing he’s reacting to is so horrifying, but at the same time, they’re just words; from the outside this just looks like a conversation, this looks like nothing. So I suppose some of the difficulty was in walking this line between too strong of a reaction and not strong enough of a reaction.

Also, just, is there a word for that medieval punishment kind of thing, where they drag you through the streets and yell at you and throw things at you? Is there? That sentence alone I changed every single word of so many times, fuck.

I do quite like that moment of Ronan better understanding Adam, though. That is, of course, the actual plot and character significance of this scene; getting inside of Adam’s mom’s head was an interesting puzzle for me, as a writer, to play with, but what actually matters is that Ronan comes away from this conversation really KNOWING something that before he could only know in an academic way, if that.

"You had to make a choice." His voice is harsh in his own ears, but she just looks bored with him. "And you picked the wrong one."

This bit of dialogue is another one that was written relatively early, compared to the rest of the scene, so I’m not sure why it took me so long to figure out that “you pick a man and stick with him” “well you picked the wrong one” sounds like Ronan is saying that Adam’s mom picked the wrong man to marry out of all of the potential men she could have married. It is SUPPOSED to mean, “you had to pick between your husband or your son, and you fucked up,” but I couldn’t really find a way of rephrasing it that made that clearer and that still flowed in the conversation. I consoled myself that readers would probably understand it, anyway. I had to trust you guys on this one.

#moi #not a fic #long post #comicsohwhyohwhy

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little-panem · 4 years

Text

RAMBLE ON RONAN’S 18th BIRTHDAY

okay, so I might make this post in two takes cause it’s late and i’m tired, but i need to get this out of my system. it’s just that the other night i couldn’t sleep and i just started rambling about that whole scene and off the depth of it all, the implications of it all!!

first off: ronan used his phone to gather them all, two phone calls and a text, he really needed them all there wow i love my boy. and then adam gets to the barns and he’s just so confused all the time by how that place makes him feel and how if he wanted one day he could live in a place like that (!!!). like. omg. pls. good sir, maybe that belonging you feel isn’t just because of the place, sweetheart, but we’ll get there, eventually.

then adam arrives at the house and that first interaction with ronan? breathtaking. heartwarming. like the coziness of it all, how familiar it feels, a happy yet feral ronan taking a pause just to admire adam parrish? yes sir. i think that’s the moment ronan makes up his mind and decides that maybe it’s time to try something with parrish, cause hot damn, maybe life isn’t so shitty after all!

and when adam gets sent to look for the tin foil and gets all excited to just be able to wander all around that house? how he yearns to belong, just like everything in that house? i need to take a break.okay i’m back. then he find’s niall and aurora’s bedroom and he just stares at that picture of the two of them, so happy and wild and niall is so handsome and he looks so much like ronan and have you seen how happy they look? the longing comes back, or maybe it isn’t that, so weird, but did you notice how handsome niall lynch was? how much ronan looks like him? and adam doesn’t understand anything, what’s going on????

then we (adam) get to ronan’s room and it’s so ronan it fucking hurts. like, this is /ronan/, no trauma, no dead father, just his room full of dreams, before the nightmares came. and look, a model car that plays music, of course, cause ronan is just like that. but it brings memories back, don’t worry, I won’t talk about it. shit. adam needs to sit. everything is just so confusing, why is he feeling like that? Is that niall on the door? no, just ronan. Half light half darkness, guess that’s just how it is. it suits him, tho.

white sheets and ronan comes and sits besides him. and as he studies his model car adam just looks at him, as always, and his eyelashes, as always. now you can feel it, the tension, how it builds up. and then ronan does it! he kisses adam! and the storm analogy comes on and just woah, can you believe???? adam already knew, he knew ronan had a crush on him, feelings even, and he knew sometimes he lead them on those feelings, but he wasn’t playing after all. did he, too, have those same feelings? oof. and then they kiss again and adam feels it in more than his lips. oh boi. and ronan keeps his eyes closed cause if he opens them the whole moment might vanish!

what is the highest place you can get to on short notice with no wings? oh, yeah, a roof. is this the real life? is this just fantasy? ronan n. lynch really just kissed adam parrish wow how do you cope? such big feelings!!! i, too, would try and touch the sky. and then declan comes and Ronan is surrounded by dream lights cause that’s just how he is and he’s so happy!! look, ORBMASTER!! let’s go have some dinner.

and then the whole night for truth starts and they all know it has to, cause they’re some strange constellation and they trust and need each other so much. and blue and gansey are so intimate and then there’s ronan who just asked a BIG question and adam who already knows the answer but needs some time to process cause yeah, now he’s recieved enough love and seen some magic to understand some of the barns, but ronan lynch is the go big or go home of those two things, he’s literally /made/ of them! can adam really prove worthy of it all??

that’s where gansey boy comes in, always the wise, always the king. Adam desperately needs some guidance, cause even if they don’t fully get each other sometimes he just knows he can trust him on this, hell, he’s an old soul! and gansey is such a sweetheart, he catches it so fast, how adam /needs/ an answer, how he has put all his trust in him. so he just opens up. and then when adam just breaks it to him, what all these questions about love are about he’s just like “don’t break him, adam” cause he cares so much about these two boys, geez! of course you’re not an idiot, adam.

blue and gansey leave and it’s just him and adam. and he /needs/ an answer, now. and adam already knows, but he’s so desperately trying to figure out how this will all work. is he ready to be openly loved? is he capable of loving ronan as much as he deserves? so then ronan reaches out, “adam?” that’s it, that’s the breaking point. yes, he’s ready. yes, he’s capable of love. yes, he wants this.

ronan was never sleeping again.

#i'm so sorry this is so poorly written #like this is not how it first came out #but here we are and i just love these kids so much #pynch #trc #cdth #adam parrish #ronan lynch

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margridarnauds · 5 years

Note

6, 12, 23, and 45 please!

Thank you!

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

So, I have no idea what we’re talking about as far as levels of involvement, but here are the ones I read fanfic RELIGIOUSLY for back in the day. So, behold my shame.

Cats (oh, my sweet, innocent 12 year old self) - Mistoffelees/Victoria.

Phantom of the Opera - Raoul/Christine/Erik, tbh. I started off E/C, then shifted to R/C when I realized E was a trashfire, then went to R/C/E when I realized that I loved garbage after all.

Van Helsing - Anna/Dracula. Which is impressive given I’ve never. Actually. Watched it. Sue me.

Carmilla - Carmilla/Laura.

The Pirate Queen - Graínne/Donal, one of the first fics I ever wrote. (And then never published.) Yes, he is a garbage fire in the musical, but in my very specific rewrite of it, he wasn’t. Though these days, I kind of lean towards Tiernan/Donal or Tiernan/Gráinne/Donal. Garbage pirate OT3 is garbage.

Dracula - The Countess (from Makt Myrkanna)/Lucy Westenra. The first explicit femslash I ever wrote, and it might very well never see the light of day because I do not forever want to be known as The One With The Blood And The Lesbians. Though, who knows? It might cleanse me of Printing Press.

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (Yes. Really.): Twilight/Princess Luna. I keep telling myself that my AO3 profile’s eventually going to be nothing but period dramas, my (1) Terra Nova fic, and…a My Little Pony fic, along with various Barbie Movie fics. For old time’s sake.

Terra Nova - Wash/Mira, due to @janetcarter‘s influence.

The Flash - Barrison. Specifically, Eobard/Barry. In many ways, it was my prep for 1789 with the whole “I murdered your parent” thing.

The Avengers - Loki/Tony Stark.

Les Miserables - Valjean/Javert

The Golden Compass - Mrs. Coulter/Lord Asriel

Arthuriana - Galahad/Mordred

Star Wars - Reylo or Finnlo. I don’t particularly have a preference, just let Kylo screw one of his various archnemeses straight to the side of the Light.

Star Wars: Rebels - Kallus/Zeb. Oh. Another enemies to lovers ship. Who would have guessed?

1789 - Peyrol/Ronan (Was there any doubt? If there was, I need to write more.)

Revolutionary Maximilien Robespierre - Madame Roland/Marie-Anne. In progress, but A Ship for me. Mainly because I’m a contrarian little shit who writes things when people tell me I can’t and then gets attached to the result.

Brennus, Enemy of Rome - Ahmet/Nissia. Which…I still need to. Write. My fanfic for that one. So that fanfic for it exists.

Lord of the Rings - Boromir/Aragorn

Friedrich: Mythos und Tragödie - Countess Orzelska/Wilhelmine and Fritz/Katte. Pretty much equally, though Orzelskine (?) Wilhelska (?) is starting to edge out Fratte.

La Legende du Roi Arthur - Leia/Guinevere in the French and Morgane/Guin in the Takarazuka.

Irish Mythology - Bres/Sreng. I will defend this one to the death and I will do it with citations and footnotes.

Scarecrow of Romney Marsh - General Pugh/Dr Syn. Yet another one I. Need to write the fic for.

Star Trek: ……..

………You know, my favorite thing about Star Trek is that, regardless of shipping preferences, we can all find something to enjoy. Kor/Kirk. While I can’t speak for DS9 Quark/Brunt, my current favorite from Discovery has to be Michael/Tilly, which might very well be the single most wholesome thing I’ve shipped in a very long time.

Ace Attorney: Phoenix/Edgeworth.

12. Who is your current OT3?

Chauvelin/Percy/Marguerite from The Scarlet Pimpernel. I do not accept constructive criticism on this one. Because Percy/Marguerite are sickeningly sweet on their own, Marguerite/Chauvelin has That Sexual Tension in Where’s the Girl and The Riddle, and Percy/Chauvelin fulfill all my requirements as far as enemies to lovers ships are concerned.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

I’ve talked a lot about Forgiveness being one of the very few things I’ve written that I’ve ever liked and the ONE thing that I feel…gets my idea of how L/R WORK together and probably shows off my style best, along with Fowl Play (WHICH HAS FANART NOW. WHICH I’M STILL NOT OVER BECAUSE MY BABY HAS FANART.) So, instead, I’m going to shift to Pour la Peine, which…is my messy, messy child in many regards, not the least because it’s so much longer + still isn’t finished.

(Warning for various and assorted personal, squishy feelings, as well as cancer mentions)

When I first got the prompt from @fallenidol-453, it was January of 2018. Two months before, I’d received the news that my uncle had Stage Four Esophageal Cancer and my mother had moved from our house to his house to care for him, leaving me without her help for the first time in my life, which I deliberately kept as low-key about on here as I could be, given that, to be honest, dealing with the endless “I’m so sorry to hear that”s gets very exhausting after awhile and I was a college student with a schedule to keep. And he and I had a very…contentious relationship, despite the two of us being alike in many ways. Possibly because we were alike in many ways. And, by May of that year, he was dead. And I would learn shortly afterwards that my paternal grandfather had died in January, but no one on my father’s side had bothered to tell me. I spent a lot of time trying to deal with the stress of that time, juggling that with my schoolwork and my fanfic, which I tried to work on from the time I received the prompt onwards. (Tbh, I’d had the opening scene in my mind for awhile before, but I hadn’t had a larger plot + ending until the prompt.)

At first, I thought that I would publish it like I’d later publish Forgiveness, in one straight chapter, but as time went on and on and there became less and less of a shot of having it done any time soon, I ended up just publishing the first chapter and deciding to update it from there. And that chapter got a lot of ribbing from friends. “Her brother is dead” really came off as a very melodramatic first line, but I also decided, very early on, that I didn’t care about what the objective quality of it was; all I cared about was creating a snapshot of a time in my life, just like when I go through the stuff that I made when I was twelve and I laugh about the various and assorted OCs and questionable phrases but love them all the same because they’re my twelve year old self’s. And, where I was at that point in my life, writing Solène mourning a family member who she had a difficult relationship with while I mourned a family member who I had a difficult relationship with, it was the only line that felt right to me.

There’s a lot of things with this one that I’m still not sure about. There’s a plot twist that I’ve tried to be quiet about for all this time (that I’ve probably been really terrible about keeping, tbh) and that is either going to be the Jumping the Shark moment or the defining moment of it, and I’m obviously not sure how that’s going to be received though I want to believe I’ve foreshadowed it enough to not make it too much of a swerve, I’m not sure how I feel about the ending, there’s a lot there that’s murky and probably more reflective of my writing a year ago than not, and I’m not sure about how I’ve handled the character dynamics given what we’ve got in canon or the dynamic I’ve put them into, or whether the choices they’ll make reflect THEM or what I WANTED them to do. Hell, with a few things, I’m not sure how I’m even going to GET to the ending.

But, I’m really proud of how much I’ve had the chance to work with Solène and Olympe, I’m really happy with a lot of the work I put into sequences like the two chapters long March to Versailles, which involved looking into a LOT of personal accounts as well as secondary sources analyzing it, and I liked trying to flesh out Solène’s world. But, more importantly, of everything I’ve written, it and Le Cri are probably the most directly personal to me, and even though a part of me still says Her brother is dead is a hell of a melodramatic opening line, it fulfilled its purpose. And, tbh, sometimes that’s all a fic needs.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?

This is so hard for me, because there are so many fics that have left a huge impression on me throughout the various fandoms I’ve been in. In 1789 alone, I was thinking of at least two different fics at a given point, which is both fantastic and minorly stressful given how small this fandom is (one of which, incidentally, was Little Dove Heart, since that really gave me a huge push as far as Laz and his backstory and his characterization and his relationship to Artois, even if I tend to keep the latter more in the background). And there have been so many fics I’ve read that I’ll remember and go back to periodically, and that really helped me as far as looking at how character voices could be developed and how description would work and how to work a time period and a setting into a story.

Overall though, I think I’m going to have to give it to Vae Victis, which is a work by @sineala‘s. I’ve never been quiet about my undying love for the Gauls and for Brennus in particular. Brennus is one of my historical favs, and I felt like this fic did a really, really fantastic job of bringing that much-neglected period of time to life and developing the characters on their own, without me having any background in the source material. With fanfic, especially with a more active fandom, there’s kind of an expectation that everyone knows the characters involved, so to be able to work in a different time and to get the reader fully invested in the characters and their relationship in their own right is a really fantastic accomplishment, and to be able to show the Gauls and Brennus (in what little time he gets, because my boi’s not the focus and I accept that) as three dimensional figures rather than a rampaging horde is always much appreciated. And it has a WORKS CITED page at the end, AKA the eternal key to my heart.

#long post #berncat #sorry for the tragic backstory dump on PLP!#but there's a reason why it's still my baby despite everything

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originaljediinjeans · 5 years

Text

MCU Rewatch: “Avengers: Infinity War” (2018)

Ebony Maw is, like, the worst. He’s just such a sycophant to Thanos, and a real sucker for the ideology, a flatterer. Believe me his death was very satisfying.

I just hate how Thanos pretends to sympathize with his victims. Thanos is an a++ creeper

Thor is just suffering this entire film and it hurts to watch

Loki’s death: I think Loki knew he didn’t stand a chance with his butterknife. there had better be a good reason that this is how it went down because

“You consider failure experience? I consider experience experience.” This is totally Loki BSing but this is actually kind of a good perspective to have about life’s little misfortunes.

Are the stones connected to Thanos himself? Through the gauntlet? Does that connection grow?

Considering that Vision was feeling the Mind Stone acting up in his forehead I think the Infinity Stones are connected and the Gauntlet only amplifies the connection.

The only good explanation for the Soul Stone giving itself to Thanos is that the Infinity Stones are Sentient and Evil. It’s a stretch to justify Thanos somehow sincerely having love for a daughter he spent years abusing. IMO it’s plausible, but it’s a stretch

If any of the Asgardians survived and escaped Thanos’ assault, Marvel owed us footage of that

I think the reason that Gamora’s backstory was changed was because showing her parents being killed in front of her would have been more violent and more terrifying for the audience. It also would not have lent itself to demonstrating Gamora and Thanos’ relationship. But it still could have been done a certain way to make it less disturbing and had the same effect.

Tony got at least the idea for Nanotech from Wakanda.

“No more surprises, I promise.” *Doctor Strange shows up* To be fair, that surprise was unplanned

Tony Stark needs to be in control because he is scared. It was true in Age of Ultron and Civil War and it is true now.

I don’t think Ned heard a word of what Peter said on the bus

Spider-man showing up out of nowhere during the fight against Maw and saving Tony’s butt is such a great entrance, I’m so grateful we have Tom Holland as Spider-man in the MCU

Doctor Strange in his own movie was pretty cool, but Doctor Strange at his full powers in Infinity War is MIND-BLOWINGLY AWESOME

Tony built the IronSpider suit because he just KNEW that something bad would happen and the suit that Peter was already using wouldn’t be enough.

Bruce’s struggle against the reluctant Hulk is sad but it’s hilarious

The GOTG entrance is RAD, it’s the raddest thing about the whole movie, the Guardians of the Galaxy are the grooviest thing since ever

Also their reaction to Thor is straight-up hilarious

Really, Thor, why didn’t you just stop to hang out? Do you really need a Thanos-killing weapon that badly?

okay maybe he does

Rocket will regret leaving his friends so brusquely

Vision disguised as human in public is everything

If the WandaVision TV show isn’t as cool as their fight in Edinburgh I don’t want to watch it

Vision might be badly injured for most of the film but he is not a helpless damsel in distress and he won’t go down without a fight, and that increases my respect for him so much more

but on the other hand, if they can get the Mind Stone out of Vision’s forehead w/o killing him, they should. There’s no reason for him to die. C’mon, bro, don’t be a doormat. You’re a person and you have value! How many times have you said that about other people? At least twice in my fanfiction.

What other thoughts did Vision have about the Mind Stone? I’m intrigued. No, scratch that, I’m beyond intrigued.

Star-lord needed a better plan for confronting Thanos on Knowhere

“Swear to me on your mother.” Gamora knows how much PeterQ’s mother meant to him, she knows how much he’s never recovered from her death, she wouldn’t have made him take that oath unless it was serious

I remember the first time I saw IW, seeing the Red Skull as the guardian of the Soul Stone SHOOK me

Also he refers to the ‘stones’ plural--Schmidt KNEW!

Peter Parker pays attention to popular film and culture in ways that matter--like, that’s where he gets ideas for how to do things. He’s good to have around

Stephen Strange should have called out Tony for wanting to run from the other Avengers for personal reasons, that was at least one factor on him deciding to go to Titan

Is it just me or is Tony Stark the first person to actually refer to Doctor Strange as “Doctor”?

Nebula :’( :’( :’(

I have issues with the Stormbreaker arc but really though the scene with Rocket and Thor talking it out is so good

I think Thor, to an extent, is faking his anger, or at least using it to mask his sadness. he doesn’t need revenge he needs a hug and a blanket--I mean not that the universe isn’t at stake if Thanos isn’t stopped but yeah man. He was actually crying while he was talking to Rocket

Rocket probably thinks Thor’s family is pretty messed up and he’s absolutely right

You may have thought after the first GOTG movie that Rocket’s thing with prosthetics was a joke, but no, it’s pretty serious

Peter apologizing to Stark and Strange in advance in case he lays eggs in either of them was actually a pretty good thing to do. It’s something I would do.

How hard did the story development team have to work to find a part for Peter Dinklage?

Whas Okoye being sarcastic about the Starbucks comment? Is she really happy about the Avengers being there or Wakanda’s new foreign policy period?

Oh Bucky <3 <3 <3

Proxima Midnight is FIERCE #femalevillaingoals

“You are in Wakanda now. Thanos will how nothing but dust and blood.” How prophetic.

Ieitri has known Thor for a while. Probably since Thor was a kid.

Nat’s face when Thor shows up in Wakanda: “Would’ve been nice if you showed up ten minutes ago.”

I don’t think Wanda needed to be with Vision for his surgery. If she had stayed out in the battlefield the Avengers and the Wakandan army might have stood a better chance. But then Idk who would have protected Vision so...

The Titan team’s plan to snare Thanos was pretty good, but it would have actually worked if they’d given Quill a job for after they tied him up

Sam and Rhodey teamwork--I’m here for it. Wish we’d gotten more of that instead of Civil War. Heck, I need a Sam and RHODEY tv show!

I love how Bruce Banner finds his moxie

Why did the one guard put Nebula back together? If he knew that Nebula was so bent on killing Thanos why did he do that? Would Thanos have ordered that?

Nebula must have gone to find Gamora and warn her that Thanos was ready to make his move sometime before Ragnarok happened.

How much did Thanos know about Sutur and Ragnarok? Was he watching?

Plot hole explanation: Loki took the throne and withdrew Asgard’s troops from its territories, Thanos came to Nidavellir and ordered the gauntlet made. You’re welcome.

Wait, no, Loki withdrawing Asgard’s troops also paved the way for Thanos to attack Xandar also--Loki was trying to protect himself but instead he gave Thanos free reign to collect the stones

(if they’ve had a couple of years since Ronan attacked, though, shouldn’t they have rebuilt some of their military by then?)

Seriously, Wanda, way to go sister.

Even if Thanos can’t die without getting his head cut off he can still get hurt pretty badly with the right weapon and I don’t think that’s a fact to be ignored.

Okoye’s face when T’challa turns into dust before her eyes. Then her watching the Decimation as it happens around her, she’s ready to CRY, she is TERRIFIED

#we're in the endgame now #The Final Countdown #Avengers: Infinity War

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smilingformoney · 5 years

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America’s Most Eligible 2 Diamond Scene: Get to Know the New Contestants

You: I’ve got time to say a few personal hellos. You: Now where should I start…?

Who do you talk to? -Eden and Heath Eden +4, Heath +4

Eden and Heath are sitting side-by-side on one of the couches, glaring at each other. Heath has a portable camera in one hand. Heath: C’mon. I told you I needed a spot with good lighting! Eden: Just because I got up for a drink doesn’t mean you can take my seat. You: Hey, guys… everything cool here? Heath: It will be, if someone will let me get some decent footage. You: I’m starting to think you two have always had some, uh… differences. Eden: Oh, you have no idea. Back when we met…

The first week of Season 7… Someone knocks on the door to the mansion’s penthouse bedroom. Eden: It’s open! Heath: Hey, Eden. Looks like some fans left a package for you with the producers. Eden: Aw, how sweet. I didn’t think we were allowed to get deliveries! Heath hands her a cardboard box. As Eden tugs at the top of the box, he sneakily pulls out his portable camera… Eden: Why is it wriggling like--

-Eden’s ‘Present’

Eden: Agh! Where did you even find a live snake? Heath: You’ve just been Heathed! Eden: Get. Out! Heath keeps his camera trained on Eden’s face the whole time, laughing, even as she shoves the box at him and chases him out of the room.

Heath: Those were the days. That video got like four hundred thousand views in four hours! Eden: Good for you. I had nightmares about finding snakes in my necklace drawer for weeks.

You: You two should… -Take all this drama to the next level!

You: The producers love conflict, and your… whatever this is… has tons of it. You: That’s a great way to get extra screen time.

-Give each other another chance.

You: You’re clearly not on the same wavelength, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get along. You: This season might actually be your chance to become friends.

Eden and Heath frown thoughtfully at each other for a long moment. Heath: I dunno… but I appreciate the idea. It’s cool that you think outside the box. Heath: Outside the box like that snake I-- Eden cuts him off with a sharp look. Eden: Thank you, [Name]. Eden: It’s nice to have one other voice of reason in the house.

-Yvette Yvette +4

Yvette is in the kitchen arranging slices of bread on a cutting board. You: What’re you making? Yvette: Just trying to whip up some snacks for everyone. There wasn’t much to work with… but tell me what you think!

YVETTE’S BRUSCHETTA BITES -Try it!

You bite into the hearty, grilled bread. The tomatoes and spices on top practically melt in your mouth. You: Wow. You just ‘whipped up’ the best bruschetta I’ve ever had in five minutes flat. Yvette: When you’ve got two growing kids to feed, you learn to make food in a jiffy. Yvette: Although believe it or not, this ‘Single Mom’ used to be the show’s ‘Wild Child’ back in the day. You: Really? Yvette: Oh, yes. Late nights, hot flings… until I met my now-ex-husband in the house. Yvette: We got married after the show wrapped, had Bethany and Jonah, but after a few years, we went our separate ways.

You: Wow… -It must’ve been hard raising the kids on your own.

Yvette’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly puts it back on and shrugs. Yvette: Nothing with kids is easy, but we got through it with the help of family and friends.

-Do you have your eyes on anyone new?

Yvette laughs, her cheeks flushing slightly. Yvette: Not yet, although I’m not opposed to getting swept off my feet by some dashing stranger… Yvette: The suburbs can be so closed off that AME seemed like the perfect opportunity to meet some new faces.

Yvette: If you’re any indication to go by, I might even find some friends here too. You: I hope so. Yvette gives you a motherly pat on the shoulder as you head off to look for the other contestants.

-Ronan Ronan +2

When you walk up to Ronan, he’s gazing out at the horizon with a far-off look in his eyes. Ronan: … You: Uh… Ronan? Hello? He holds up a hand to silence you, then points out the window. You follow his gaze and see a gull dive through the waves to catch a fish! Ronan: The vagaries of nature. Beautiful, unpredictable… just like the human heart. You: Sure. That’s… definitely a thing people say. Ronan: Ah, but forgive my distraction. I assume you are here to ask me something. You: Just wanted to see how you were settling into the house. You: Carson mentioned that you won the first season of AME. I bet things were pretty different back then. Ronan surveys the walls around you, thoughtfully tapping a finger against his chin. Ronan: ‘Different’ is putting it mildly. The mansion was half this size, and the Challenge safety rules were… shall we say… looser. Ronan: The accommodations are far more pleasant now, though I do miss Season 1 Carson’s frosted tips.

You: Ronan… -Please tell me that’s not a joke.

Ronan solemnly places a hand over his heart. Ronan: When it comes to style, I never joke. I only wish I had the footage on hand. You: I’m sure it’s on the internet somewhere.

-What were you like back in Season 1?

Ronan: Ah, I was a simpler, wilder, man… bold in the ways only young blood can be… Ronan: That spark of adventure has since been tempered with wisdom, but I daresay my taste is suits has improved. You: You are a pretty snappy dresser.

Ronan chuckles. He glances at you as though truly noticing you for the first time, and nods respectfully. Ronan: It’s a pleasure to talk to a kindred, curious spirit. I hope we will meet again soon. You: I mean, we’re both living here for the rest of the season, so… Ronan doesn’t reply, his gaze already fixed back on the birds soaring over the ocean. You: Right.

-Kiana Kiana +4

You find Kiana sitting on the steps in the foyer, thumbs frantically tapping a small screen in her hands. You: Is that a phone? Kiana: It’s something way better. She pats the step beside her. When you sit down, she shows you the clunky device she’s playing on. Kiana: See? No phones. Just an old GameGo console I found in a shop and a platformer that’s kicking my butt. You: From Carson’s intro, it sounds like you’ve been into games since Season 8. Kiana: If that’s a nice way of asking if I’ve always been a nerd… the answer is yes. Kiana: I wasn’t sure how the audience would treat me, since gaming’s not exactly, y’know… America’s favourite pastime. Kiana: But I won one season, and they brought me back for another, so I must be doing something right.

You: Our audience must… -Love gaming as much as you and I do.

You: I mean, you’re a Platinum Lookout player. These days, even the American viewing public can see that that’s cool.

-Like people who are passionate about their hobbies.

Kiana: Most people I know would say ‘obsessed’. You: There’s nothing wrong with enjoying what you do for a living. Or being great at it.

Kiana: Thanks, [Name]. I appreciate that… and I appreciate you coming over to say hey. Kiana: It’s nice to know there’s at least one cool girl/guy in the house. She gives you a small wave and turns back to her game.

-Slater Slater +4

You find Slater staring at the beach that stretches along the mansion. You: Admiring the waves? Slater: Hell yeah. Those are double overheads at least. Slater: Too bad we can’t get out there and catch ‘em. You: You take this whole ‘Surfer’ persona pretty seriously. Slater: It’s not just a persona. You should’ve seen my intro back in Season 6. Slater: Carson had us film the premiere out on the beach…

Several seasons ago… Carson: Thank you, thank you. And lastly, I’d like you all to welcome our final contestant of the season… He holds his hand out, but none of the waiting contestants step up beside him. Carson: Um. Where is that new guy? Piper: he should’ve been here half an hour ago. I swear I sent a car to-- Slater: Incoming!! Slater throws a ‘hang ten’ sign at the cameras as he surfs down a wave toward the shore. His board skids to a halt at Carson’s feet, throwing up a spray of sand. Slater: ‘Sup, Season 6. I’m Slater, and I’m here to rock your world.

You: Piper didn’t kick you out for that stunt? Slater: No way. Took Carson a couple weeks to forgive me for getting sand all over his suit, but Piper said my grand entrance saved the episode.

You: I… -Can appreciate a dramatic entrance.

You: Remind me to tell you how I got on Season 10 sometime. Slater: I’d love to hear it.

-Wish I’d been there to admire the view…

Slater winks at you. Slater: I’ll make sure you get a chance before this season is over.

Slater: And thanks for stopping by, [Name]. A lot of people in this place can be intense… Slater: But I think we’re gonna get along just fine. Slater gives you a leisurely farewell wave as you survey the room…

Glancing around the first floor of the mansion, you can now easily put a name to each of the new contestants you’ve met. You: (Pretty sure I’ve made a good first impression. Now Carson just needs to hurry up with those scores…)

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices ame #choices america’s most eligible #america's most eligible #america's most eligible 2 walkthrough

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swimmingwolf59 · 6 years

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Vines and Ravens

(A/N) Just so you guys know, there is a scene with self-harm in this, so please proceed with caution!! ;w;

When Ronan was ten, he ran into his soulmate. Literally.

His family had been picnicking at the local park, spread out in the grass near a playground. It was a summer weekend afternoon so the park was packed; children ran every which way screaming and laughing and adults covered almost the entire area with blankets and umbrellas. After Aurora had wrestled sunscreen onto the boys, she set them loose playing tag with the other children and throwing a football with Niall.

Ronan was running his hardest to catch up to a ball that Niall had accidentally chucked too high when it happened. He hadn’t been paying attention, looking up for the ball instead of watching where he was going, and it surprised him when he solidly collided with another body. They tumbled to the ground, Ronan falling on top of the other person and rolling painfully into the dirt.

“Ow…” someone groaned, and Ronan blinked his eyes open to stare at them.

He was another boy about Ronan’s age with dirt blonde hair and eyes as blue as the ocean when he met Ronan’s gaze. Ronan found himself memorized for reasons he hadn’t understood then as he stared at the boy gingerly sitting up beside him. He almost said something to him, but just then his arms started tingling.

When he looked down, dark green vines had emerged on his fingers and were slowly crawling their way up his hands and to his wrists. He was wearing a tank-top, so he was able to watch as the vines spread up and up and up his arms until they curled into leaves on his shoulders and stopped. The other boy stared at the growing tattoos with wide eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and pants so Ronan couldn’t tell if his marks were growing too but they had to be. There was no such thing as one-sided soulmate marks.

At ten, Ronan didn’t fully understand the implications of what had just happened. He barely understood concepts like ‘true love’ and ‘soulmates’. He did understand, though, that he was supposed to like the person who made his marks emerge.

But before he could say anything, his soulmate hurriedly stood and fled in the opposite direction.

Later, Declan told him he had a whole forest on his back. Normally, soulmate marks were small, only encompassing a wrist or a shoulder blade. But Ronan’s spanned the entire length of his back, his shoulders, and both of his arms. Aurora said that it was because the love he would share with his soulmate was larger than most people’s.

She didn’t have an answer for why, if that was true, his soulmate had turned and bolted the other way.

As Ronan grew, he gradually began to understand what had happened that day. He’d supposedly met the love of his life, who had been another boy. This meant that he was a boy that liked boys. In church, Ronan learned that this was something weird: soulmates were always between a man and a woman. But his family never said anything. They never said he was a sinner or tried to change him. Instead, they had speculated about who the boy could be and if it would be possible to find him. When Ronan entered Aglionby, they hopefully believed that Ronan might meet his soulmate there.

But Ronan had a feeling he wouldn’t. Because the other thing he had come to understand was that he had supposedly met the love of his life and, instead of wanting to get to know him, his soulmate had ran. Why? Had he found Ronan repulsive, in some way? Had he scared him? Declan always told him he had a scary face.

At first, it didn’t bother him. It wasn’t like he’d ever see the guy again.

Then he found his father beaten to death in the driveway. Then he learned that the opposite of love was hate and that it was so, so easy to hate yourself and twist everything that ever happened into another reason to hate yourself. Then he realized that if even his soulmate, who was supposed to love him more than anyone else on earth, didn’t love him, then who would? Was everyone in this world destined to leave him behind?

He soon learned to hate the marks. He’d once thought them beautiful and intricate and as a child he’d sometimes stay up late and imagine the person who would have such beautiful marks in their soul. Now he only saw it as a reminder that everything was shit and that Ronan Lynch was meant to walk the path of pain and suffering.

It hurt so goddamn much.

Throwing himself out of bed, Ronan slipped into the bathroom. He’d moved out by then, as being at home had been too agonizing, so he pulled out a beer from Gansey’s fridge and sat heavily on the toilet. From the counter, he grabbed his razor.

He stared at his arms until the vines and leaves blurred and he could no longer see their details. Where one stem dangled down the slender skin of his wrist, he slashed into it with the razor. Then he did the same with the other one. Ronan watched the blood red run down his hands and cover the green vines on his fingers.

There. Now it was all over.

Or so he’d thought.

He woke up in the hospital, his mother and Matthew crying by his bedside and his wrists pulsing with pain. Declan was talking to someone on the phone in the doorway and Gansey leaned on the wall, staring at him. He wasn’t crying, but the red rim around his eyes made it obvious that he had been, and he stared at Ronan with such fear that Ronan had to close his eyes again.

That day, he learned that he only knew how to hurt the people he cared about.

No wonder his soulmate hadn’t wanted to stick around.

Adam had been lucky with his soulmate marks.

They were large—flocks of ravens covered his chest, wrapping their wings around his heart, claws and beaks sharp against his skin—but they were confined entirely to his chest and easily covered by a shirt. This was lucky, because Adam’s father had never found his own soulmate, and Adam had known instinctively, as he watched those marks crawl up that boy’s arms, that he’d get in trouble. If his father had seen that he’d accomplished something like that when he hadn’t there would be hell to pay.

He was also lucky in the fact that his soulmate hadn’t run after him when their marks had emerged. If his father had seen that his soulmate was male…he couldn’t even bear to think about it.

But his father hadn’t seen, and so Adam went on with his life only removing his shirt when he was sure neither of his parents could see. Sometimes, at night, he stared at the ravens on his chest and wondered what his soulmate was like. He knew it was likely that he would never run into him again—and even if he did it was unlikely his soulmate would actually love him after knowing who he was—but he couldn’t help but wonder.

Part of him regretted that he hadn’t stuck around to at least learn his name.

Adam grew and worked his ass off and made it into Aglionby, despite his dad blocking him every step of the way. On the first day of class, Adam got to first period early, not wanting to seem anything less than perfect, and to his surprise found someone already there. He was standing at the whiteboard, writing something on it so fiercely that it made the marker squeak horrendously with each stroke. He was wearing a leather jacket, dark, tight skinny jeans, and combat boots and he had a completely shaved head; that on top of his behavior convinced Adam that he was a delinquent.

But he was early to class.

And he was writing in nearly fluent Latin.

And he was dangerously attractive.

Standing directly behind him, Adam observed his sentences. He couldn’t parse together all of it, but it seemed to be a crude joke of some kind. He found himself smirking, despite everything.

“You know, if you hide the eraser when you’re done your joke will be up there forever.”

The boy startled so badly he dropped the marker. Whirling around, he fixed a glare on Adam that was so deadly it could keel gods. Adam wasn’t a god, but he also wasn’t easily intimidated. He didn’t sense any danger underneath the glare.

The boy stared at him for an unsettling minute before whipping back around to the board. “I should’ve thought of that.”

Adam hid a smile in his shoulder. “Obviously you need to brush up on your delinquent tactics.”

Adam didn’t know where this was all coming from. Adam Parrish did not flirt with people who looked like they belonged in a motorcycle gang.

“Fuck off, man,” the boy said, but his posture was relaxed. “I’m not done with my masterpiece yet, though. Can I trust you with the honors…?”

It took Adam a ridiculously long time to realize that he was asking for his name. “Adam. Parrish.”

“Alright. Think fast, Parrish.” Before he was even done speaking, the boy tossed the eraser at Adam who somehow managed to catch it with only minimal fumbling.

While Adam poked around for the perfect place to hide the eraser, the boy continued his scribbling on the board, both of them silently engaged in their tasks. Adam was removing a book from the bookshelf to test if the eraser could hide behind it without giving away the fact that something was behind it when the boy suddenly spat out, “You’re not gonna ask me for my name?”

Deeming that it was pretty much unnoticeable unless someone knew to look for it, Adam carefully placed the eraser at the back of the bookshelf and put the book back in. “I figured you would tell me if you wanted me to know.”

“It’s Ronan. Ronan Lynch,” the boy said so quickly the words nearly tumbled over themselves.

Adam didn’t know what to think about the fact that Ronan had basically just admitted he’d wanted Adam to know his name.

“Okay, Lynch, then tell me this—” Adam leaned back on the bookshelf, smirking as Ronan immediately adopted a defensive posture, “—do you do this often?”

It was weird, how quickly Ronan relaxed. A savage grin even started to tug on his lips, apparently unaware that Adam was in a position where he could see it. “Only on Mondays.”

Adam laughed. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Well shit, Parrish, school just started – it’s essentially a Monday,” Ronan quipped before stepping back to admire his work. “How’s it look?”

“Like chicken scratch,” Adam admitted honestly.

“Fuck you,” Ronan replied, but his tone almost sounded playful. “Bet you don’t even know what it says.”

“Yeah, because I literally can’t read it.”

Ronan barked out a loud laugh, apparently startling them both if Ronan’s wide-eyed look was anything to go by. Abruptly, Ronan strode to a desk in the back and threw himself down into it, tossing his legs up on the table as he did so in one violent, fluid motion. He seemed incapable of moving any other way. As Adam watched him, Ronan roughly shrugged out of his jacket, not seeming to care as it fell to the floor.

Unabashedly, Adam’s eyes trailed to his arms and his heart stopped beating.

Because underneath his jacket he wore a black tank-top so that his arms and shoulders, and the marks that were on them, were on complete and total display. And Adam could never forget those marks. They reflected everything he felt inside, everything he was.

Ronan caught him looking, and for a second it felt like time itself had stopped. “Yeah, they’re fucking everywhere, I know. My mom always said it was because of some ‘true love’ bullshit, but my asshole of a soulmate ran off without a second glance. Didn’t even get the fucker’s name.”

Adam didn’t know what to say. The bitterness in Ronan’s tone was throwing him off, and he felt like a fish out of water every time his eyes scanned over those marks. He hadn’t been prepared for a scenario where he ran into his soulmate again. He hadn’t thought it was possible, and his brain still couldn’t seem to figure out that it was happening.

Ronan sucked in a breath. “…It was you, wasn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Adam stared down at his shoes, angry with himself. All of those times he’d dreamed of running into his soulmate again and he couldn’t even figure out a damn word to say to him.

Ronan’s boots eventually stomped into his line of sight until he was standing toe to toe with Adam. For an insane, wild moment Adam thought he was going to kiss him. But Ronan just growled, “Fuck all the way off.”

And then left, slamming the door behind him.

Ronan felt explosive.

He couldn’t believe he ran into his soulmate again, and here of all places. He couldn’t believe that he’d been starting to like that fucker and his stupid witty remarks and his stupid freckles and his stupid gorgeous hands—

“Ronan, wait—” And there he was now, taunting Ronan at every step, just as he always had.

Ronan had nothing to say to him. He’d spent years getting over the hurt and self-loathing that Adam had helped cause and had finally gotten to a place where he felt relatively at peace with himself. He still hated himself, but the hatred didn’t run so deep that he felt like taking a knife to his skin again.

So of course Adam had to show up again now.

“Oh, now you chase after me, huh?” Ronan snarled, hastening his pace.

But somehow Adam managed to catch up to him anyway. “Just shut up and come in here with me for a sec.” Adam grabbed his arm and dragged him into the nearby bathroom.

“I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses!” Ronan growled, yanking his arm out of Adam’s grasp.

Adam turned his blue eyes on him. Honestly, Ronan should’ve guessed it right away – how could he ever forget those eyes? “I’m not giving you an excuse. I’m trying to show you why I did what I did that day.”

“So, you’re giving me an excuse.” Ronan rolled his eyes but settled back on one of the sinks and waited.

Just because he was in a better place didn’t mean he was any less self-destructive.

But instead of talking, Adam turned on a different sink and started roughly washing his face. Ronan almost snarled at him—seriously, this asshole was making him wait so he could wash his goddamn face?—but then something caught his eye and he froze.

As the water rinsed down Adam’s face, so too did a concealer of some sort, slowly revealing an ugly bruise that spanned nearly the entire half of his face around his eye. It was harsh and purple and throbbing and Ronan sucked in a hard breath at the sight of it. The anger in his gut bled into his veins and he wanted to punch the wall until his skin broke.

“…Who the fuck did this?”

Adam didn’t reply for a long time, instead staring at his reflection in the mirror. Ronan realized suddenly that this was a secret, something that he wasn’t supposed to know but was being trusted with anyway.

“My dad,” Adam eventually said, his voice so quiet Ronan barely heard him.

Ronan exhaled. He understood now. It hadn’t been about him at all; it had been about what it would’ve looked like. He understood, but he didn’t know what to do with the information. He both wanted to ask and didn’t want to know how long this had been going on; he wanted to ask where he lived so he could go beat the shit out of that bastard—

But he didn’t ask any of that.

“Can I see your marks?” Ronan asked instead, softer than he’d intended.

Adam turned and stared at him for a long time. For a second, Ronan thought he would refuse him. But then he gave a miniscule nod and started unbuttoning his uniform. Ronan watched with apt attention as he turned off the sink and draped his uniform carefully over it before shucking off his t-shirt in one smooth motion.

When there was only bare skin left, Ronan felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Ravens flooded Adam’s chest, their wings a feathered frenzy as they crossed over each other and fought each other to fly. Most of the ravens seemed to be fighting to get to Adam’s heart, and the only one at peace was the one that had its wings over Adam’s heart, but there were some ravens that were flying downwards too, their claws and tails leaving a clear trail right down to—

Ronan snapped his eyes up. He felt like he was blushing but couldn’t seem to stop.

He wondered if this was why Adam had been so speechless earlier – to see himself so clearly in art on someone else’s body…

Ronan felt weak in the knees.

Before he even knew it he was stepping forward, gently pressing his hands to the ravens on Adam’s ribs. Adam stiffened but didn’t push him away, so Ronan took it as a sign to let his fingers roam, carefully exploring over skin and ink. Adam let out a shaky breath as Ronan traced one of the raven’s beaks over his heart. His long fingers skittered up Ronan’s arms, following both his veins and the veins of the leaves. “Do you have them just on your arms?”

“No, I’ve got a whole fucking forest.” Ronan took off his tank top and turned around so that Adam could see his back.

Adam didn’t say anything for so long that Ronan almost looked back to see what his expression was. But then he felt Adam’s fingers splay out gently across his back, his hands startingly cool. Ronan barely suppressed a shiver.

“I’m sorry I hurt you by running away,” Adam said. “I regretted doing it every day since then.”

“You had your reasons.” Ronan firmly believed that now. The hurt wouldn’t heal as quickly—that shit was ingrained—but he didn’t feel so angry at Adam anymore. How could he, when he’d just been acting out of self-preservation? “Besides, I would have been fucked up these last few years anyway even if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, but maybe I could’ve been there for you,” Adam said and suddenly started mouthing at his back.

Ronan jumped and whirled around, startled. He was definitely blushing now.

Adam was smirking, the bastard. “Too soon?”

Ronan swallowed. “No…it just, uh, tickled.”

Adam stared at him for two seconds before he burst out laughing. Ronan found himself fighting back a grin as he stepped forward and grabbed Adam’s cheeks gently in his hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, and kissed him.

Adam kissed him back hungrily, his hands gripping at Ronan’s forearms. Their marks hummed between them, warmth searing up Ronan’s arms and down his back. It was almost scary how much Ronan wanted to kiss him, how much he wanted to erase the space between them. The emotions he felt for him were like a tsunami, drowning him and knocking down the few pillars of defense that he had left.

But he never wanted it to stop. It was too exhilarating.

…Hell, maybe his mom had been right about what his marks meant.

“You better not run away this time,” Ronan murmured when they parted, both gasping for air. He’d meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way.

Adam touched his cheek. “I won’t.”

#pynch #pynch week 2018 #pynch week #trc #ronan lynch #adam parrish #self-harm #mention of abuse #soulmate mark au #my writing

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astudyinfreewill · 6 years

Text

love is strange

aka: lazy mornings at the barns, smitten teenagers, and old-fashioned love songs; aka (pt. 2): ~3k words of pure, unadulterated adam/ronan fluff inspired by song lyrics, because that’s just what my life is apparently??? aka (pt.3): a reimagining of that one scene from ‘please like me’. yes that one. u kno the one. thank you to @ethicalmadness for betaing this last minute!! <3

read on AO3

During the summer, it wasn’t often that Ronan woke up after Adam. He was used to weird sleeping patterns, and Adam was in perpetual sleep debt during the school year, so now he made up for it by sleeping in whenever he didn’t have an early shift at work.

That morning, however, seemed to be one of the exceptions, Ronan making his way downstairs to find Adam sitting at the kitchen table with a book, no doubt trying to get a head start on the coursework for his first semester at Columbia. He stopped for a moment at the foot of the stairs to savor the sight: Adam in loose sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still mussed from sleep or from running his hands through it, sitting in Ronan’s home like he belonged there, because he did belong there. Ronan’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, then another two when he realized Adam was wearing one of his old t-shirts (Adam always claimed he just grabbed whatever was closest, but Ronan was certain he did that to him on purpose, the little shit).

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping into the kitchen, making sure to approach Adam from his right side.

Adam looked up, closing his book but keeping one long finger inside to mark his place. “Mornin’,” he replied, his smile as soft as his rolling accent, which always liked to make more of an appearance early in the morning or late at night.

“Sleep well?” Ronan asked, reaching down to mess his hair up even more.

“Mhm. Like the dead. That mattress is a dream.” He paused, tilting his head to one side. “Wait, was it a dream?”

Ronan snorted. They had recently moved to Niall and Aurora’s old bedroom, because as spring rolled into summer and the days turned hotter, it was getting impossible for them to share Ronan’s old twin-size bed without waking up all sticky and sweaty (and not for one of the fun reasons). When Ronan had complained about the excessive heat, Adam had offered to go back to Declan’s room, but Ronan was damned if he was sleeping on his own again. He had had a taste of what it was like to wake up to Adam, and he wasn’t giving it up if he had a choice.

He’d thought it would be weird to sleep in his parents’ room, but somehow, it was better for it to be put to use; it had always felt too empty, a gaping reminder of Niall’s absence first, then Aurora’s. And, to be honest, the mattress was amazing.

“It’s entirely possible. Or it could just be a good fucking mattress. How come you’re up so early, then? Every other morning, it’s like I wake up next to a log.”

Adam raised his eyebrows at him, with a small smirk: “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

“Wow, so clever,” Ronan drawled, sarcastically. He chose to ignore the fact he could feel his cheeks warming up, or the way Adam’s smirk only grew larger in response.

“I know, right,” Adam replied modestly. “Anyway, I woke up because I was thirsty and when I was here… well, food just seemed like a good idea.”

“Imagine that,” Ronan deadpanned benevolently. It was Adam’s turn to blush. His perennial appetite was something of an awe-inspiring thing, but Ronan knew all too well why he was always hungry, and didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he took every available opportunity to feed him.

“Chill out, Parrish. You could use some more meat on that skinny ass anyway,” he teased, making a big show of eyeing him up and down.

Adam leveled him with a look. They both knew exactly how he felt about Adam’s ass. It was just about the same way Adam felt about his.

Ronan cleared his throat. “Want more coffee?”

“God, yes, please,” Adam moaned, dropping the staring contest. (Which may or may not have been exactly what Ronan was after. When trying to distract Adam, coffee was almost always effective.)

As Ronan went to the counter and started making a fresh pot of coffee, he spotted a plate by the sink, covered in pieces of toast. They were arranged in shapes that resembled nothing known to the human eye, but were very clearly intentional nonetheless.

“Opal?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Adam replied wryly. “You really need to teach her not to play with her food.”

“What makes you think she listens to me?”

“It’s more of a blind hope, really,” Adam sighed. “She’s got to listen to someone.”

“She listens to you, for some reason.”

Adam looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and reopened the book instead. Ronan was fairly sure he knew what Adam had almost said: I’m not always going to be around. Which was true, but Ronan did not like to think about it, if he could avoid it.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asked, trying to change the topic.

“Out in the fields? I guess? She told me to tell you she wasn’t gonna be around for lunch. Probably gonna eat more sticks or something,” Adam smiled, amused.

Ronan clucked his tongue. “Look at her, all emancipated already. They grow up so fast.”

He moved back to the table, bringing the fresh pot of coffee and some buttered toast for himself (and for Adam, despite the fact Adam had ostensibly eaten already).

“Anyhow, before you decided to make a crass sexual innuendo,” he started, in his best Gansey voice, “I was just saying that you’re very still when you’re asleep. That’s all.”

Adam snorted at the impression. “Yes, well, I’m not used to moving around much in my sleep,” he said, predictably reaching a hand out to steal a corner of Ronan’s toast (to Ronan’s part-smug, part-endeared satisfaction). “Haven’t exactly had the most luxurious beds. If I rolled around too much, chances were I’d be sleeping on the floor.”

Ronan had spent enough nights at St. Agnes, either beside Adam’s bed or inside it, to know that was true; and he’d only been inside Adam’s parents’ trailer once, when he’d helped him move out, but the bed was even smaller there.

“Well, better get used to it, Parrish,” he grinned, reclining back into the chair and crossing his arms behind his head arrogantly. “You’re living the high life now. That good ol’ king-sized bed life.”

Adam looked at him with the same weird hesitance as before, but this time, he actually said the words. “Well, until I leave for college, at least.”

Ronan stopped leaning back into the chair and planted his elbows on the table instead, mock-arrogance and grin both gone. He started tearing a piece of toast apart with glowering concentration, and realized belatedly it was exactly what Opal had done with hers, and what Chainsaw did with anything she could get her beak on. Maybe it ran in the family.

“Ronan,” Adam said quietly, gently.

“Why do you have to say shit like that?” Ronan said, staring at the table.

“Because – it’s the truth? And because I don’t want you to – I don’t know – forget that it’s happening, and then be disappointed when it’s time for me to leave.” Adam sounded genuinely regretful, which did nothing to ease Ronan’s bad mood, because Adam was also, in some ways, completely right. Ronan did try his best to ignore that this newfound bliss was only going to last until the end of the summer. But just because he tried to bask in denial, it didn’t mean he was successful.

“You think I can actually forget that? That I don’t think about it every damn day?” he spit back despondently, but it came out sounding more forlorn than biting, which perhaps was for the best.

“Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Adam’s voice was quiet, but earnest. “I just want us to be okay. And I think about it too, you know.”

Ronan looked up at him, with all the skepticism he could muster. “Please. You can’t wait to go to college.”

“Well, yeah,” Adam acknowledged, simply, meeting Ronan’s eyes head on. He had never compromised on that, and never would, and if Ronan was being honest with himself, he loved him for it. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna miss you every day.”

“Smooth-talking bastard,” Ronan replied. He knew Adam knew that was what he needed to hear, but he also knew that Adam meant it, and that was enough to dissipate his bad mood. “Eat your toast.”

“It’s your toast.” Adam poked Ronan’s bare foot with his socked one, a tentative peace offering.

“Then eat my toast,” Ronan drawled. “I’m gonna make more anyway.”

So they ate toast, and they drank coffee, and Ronan told Adam what he had dreamt, and Adam told Ronan what he was reading about. It was all so utterly domestic, it made Ronan’s heart ache in all the best ways. This is it, he thought to himself. Whatever happiness is, this is it.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Chainsaw coming down from her perch to peck at the cold remnants of toast. Ronan got lost in the hypnotic motion of stroking her feathers, like he used to do when she was just a fledgling. When he looked up, Adam was gathering the dishes and mugs and taking them to the sink, but not before Ronan had caught him staring with unabashed fondness at him and Chainsaw.

“What,” he deadpanned.

“I keep telling you,” Adam shrugged, slightly embarrassed at being caught out, “you look like a supervillain petting his familiar. Pretty darn cute.”

“Supervillains aren’t cute, Parrish.”

“Well, I guess you’ll be the first one, then.” And there it was, that cheery smile, all cheeky uncomplicated happiness. Ronan sometimes wondered if his heart would ever stop accelerating when he saw it. So far, the odds weren’t in his favor.

Restless, he got up and joined Adam at the sink.

“You don’t have to do the dishes, you know.”

“I know. I don’t mind.”

“I can do them,” Ronan insisted.

“You made breakfast.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “I put bread in a toaster.”

“And made coffee.”

“Whatever. You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember? You’re the one who insisted he still needed to work two jobs through the summer, not me.”

“Well, aren’t you glad you have such an independent lover?” Adam joked.

It was a joke, Ronan knew. They’d only recently gotten used to the idea of referring to each other as boyfriend, and Ronan suspected Adam was riffing on an unfortunate joke Henry had made when they’d moved in together, something about Adam becoming Ronan’s kept mistress, which had resulted in Gansey wincing, Blue making an indignant noise, and Ronan chewing him out furiously (Adam, curiously, had been silent; as he later explained to Ronan, not because he agreed with it, but because for once in his life, he didn’t feel like he had something to prove to anyone, and he had five different Ivy League acceptance letters on his desk to testify for it).

So. It was a joke. Which really did nothing to explain why Ronan’s mouth went dry and his stomach flipped in a funny way at the word lover.

“That what you are, Parrish?” he heard himself say in a small, rough voice before he could stop the words from coming out. Oh God, what. The fuck are you doing.

Adam looked at him curiously, wrist-deep in soapy water. “Um. I guess? Wait.” He looked up at Ronan more closely, eyes slightly narrowed. “Do you… like that?”

Ronan’s cheeks felt very warm. “Uh, no?” he scoffed, disdainfully. Too obvious. Try again.

“Like what?” he shrugged, the motion not at all natural.

Adam turned off the tap. He’d caught on, and there would be no shaking him. “Y’know. That word. Lover.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parrish,” he said, trying for haughty and missing by a mile or two. His cheeks definitely felt even warmer now, and Ronan could feel, with horror, the blush creeping down to his neck.

“You do,” Adam said, delightedly. “Oh my God.”

“I don’t,” Ronan insisted, then remembered he didn’t lie, huffed, and glowered at the ceiling instead. “So what?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think it’s adorable–”

“Fuck you, Parrish–”

“--and that if I’d known, I would have used it sooner and more often–”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but takes one to know one, right?” Adam grinned, unrepentant. Ronan had definitely been a terrible influence on him. Or maybe they’d just always been more similar than he’d been willing to contemplate. He chose to storm out of the kitchen anyway, cursing his fair complexion and ignoring the fact he could definitely still hear Adam chuckling in the kitchen. He could wash a hundred dishes for all Ronan cared.

He threw himself on the couch in a manner he hoped conveyed at once annoyance and superiority, and pretended to be very invested in the latest dream object he’d produced, a small painting of a landscape where the weather conditions changed if you shook it.

After a few minutes of sulking, he saw out of the corner of his eye Adam coming out of the kitchen and heading for the desk where Ronan’s computer was hooked up to the speakers. Ronan almost asked what he was doing, but Adam already knew his password anyway, and to acknowledge him was to give up the moral high ground, so he just shook the painting again, ostensibly very interested in the pictorial representation of hail.

Apparently, Adam had been fiddling with his Spotify account, because moments later, the sound of a guitar riff filled the room, and of course.

Ronan threw the painting down. He had hung out at Boyd’s during Adam’s shift often enough to have gained more than a passing knowledge of classic rock.

“Oh, extremely funny, Parrish. Really, extremely fucking funny.”

Adam evidently thought so too, because he laughed and then started to seriously, honest-to-God lip-sync to the song.

Right, that was the last straw. Ronan got up from the couch, ready to storm out of another room, but Adam quickly caught up with him and grabbed him by the wrist, then ran his fingers along his forearm, and okay, maybe Ronan could stay a couple minutes. Whatever.

“You getting your kicks out of this, Parrish?” he asked, trying to sound as bored as possible.

Adam grinned and casually rested his arms on ronan shoulders.

After you’ve had it, you’re in an awful fix, the song crooned, talking about love. Ronan was inclined to agree with the singing duo, because obviously he was as fucked as them, as evidenced by the way his arms decided of their own accord to snake around Adam’s waist.

Were they– swaying? Was this what high school proms were like?

And really, what the fuck was this morning?

Feeling equal parts surreal, foolish, and contented, he readjusted his loose hold on Adam, letting his hands rest at the small of his back. Adam’s hands, he could feel, were laced behind his neck, making him conscious of every point of contact.

Your sweet loving is better than a kiss, Adam lip-synced, half-humorously– but only half, Ronan couldn’t help but notice. Somehow, he felt much more inclined to forgive him now – and even more so when Adam quickly caught his lips in-between lines, gently tugging at his bottom one.

When you leave me, sweet kisses I’ll miss, the song went, and Ronan swallowed hard, refusing to even pretend-sing that line, but still feeling it in his chest.

They swayed along the next riff, the motion somehow incredibly awkward and oddly satisfying at the same time. He cringed. He knew what was coming next.

Sylvia?, Adam mouthed, directing his flirtiest look at him.

Yes, Mickey, Ronan mouthed back, rolling his eyes as far back in his head as he could to convey his spite.

How d’you call your loverboy? Adam asked, undeterred, doing his best impression of a smooth 50s blues singer, which wasn’t very smooth at all. It was kind of adorable, really.

Come here, loverboy, Ronan relented, getting into it a little more, because really, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he let Adam make a complete fool of himself all on his own?

And if he doesn’t answer? Adam mock-demanded, delighted to see Ronan playing along, eyes lighting up with amusement.

Oh, loverboy...? Ronan mouthed back, smiling and fluttering his eyelashes, because honestly, two could play at this game (and he was reasonably sure Adam had a thing for his eyelashes; he’d brushed his lips over them too many times for it to be a coincidence).

And if he still doesn’t answer? Adam insisted with a smirk, but Ronan was close enough to see his ears go pink, even under the tan.

I simply say–

Without entirely meaning to, Ronan found himself lip-syncing this part with more conviction than the teasing warranted, looking directly at Adam.

Baby, oh, baby

My sweet baby, you’re the one.

It was meant to be just playing along, but Ronan could feel the truth of those words heavy in his chest, the way he always did when he allowed himself to think about his feelings for Adam. To think about how he couldn’t ever imagine being with anyone else, hadn’t ever imagined being with anyone else; how Adam really was the one. He felt exposed, and breathless, and weirdly vulnerable, considering they were still just clumsily swaying in the living room to cheesy 50s rock. Suddenly he wanted very much to be staring at the ground, his ribs feeling too tight for his heart.

But Adam seemed to pick up on it, because he held Ronan’s eyes, stopping him from looking away, and sang the last line out loud. “Baby, oh, baby,” he crooned quietly, slightly off-tune, Southern accent mellowing out every sound, “my sweet baby, you’re the one.”

It could have been a joke – certainly it could be easily passed off as one – but it didn’t feel like one. The final strains of the song died out around them, and they were still swaying a little, arms wrapped around each other.

You’re the one.

Ronan swallowed. “Will you really miss me when you’re away at college?”

“Of course I will, lover.”

“You little shit,” Ronan laughed. Adam’s eyes were shining with amusement and fondness and something else that Ronan was not quite going to name, but felt reverberating in his chest, pounding against his ribcage.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, instead of those more dangerous words, words better left for the summer nights, when he didn’t have to worry if he was blushing all the way down to his chest.

“I know,” Adam said. “So let’s make the most of the time we have.”

That, like many of Adam’s plans, was a smart idea. Ronan sat down on the couch, tugging on Adam’s hand to make him follow.

“Come here, loverboy,” he called, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Adam laughed, and went.

#trc #the raven cycle #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynch #my writing #mp #i'm just gonna hide now and ignore how ridiculous i am. ok. good. goodnight

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ronill · 6 years

Photo

Listen up, lovely shippers! :) We have decided to take the chance of a new year starting and naming a Staraccuseling of the Month each month of 2018! We will introduce them and some of their work to you, so you’ll know all the lovely folks who create content for you a little better! This is also meant to encourage all of you to engage with them, get to know their work, give them some feedback, and so on! So please, enjoy! This fandom would be nothing without these dedicated people!

tumblr AO3

Introduce yourself, please! Who are you?

My name is Bonnie and I have a problem with fandom, especially the Marvel fandom and the characters within. I am not seeking treatment at the moment as I know that I can never leave. Also, I love animals and want to hug all of them (yes, all of them, even though I’d probably need some very thick armour to do so).

How and when did you get into the pairing?

“How” pretty much went like this:

@staubengel: Omg listen to this pairing idea, I’m going to ship it.

Me: Okay.

So that’s pretty much how it happened. :P Staubengel told me about her ideas for the pairing shortly after the first GotG came out. She told me some of the head canons she came up with about them that gave them so much more depth to what was portrayed on screen. Then she started writing fics and asked me to beta and with her writing and her passions about them they also became mine and I love her for it.

What made you stay in the fandom?

Honestly the people. We’re small, but we have fun together and while the pairing isn’t really on many people’s radar anymore, the people that are in the fandom is what keeps it going for me and my enjoyment of it.

What do you like about the pairing?

I’m a sucker for pairings that don’t usually ‘fit’ in a traditional sense, mainly the hero and the anti-hero (even though you can technically say Peter is an anti-hero as well). Peter and Ronan are so different in so many ways, but they fit together nicely when you get down to it. They kind of fill in the gaps of each other in both positive ways. I kind of think that Peter is the sunshine while Ronan is the rain and when you bring them together you get life and growth, so it’s kind of like a metaphor that these two can really be opposite at so much, yet together they work.

It’s also really fun to have the fun, positive, and happy character matched with the more serious, grumpy, and grounded character because there’s so much comedy and fun/cool situations you can put them in. The banter can sometimes be hilarious.

What was your favourite part of GotG with them in it (not necessarily together)?

The whole movie? lol Honestly it’s hard to choose, really. I mean the dance off scene will forever be a top one of mine not only because they’re both in it, but when I first saw it in theatres there was this moment of utter disbelief that something like that was just happening. It was so absurd it was hilarious. It also showed a lighter moment of Ronan that isn’t really present within the movie and his character.

Do you like your Ronan redeemed or still a fun, blue zealot?

I like my Ronan redeemed in the eyes of Peter and slowly coming to terms with it himself. I don’t know if the Kree Empire can totally forgive him, but I like that road to redemption theme where he is opened up to the possibility that there’s much more than just Hala and the Kree. I think this opens up a lot more layers to Ronan rather than him being a big, fun, blue zealot. Now don’t get me wrong there are times where him being a big, fun, blue zealot works and I like it, but overall I want a Ronan who is ‘in transition’ and whose character is not strictly ruled by his people and hate for Xandar/enemies of the Empire. The movie Ronan was just very one dimensional and we only got that view of him as a Kree zealot, so I want to explore and find out more about him as a character.

What is your favourite kink/setting/trope/AU for this pairing?

Hnnnnnnnng. Well, aside from lots of fucking I’m a sucker for Ronan being this big toughie and then either slowly or quickly falling for Peter to his utter surprise. Then comes the angst of a) them getting together because Peter’s Terran and Ronan’s Kree, b) Ronan being a Kree zealot or former zealot, c) them finally letting themselves give in to each other and they have the sexy times followed by ‘oh no, I love him.’

I’m also partial to them being alone when this happens so that there’s no major outside influence to deter them from finding each others feelings for each other.

Kink wise I’m always here for Ronan being the dom and taking Peter whenever he pleases. Peter likes it like that but always knows how to push Ronan’s buttons to make him more aggressive and a bit rougher. I don’t want Peter to be a complete sub, but when it comes to Ronan some things are good have him as the dominant. ;)

Also, bondage helps because I’m always a complete slut for that.

What kind of content to you create within the fandom? Fanfics, fanart, edits, something else?

Fanfic and edits are my main go to as I have more confidence when producing them and sharing them with others.

What is your favourite self-made content you yourself have created for this fandom?

This is a bit hard because I really do love everything I’ve done and picking one feels like I’m betraying another, but I guess my current WIP “Guardianhood” is my fave at the moment. I’m also really proud of the first chapter which is basically just 6,000+ words of Peter giving Ronan a blow job and then Ronan getting Peter off.

Tell us a bit about it! How did you come up with the idea behind that content and how did you bring it to life?

Idea was a prompt between a few friends as a birthday gift for @staubengel. What spawned after that was me starting off with having Peter and Ronan married and on their honeymoon. I liked the idea of a more quiet setting for them and the start of their new life together. Plus they could fuck in peace without having anyone banging on their door or shouting lewed things at them… for now. ;)

What other fan(s) do you admire in the fandom?

@staubengel is pretty much the person to hold the standard to as she pretty much is the mother of the fandom. Her passion, love, dedication, and creative efforts towards this fandom are no less than astonishing to behold. Honestly without her this fandom wouldn’t have gotten off the ground or if it did then it wouldn’t have gotten to the level it did. When you have a passionate person for the content it’s easy to join in and enjoy it with them because they infect your ideas and headcanons in such a good way that you just can’t stop.

While there are other amazing people in this fandom, @staubengel is pretty much the one I always am in awe of at her caring, love, and attention to them/the fandom and the people in it.

What is your favourite content someone else has created for this fandom?

I honestly cannot just pick one, because there are so many great things people have drawn, written, and made. But the thing that really got me to love StarAccuser was the fic “Stuck With You” because not only had I the privilege to beta it, I got to talk with @staubengel, the author, and really delve deep into the characters of Peter and Ronan and what she wanted to bring to everyone. It was the first time I could see Ronan as this total 3D character rather than the more one dimensional that was in the movie.

Has the fandom affected your life in anyway?

Yes, it brought me closer to the friends I already had and brought me to new friends. I’ve met some amazing people because of this fandom. We’ve had a lot of laughs and lots of threats of never speaking to each other again because of things we come up with. We support and love each other and with that love and support I feel as if I’ve grown more as a fic writer and more confident to share what I’ve written.

Some of Fancykraken’s work on tumblr:

Fanmix: Awesome Holiday Mix Vol.1

Edit: StarAccuser movie poster

Edit: The Present is my Dick

Fanmix: Star Aküse

Edit: Eye Kink

#staraccuseling #fancykraken

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justawriterofthings · 6 years

Text

It’s Because I Care

Requested: Could you write a Drax x Reader Story where the Reader is also a guardian and they're together and the reader gets hurts during a mission and Drax is worried?

Word Count: 3,867

Warnings: Reader gets injured (but nothing big)

Author’s Note: Oh my gosh I am so sorry this took so long. I’ve been so occupied with work, my writing slipped through my fingers and got put on hold. But, now I’ve got more free time and hopefully I can get all of these requests done. I will do my best to get them up in a timely fashion my loves. Thank you so much for the patience and for liking my stuff <3 Again sorry it took so long and sorry for the mistakes....

You were sitting quietly on the lower deck of the ship taking a nap with Rocket when you were startled awake by Drax’s loud bumbling footsteps. Rocket jumped to his feet, ready for anything. You jolted up hitting your head on bunk above you. “Son of a bitch.” You mumbled, rubbing where you hit it, feeling the bump start to form already. Rocket yawned, jumped down and waited for you to get up. “Come on, come on. You gotta go tell that oaf of a brick wall to walk like a normal person.” Rocket complained as his tapped his foot impatiently. “Yeah, like he’ll listen to me when it comes to anything besides- well anything really.” You slowly got up off the bed and headed to the ladder that led to the main deck.

“You don’t give him enough credit. He listens sometimes.” Rocket was acting out of character. “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too?” You joked, climbing upstairs. Rocket just let out a short ‘Ha’ before following you up. You looked around to see Drax frantically searching the main floor for something. “Hey big guy, maybe keep the steps light. Like you’re sneaking up on someone right before you take ‘em out.” You suggested as he continued to rummage through every box he could find. Drax stopped what he was doing and looked at you first with wide eyes and then confusion. “Where would I take them?” He was genuinely confused by your wording. “It’s another expression for killing someone, sweetheart.” You clarified, but your pet name earned you another confused look. “You don’t literally have a sweet heart, it’s like another name to show affection to someone you like.” You explained. You found yourself doing that a lot with Drax, though you didn’t mind it.

Rocket wandered off after your small conversation with Drax, you assumed he was going to check up on baby Groot. “So yeah, just maybe keep the footsteps a little quieter. Rocket and I were napping and ya know, neither of us are happy right now for being woken up.” You tried to stay as kind as possible since he was a large man and couldn’t really help how loud he was when he walked. “Okay, sweetheart.” He repeated your phrase back to you and you couldn’t help but smile. Peter and Gamora walked over then. Peter was looking rather pleased with himself and you knew that only meant one of two things. Either he just got laid or you all had a mission.

“Lay it on us.” You commented, seeing how giddy he was getting it was a mission and apparently a good one at that. “Pirate treasure.” Peter finally spit out with such enthusiasm you almost couldn’t make the words out. “No. Way. Really?” You started to match his grin, but the rest of your group was confused. Rocket walked in with baby Groot who was finally out of his pot and walking around. “What did he just say?” Rocket asked, unsure of why Peter and yourself had been so happy. “Yes! Space Pirate treasure!” Peter started to jump up and down like a child and you couldn’t help but match his movements. “Real pirates!” You squealed. The rest of the team was even more confused now. But you were too excited to explain to them that all of you could be richer than you ever imagined by the time the mission was over.

Peter raced over to the ship’s control consol and you followed suit, though you beat him there when you used your gift to teleport yourself there. “Y/N, we need you to explain.” Drax called through the main level as he walked to the front of the ship with the rest of your friends behind him. “Pirates! Like Ravagers, but on Earth they have more of a reputation for being rich and ruthless. If this mission is what I think it is, we could all be bathing in loot by the time this is over.” You bounced on your toes while Peter pulled up the coordinates he was given. “Why would be bathe in loot?” Drax asked. “I am Groot.” Groot answered him, but still confused since he couldn’t understand the little tree yet. “Of course he still takes things as literal.” You replied to Groot, then directed your attention back to Drax. “It’s another expression. Meaning we’ll be richer than ever before.” You clarified.

“These, Pirates. They are like Ravagers, so they are as dangerous?” Drax asked you, unsure of the new concept of Pirates. “Well, yeah I guess if they have a lot of valuables, then they want to protect them so probably just as dangerous.” You thought about the question a moment before answering him and when you had you regretted it. “Then you will not go. It will be too dangerous.” Drax countered.

“Look, you and I and everyone else on this ship know I can take care of myself. Just because you have- what a few hundred pounds on me- doesn’t mean I can’t kick any less ass than you.” You said before teleporting behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and then ending up in the place you started. “I’m a Guardian, same as you. We saved the universe together, remember?” You brought up when you all took out Ronan since you had been there by his side helping him in case he forgot.

“You are my sweetheart, so I worry.” He explained which caused your face to heat up. The rest of the team watched the exchange and the tension was growing slightly in the cabin. “Okay, time to head out before this gets anymore uncomfortable. Baby Groot you didn’t hear any of that.” Peter was blowing the slight affection shown by Drax out of proportion before setting some coordinates and taking off.

You took your seat next to Peter, coming up with all sort of crazy ideas as to what the treasure could be. “Maybe it’s a ship full of gold?” You pondered.

“Or a billion units!” Peter exclaimed, practically salivating at the thought of that much currency.

“Do you think they’re Terran? I mean, no one else seems to grasp the concept of pirates. And who would call themselves that if they didn’t know what they were?” You asked, mostly to yourself since you were sure Peter was still ogling at the prospect of a billion units.

“I am Goot?” The small tree interjected.

“No, it’s not really common now. More so two hundred years ago. So they’d have to know of Terra history or be Terran themselves.” You answered. You could feel Drax watching you and listening to the conversation, but he was holding back his questions.

Little Groot looked over to Drax and then back at you. “I am Groot.” His little voice was full of concern.

“No you idiot. They don’t need a room to go talk.” Rocket yelled from his seat as he messed with one of the many guns he had stockpiled.

“I might do just that, Groot.” You smiled at the small plant, then appeared next to Drax and grabbed his hand. In a split second the two of you were below the main deck where Rocket and yourself had been taking a nap earlier. “You looked like you wanted to talk.” You let go of his hand and sat on the bed.

“Give me a warning next time you do that.” He yelled and you could hear Rocket laughing from upstairs. You ignored it and so did Drax. Then he sat next to you, his face lighter.

“So what questions did you have?” You finally asked after the both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“You said these Pirates would be as dangerous as the Ravagers.” Drax stated.

“Yes, I did say that. But it should be something different if memory serves correctly. They’ll be less space-like and more Terran.” You tried to explain but his confused look only stayed. “Back home they would sail the oceans with huge ships and they would attack other ships, sometimes naval ships run by the countries they would call home. They had cannons and muskets and swords.” You went on and noticed the smile on Drax’s face even though you knew he understood about half of what you were saying. “But more importantly, they were notorious for having vast treasures.” You continued. “They would supposedly burry treasures, and sometimes their loot would be lost with their ships when they sunk to the bottom of the ocean. But out here, they would have to keep their treasure with them unless they found a planet far away enough.” You pondered how they would hide their loot out here.

You thought he would ask you questions but instead he looked you dead in the eyes, nodded his head for a moment. “We will find the Pirates and take their loot.” He smiled, repeating the words you had used.

“Damn straight.” You giggled, then teleported the two of you back upstairs. When you got to the front of the ship and looked out the window you saw that Peter had taken you all to a part of the galaxy that had yet to be settled. “Wow.” You were caught off guard at how beautiful the scene was. Drax stood beside you and tilted his head slightly.

“I am Groot.” Groot responded to you.

“It really is a sight.” You added to the small tree being. You then looked around the cabin to see the rest of your companions were in less awe than you or Groot. But it made sense since they all spent time out here.

“From the information I got, we’re pretty close to the coordinates.” Peter spoke up. You looked around in slight disbelief. “But it doesn’t look like much.” He added, mimicking your thoughts. You kept an eye out for any other ship, but you didn’t see anything. Then the ship started to shake.

“Guys?” You held on to Peter’s chair.

“It’s coming from above us.” Gamora hurried to the back of the ship and you could hear her rummaging around for who knows what. Then there was a flash, the ship shook once more, then you were no longer on Peter’s ship.

Your vision went black for a moment, and when you finally opened your eyes you were alone in what looked like barracks. “Drax?” You called. “Rocket? Groot?” You didn’t know your surroundings so you couldn’t risk teleporting and ending up in a wall. Taking a look around, you noticed you were most likely below deck since there were no windows and rows of hammocks. “YES!” You tried to whisper but it came out as almost a yell. You were on the Pirate’s ship, which meant you and your friends were in danger but you couldn’t help but feel giddy. You wandered around to see what they were like, since you could always tell how a person was by their living conditions.

“Y/N?” Drax was in panic mode. He looked around the deck of the ship for you but he noticed you and Peter were gone. “We must go get them.” Drax was the first to jump into action. Rocket looked back to Gamora, with some hesitation but nodded in agreement.

“I am Groot.” Groot agreed. “We’ll have to get onto the ship first.” Rocket added.

You saw a stairwell that you assumed brought you up to the deck of the ship, hesitantly you took it, knowing you could get yourself back down here in an instant if you needed to. “Peter.” You whispered, heading up the set of stairs but you quickly made yourself quiet when you heard more voices. Creeping up the steps you started to see more and more shadows of who you assumed were the pirates. Peeking around the corner you saw a handful of terrans. And you thought to yourself that you were right. Which also meant that you might be able to talk yourself out of this situation you’ve found yourself in. “Anyone bother to check up on the two people we just took aboard?” One man asked from behind the control consol. “Sure thing, Captain,” Another replied.

You heard a pair of footsteps come closer to you and you teleported back down stairs. A few seconds later a man dressed in fancy slacks, a black vest, and black dress shirt with a red tie was standing in front of you. “Uh. Hi.” You waved awkwardly at him. “Care to tell me why you brought me and my colleague aboard?” You asked, hoping to get an answer out of him.

“The names Ash.” He greeted, ignoring your question.

“Where’s my colleague?” You asked, hoping he would answer this time.

“The deck below us.” He answered as he strode towards you. “Are you also from earth?” He asked, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. You quickly teleported back as far away from him as you could.

“What’s it to you?” You asked, watching him more closely now.

“Your friend there was and asked a hell of a lot of questions about pirates.” Ash responded after he took in your power for a second.

“Yeah, I’m from Earth. I take it you are too, by the way you’re dressed and the way this room is.” You said, motioning towards the very obvious earth items. “Now, why are we here?” You asked again, hoping this time he would answer. He started to move closer to you but stopped when there was a thump on the side of the ship. “Why are we here?” You asked again, louder this time. Then you heard Peter yell your name from below you, but he voice was strained.

“You’re here to help us get the biggest treasure any of us have ever dreamed of.” Ash answered then walked back up, leaving you there. But he left you free and conscious.

“Big mistake, buddy.” You snickered and tried to find a way down stairs. Wandering around the barracks again you found a door that you hoped led you to Peter. You tried to open it, but it was locked so you pictured yourself behind it, hoping that there was nothing directly behind it. Letting out a sigh of relief to see the stairs and that you managed to not be impaled by anything. You quickly headed downstairs to find Peter tied to a post. “Oh man.” You took in the sight of him and ran over to undo his restraints.

“Did they hurt you?” Peter asked when you finally got him free and he could look you over.

“No. Are you okay?” You asked, looking for any sign they hurt him too.

“Yeah, now let’s get the money and get out of here.” He smiled, but it fell when he saw you didn’t return his grin.

“We have to leave, get back to the others. I have a bad feeling about these guys.” You told him, grabbing his hand and getting ready to teleport the both of you back to the deck of his ship. He ripped his hand away just as he felt you gather your energy. “At least let me go get them then?” You asked, knowing you and Peter wouldn’t be able to take all of them on your own. He gave you a skeptical look but nodded his head in agreement anyway. You were then gone in an instant but back with Rocket just as quick. Peter informed him of the plan as you grabbed everyone else. And once everyone was there Peter and yourself went back over the whole plan.

“We’re taking their loot guys, as of now we’re also pirates.” You should have seen you were going down the rabbit hole, since you yourself had said you had a bad feeling about those guys.

“This is not smart.” Drax said, mostly to you. He always worried about you. You gave him a look before teleporting upstairs, now that you knew the layout you didn’t have to worry about being impaled . You were back in the barracks, then snuck up the stairs to the upper deck. You got a good look so you could use your gift later if you needed to, then went back down with the group.

“There are six of them on the upper deck. Which should be easy peasy, since Groot alone, could take on six guys with his eyes closed.” You shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the floor, ready to go over the plan again now that you knew how many you were dealing with and the layout of the deck. “Drax and I will go up and take out the two who are patrolling, one of them is the guy who was with me downstairs. Rocket, you take Groot and take out the two closest to the control panel. Peter, you’ll get the scary looking guy with the arm tattoos and Gamora will take on the last one with the weird Mohawk.” You got up, went to the door that was locked and tried to open it from this side with no luck. “I’ll get everyone on the other side, then it’s a clear shot to the upper deck.” You said before grabbing Drax’s hand and bringing him to the other side of the door.

Once everyone was in the barracks room, you all made your way up the stairs and continued with the plan.

It didn’t take long to take out all six guys. You chose to knock out Ash, but before you could get behind him he managed to slice you with a hidden blade he concealed in his sleeve. Drax saw this and you could tell his vision went red. “Go back to the ship.” He ground out, holding the guy in a choke hold.

“I’m fine, he just grazed me.” You argued back, while punching Ash square in the face. The rest of the gang watched on after already doing their part.

“You will go back to the ship, the mission is over.” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down in case there were more. He dropped the pirate he was holding and moved towards you. You quickly backed up towards the door the two pirates were guarding and opened it. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw what was inside.

“Guys.” Your voice was just above a whisper. Groot and Rocket were quick by your side. “I am Groot.” Groot’s tone was somber. “Yeah, this is big.” You replied to the small being. You looked around the rather large room and saw cages, both full and empty. Creatures from every part of the galaxy of all sizes resided in this room and you assumed that they were endangered. “We found our loot, I guess.” You entered the room and took in the site of all the creatures. Drax was quickly by your side, hovering. “Drax I’m fine. We have to get these little guys home though.” You saw the sad eyes peering at you and your friends. When you got to the back of the room, Drax still hovering, you saw the crates stacked up to the ceiling. Peering indie you couldn’t help but smile. “This whole room has to go back to the ship.” You sounded so triumphant.

“What’d you find?” Peter strode over and peered inside a different crate. “We’ll never have to work again.” He laughed, after taking in all of the precious items the crates had to offer. You and the rest of the group managed to get everything from the room onto the ship before the pirates woke up.

You made it safely away and that was when Drax blew up. “You can’t put yourself in danger like that!” He yelled. “What if he had cut you worse? I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too.” His tone lowered at the thought of losing yet another person in his life he cared for.

“I can take care of myself, Drax. And you’ve gotten hurt worse than I have. You don’t see me babying you, or hovering. When either of us do that, we’re in more risk. You can’t put all your focus on me you have to be present when we’re on a mission.” You tried to reason with him. But you could just see that your words weren’t getting through to him.

“You are terran. You are fragile and small. Look at how you bleed just from what you called a graze. What if it was worse?” Drax pointed to your side where the knife got you. You finally looked down at it and saw it was a little deeper than you first thought. Your adrenaline had been going and you couldn’t even feel it when it happened. Only now was it just starting to sting slightly. But you didn’t show any outward sign that it was bothering you, you were too stubborn to do that.

Drax lifted your shirt to take a good look at your wound, you didn’t bother stopping him. But you were glad you brought the two of you down stairs instead of doing this in front of everyone. “See. It is bad. And you lied about it. How can I trust to fight alongside you again? You knew that it was hard for me to fight with you to begin with. You are my sweetheart. I can’t lose you.” He repeated when he was crouching down to your level and trying to clean your side with his large hands and a damp cloth. You took the cloth from him and moved his hand away, cleaning it yourself.

“I know you’re worried, and I know you care. Drax I know you only act like this because you lost your wife and daughter. You don’t want it to happen again and it won’t. Not any time soon, anyway. You’re stuck with me for a while.” You tried to smile at him but it never met your eyes. Then you gave in. “I’ll be more careful. I’ll listen to you more, okay? If you think something is off or wrong and you want me out of there I’ll leave in a blink. I promise.” You compromised, which earned you a reluctant head nod from the large man.

The two of you stayed down in the second level for a while. Drax cleaned your wound and the two of you talked about his wife and daughter. You talked about earth and what life was like back home. But you knew the closer you two got, the more reluctant he would be about letting you go on missions even though you have proved yourself before. Drax asked if you would stay on the ship when the rest of the group gave the creatures to the Nova Corps. You agreed to stay put, to appease him and gain his trust that you would keep your word, even though every part of your being wanted to go with since you were as much a part of the Guardians as him. But you knew where his feelings were coming from. And deep down you wanted the same for him.

#guardians of the galaxy #GOTG reader insert #GOTG fic #drax/reader #reader insert #My writing #fan fiction #fanfiction blog #requested #peter quill #gamora #rocket raccoon #baby groot #space pirates #this is bad and im sorry

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toast-the-unknowing · 5 years

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hi! I just wanted to say that I really, really love your writing, and I was wondering if you ever outline? And if so, how do you go about doing that? And I'm curious about your writing process in general (if that's a good way of putting it?). in any case, thanks so much for sharing what you write. It's really an absolute joy to read! :)

Hi and thank you! The short answer to this question is no, I don't outline. I've tried three-act structure and flashcards and Scrivener and whiteboards and a dozen other things and it just doesn't work for me. It forces me into making decisions I'm not ready to make yet, while delaying me from working on the parts that I am excited about, which 1. kills my desire to actually do any work and 2. delays my learning the things that I really do need to know about the story. But I also don't just write beginning to middle to end (honestly I can't believe anyone on earth does that besides, like, Spiders Georg). To the extent that I have a process it can be summed up as "I write the parts of the story that I know at the time that I know them, and they teach me what the next part of the story is."

The extremely long answer to this question is behind the cut, because like any good self-centered world-destroying Millennial I love talking about myself, and I love hearing people talk about writing, so maybe someone else does, too.

The beginning of a story tends to be like a cartoon character running off the edge of a cliff and building a bridge under them as they go. I open up a document and just start typing thoughts out as fast as I can. Some of the words that come out at this point make it all the way through the process to the final draft, but a lot of them don't, and I never commit myself at this point to typing usable words. I mostly end up with stuff like this:

flashforward: comes across opal somehow -- hunting or otherwise in the woods/wilds -- and she's this half-feral child, slowly builds up trust with her -- convinces her to come live in his house -- she's clearly cautious, but over the day settles in, and crawls into bed at night and falls right asleep, like she's not afraid of anything -- the next morning, dawn, wakes up and knows there's someone in the house, moving about, goes for opal's room and she's not there, runs out to the main rooms and there's a strange man standing there -- you won't find the girl -- what the fuck did you do to her -- I've taken her. as we agreed I would -- ronan finally recognizes him as the strange witch boy from so many years ago -- give her back -- I'm afraid that isn't possible. goodbye -- leaves and when Ronan follows him out the door he's nowhere in sight

Sometimes at this stage I'm jumping around in the document -- I'll have a thought about something I want to happen later in the story, so I'll put that in and then jump back to the earlier part -- but sometimes it's coming at me more or less in order, or there's so much I'm trying to get down at once I might as well just go in order. Also, a lot of the stuff I know about a story at this stage is related to the set up/concept/inciting incident/premise. So, in Careful the Tale You Tell, I jotted out about 800 words of Ronan making the deal with Adam, and meeting Opal, and Adam taking Opal, and Ronan trying to take Opal back, and then literally the only thing I had after that for the entire rest of the story was:

the two of them start living together, taking care of opal together, etc.

During/after/immediately before the "get down initial thoughts as fast as possible" stage, I write either the first scene or one near the beginning (if the opening moment is eluding me, which it sometimes does). The very early stuff, being a lot clearer in my head, tends to be a lot easier to write in full actual real paragraphs with real sentences and punctuation and dialogue tags and a minimum of placeholders. I find it helpful going forward to have that springboard -- a scene, or even just part of a scene, that looks like what I want the story to look like.

And then the process is "the same but more". Read back over what I have already. Admire how clever I am. Despair of what a hack I am. Realize an additional detail about a scene I only have two sentences for. Realize that that scene needs to happen in an entirely different part of the story. Move it. Think of one thing that's going to happen in one scene I didn't know existed yet. Come up with a funny bit of dialogue for the end of the fic.

With a lot of stories I hit a point, about a quarter to a third of the way through, where I realize what the story is actually about. That's tremendously helpful in knowing what to put in those nebulous holes in between "X happens and then Y happens." So with Careful, the key was realizing the story was about two things: it was about three sad loners who all choose each other, but also specifically it was about the way that two of those loners were profoundly misunderstanding each other, and how they had to stop telling themselves fake stories about each other and see what was really happening. That cleared up a lot of things about the story for me. For one thing, that's what told me I needed a four-part story from two POVs. And it let me fill in a bunch of scenes in answer to that dreaded question of "ugh what do I PUT on this BLANK WHITE PAGE with its CRUEL MOCKING CURSOR." I needed scenes of Adam thinking Ronan was a bad father, and I needed scenes that could be taken as justification of that opinion, and I needed scenes of him realizing Ronan isn't like his own parents. And I needed scenes of Ronan thinking of Adam as this uncaring vengeful other, and then I needed scenes that totally destroyed that image. And then because Adam is just the saddest sad loner ever I needed scenes where he's telling himself this new fake story where he denies the extent to which Ronan and Opal have already chosen him, and then I needed scenes that would make it impossible for him to continue in that denial.

This is maybe an example of why all the traditional outlining I was shamed into doing in film school fails me. None of this points to the shit with Ronan's mom being cursed and his dad being killed by an evil witch (except that I had notes to myself about a scene where Ronan finds out Niall tried to sell Declan to the witch -- but that was a product of one of those "I DON'T KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS EXACTLY BUT IT'S AWESOME AND I WANT TO WRITE IT SO I'M GOING TO JOT IT DOWN IN AN EMPTY SPACE IN THE DOCUMENT" moments). In as much as those are "plot" elements they might be the sort of thing you're supposed to decide while you're still at the "write one sentence on one flashcard" stage. For me that entire aspect of the plot only came to me when I had something like 50% of the story written, and the specific details and beats of it I figured out and incorporated gradually along the way, because that wasn't the important or interesting part of the story to me. It sure wasn't the thing I wanted to shape my entire story around. I don't think I could have shaped the story around that.

At this stage of a story I sometimes write in nice beautiful paragraphs, particularly if it's a scene that develops really quickly from "hm maybe something like X happens" to "oh FUCK YEAH I'm going to make X happen." The storm scene in Careful came on like that -- I left the occasional placeholder and it needed edits and I rewrote some stuff, but if I had live-streamed my screen while I was writing it, you would have gone "yeah, that looks like a story."

More often, though, my writing looks like that flash-forward paragraph above. A mix of dialogue, and action that I'm sure of, and action that I only have a vague idea of, and shit that I don't know yet but I know that stopping to figure it out is only going to keep me from writing the parts that I do know. This is because 1. I can get stuff out faster writing these pseudo-paragraphs, and I really just want to get as much stuff on the page as possible in any given writing session; 2. weird messy half-written paragraphs are easier to edit, move, change, rewrite, or make my peace with deleting entirely, than big beautiful paragraphs with clever turns of phrase that I spent hours on.

Often those moments that I skip, I either know enough about them to be getting on with, or they're trivial in the scheme of things. Sometimes I skip a detail and find out later that I was wrong about what it was going to be or how important it was going to be, and now I have to change parts of the story that I thought I knew. But that's often a gift, because the new version is more detailed, or more interesting, or more relevant to what the story is actually about.

I also leave myself notes like this:

[ronan starting to notice his feelings and be really stupid about it??? or leave that more for part 4]

These can function as "I know I need a scene here that does X but that's all I know" or it can literally be "I need a scene here and I don't know what it has to do but there needs to be SOMETHING". Sometimes these comments are just character/tone/theme notes to remind me of how a scene is supposed to function within the larger story, so I don’t write a really cute wonderful scene and then realize it makes no sense for the characters at this point in their arc to be behaving that way.

At this point writing a story is a mix of four things:

come up with things to fill the gaps in the story, even if it's just [A SHORT SCENE OF THEM ALL DOING SOMETHING TOGETHER -- AT ONE POINT RONAN TOUCHES ADAM WHEN HE DOESN'T REALLY HAVE TO

take those one sentence scene descriptors and turn them into those big blocky ugly nonsense paragraphs with no capitalization and too many em-dashes

take those big blocky ugly nonsense paragraphs and turn them into readable paragraphs -- this is a really great thing to do on days when I feel tired/sick/stuck/depressed/like a fraud/hungover/uncreative, because I can tell myself "all you have to do is turn half-sentences into complete sentences, this is basically seventh-grade English homework, you can do that." Sometimes doing that gets gears turning in my brain and I can do a LOT of this kind of writing, or I can move up to doing writing that involves more decision-making and connection-building and character-understanding. Sometimes it doesn't, and all I achieve for the entire day is turning one fake paragraph into one real paragraph. Which still means I have a real paragraph where I didn't before.

reread and refine and tweak the readable paragraphs to get to a place where I'm happy with them

Then there comes another milestone moment -- about 90% of the way through a story, I become thoroughly convinced that it's disgusting irredeemable garbage. This step sucks, and the only real cure for it is to go "yup, but I'm writing it anyway, so let's at least make it finished, complete garbage." The alternative isn't "realize the story ISN'T garbage and then keep writing with a renewed sense of self-worth!" The alternative is that the story dies, and that's how I end up with a hundred unfinished WIPs that quietly pass into obscurity. I think this might be the real reason that Raven Cycle is the fandom I've posted the most complete fics in, despite having been in other fandoms longer -- sure, these characters spark a lot of ideas for me, and I'm a better writer than I used to be, and I understand my process better (instead of trying to write the way I think I SHOULD write), but honestly the most important thing is that I figured out how to go "maybe this does suck, but I'm still going to finish it."

The thing that I've found the most helpful with making that push is to find the one thing in the story that I really, really like, and remind myself that if I don't finish the story then no one gets to see that one scene, that one moment, that one PHRASE that's actually good, and wouldn't that be sad? With Careful that was the storm scene -- I would tell myself, "okay you keep saying that the pacing is awful and the first chapter is boring and this story is a waste of everyone's time, buuuuuut if you don't finish it, then no one will ever read the storm scene." Sometimes the story's existence is sufficient motivation. The Pokemon AU gave me the worst case of writerly-self-loathing I've had in years, but I just kept telling myself "yeah but don't you want to make people laugh in disbelief about the fact that you wrote a Pokemon AU?" And that makes my insecurities go pout in the corner like a sulky child where they shut up long enough for me to sneak the last 10% of the story in there.

(Once a story is done and posted, I'm able to look at it with more compassion, perspective, and nuance.)

"The last 10% of the story" doesn't necessarily mean "the last ten pages of the story". The last bit that gets finished is usually somewhere in the middle, although occasionally I do just write until I don't know what else to write and then slap some kind of closing line on it. (Usually that happens with stories I write very quickly; the florist!Henry fic was like that.) There's generally a lot of places spread throughout the fic where I left things unfinished -- sometimes as little as one detail, sometimes as much as an entire scene. I think with Careful the last scene I finished was the one where Adam tells the guy how to find his lost money. When I'd first drafted that bit it felt like homework -- I knew the story needed examples of people doing business with the witch, but, ugh, I couldn't make myself care about them. But I had managed to eke out some of those weird blocky [bracketed] paragraphs, so I kept building on those bit by bit. It also helped to keep in mind the real purpose of the scene. It's not about someone doing business with the witch, or even about Adam's habit of casually tossing out details he has no way of knowing (though I was happy to add that in to presage the conversation about how he knows Opal's name and age). The scene is about Ronan seeing Adam as otherworldly. So I got to add in those little details about Adam smashing the glass, and Opal and the visitor being surprised, and Ronan not being surprised -- which is really the most interesting part of that scene.

Then I do a word search for brackets, "Shine" and/or "Toast", and any other placeholder characters I use, to make sure every detail is filled in and none of my notes to myself like [nb shine check this is true] make it to publishing. I upload to AO3, save as draft, replace all my single asterisks with italics html, realize I've used too much italics, take half my italics out, proofread, publish, catch three-or-thirty typos I didn't catch before I published, fix those, catch another three-or-thirty typos, and decide to leave them in for authenticity/because perfect is the enemy of good/because I'm too damn lazy.

That's essentially the longest version of my process. Sometimes I write a story very quickly and so it skips some of these stages.

"A story I write very quickly" is not the same thing as "a short story." see you somewhere, some place, some time was gestating, in one form or another, for about sixteen months, and it put me through aaaaaaall the same heartache as its longer brethren.

#writing #Anonymous

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iamtimish · 4 years

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2019 In Movies

If you had asked me at the start of September my thoughts on movies in 2019 I would’ve told you it was the worst year since 2014, when I started going regularly. Early year releases like Booksmart or Midsommar grabbed my attention in the theater but faded from memory as the weeks went on. Even Jordan Peele’s Us, an ambitious film making many year-end lists, lacked the coherence of his first feature Get Out. I admit this may be colored by my own aversion to horror. So subjectively and prematurely, I was out on the movies of 2019.

I was wrong. From October through December I saw something truly great almost every week. In one weekend I saw Parasite and Pain & Glory. The next weekend I saw Knives Out and the following weekend The Irishman. Not only was my faith restored and mental health improving, I was now wondering if this wasn’t my greatest year at the movies.

So listed far below are my 15 favorite movies for 2019. 15 because these were the ones I found thought provoking, thrilling, rewatchable - whatever words add up to heart-pounding for you. Beyond those there aren’t more than a handful I still care to talk about. Those 15 films though… damn.

“Good” art conveys an intentionality while remaining open to interpretation. It makes sense then that these films, in yet another year where many of us feel uncertainty and discontent, are thematically connected by cynicism. That’s not to say that all of these films are cynical; there are acts of hope and attempts at healing that are important takeaways. Sometimes, it’s in individual acts of bravery (hopeful heroism) combating the cynical world in which the characters find themselves. This may be explicitly depicted like in Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood when two aging film industry men jaded by a changing society as well as their own choices, wield limbs, bean cans, and flame-throwers in an attempt to reverse history on the horrific Sharon Tate murders. The hyper-violent climax that we’ve become accustomed to in Quentin Tarantino films is effective not as a redemption arc for the morally questionable protagonists but because it suggests that individuals have the ability to fight back against evil.

More subtle examples exist in films like Knives Out where being capable and kind are rightly heroic. In Pain & Glory healing arrives as an artistic re-awakening despite the declining physical prowess of our aging protagonist. Kindness and creativity spell hope in the limiting world of Little Women. Jo March (Saoirse Ronan) is fiercely independent, loving and determined in a world that, as her sister Amy puts it, “is hard on ambitious girls.” Battling both this misogynistic society that she finds herself in, and the isolation that her ambition imposes, Jo’s ability to confer importance through her art is heroic unto itself (not to mention the way she cares for her dying sister). In this cynical world, the ability of the march sisters to persevere and grow relates an optimism to those of us struggling in the moment.

Marriage Story and The Farewell each follow families coping with death, not an optimistic premise on the face of it but not completely sorrowful either. Both center on women who’ve been turned into cynics by circumstance. For Nicole (Scarlett Johansson - Marriage Story) it’s the death of her marriage. She is rightly aggrieved by Charlie’s affair and selfishness, and is brave to seek a change. In an ideal world understanding happens before it gets to divorce, but that’s not always possible. So when a relationship like that of Nicole and Charlie’s is beyond repair the most noble act is to find a place of peaceful coexistence for their family, and for themselves. And despite the animosity that arises during the divorce proceedings, Charlie and Nicole eventually find that way forward. The way Marriage Story ends is sad, but also suggests a working future for those involved.

In The Farewell, Billi (Awkwafina) must come to terms with her family’s decision to hide a cancer diagnosis from her grandmother. The decision, a cultural one, angers Billi; she’s unable to grieve the way she wishes. Philosophy lessons beautifully disguised in conversations with her elders start to open Billi up to the idea. But it is the physical act of seeing her grandmother’s happiness in being with family, joyful and unburdened by a medical diagnosis, that gives Billi hope. Like in Marriage Story, healing does not mean eradication - be it disease or betrayal - but rather the pursuit of happiness on the back end of tragedy.

Other movies are more directly hard edged and cynical. The Irishman and Uncut Gems are not concerned with hope or redemption. In both movies greedy men do greedy things, or stupid things, or both. When they seek redemption from those they have hurt, they don’t get it. Nor do they deserve it; they have no remorse. Howard Ratner (Adam Sandler - Uncut Gems) is a man who never looks back. Each chaotic decision, no matter how failed the result, only propels him into more chaos. His false idea of redemption is to keep climbing the mountain until he reaches the top. Only that he is more Sisyphus than Sir Edmund Hillary. Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro - The Irishman), while more restrained, is equally as stubborn. At the end of his life he is alone, estranged from his daughters. Yet he is not at all remorseful about his life as a hitman for the mob; it’s what it is.

Then there is Parasite, a masterful blend of all of these themes. There are cynics and heroes, individual acts of hope and horrific acts of violence; with family at the root of it all. Co-writer (with Han Jin-won) and director Bong Joon-Ho expressed that in making Parasite he “tried to express a sentiment specific to the Korean culture, all of the responses from different audiences were pretty much the same.” When asked why that was director Bong replied, “essentially, we all live in the same country...called capitalism.” Now this is perhaps truer and more cynical than any of the previous films discussed here. Yet, the movie is so expertly crafted, so brilliantly written, that there are ways to read the subtext of the film as hopeful. I choose to see it more as an expression that we’re trapped in a system that pits the middle and lower class against one another, with little hope of change. But it is certainly possible to read Parasite through a more optimistic lens. One that suggests as long as we are not dead, we can still fight, and hope. That is the beauty of it and why it is my favorite film of the year.

So without further ado, here is the list of my favorite movies of 2019, along with some superlatives.

Honorable mentions: Rocketman, The Art of Self Defense, Jojo Rabbit, Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story

15. Ad Astra

14. 1917

13. La Gomera

12. Corpus Christi

11. The Souvenir

10. The Farewell

9. The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

8. Uncut Gems

7. The Irishman

6. Knives Out

5. Little Women

4. Marriage Story

3. Pain & Glory

2. Once Upon a Time...In Hollywood

1. Parasite

Best Actor:

Leonardo DiCaprio (Once Upon a Time...In Hollywood)

Runners Up:

Most Soothing Voice: Antonio Banderas (Pain & Glory)

Dude Absolutely Going For It In the Best Way: Jonathan Pryce (The Man Who Killed Don Quixote)

Best Actress:

Lupita Nyong’o (Us)

Runners Up:

Best Matriarch (TIE): Zhao Shuzhen (The Farewell); Cho Yeo-jeong (Parasite)

Most Wonderful, but So Lonely: Saoirse Ronan (Little Women)

Florence Pugh Award for Being Incredible in Everything and Having my Heart:

Florence Pugh

Funniest Scenes:

Al Pacino explaining to a courtroom that if attacked, “You charge with a gun. With a knife, you run.” (The Irishman)

Kevin Garnett praying to the gems in the locker room (Uncut Gems)

Best Rock:

The Uncut Gem (Uncut Gems)

Worst Rock:

Metaphorical Rock (Parasite)

Best Animal:

Dog (The Farewell)

Worst Animal:

Rat (1917)

Best Unplaceable Accent:

Daniel Craig (Knives Out)

Best sunglasses:

Matt Damon (Ford v. Ferrari)

Best Fit:

Richard Ayoade in a cheetah print blazer and striped shirt (The Souvenir)

Best Casual Mention That Your Boyfriend is a Secret Heroin Addict:

Richard Ayoade in a cheetah print blazer and striped shirt (The Souvenir)

Best Julia (TIE):

Julia Fox (Uncut Gems); Julia Butters (Once Upon a Time...In Hollywood)

Shortest King:

Stephen Graham (The Irishman)

here is a link to everything I have been watching where you can also find reviews and lists from the past few years. Thanks as always, if you read this far, or at all.

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ravenvsfox · 7 years

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Hiii the story you wrote about Andrew and Neil that I asked for awhile ago was awesome even though I know it was a hard one. I was wo dering if you can do 98 about Ronan and Adam?

(that is SWEET and also I bastardized your prompt a little >:))

98: “I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

He’s locking up the repair shop with his arms full of backpack and keys clamped between his teeth when someone honks behind him. He startles so hard that everything landslides down onto springy wet grass.

“Sorry!” Gansey calls, head popped outside of what must be the pig, if Adam could see past the dizzy glare of the headlights. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. You’d better come sit down.”

Adam breathes deep, mentally slicing his evening into pieces like he always does when an expensive car rolls up and his name is called. He stoops over to gather the textbooks spilling out of his bag, the scatter of his few precious pens and his bike lock.

When he looks up, Gansey’s switched on his high beams to passive aggressively hurry him along. He slows down a little out of halfhearted spite.

Adam tucks his backpack through the headrests to the backseat and then leans into the front of the car to look at Gansey expectantly. He’s making a face that’s about as close to a grimace as a Gansey can get.

“Ronan ran away.”

Adam blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Gansey breathes. Adam feels his newborn worry ebb and blink out.

“Well he’s at home, then. He’s not going to run far from the Barns.”

“That’s what I’d imagined, but he’s nowhere on Lynch property. Blue and I went on a merry hunt all afternoon.”

Adam feels his chest kick and fight and try to make a scene. “And you didn’t tell me until now?” He hates that his voice sounds like the raw insides of undercooked meat, like he’s delicate and bloody.

“Well we thought it was fixable, and you were at work—“

“I’m always at work, Gansey, and it’s never deterred you before. If my— if Ronan really did disappear—“

“He did,” Gansey says emphatically, and Adam frowns.

“Opal—“

“Knocked on my door at 6 am this morning holding this.” He produces a sheet of torn off looseleaf from his breast pocket and hands it to Adam gingerly.

Adam unfolds it.

Tell Adam I’m sorry.

He looks up, swallowing. Gansey’s watching him closely, obviously trying to gauge a response.

“At least he’s started apologizing,” he says weakly, a thin needle of hurt pinning his words together.

“It doesn’t seem like he’s starting anything,” Adam says, his anger and worry taking each other by the throat. “He’s giving up.”

“I think,” Gansey says, “that he’s very bad at grieving.”

“No one’s good at grieving. Not that you’ve ever had to know.”

Gansey recoils. He has a flighty look on his face like he would very much like to abandon this conversation if it weren’t taking place in his most prized possession. “I’m not the one that left, Adam,” he says pointedly, and Adam swears, apologizes, and climbs into the passenger seat.

“Take me to the Barns.”

Gansey looks at him sideways, and Adam would have the pity in his eyes for a punching bag. “He really isn’t there.”

“I know,” Adam says impatiently, “I’m going to steal his car.”

_____

It’s an apparently old thing that’s never known the taste of rust or grime, nestled in the Barns’ garage under a gauzy tarp. Adam unveils it and Gansey whistles — probably because he heard it done on a television program — and lays a hand on the hood. Adam swears he hears the engine stir under his palm, for a second.

“Adam,” Gansey starts, voice low. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Funny,” Adam says, inspecting the car for faults. “That’s what I said when I started dating Ronan.”

“That is not funny,” Gansey says, though he’s smiling grimly. “He could be hurt. Or lost.”

“Ronan doesn’t get lost by accident,” Adam says absently, and Gansey makes a tiny, choked noise.

“How enigmatic.”

“Hmm,” Adam agrees, and touches the steering wheel gently so that it sighs and turns over and comes to life for him, no keys required. “Sort of takes the joy out of stealing it,” Adam muses, stroking along the dashboard and hearing the car purr in response.

Gansey makes to get into the passenger seat and Adam stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry man. It’s got to be me and him.”

Gansey looks down and then smiles slowly. “Funny. That’s what I said when you started dating him.”

Adam can’t quite bring himself to roll his eyes when everything about his relationship is so far up in the air that he’s afraid to look down.

“Ronan will be back tomorrow with an apology for driving you to yet another early grave,” Adam promises. He glances at Gansey’s harried expression, orange and shadowed by bare lightbulbs. “I’m not letting him do this. He can quit and fuck up his life as much as he wants but he can’t— I know he doesn’t want to leave.”

He’s been fixing the house up one squeaky hinge at a time, and sometimes he asks me to name any colour I can think of and the next day the kitchen will be that colour and he thinks I don’t notice the pictures of us in the office and the way he smiles sometimes is the way the water swallows its temper tantrum and guides a ship home and he loves it here the same way I love him here.

“Where are you going to look?” Gansey asks, almost too serious to look at. Adam knows he resents the way Adam’s slipping off to find Ronan like he’s been waiting to do it, when Gansey himself has failed another search for something that matters to him.

“I don’t want to say in case I’m wrong,” Adam says quietly. If it were Blue she would say I don’t want to jinx it.

“Call me from his phone?” Gansey asks. “Tell him—“ he twitches a sad smile. “Tell him I’m furious.”

“Gansey.“ He looks up. “You know you’re his hero,” he says, because he thinks he might need to hear it, and it’s been true since they were at least sixteen.

Gansey looks away like he doesn’t believe it. “Tomorrow?” he asks.

“Tomorrow,” Adam confirms. He bumps knuckles with Gansey, considers, and then hugs him over the steady warmth of the car. Adam’s unnerved to find tears burning his eyes, and he can’t quite look at Gansey when he pulls away.

_____

He drives the strange little sports car hybrid straight to D.C., trusting the fuel source to be as improbable as the rest of it. He spends the time cranking bad trap music and seething, resenting the 6 hour round trip chewed from his sleep schedule and distractedly desperate for Ronan to be there.

It’s very nearly impossible to imagine something spooking Ronan enough for him to abandon his closest friends or his dependent little gem of a dream or the home that is actually his heart.

It’s conversely easy to imagine Ronan afraid, Ronan retreating, Ronan, Lynch, with the only other people who know how to be Lynches.

It might be a stretch if you’d watched Ronan and Declan box each other half to death last year, but it’s obvious to Adam. Declan is Gansey if Gansey fought his problems instead of swallowing them.

Ronan ran because he needed to be punched and he knew his friends wouldn’t do it. He ran because he was starting to heal and he wanted to look at some wounds up close and get the taste of his pain back. He probably didn’t even have a plan beyond setting fire to their bed and finding something that wouldn’t feel so much like a dream.

Adam shuts the music off, lets himself sob a couple of times, and scratches the leather steering wheel with his jagged thumb nail, just enough to feel terrible.

That note. The stupid cop-out note. Tell Adam I’m sorry. Tell Adam I’m a coward. I can’t because I know how wrong and cruel this is, another loss to notch into the wall of Adam’s cell.

He rolls into the outskirts of D.C. and swallows mouthful after mouthful of trepidation with headlights in his eyes. The traffic is orderly and thick for 1 am, and it wakes Adam up.

He finds Declan’s address from vague memory, like feeling around where you know a light switch must be in a stranger’s house.

Adam parks down the street where it’s free after 6 pm, and walks up to the towering rich brown apartment block, more obviously expensive than the buildings on either side of it. He hurries to catch the door inside from an apartment patron with cigarette smoke trapped in their leather coat.

He holds the door open with his foot and scans the neat last names of the occupants lined up next to buzzers and room numbers. He finds Lynch, touches it with his index finger and feels an unexpected rush of emotion suck his bottom lip in and fold his lungs up.

He allows himself to take the elevator to the eighth floor, and closes his eyes the whole way, letting sleep tug him down, an ever impatient child.

He steps out into the overly air-conditioned taupe-carpeted hallway, fancy sconces set out every few steps. 843 is almost directly outside the elevator, likely planned for Declan’s convenience. He swallows, considers how humiliating it will be if Ronan isn’t here, and knocks on the door.

No one replies for a couple of minutes. Adam listens very hard and knocks again, as sharp as he dares. Something moves behind the door, and Adam steps back to stare down the peep-hole. The door cracks, and Declan peers blearily out, the silken collar of a robe snug at his neck.

“Parrish? Why are you here?”

“Ronan,” Adam says, and swallows. He’d been expecting Ronan’s insomnia to bring him to the door. “I’m looking for Ronan, and we thought he might have come here.” He’s not sure if the ‘we’ implies Gansey’s influence the way he wants it to.

“He’s not here,” Declan says simply. His eyes are a single shade away from Ronan’s, just as dark and exposing.

Adam’s heart sinks and keeps sinking, the waste of it all dawning on him slow and ugly.

“He was earlier today,” Declan amends, opening the door a little further. “He was here when I came home, talking to Matthew like—“ he pauses. “I would’ve thought it would be Gansey, to come.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Adam says hollowly.

Declan eyes him shrewdly, not quite apologetic but not pleased. “I guess I should’ve known,” he says vaguely, and Adam narrows his eyes.

“Adam.”

He whips around. Ronan’s there, of course, like some sort of scowling, half-crying mirage. He’s a strange blot of dark where the hallway is pristine; he’s never going to belong here.

“A note,” Adam says immediately. Ronan looks away, back towards the elevator with its doors still open. “You’re a real dick.”

“Yeah.”

Adam feels his whole body try to collapse itself at the hinges, exhaustion on top of relief on top of anger. The way Ronan looks like he’s been in a bar fight with himself isn’t helping. The sweet flush of exertion on his neck is making Adam want to break a light fixture in half.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Declan asks, and Ronan snaps a look at him, a little more himself.

“I wasn’t planning on kidnapping our brother, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Declan look a little pitying, so Ronan glares at him.

“I was leaving in the morning.”

“Leaving for where?” Adam asks, and Ronan’s demeanour rips through, like caught fabric.

“I was still deciding,” he says.

“Was home one of the options? Was I?”

Adam can tell that Ronan’s deadly close to tears because he’s focusing too hard on keeping them in to say anything.

“I’m going to—“ Declan starts awkwardly, and Adam gestures for him to go, sparing half of one glance to the closing door before looking back to Ronan. He steps forward unevenly.

“I was trying to sleep in my car. I saw you go by and I thought I was dreaming.”

“Still feel like a dream?” Adam hisses, and Ronan’s mouth pulls.

“Nightmare.”

Adam tries to breathe evenly and fails. “You scared the shit out of Gansey.” Me, you scared the shit out of me.

“He has Blue,” Ronan says quietly, like he’s thought it through.

“And me?” Adam asks, voice curdling.

“You have both of them. Plus Opal fucking worships you, and the witches, and the Vancouver whatever. And you could’ve had the Barns, I left it all to you.”

Adam’s head spins. “So you—“ he kneads his temples. “So you just disappear, and you think I’m gonna live in your house with your dreams like that’s— normal?”

“Normal?” Ronan says, frustrated. “Obviously not, Parrish. I left you that shit so it wouldn’t have to be normal, so you could have something magic of your own.”

“How generous,” Adam says and Ronan curses.

“I don’t know what else I could’ve done. I was letting you go, because I sure as shit wasn’t making things easier for you, and I know things haven’t been easy for me.”

“So things aren’t easy.” Adam steps closer and clenches his fists before he lets his nervous, sleep-deprived energy get the better of him and shove Ronan or shake him or pull him close. “Obviously they’re not easy. We know this. We live this.”

“If I can find a way to make things easier don’t you think I should?” Ronan asks fiercely. “If I wake up and you’re gone for work and everything’s normal but I feel like dying, like actually dying without you, isn’t that a problem?”

“Ronan,” Adam says, hushed.

“What? Are you uncomfortable? Me too. All this shit in my head makes me real fucking uncomfortable, actually. Sometimes I’m in the middle of laughing and then I remember seeing my mom’s intestines draped over tree roots like litter.”

Adam stays silent, mouth pinched. He knows that people in neighbouring apartments must be able to hear but he can’t— think about caring.

“It’s not like I’m trying to be an asshole here, Adam, for once in my fucking life I’m actually really trying to be better and find a way to reel in some mental health before I try this with you.”

“You’re already ‘trying this’ with me though,” Adam says slowly. “You can’t date me for five months and then decide that I deserve better. You’re only using your half of the variables and you think you’ve solved everything?”

“We’re not testing a fucking hypothesis, Adam, I’m not going to stop hurting if I think a little harder about it.”

“Maybe not, but if you actually communicated with me, maybe we could tear apart your bullshit illogical ideas before they hatch. You’re not going to cure yourself by sweating it out in a desert somewhere. Your plan was going to be living in your car so that you can feel a little reckless and connected to your dad, and then you were going to drink until you felt better, felt less, and then you were going to miss home and realize that all you ever do is miss things, and then—“

“Adam, fuck, stop—“

“And then you’d come home and realize that you’d been gone for too long, that I’d been pissed for too long because you hadn’t bothered to explain yourself. And all you would’ve done is lost me. Lost Gansey’s trust, again.”

Ronan palms both of his eyes and stumbles back into the wall, and Adam feels his throat go very small.

“Talk to me.”

Ronan drops his hands and inhales, quick, almost a sob. “I don’t— I don’t know what to say.”

Adam shakes his head. “How about: ‘I want to thank you for putting up with me, Adam’. ‘I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and you’re constantly working to—‘”

“I don’t want to be the thing that you have to put up with, though, fuck,” Ronan interrupts. “I love you for doing it but I’m such an asshole for letting you.”

Adam sighs heavily, letting himself reach for the front of Ronan’s shirt and feeling his mouth wobble when Ronan’s hand comes up to his wrist.

“You can’t honestly think that I just put up with you.”

Ronan thumbs his pulse and Adam closes his eyes. “You said—“

“That was a bad joke, clearly. I love you, you know this. I tell you all the time.”

Ronan pulls him in the final step and Adam lets himself be hugged like slipping under fragrant bathwater and hearing everything work, letting the warmth soften your muscles. He slips his hand up to his jaw. “It’s harder than I thought,” Ronan says. “Believing someone when they say it.”

“I’m not lying,” Adam says indignantly, and Ronan presses his face into his hair.

“Yeah,” he says. “But what happens when you come to your senses? I’m shit difficult to be with.”

“We’ve been friends for years, and I was a bit convinced we were enemies before that. I already know that you’re difficult, that’s what I’m saying. You’re work. We’re work. Work is the only thing that makes anything matter. We’re not destiny perfect like Gansey and Blue, and I don’t want to be. Do you understand?”

Ronan kisses him so fast that Adam doesn’t have time to kiss back, and then he puts his face down in Adam’s neck and rocks them back into the wall. It’s all so endearing that Adam wants to cry again, with his hands buried in Ronan’s in the pockets of his jacket. It’s so immediately gratifying to be safe like this, to have extinguished a fire before it could burn anything down. He can almost forget how late it is or the now-familiar devastated look on Gansey’s face or the way there was a fork in the road and he chose Ronan over everything that made sense.

“Take me home.”

#PYNCH AM I RIGHT IT'S BEEN A DECADE I MISSED THEM SM #trc #the raven cycle #pynch #trc fanfic #richard gansey iii #prompt #mine #lettiekim #ask

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