#how can you not like gansey he’s delightful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theravenkin · 3 years

Text

i have a hc that blue lifts. like powerlifting. especially squats, deadlifts, and bench. and she's fucking strong. she has a little gym with a squat rack, plates, and dumbbells (for good measure) in the fox way garage, and she lifts almost every day.

one day the boys show up at fox way after school and she answers the door, annoyed, sweaty, and wearing a sports bra and biker shorts. gansey freezes, the "why hello, jane" dying on his tongue. she and ronan both arch an annoyed eyebrow at him in unison while henry and adam snicker. ronan pushes past panicking gansey. "why are you more disgusting than usual, maggot?" "why are you more charming than usual, lynch? oh, why yes, come right inside, dickface." she leads them to the garage, which they've never been in and are in awe of because we all know the fox way garage has got to be a wonder of the world. she goes right back to deadlifting and gansey just stands there with his mouth open like an idiot in love. ronan and adam are like, damn, she lifts, of course she does. henry is like, damn, she lifts, no wonder dick is whipped. and adam--ok so here's the thing about adam. the fandom totally forgets that adam took "weights" as an elective his senior year--adam is like, damn, your form is so good, how much are you lifting? blue finishes her set and then they start talking about lifting and form and technique and whatnot because adam is a nerd and blue is actually really excited to show off her interest and her strength to them. ronan grudgingly joins in, but mostly because he doesn't want adam to think he's lame--he works out, but he uses dumbbells and does push-ups and stuff, he doesnt use a barbell and he's not one for careful form and mechanics, so he probably wouldn't be great at it, anyway.

but adam? he actually likes lifting a lot more than he thought he would. he likes the slow, methodical technique of it, he likes how he has to focus on being in tune with his body, how he can forget about his stress for a while, take it out on his muscles. so he's like blue, what the hell, we should lift together, why didn't you tell us you lift. ronan butts in- "it can't be that hard, your legs are so short you're hardly lifting the weight off the ground". he gets smacked by blue and reprimanded with a stern look by both adam and gansey (who has snapped out of his stupor by now). before gansey can be indignant, adam dryly points out that she's lifting her own body weight. ronan just grunts, but he's obviously impressed, and blue turns away to hide the fact that she's glowing with pride.

her and adam keep talking as she rearranges the rack, then gansey steps up and starts talking/asking questions about lifting like he talks to adam about cars (his version of flirting). he's lifted a little bit before, when he rowed, but it's been a while and he never enjoyed it much himself; how much is blue lifting, oh wow, how big strong muscles, um so how long have you been doing this jane?? and why haven't you shown me sooner??? blue smirks because she's never seen him blush this bad, wow he really is gone for her, wow a boy actually likes and admires that she's as strong (or stronger) than him

she gets ready to start benching and adam asks who's spotting her. "um...nobody? everyone's busy except orla, and god knows i don't want her to-" cue adam being appalled at this recklessness: "blue, are you fucking serious? you could get seriously hurt?? do you always do it by yourself?? why haven't you asked one of us??" and then cue blue getting defensive: "i can handle myself, thanks, i don't need any big strong men to hold my hand" cue gansey jumping in: "yes, adam, i'm sure jane is just fine on her own-" aaaaand cue ronan tired of the bullshit: "no, dick, when you bench you hold a really heavy object right over your face, and if you overestimate your ability to not drop said object, shit gets ugly." AAAND cue henry making gansey and blue uncomfortable because he finds it delightful: "yeah, richard, why don't you spot her? you'll get a front row seat to the gun show, you know *wink*" gansey flushes, and so does blue, a little, as she cackles. she flexes and makes little pew pews, like a dork, and ronan acts like he's been hit by her muscle bullets, like a bigger dork, and they all laugh a lot, and blue is so in love with all her dorks and they are in love with her and ahhhh happy kids

i might do a part two to this specific scenario bc ahhh i just love it

232 notes · View notes

tamquamalteradam · 3 years

Text

The Gangsey x Baking

Just imagine them baking cookies at Fox Way because Monmouth (thankfully) doesn’t have an oven.

Adam

“baking is a science”

follows the recipe exactly

makes sure to sift the flour instead of scooping it

"why the fuck don't we use the metric system it makes so much more sense"

the scent of freshly baked goodies is new to him, he pauses for a moment just to inhale and lock it into memory

actually cleans up immediately after, bless his soul

Blue

has been helping persephone bake since she was a toddler

basically a pro

"adam i know that's what the recipe says, but trust me this will taste better"

knows how to troubleshoot cookies and figure out what's making them too soft or too cakey

likes to invent new and daring flavors (some work out better than others)

Gansey

CLUELESS in the kitchen but tries his best to be helpful

"oh we could add a mint leaf on top!"

once he realizes that blue likes to experiment, he starts collecting and giving her interesting bits of info about spices and baked goods he's gathered from his travels

memorizes the Fox Way chocolate chip cookie recipe and starts stress baking in addition to stress henrietta model making

"ronan can you dream us an oven for monmouth that won't catch on fire if we forget to turn it off?"

Ronan

aurora baked a lot before niall died so ronan knows quite a bit, but it brings back too many memories for him to be a regular participant in Fox Way Baking Nights^tm

but he comes around every week or two to drop off fresh milk and eggs from the barns

opal goes all the time though, one day she drags ronan along and he ends up having a great time

still doesn't understand why you have to preheat the oven

"it's going to get hot anyways why can't i just put them in now?!"

Henry

curates the baking playlist <3 (madonna, katy perry, all the pop queens)

ties his hair in a lil unicorn sprout to keep it from falling in his eyes. or better yet, man bun henry?!

supports blue in all her weird ingredient additions

avid cookie dough eater

"richardman, i will not get salmonella. life is short and cookie dough is one of its greatest delights"

bonds with adam over disdain for the imperial system

Noah

kind of just sits and watches until it's time for decorating

uses copious amounts of powdered sugar and sprinkles because glitter

has a good natured competition with henry over "best decorated cookie", they offer up their masterpieces and the rest of the gangsey votes

i forgot from where i get the impression that Fox Way runs a daycare BUT noah would keep the kiddos out of the way and regale them with stories

#the raven cycle #trc au #the gangsey #adam parrish #blue sargent #richard gansey iii #henry cheng #noah czerny #ronan lynch #mine #headcanons

116 notes · View notes

stardustedknuckles · 2 years

Note

You maybe don’t care but re: the TRC post you reblogged, the series is absolutely one thousand percent about friendship. I remember Maggie Stiefvater talking about writing the series, she said she had a post it on her computer that said “Remember: the worst thing that can happen is they stop being friends”

I love TRC a lot and I just wanted to share that sorry if it was an overstep hope you have a lovely day/night/whatever is applicable

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

It's not an overstep at all! I'm delighted to hear from people who also loved the series because I was too afraid to try fandom again when I was reading them and I feel like I maybe missed out. The series is a treasure. It is first and foremost about friendship and any other kind of relationship that comes from within it is a natural progression thereof - but it is NOT the only reason for the friendship. I love that the series puts so much emphasis on how they are all a little bit in love with each other, whether stated in the text or just in the way they all interact.

Thinking about it a little harder I wouldn't be surprised if the found family of TRC laid the groundwork for how much I fucking loved the mighty nein honestly. There's a throughline I have trouble naming directly but which is extremely prominent. It might just be as simple as that - they are all a little in love with each other. What else is the point?

For a while there tumblr was obsessed with Pushing Daisies and the relationship where he couldn’t touch her or she would die but it was so, so obvious they cared for and loved each other anyway and made it work and - if you know you know.

I saw your tags on the post from before and I can confirm that Call Down the Hawk does very badly suffer from a lack of Gansey and Blue (and Henry and Noah) but they are never far from Ronan’s mind and it helped me to look at it as a kind of story set in between when they’d meet again. I haven’t read Mister Impossible yet but soon.

#asked and answered #the raven cycle #listen the plot holds up okay it's not like a bad plot #I just don't care #i love every person in that series #including the side characters #the gray man is one of my favorite media characters full stop

12 notes · View notes

akumastrife · 3 years

Text

strike the match // dream pack (trc)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: just slutty business, swearing, dubious consent bc canon appropriate drugs Fandom: Raven Cycle

Relationships: the dream pack but everyone’s sharing Proko as K watches, as things should be

Back!! on my bullshit!!!!

{Also on AO3}

The rowing team shirt was faded and ragged, tiny cigarette burns in one shoulder, and stretched entirely ill-fitting across Prokopenko’s broad chest.

It was never meant to fit. It wasn’t his.

The sleeves had been carefully cut off—speaking to Lynch’s theft of it from Gansey—and then the bottom half ripped off in a show of violence that could only hint at Proko’s subsequent theft of it when Lynch had left it last.

Three power play tug-o-wars to upset Kavinsky most.

By the way Proko’s lip was puffy and bleeding—wrapped slack around Kavinsky’s dick, relaxed between his knees, just breathing, jesus fucking christ—Swan thought maybe Proko was winning.

It was easier to stare too long at the disaster of a shirt, than at Proko himself with his busted mouth, wondering how good it’d feel.

Kavinsky scraped his thumb nail over the head of the match, already blackened and used up. It flared up again anyway, and he put it out against Proko’s shoulder. Another singed hole in the shirt. Swan had watched the cycle four times over already, primed for each spark.

“You just gonna gloat?” Jiang asked, accusation cutting quick through the heady lack of talking over the music, and the headier smoke filling the basement. It wasn’t quite pot. Too white, too fragrant, like a building smoldering in its own embers. Close enough for Skov, so it was good enough for Swan.

“Yeah, K, you got him looking so pretty,” Skov jeered. “How long it’d take you to train him like that?”

“Probably got him all doped up,” Jiang said.

Kavinsky said nothing; eyes saying nothing from behind those stupid white sunglasses. He took another drag on his joint, and then shifted his feet—the scrape of soles too loud for how the music rattled Swan’s bones—as he dragged Proko’s mouth off his dick by a hand in his hair.

Swan felt Skov wince in sympathy from beside him on the couch.

Proko gasped like he hadn’t breathed in hours, eyes fluttering and lips parted slack. It was such a damn shame he was so pretty. “Can I?” Proko asked, voice ragged and ruined already.

Kavinsky tugged him up to claim his mouth in a painful kiss, his own lips stained red when he pulled back. There was something… tender, in the soothing of his tongue along the cut in Proko’s lip. But that was all before he was releasing Proko and pushing him towards the two of them on the couch.

Jiang whined in disappointment.

“Fuck yeah,” Swan breathed and got up immediately to make room. His fingers twitched against his own thighs, wanting, eager, knowing to wait. He really wasn’t any better than Proko.

Were any of them?

He watched—eyes feeling too wide to match how his ribs cracked in expanding to make room for his lungs—as Proko slid over Skov’s sprawled thighs, folding himself down to let Skov have his mouth in a desperate kiss.

“Fuck,” slipped out on a groan. He adjusted himself through his sweats, glancing over at Jiang doing the same. “I wanna try his mouth.”

Skov glanced over Proko’s shoulder, pupils blown dark, stupid long lashes fluttering in that look of want Swan knew all too well. “What do you think, Proko?”

Proko moaned, high and breathy and utterly domesticated, what the fuck. Proko used to put up more of a fight, used to grin razor sharp and delight in tussling until he was put on his stomach and made to enjoy the surrender of it.

What the fuck had Kavinsky done to him?

He’d think about it later. Much later, he decided, as Proko staggered up and turned in Skov’s hands. He slid back, pupils and lips both parted around darkness and wanting, letting Skov handle him however he wanted. Gave into Skov’s spider-like fingers running eager up his ribs, down around his stomach and hips, like he was warming him up. Proko’s stomach tightened and flexed—eager.

Proko reached forward, hands clamping painfully tight around Swan’s hips to drag him forward, eyes trained on him with a single-minded focus that made Swan’s mouth bone-fucking-dry.

He groaned, knowing already he was doomed, and stepped up between both of their parted knees—Skov’s tilting out to push Proko’s more obscene—and fumbled at the worn knot of drawstrings, only looking at Proko, at Skov’s eyes flashing dark and hungry over Proko’s shoulder, at Jiang’s desperate reflection in the cracked mirror behind the sagging couch.

It was a fast and heady race between them to see who could get Proko first. Skov laughed brightly as he tugged at Proko’s cut offs, reaching under him to pinch Swan’s thigh as he pushed his sweats down. Swan swatted his clever hand away and then lost everything in a gut-punched curse, bowing over Proko’s mouth immediately around his dick.

“Jesus,” he hissed, nails biting into Proko’s shoulders. “Lemme fucking prepare myself, dude, fuck.” He hadn’t been ready; ready, yes, but it was fast and a shock and he was sensitive and Proko’d forgotten to not use his fucking teeth. He wasn’t like Jiang. He didn’t play like that. He preferred teeth in other parts of him, not his fucking cock, christ.

“Hurry up, then, and catch up,” Skov mumbled, rolling his eyes. He did something with his hands that had Proko whining and buckling at all his joints like a broken doll.

He had to stop thinking about Proko that way.

“How the fuck are you already—still?—slick, dude?” Skov said, split between awed and alarmed. He glanced up at Swan (looked up up up, eyes dark, teeth catching his bottom lip and farther to grab his snake bites—Swan wanted to fuck that mouth too. He would. After.) “I got four fingers in ‘im already, can you fucking believe?”

“What?” Jiang snapped. He struggled up and careened across the basement, crashing into the couch beside Skov and craning in to look. He inhaled fast and stuttering, tongue flicking out like he wanted a taste, tongue stud flashing in the low lighting, and Swan wanted to let him just so he could watch.

He fisted a hand in Proko’s hair, humming pleased at how Proko whined immediately at the pull, sinking farther down, taking all of him, and swallowed several times until Swan was seeing stars.

“Fuck, K, does he not have a gag thing anymore?” Swan asked. He locked his knees, hitching his hips forward, and rolled his head on his neck to look over at Kavinsky. At their king. But in the way a monster might sit above a fae court, volatile and untouchable.

He had to stop listening to Jiang ramble about his fantasy books.

He couldn’t see Kavinsky’s eyes, but he felt him looking back all the same. “You must’ve really worked on him.”

Kavinsky said nothing; chapped lips curling around the joint again and face turning to fix on Proko rocking back on Skov’s fingers, the sharp arch of his back

Judging, maybe.

Measuring his form to some standard Swan never wanted to know. K’s brows furrowed slightly. Dragged his thumb over the spent match head (Proko’s tongue dragged devastatingly over his slit.) His thumb was nearly as black.

“I’ll have him gagging,” Skov warned, and snapped Proko back by the hips, pulling him down onto his dick. Proko flinched and slid off Swan’s dick with a gut-punched sound so wounded that Swan almost came on the spot with nothing more than the flat of Proko’s tongue.

Skov swore low and drawn out, eyelashes fluttering. And then sunk his teeth into the back of Proko’s shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jiang whispered, fumbling his pants off and peeled one of Proko’s hands off Swan’s hips to put it in his own lap, groaning loud and obscene. Not even the thumping music could cover it.

“Loud bitch,” Swan muttered, meeting Skov’s eyes and jerking his chin at him. Skov grinned, glittering sharp like a viper, and stuffed his fingers into Jiang’s mouth.

“Don’t be a bitch and bite,” Skov snapped. He didn’t have to. Jiang probably wasn’t even listening anymore.

Swan snorted. He pulled Proko back onto his dick, watching Skov more than anything. “How’s he?”

“Like a fuckin’ dream,” Skov groaned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Swan saw K smile. Just a flicker. Maybe that was just the hazy air.

Swan rocked his hips faster, bending over Proko to catch Skov’s mouth in a slick kiss. He felt Skov starting to smile, taunting, that asshole, and bit his lip to head that shit right off. He liked kissing Skov, fucking sue him, and he tasted better when he was getting his dick wet.

Thick smoke rolled over them, snaking into nose and mouth, and Swan nearly choked on it. Kissed Skov to keep from coughing: harder, meaner, greedier. Tried to forget about Kavinsky watching and couldn’t; felt his eyes on them like claws into flesh. The smoke was sweeter, musky. Rotting wood, maybe, or something that smelled like desperation and hunger.

He bit into Skov—

He was so hungry. For Proko’s tight throat and Skov’s pierced mouth. For violence and the simmering heat that bloomed whenever he put someone on their back. Arousal built on itself, climbing up his spine and pulling taut as wire.

“You just gonna sit there?” Swan asked, harsh and breathless. He glared over at Kavinsky. Hitched his hips to push harder at Proko to make him choke, relishing in the wet, gasping noises and how it made Skov breath harder, tone edged higher.

Kavinsky smiled. He had too many teeth—

Swan blinked—

Kavinsky wasn’t smiling at all. He shifted, slow and like his body was made of shifting and crumbling branches, and turned the music up higher. Louder and grating. He stood, taking another drag, holding it until he’d stepped over and blew the smoke into Swan’s face.

Swan blinked fast, inhaling against his better judgment and shuddering at the acrid tang of the smoke curling in his lungs, fucking Proko’s mouth a little faster.

“Fuck yes, baby boy,” Skov groaned, strained and right on that fucking edge. Swan knew it too well, knew exactly what he sounded like, tasted like, felt like inside and out when he was hanging on the precipice of losing it. Proko keened, moving faster; Jiang inhaled fast and sharp, chewing on Skov’s fingers and hitching his hips up into Proko’s fist, tight and wet.

Swan wanted to do something very stupid.

Something scraped sharply right in his ear, making him twitch (making his dick jump) and he turned his head to see Kavinsky still standing there, bright match in his hand. The flame flickered hungrily, licking charred wood and charred flesh.

Kavinsky’s sunglasses stared at him, unreadable and expectant. Held out the match. An offer or a demand, it was all the same.

Swan opened his mouth.

The world went up in flames.

#the raven cycle #the dream pack #prokopenko #kavinsky #skov #swan #jiang #my writing #sharing proko #I forget all their ship names but they all fucking okay #i got ansty and wanted to listen to trashy music and write about semi-aggressive fucking okay dont @ me

9 notes · View notes

robobee · 3 years

Text

anyways idt we're getting a trc show but I have so Many Ideas on how to introduce henry cheng to the audience (but not the characters) in a way that cements him as Someone Who Knows Whats Up - maybe even establishing him as a possible antagonist/suspicious character- until his interactions and development w the main cast circa Blue Lilly

some of my thoughts (i actually would do a storyboard/script but nobody reads Henry content so. rip) : if we assume books=seasons

> s1: henry established as an Aglionby Boy immediately - rodansey pass by, cheng waves to gansey or squints after them or is significantly Looking in the background. its subtle . he's surrounded by a very Aglionby gaggle of snickering boys: blue sneers at them across the nino's parking lot,etc etc. he’s not named but its shown that he is Popular

> s2: the scene in tdt where ronsey confront K. ronsey leave, and a sleek fisker pulls up and here he is- dressed like a mf model (also the first time we see him out of uniform) - but his aesthetic veers a little too into villainy color palettes. dark on dark? in a YA drama? kavinsky sneers at him, still seething from the Ronsey RoastTM. "Henryyy Cheng," K introduces him finally, sarcastically goes, "why the fuck is there so much royalty on my court tonight?". we establish that K, Gansey and Henry are all aglionby royalty in different ways (re: you're a prince among men/the difference between us and Kavinsky is that we matter) . Henry just shrugs, because he's here to designated-driver a very unsober Jiang. as he's slinging his arm over his shoulder, he speaks very casually. "Joseph, what's that they said about violent delights?"

K spits. "Something about fires and triumphs and dying. Fuckin’ Shakespeare." here we give K minor depth : acknowledge the romeo/juliet vibe he's trying to have with ronan. acknowledge its stupid.

"huh," Henry says. "is that where it's from? I saw it on westworld." Henry is still very much a vague raven boy on the surface : this is his version of President Cell Phone. jiangs probably saying some dumb drunk shit he ignores. but he's doing a kind action, speaking politely - using the same name gansey does - but the audience can't tell if he and K actually like each other. (they don't. this is henry still gauging Kavinskys “number”.) it’s reasonable to expect K to spew some other toxic shit as henry shepherds jiang to the car. scene ends, back to gangsey.

> s2: the ending of dream thieves. camera very deliberately snaps to henry looking at the fight with a very un-vague expression : he’s sharply staring - the first time the audience sees this side. we know that he’s seeing everything. maybe he pushes away some innocent bystanders or whatever idk . or maybe he turns and his gaze unerringly goes right to gansey. we still cant tell if hes a Good Guy or not

>s3 : BLLB scenes as is.

- the scene with adams perfect circle, henry stares at him Very Sharply as he takes the coffee ganseys made and raises an eyebrow at gansey like Hey Bud You Seeing This & hes like oh shit but then henry just shrugs like man, time to sue! haha! - the car scene, especially : isnt it suspicious that henry is exactly where he can ask gansey specifically for help? wack. - can include additional hostile interactions w ronan or adam. - noah pulls some Spooky Shit in public - nobody else even looks in his direction but henry is the only one who looks right at it. he makes More Knowing Eye Contact w gansey or blue across the lot. his friends r all laughing like teens but henry is still until someone jabs him and he turns back. gansey makes this Hmm face but they have more pressing matters like noah going beast mode

- i think some trk scenes need to be included in s3, because TRK is a pretty dense book vs BLLB. perhaps the toga party scene can be pushed to final ep/s

#this is . long but VERY PASSIONATE #trc #the raven cycle #henry cheng #maggie stiefvater #the raven king #7 way venn diagram meme.png #maggie please PLEASE hire me to storyboard i will work for free give me a script and a budget #trk #raven cycle #my post #i didnt do s4 bc my head hurts but. do u see

39 notes · View notes

happyandticklish · 3 years

Text

Smile, Parrish

Notes: Based off the anon suggestion for Noah & Adam tickles, because the prompt was too cute not to write.

Summary: Adam is working himself too hard yet again, and Noah decides to give him something else to focus on.

“What are you doing?”

Noah’s voice, spoken softly and suddenly over his shoulder, startled Adam out of his earlier intense concentration. Having been dead for several years now, the former had the eerie quality of near silent footsteps that made it too easy to sneak up on others. Adam glanced down at the mess of papers in front of him, math homework he had been putting off for a while now, what with the sudden increase in Gansey’s quest for Glendower. Now though he only had tonight to finish it and he had been staring at the same problem for almost an hour by that point. Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair and tugging at it a bit too harshly, frustration catching up with him.

“Nothing. Homework.”

“Homework?” Noah repeated, peering over his shoulder. With his face so close, Adam could feel his breath on the back of his neck and he instinctively drew his shoulders up. “Maybe I could help?”

“No,” Adam said too hastily, then repeated in a calmer tone, “I mean, no, no thank you. I got it. I just need to finish this last problem and then I’ll be done.”

Noah wrinkled his brow. “It looks like you’ve only done one problem, thus far.”

Adam glared down at the worksheet, hating the truth of that statement. It was late and his brain wasn’t working. He was supposed to be staying the night with Ronan but instead he was sitting here doing homework while the other lay passed out on the couch, after falling asleep waiting for him. Gansey, the other resident of Monmouth Manufacturing, was experiencing one of those rare nights where the insomnia waned and allowed him to finally get some rest; Adam had considered waking him up earlier, as Gansey was much better at the subject than him, but the other needed sleep and Adam could get by without him, if needed.

Noah didn’t sleep, and thus was the only one awake to witness Adam’s outburst of exhausted annoyance. Noah took in the look on Adam’s face, the dark circles under his eyes, the sweat sprouting on his forehead from concentrating too hard, the clench of his fingers around his pencil. “You seem exhausted.”

“I’m not,” Adam snapped, trying to ignore how every time Noah spoke that close to his neck it sent goosebumps prickling across his skin. “I’ll be fine, Noah. Just go to bed, or go do… I don’t know, whatever the fuck you do at night.”

Noah frowned. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Look, I’m sorry okay, I wasn’t trying to—can you stop breathing on my neck, please?” he huffed at last, his shoulders nearly parallel to his chin by now. “It tickles.”

Noah’s eyes widened as though he had been unaware of his actions, and he stepped back a bit. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” As he watched Adam lower his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, an idea occurred to him. Possibly, this could go very wrong. Possibly it would be just the thing Adam needed. Noah was willing to risk it regardless.

Adam had returned to his work by now, either assuming that Noah had left already or would soon leave. With that creeping silence that made others around him nervous, Noah managed to move behind Adam. He reached out hesitantly with one hand and wiggled gentle fingers against the back of the other’s neck.

The reaction was instantaneous. A yelp, followed by Adam’s head slamming backwards in an attempt to trap Noah’s hand. “Shit! Ah, Noah, that tihickles!”

“I know,” Noah agreed simply, moving closer and using his other hand to torment the sides of his neck, so that no matter which way Adam twisted he couldn’t escape him. “It was supposed to.”

“W-Well stop thehehen!” Unwilling giggles were pulled from Adam with each twitch and scrape of those nails against his skin. His neck had always been abnormally ticklish, and when combined with Noah’s eternally cold ghost fingers, he found himself quickly forgetting all methods of defense. He chose instead to simply squirm and cover his mouth with his hands, trying to prevent the involuntary noises.

“This is for your own good,” Noah informed him, smiling a bit at the sight. “I read an article somewhere that said tickling was good for mental health. If I tickle you, maybe you can finally relax and stop stressing out so much.”

“Thahahat’s s-soho stuhuhupid!” Adam spluttered, reaching a hand back finally and attempting to slap him away. Noah merely danced his fingers out of the way, easily avoiding his grasp. “Ihihi cahahan’t rehehelax ihihif yohohou’re tihihickling mehehehe!”

“Is that not relaxing you?” Noah inquired innocently, fluttering his fingers over his ears and prompting a shriek from the other.

“Nohohohoho!”

“Hmm…” Noah mused, eyeing his ribs which were exposed on either side of the chair. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong then. I’ll try somewhere else.”

“What do you mean—ahaha, shihihit!” Adam’s confused reply was cut off as hands dug suddenly and vigorously into his sides, vibrating into his lower ribs. “Nohohohoah!”

“What?”

“Thahahat reheheheally tihihihickles!”

“Does it?” Noah replied brightly, happy at his accomplishment. “Good.”

“Nohoho!” Adam denied, giggling ecstatically in a way Noah had never seen him laugh before. “Ihihihit’s nohohot gohohood!”

The strangest thing about being dead that Noah had found, aside from the fact itself, was how his emotions were often muted. He could feel the vague stirrings of happiness or anger, and the pull of grief, but it was almost like an echo of reality as opposed to the true feeling. There were moments, however, moments when significance made the echo more solid, anchoring the feeling to him. As he watched strange, annoyed, bookish Adam laugh like this, more a boy now than he had ever been allowed to in his childhood, he felt the gentle glow of happiness settle in his chest.

“You should smile like this more,” Noah said in his abrupt, honest way. “I know the others think so, too. It makes you seem less scrunchy, more—open. I like open Adam.”

Adam flushed, the compliments only working to fluster him more. “W-Wehehell, ohohopen Ahahadam cahahan’t tahahake muhuhuch mohore ohohof thihis!”

“Bullshit.”

Hands grabbed his wrists suddenly, pulling them far above his head and thus taking away what little defenses he had. A quick glance upwards told him the hands belonged to Ronan. Evidently he had been woken up by Adam’s laughter, which, to be fair, was entirely not his fault. His gaze was met by a taunting grin that had Adam’s heart stuttering in his chest. It was truly unfair how with a simple glance Ronan could unravel Adam completely.

“I happen to know,” Ronan said, enclosing his wrist in one arm so that his other hand was free to poke and scratch at the upper part of his armpit that always had Adam shrieking. “That you can handle much more than this.”

“Trahahahaitor!”

“I also happen to know that you don’t hate it as much as you claim.”

“Really?” Noah asked curiously, peering down at Adam. “Do you like being tickled?”

“Yohohou guhuys ahare sohoho mehehean!” Adam protested, arching back as Noah’s fingers closed around the sharp bones of his hips.

“Don’t listen to him, Noah,” Ronan said. “He just needs a bit more provocation to admit it. What do you think?” The question was directed at Adam. “Do you want me to show him what it takes to make you admit it?”

“No, no, Rohohonan, noho!” Adam protested, his giggles becoming nervous and anticipatory. “I k-knohow whahahat yohohou’re gohonna dohoho, ahahand ihihit’s nohot fahahair!”

“Don’t be a child, Parrish.” Ronan handed over his arms to Noah, who accepted them cautiously but firmly after a glance from the former. Ronan leaned down, resting his hands calmly on each of Adam’s knees. Every once in a while he would twitch or curl his fingers lightly, causing Adam to jerk away from him with a strangled yelp.

“Don’t,” Adam warned him, trying to make his voice serious despite his growing smile. “C’mon, seriously, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Ronan asked innocently, turning his hands so that his thumb just brushed against the place on the inside of his knee, his fingers curled against the bone on the other side. Adam tensed, sucking in a sharp inhale of breath. “Can’t handle it?”

Adam waited in heart-stopping anticipation, his smile a flushed grin now. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Adam shrieked as both his thumb and fingers dug in suddenly sending shocks of feeling scurrying up his legs. He twisted in his chair and tugged hard at Noah’s grasp but was unable to free himself. He kicked his legs out wildly, but no matter which direction he pulled Ronan’s hand followed him, insistent and oh-so-devastatingly ticklish.

“RoHOHOHohonan!” Adam squeaked, head thrown back in wild and uncontrolled mirth. “Plehehehease! Dohohohon’t!”

“Don’t what?”

“Tihihihickle mehehehe!”

“If you insist.”

“WahAHAHAhait nohoho!”

As Adam fell into another round of helpless laughter, Ronan shook his head incredulously. “I still don’t know how you fall for that every time.”

“He’s quite beautiful like this,” Noah said, tilting his head to one side. Ronan threw him a quick glance, eyebrows drawn down in careful discernment, but after realizing the comment was meant in simple honesty he allowed himself to agree. “How come I never realized he was ticklish?”

“Foolish Noah,” Ronan said, pinching his way up and down his knees and delighting in Adam’s hiccupy squeaks. “Parrish is far too prideful to admit to something as human as being ticklish. It’s why you have to force it out of him. It’s the only way you can help him be true to himself.”

“Nahahat hehehelping!” Adam screeched, managing to clip Ronan on the shoulder with one foot. Ronan winced, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

He grabbed Adam’s leg suddenly, pulling it out taut and revealing the sensitive underside of his knee. Adam’s eyes widened and before he could protest nails were scratching over the spot, leaving him in a fit of giggly hysterics. “Stahahahahap!”

“Will you admit that you love it?”

“Ihihihi—” Before Adam could answer in another denial, he felt the soft fluttering of fingers against his neck again, Noah evidently feeling left out of the fun, and he scrunched his shoulders up desperately. “Ohohokay fihihihine! Ihihihi lohohohove ihihihit!”

“What do you love?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Beheheheing tihihickled! Ihihi l-lohohove beheheing tihihickled!”

“And will you take a break?” Noah added, scratching behind his ears and pulling a frantic squeak from the other.

“Whahahat? Thahahat wahahahasn’t pahahart ohohof thehehe deheheal!”

“It is now,” Noah said happily, though he did admit he would be a bit disappointed to stop. It was nice seeing Adam like this—carefree for once in his life. “So?”

“Fihihine! I-I’ll tahahake ahaha breheheak!”

“That’s all you had to say.”

Ronan and Noah both released him and Adam slumped back in the chair, breathing heavily. “You guys suck.”

“You love it,” Ronan teased.

“What’s going on out here?”

They all whirled around to see Gansey, illuminated by poor lighting in the doorway, rubbing tired eyes. He blinked at the scene in front of him, Adam’s flushed, giggly countenance and Ronan and Noah’s triumphant one. Noah had froze at the sight of him, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ronan merely sat back on one hand, a confident, lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Hey Dick,” he said, emphasizing the word in a way that implied a capital. Gansey frowned, as he had expressed many times in a variety of expressive words his distaste for the name. “We were just getting Adam here to smile. He needs to relax more.”

“Oh,” Gansey said, before pausing as confusion set in. “Wait what? Smile? How?”

Ronan’s grin inched wider into something dangerous and he stood up, sauntering over to the other. “I’m glad you asked, oh Gansey, my king. Why not let me show you?”

The room was soon filled with the sounds of laughter once more and in the chaos of it all Adam managed to gather his books and sneak off to Ronan’s room. His plan had been to study in secret in the sudden distraction of Gansey’s presence. As he sat down on Ronan’s bed, however, he found his head hitting the pillow before he could stop it, and sleep like an unwanted stranger whisking him away.

Maybe he had needed that break after all...

#tickle fic #noah czerny #adam parrish #the raven cycle #ronan lynch #gansey #pynch #richard campbell gansey iii #trc #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #requests #fic request #not really a request but im gonna tag it as one anyway because who cares

37 notes · View notes

toast-the-unknowing · 3 years

Note

stay on the line is so cute!!! as always, how you write ronan & blue delighted me ("Not bad," he says. "She liked the present I got her more than the one Gansey did."

"What'd you end up getting her?"

Ronan smiles with genuine pride. "A switchblade."

It's so sincere, is the thing. This is a smile that is zero percent laughing about the joke I'm setting up and one hundred percent satisfaction at a job well done. Adam wonders who the hell Gansey is, that these are his best friend and girlfriend." says so much about ronan and about blue and about ronan & blue and I love it so much)

also ""Well don't start now." He's finally able to wrench his gaze up. Ronan's got a blush to match the one Adam can tell he has. His jaw's clenched, too, a bit of that just got laughed at defensiveness.

"Are you saying I'm stupid?"

"I'm saying you're impulsive," Adam clarifies. "I'm also saying I like that."" destroyed me

You are very sweet, anon, thank you!

6 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 4 years

Note

Can I request 7, 9 or 78 for pynch? I liked all of those, haha -- uncertainglobalfuture

~Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 This came out way to soft lmfao. |

A Reblog is worth a thousand stars<3 | Buy Me A Coffee?

~78. “Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love to~

When Adam’s seven years old his first grade teacher asks him why he never has a lunch. He tells her he forgets to get up early enough to make it. Three weeks after that she asks him where he got that nasty bruise on his left arm. He tells her he had wiped out on his bicycle. Two months after that she keeps him inside for recess and asks him to join her and Principle Jenkins for a little while. Adam didn’t mind, he never could make a friend as easily as the others— too distant and too reserved and too withdrawn for the lot of them. But then they start asking about Adam’s home life and parents and whether he needs help or not, all rinsing hands topped off by tense smiles that don’t touch their eyes.

Adam stays aloof— doesn’t bother to panic. He’s been trained by his mother for countless years on how to reply to these sort of probing questions. Has long mastered the owlish blink to his eyes, and diffident smile to his lips. Knows exactly what to do so that they could pretend that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He knows full and well that none of them actually want to tackle this conversation, and knows that it’s pointless because he’s a Parrish, this is all there is.

This’s all there ever will be.

He doesn’t tell either of his parents about the meeting, is too afraid of their reactions. Besides he doesn’t see much of a point when only a week later they’re packing up and leaving this small town in the dust just to settle in another with the same pasted grins and eyes that slide off from truths that are too ugly to confront.

On Adam’s first day of classes in Henrietta elementary he comes to the conclusion that not everything is stuck being the exact same when a boy with cornflower eyes and dark curls pads up to him and tells him that he’s Adam’s assigned buddy.

“What’s a buddy?” Adam asks, pinning him with a one eyed squint, totally incredulous.

“’S someone who shows you round the classroom and playground.” the other boy answers with an imperious tilt to his head. “Duh.”

“I Don’t need a buddy,” Adam glares at him. He doesn’t yell because Robert yells and Adam hates it when he yells.

“Who peed in your cereal?” The other boy, Ronan Lynch, asks sourly, indignant hands on his hips.

“I don’t need a buddy,” Adam only reiterates, spindly arms wrapped tight against his chest, his jaw set and stance rigid.

“Fine!” Ronan huffs with an emphatic stomping to his foot for good measure. “Hope you get lost with all the big kids then!”

“Fine!”

Later that afternoon, during free time, a blonde boy Adam doesn’t even recognize gleefully shoves his gross ball of slime into Adam’s face with an emphatic gusto. Adam only escapes the situation when Ronan storms over towards them to interrupt.

“Get lost Tad.”

“Can’t hog the new kid Ronan!”

“Uh-huh! Mis Sanchez made me his buddy.”

“Oh,” Tad only pouts, totally put out, before ambling off with his aforementioned ball of slime.

“Uh, ah thank you.” Adam says, wide eyed as he stares at a still moody looking Ronan.

“Wasn’t to help you! Me and Noah need someone to play trains with us, now c’mon.”

He pivots around, marching towards the back of the room, and Adam is only sorta shocked that he actually follows suit.

Adam isn’t sure how, but impossibly— remarkably— Ronan Lynch never quite leaves his orbit for the rest of that year, or any of the ones that follow.

He isn’t sure if they’re friends, has never had a friend before, which might be sorta embarrassing considering he’s in the fourth grade now. But in Adam’s defense no one else really caught his attention, certainly not keeping it for as long as Ronan has somehow done.

If Adam’s forced to think about it, he thinks that they are.

They sit besides each other for class every day, and Adam isn’t even annoyed when Ronan pulls funny faces his way instead of listening along. Yesterday for kickball Ronan chose Adam first, even before Gansey or Noah, and Adam has only ever liked adventuring outdoors with Ronan, even if it meant scraped knees and dirt on his pants that he shakes off the best he could before going back home to the trailer park.

But even still, it couldn’t hurt to ask him, right? It’s a simple question that calls for a simple answer. It’s just to double check that Adam’s not just some leach grabbing for anything he can.

Robert hates it when Adam asks questions, tries teaching him to stop being so god damn nosey about everyone’s business. Adam’s never seen it like that. Question yield answers, and answers usually make someone smarter, so without questions the world would just be stumbling around, utterly ignorant to everything. He much prefers how his first grade teacher had called him inquisitive, it makes Adam feel smart, proper, like he isn’t just annoying everyone, more like there’s a purpose to it.

That said, Adam knows that he’s inquisitive as all get out, so he doesn’t even think twice before asking Ronan point blank the following day at recess if they’re friends or not.

Ronan scrunches his nose at him, lips curled morosely.

“Stop being a weirdo and come play four square with us.”

Adam reasons that’s as much of an affirmation as he’s gonna get, and decides to only shrug before following him to play along.

The first time Adam goes to Ronan’s house for a school project, it’s a sunny autumn afternoon, and they’re fresh faced sixth graders. It’s the last year before embarking on the looming threat of junior high— A practice trial of sloppy make out parties and getting buzzed off cheap wine coolers swiped from someone’s parent’s licker cabinet— Gansey’s determined to make it the best year yet, and of course Ronan enthusiastically agrees because he and Gansey are really brothers in all but blood, so of course he’s going to entertain all of Gansey’s grandest of whims. And Noah always loves a good tie.

Adam still thinks it’s miraculous that they’ve adopted him into their little, mismatched brotherhood. That just as often Gansey looks at Ronan for a joke, he glances to Adam to ask a question with a furrow between his brows. And Noah says that Adam’s the only one who could keep up with him on a skateboard, even if his is a pathetic hunk of plastic he had bought for a quarter at a nearby thrift shop. And Ronan—

Well Ronan’s a different beast entirely.

He’s loud and abrasive and yells when he’s feeling to passionately and curses like a sailor even before they’ve hit teen hood. On paper he’s the precise sort of boy Adam never wanted to entangle himself with, the sort of boy that might’ve scared him in another universe. In a universe that Ronan wasn’t his assigned buddy on that fateful day, and a universe where Adam didn’t see how he doted on his brother a year behind them in school, and how he always fed the birds outdoors with bread from his lunch, and how he sometimes looks at Adam with such caution and care that it makes him blush.

No, Adam hates the thought of that world, and he refuses to think on it for any longer.

“C’mon ’s just a bit further of a walk,” Ronan tells Adam with a slight tug on where he’s got a hand encircled around Adam’s smaller wrist.

The first thing Adam thinks of when he finally sees the mythic Barns is that it’s a castle from a storybook.

It’s all sprawling fields filled with daisies and a large, but cozy looking house that’s got the backdrop of such blue, blue skies behind it. There are even vines that snake up its entrance, a rosebuds that accent the doorway.

The inside is much of the same, a managed mess with coats slung on the sofa and family portraits hanging on the walls, and the scent of fresh baked cookies wafting in the air.

It’s a home, loving and lived in and ringing out with warmth.

There’s a pang to Adam’s heart. He’s never felt the chasms that divide his and Ronan’s lives so acutely.

“Love,” a low, melodic voice crows from what must be the kitchen. He recognizes it to belonging to Ronan’s mother, the golden and beautiful Aurora.”Is that you?”

“Yeah Ma!” Ronan shouts back, crass as ever and making it so Adam winces back. “Adam’s here too, we’ve got a biology project to do.”

“Oh how splendid,” Aurora says with genuine mirth as she steps into the living room, splattered in flower and glowing with pure delight.

“Sorry for the intrusion ma’am,” Adam mumbles even though his own mother cuffs him on the back the head every time he does so.

“Nonsense,” she admonishes with no real heat, just fond exasperation. “Now Adam darling, how does quesadillas sound for dinner?”

Adam pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze. “I won’t stay for dinner ma’am, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Course you’re staying for dinner dummy.”

“Ronan, language,” Aurora chides, but the reproach sounds more like a formality than anything else. “Adam sweetheart we have more than enough to go around, you’re more than welcome to stay. In fact you’re the only friend of Ronan’s that hasn’t come around for a meal, and I know Niall would love to get to know you along with me.”

Adam feels his cheeks heat even brighter. He knows that she didn’t mean anything by the fact that they have more than enough to go around. It definitely wasn’t intended as any sorta dig, it’s just the way wealthier folks speaks. They’ve never needed to want for anything. Besides, it would be awful of him to stay here and eat their surely amazing food when he knows there’s a three day old meatloaf that his parents would be heating up tonight.

“I should ask my Ma.” Adam says mildly, a sneaky out. He’s sure his parents won’t let him stay past dinner time, and at least this way he won’t inadvertently insult Aurora.

“We’ll make her say yes,” Ronan squawks, indignant at the thought otherwise. Because of course he is, with the parents he got, Ronan probably can’t even fathom eating leftovers or being made to finish all the household chores or being ignored up until either of his parents feel like a good yelling. “Ma, I know he’s skinny but trust me he eats like a freaking maniac. I don’t even know where he stores it!”

“I’ll make so many you boys won’t know what to do with yourselves,” Aurora chortles, and Adam isn’t sure if he imagines the soft, sympathetic look she tosses his way or not, but prefers not to marinate on it. “Adam there’s a phone in the kitchen, you can call your folks from there.”

Shockingly, his mom says that Adam can stay.

“Your dad’s at a poker night, so come back before he does and don’t forget to walk Luanne’s dog tomorrow morning or else the doe’s coming from your pocket.”

Adam’s so stunned he doesn’t even have it inside of him to remind his mother that he doesn’t have a scent to his name.

The rest of that afternoon is spent roaming Ronan’s truly massive backyard, and playing a game that Matthew’s made up using a kickball, a spoon, and two eggs from the chicken coop. Later on Declan helps them with their diorama, and he and Ronan are allowed to eat in his room while watching an old black and white movie in the small television he keeps atop a shelf cluttered with about a thousand other nicknacks and broken toys.

And it’s wonderful.

“He’s just such a prick.”

Adam doesn’t have to ask who Ronan’s talking about.

He’s working beneath an old Ford truck in the small auto repair shop that he somehow finessed getting a job inside of even though he’s only fifteen and a sophomore and frankly, always fucking exhausted.

It’s become the norm for Ronan to ditch Gansey and Noah and join Adam in the dingy, rundown garage on his work nights, mostly just to keep him company. Sometimes he’l bring over homework and read the chapter for whichever class they’ve got the next day, and sometimes they just chat and listen to the old rock station playing from the speakers. But tonight’s one of those rare nights when Ronan is well and properly pissed, so he’s just slamming a bouncy ball against the wall over and over again while ranting about Declan, and Declan’s stupid new internship on the hill, and his stupid new girlfriend, (The third fucking Ashley in a row! Can you believe that!) And has now moved to berating Declan’s slicked back hair and clothes and his know-it-all attitude.

“He’s just such a— A—“

“Prick,” Adam says, snarky as all get out as he slides from under the car and moves to dry his hands from the oil that’s leaked onto him. “You’ve said— Like a thousand fucking times.”

Ronan pouts, arms crossed against his chest. “Well I don’t lie Parrish.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth quirks up reluctantly. “But you do pout, quite moodily too.”

“Oh piss off,” he hisses venomously, flipping him the bird for good measure.

Adam only rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

“Is this really because you think Declan’s a prat, or ’s it cause he’s moving out for a whole semester.”

Ronan glares at him with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and a weaker man might’ve shuttered back. But as it is, Adam is not a weaker man, and besides— He’s been on the receiving end of that look, and a thousand other even more menacing ones a countless number of times, it’s part and parcel of being Ronan’s best friend.

“You bite your whore tongue Parrish.”

Adam laughs, appreciates that even when he’s bone weary, Ronan can always do that. Make him feel lighter and dazzling and smile like they were still kids and things sucked, but they just sucked a little less.

“You’re gonna miss’m.”

“I said shut! it!”

“Ronan loves his older brother, oh this is good! I can’t wait to tell Gans!”

“I will punch your lights out you little runt!”

“Oo, big words from a big man.” Adam waggles his brows, unimpressed.

“You don’t know the people I know Parrish, I can get you offed with a snap of my finger!” Ronan says, laughter glittering in his pale eyes. The same color of the blue sky that first day Adam visited the Barns.

“Hah,” Adam snorts, finishing up closing shop for the night. “You know me, who’s a workaholic. Gansey, who’s too busy getting off to old dead kings to care about any sorta espionage mission. And Noah, who’s stoned about 98.5% of the time and built like a twig. You’ve got nothing.”

“I feel like I should be affronted on Noah’s behalf,” Ronan notes contemplatively.

“Oy, can you think on this great moral dilemma on the way to the McDonald’s drive through? I just got paid this morning and have been craving their fries from the dollar menu.”

“Oh fine you heathen,” Ronan huffs, acting oh so bereft. “Who gives a shit about my problems when your stomach is obviously much more important.”

Adam tsks as they meander to Niall’s old BMW that Ronan begged to keep, declining to buy a entirely new vehicle like Declan had gotten for his fifteenth.

“Oh and this provisional license means that I can’t have you in, so if any coppers cruise by just duck down like you’re giving me some road head, yeah?”

It’s Adam’s turn to glare at him. “Keep it up and I’ll have to tell Aurora bout your potty mouth you delinquent.”

Ronan’s smile goes sharp at that, like something very lethal and very dangerous. Adam pretends it doesn’t go straight to his gut.

“Naughty Parrish. And here I was all prepared to save you like a damsel if the coppers actually did stop us.”

Adam scoffs. “Please, that’s not a favor to me, you’re so thirsty to get arrested, it’s pathetic.”

“Well a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t last a day in the slammer,” Ronan goads, pulling the car into gear.

“You’re an idiot, and a prick.” Adam tells him bluntly.

“Tell me something I don’t know beautiful.”

Adam rolls his eyes so hard that he’s afraid he might’ve sprained something.

“Fine, you’re lip piercing makes you look like a douche.”

“But it’s so bad ass though!”

“Yeah, to like ten year old white boys in the suburbs.”

Ronan clutches his fist to his chest, feigning distress. “Parrish you’ve wounded me, I’m bleeding out! A curse to you and your family! And your family’s cow too!”

“Eyes on the Road maniac.” Adam scolds, trying his damndest not to let his mirth show.

Ronan buys himself half the menu and pays for Adam’s happy meal under the guise that it would be too difficult to have separate orders. But he conspicuously doesn’t ask for the receipt, and Adam tempts down the flicker that wants to fight him on it.

They end up on a cliff overlooking town, devouring their food in a sickeningly short amount of time before lying back on Ronan’s car, staring up at the constellations while the radio plays an acoustic song about love and slow dancing and Adam is too busy staring at the infinitesimal space that’s dividing their pinkies on the glass to pay attention to anything else.

“You— Erm, you have nice hands.” More than a bit surprised, Adam flinches back and quirks a brow at him in question. “They’re, erm rough, and you’ve got long fingers,” Ronan explains, his face going bright red and his bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Is that right?” Adam asks, a slow smile gracing his lips as he gazes over at Ronan’s sharp profile being kissed by starlight.

“It is,” Ronan says, giving one, quick nod and not daring to look over at Adam quite yet. And God, he’s such a mess.

Tentative, Adam links their pinkies together and tilts his head so that he’s resting it on Ronan’s shoulder, hearing it when Ronan lets out the breath he seems to have been holding in for quite a while now.

“Right,” he says in a near whisper.

“Is this good?” Adam asks, only teasing him slightly.

“This is fucking fantastic Parrish.”

“You know that I—“

“I hoped as much,” Ronan admits, a bit flushed.

“But everything’s just so crazy right now,” Adam continues to explain, focussing on the velvet skyline and the full moon pouring over the pair of them.

“Your folks,” Ronan surmises, his jaw set and his open fist clenched so tight that his knuckles go white.

“Ro— Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love too. Please.”

“Course Adam, of course,” Ronan says worriedly, hurrying to collect him into his arms. “Whatever you want, whatever you need. I’m here.”

Adam’s entire body goes relaxed, and he puts a gentle hand over Ronan’s heart. “This, this’s all I want.”

The smile Ronan gives him in turn is blinding.

Adam’s mother tells him early on— tipsy and slurring as she puts him to bed after one of Robert’s moods— not to expect much from this world, this life. She tells him not to get his hopes up with the folly of making it big one day. Of leaving the dust and brimstone that molded him in the first place, tells him it’s a wasted effort.

“You’re not better than us Adam,” she says his name like she meant something else entirely.

She says his name like she means plague, like she means ruin, like she means tragic. She says his name like she sees all the twinkling possibilities she once dreamt of touching slowly collapse right in front of her, like it was his fault that she’s fettered to a life composed of cold silences and loveless touches and being stuck existing in the underbelly of society. Like it’s his fault the light in her eyes fractured day by day until it shattered permanently.

“The teachers don’t know what they’re talking bout, think you’re just some quiet, bookish kid.” She continues to bellow, tiny fists knotted in the material of the threadbare blanket he’s wrapped within. Adam feels nauseous at the scent of beer masking her hot breath. “They don’t know how much of a pain in the ass you are! How you just keep revving your father on for the fun of it! How you’re a fucking disappointment.”

Adam apologizes because he thinks that’s his only option. His mother snarls like she can’t stand to look at him for any longer. And nothing changes because nothing ever does.

But now, sitting in Ronan’s beloved BMW— bloody and battered and barely conscious— Adam thinks he can maybe, finally escape it.

The next time he opens his eyes he’s in an abrasively white hospital room, and he can’t hear out his left ear, and everything aches. But Ronan’s besides him, and that makes everything bearable.

“I hate them,” is the first thing Ronan says when he realizes Adam’s awake and has already pressed the button for the nurse to come in.

“I’m not going back,” Adam tells him, more convicted than he’s ever felt before.

Ronan squeezes his hand in silent thanks and it’s the first time Adam notices that Ronan’s broken three knuckles from the impact against Robert’s face, and he’s surprised that he’s only worried that Ronan’s hurt himself.

Them falling into their relationship was one of the more natural changes in Adam’s life. He hadn’t realized how gradual, how fated their romance actually was. How it’s been building for nearing on a decade.

How Ronan had always chosen Adam first since childhood— through it all. How Ronan is one of the only people Adam has always trusted implicitly. How jealous Ronan had been freshman year when Adam took Blue to homecoming and how relieved he became when Blue and Gansey began going out later that year.

Adam knows that he and Ronan aren’t some sort of soulmate love story, that they can get on each other’s nerves and have fights and disagreements too. But that makes it just the more real, makes it something solid and tangible and something Adam can’t imagine living without.

But the night his Harvard acceptance letter comes is only three months after Niall’s death after a drunk driver had hit him on the slippery January streets. Ronan’s already decided to stay home after graduation to watch out for his Ma and to keep the farm going.

“I can go somewhere closer by,” Adam tells Ronan that night, tangled in one another and Adam’s threadbare sheets in St Agnus, his hearing ear against Ronan’s chest and the pair of them shirtless and clinging onto each other like they needed the closeness to breathe.

“Don’t be stupid Parrish,” Ronan says in a excruciatingly soft cadence, one of his fingers tracing small hearts down Adam’s spine. “You’re gonna go off and be brilliant, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Adam asks lowly, his voice thick with emotion and his own hands beginning to tremble.

“I’d wait for you for forever and a day.” Ronan tells him with such conviction that Adam’s left speechless, only tilts his had upwards so he could capture Ronan’s mouth and snog him nice and thorough.

“God I love you.” And it’s the first time Adam’s said as much with so many words, but he’s not afraid, not anymore.

“I love you too Parrish.”

Buy Me A Coffee?

#pynch #adam parrish #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK #cowboyformitski #this is so late #But ILY BUBBY

54 notes · View notes