Ronan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threesecrets) wrote2022-12-03 10:33 pm
threesecrets) wrote2022-12-03 10:33 pm
Entry tags:
deer country ic contact;
un: greywaren
[ text / voice / video / action / dreams / post-it notes ]
[ text / voice / video / action / dreams / post-it notes ]
TDM thread continued!
[Ronan was just genuinely lucky that Kavinsky wasn't getting handsy. It wasn't just that it was too fucking cold out to think about sex on the beach, but the fact that Ronan had only been here for a grand total of fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and Kavinsky already couldn't help himself. He was like a puppy that'd been kicked but had already forgotten where the source had come from or forgiven it as an accident. He was just so desperate for Ronan. He longed for him, ached for him.
His heart fluttered when Ronan cupped his face and kissed him again, and if Kavinsky's fingers didn't feel a little like popsicles, he would have been tempted to linger longer. He couldn't imagine how cold Ronan was, in comparison.]
Okay. Yeah.
[And yet Kavinsky stole one more kiss before pulling back.
He led Ronan to the boardwalk, where people were waiting with packs and blankets and furs--and where Ronan's raven seemed to be. Because that was a thing. He helped Ronan bundle up against the elements and even carried his pack for him. Though, he couldn't resist showing him his new lamp friends, the creepy little humanoids that groaned way more than was comfortable. He at least explained that they liked clothes and things to wear, and that made them happier and quieter.
Otherwise, he talked about things like how Ronan was going to be the first person invited over to his place, and how he was going to have to introduce him to Illya, Kavinsky's omen.
It was a brisk walk to the Cellar Door district and from there to Kavinsky's house. Illya, a dragon the size of a housecat, was waiting by the door when they came in. It trilled happily, shamelessly rubbing against their legs before slinking off somewhere in the house, likely looking for the warmest place to curl up.]
It's not bad, yeah? The house, not Illya.
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Which was better than the alternative.
He was happily charmed by the lamp friends, even if they were strange -- likely because of it. Ronan quickly remarking that he'd have to dream them some outfits. Chainsaw eyed them suspiciously, but Ronan was quick to admonish her that they were not snacks, at which point she seemed to lose interest.
Ronan hadn't been here long enough to mess around with the magic he could feel thrumming under his skin to try manifesting his omen, but it was like he could feel it; almost as instinctive as dreaming. The knowledge that he could, if he chose to. But somehow doing it in Kavinsky's living room felt a little bit impolite. He laughed a little when he saw Kavinsky's house, but it wasn't mockery. It was more like surprise, like he had to catch his breath to be able to process the things that the place made him feel. He takes his boots off by the door out of habit, the ones that had been stuffed at the bottom of the dufflebag that was his welcoming bag.
Just socks on the hardwood floors and worn-in carpets and it twists something in his chest so that he almost wants to cry. But he shrugs his shoulders and tries not to think of his dreamt mother in a place like this. Tries not to remember the last time he'd seen her.]
No, it's-- it feels like home. Not Monmouth. My parents had this farmhouse in Singer's Hills just outside of Henrietta. It was sorta like this. A little weird but comfy, more than just a house.
[He drags a hand over his face, trying to put himself back together and just curls his fingers into Kavinsky's hoodie while he tries to breathe like there weren't things just under his skin that Ronan was trying to not talk about. He takes a shaky breath and turns to Kavinsky with a smile, even if it's a little bit unsteady.]
Sorry. I like it, really. And Illya is pretty cool, too.
[He doesn't comment on the name, since he knows where it comes from, understands why Kavinsky might name it after his best-friend.]
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Ronan looked- he looked-
After removing his own shoes, Kavinsky went over to Ronan and draped his arms around him, pulled him in for a hug. Again, he was reminded of the fact he didn't know what the other dreamer had gone through, what had brought him to this point, how long it had been. But Kavinsky wanted to be there for him, he wanted to offer him a safe place, a space where he could work through whatever he needed to without judgment.
He didn't ask if Ronan was okay, because he was pretty sure the answer was something along the lines of 'not really'.]
If there's anything you want to talk about- I'm here.
[He knew he probably wasn't anybody's first choice for someone to spill their guts to, but he really was a good listener. He tried to be a good friend. He knew he didn't always succeed, but he tried all the same.]
I've got alcohol if you want something to drink. Or water.
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But instead, he pushes himself to make the hard choice.]
Yeah, okay. Alcohol would be good and can we-- if I'm gonna talk about this shit, I want you to touch me while I do it.
[He didn't even necessarily mean sexually, but on the other hand he wasn't ruling it out, either. With how miserable it all was, maybe it'd be nice to just stop talking and let Kavinsky show him what he'd missed when he pushed him away -- let him make it better. He reaches up, clumsily lacing their hands together, holding onto him for a moment.]
I suck at this shit. And it's just... it all sucks. I mean, you know that I die at the end.
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Okay. I'll grab the whiskey and we can talk in bed.
[He could even start the fireplace. Make it extra cozy and a touch romantic. As if what they were going to be talking about was romantic in the slightest, most likely.]
I suck at this shit too, so I'm not going to judge you for anything. [He smiled and it was slightly watery. Ronan being here with him was a second chance he would never pass up. Knowing Ronan had to die to be here though...it hurt him.]
I know.
[He kissed Ronan, soft and sweet, before pulling away so he could go to the kitchen and grab the bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. Then he gestured for Ronan to follow him upstairs, to the master bedroom.
The bed was massive, a king size, in a sleigh bed frame made of dark wood. Carved into the wood were stylized dragons. The rest of the bed was draped in blankets of varying degrees of soft from 'mild' to 'very', including a throw that was either faux fur or real fur. There were also enough pillows to prop themselves up on if they wanted to, so they could drink and talk while being cuddled up.]
Make yourself at home.
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Okay. Thank you.
[Both for not judging him and for being here, giving him the space to at least try and give voice to what had happened. He knew that Kavinsky had commented about the bed being huge, but it turned out to be even bigger and even more charming than he'd imagined. He liked the dragons and the furs and blankets and the way that it looked like it literally exuded comfort and warmth. Ronan ends up giving up the robes in favor of just boxers and a black tee-shirt; Kavinsky might have noticed the way that Ronan very intentionally folded up the hoodie and put it into his bag with the rest of his stuff.
But he climbs into Kavinsky's bed -- and god, but there's a shiver that goes through him just at the thought. He burrows under as many different blankets as he can manage, peeking his head out against the pillows as he waits for Kavinsky to join him with the alcohol. He'll sit up properly once he has a glass in his hands, but for the moment he's just enjoying the warmth, and the promise of Kavinsky's body heat, the promise of being allowed to cuddle up against him.]
So my mom, Aurora.. she was a dream. My dad dreamt her, I guess.
[Ronan talks about her in the past tense, which is never a good sign. He's also startlingly misinformed about the shape of his family, but he speaks to what he knows, the things that he'd been able to put together, at least.]
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After setting the whiskey bottle and glasses on the nightstand, he crouched down to fuss with the fireplace while Ronan got settled into bed. It took a bit more fussing than he would have liked, but in the end he was victorious over the fire, like he always was, and brushed his hands off before straightening up.
Another lifetime and he would've joked that Ronan's mom had been as beautiful as a dream, or something like that. But seriously--did this make Ronan a half-dream?
He noticed the use of past tense, so he was quiet for a moment as he climbed into bed next to Ronan, reaching for the whiskey.]
What happened to her?
[He could tell it was probably a loaded question, but Ronan had brought it up, so...Kavinsky could only hope it was okay to ask.]
cw: brief descriptions of gore
He didn't want to tell the story. But no, that wasn't true. He didn't want it to have happened. He wanted to have made a better choice. He waited until Kavinsky poured the whiskey, and Ronan drank is too fast, but he wanted the burn, the way that the heat of it pools in his stomach. He closes his eyes for a moment, and finds somewhere to sit the glass, before burying his face into the other boy's chest, squirming to get comfortable until he finds a position where he can feel K's heartbeat against his cheek.]
Well, she-- fuck. She fell asleep when my dad died. He knew and he fucking named her after Sleeping Beauty.. fucking asshole. But uh, the dream forest, right? I dreamt a place for it. So you could go there when you're awake, hold your dreams in your hands- if you wanted to. And I realized that if I took her there, she should wake up, right? I'd be putting a dream back inside a dream.
[Ronan's voice hitched, and he coughed to cover it, just closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't realize that Kavinsky didn't know what happened to dreams without their dreamer. But maybe he should have; Ronan had only realized that summer himself.]
So I put her in the dream forest. This nice little place, the rose garden. Except... I didn't know what was wrong at first. It was just this dream, and there was this black shit. It ate everything it touched. I remember waking up that morning begging to still have legs.
[Ronan laughs at it, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do. Needless to say: this isn't just bad for his mother, it's bad for Ronan, too.]
The next time I went to visit her, there was the same black shit from my dream on some of the trees. But I didn't fucking-- I didn't get it, I didn't know what was happening.
[He pulls his head up, distressed, looking at Kavinsky, almost desperate. Before, Ronan would probably have hit him, punched K just to feel it, just so that the other boy would punch him back, just so that he had something to do with the feelings that twisted in his veins. But this time he just clings to him, his breath coming fast as he cuddles into him like he might fall apart without him.
The trajectory is easy to read, of course: that whatever that black shit was, it kills her, and Ronan blames himself for it. But the details make it worse.]
We called it the unmaker. Because that was what it fucking did. So yeah, I knew it was getting bad. But I didn't know how bad it was. But it wasn't like I could stop dreaming. I needed it more than ever. And it was-- it was worse. Almost everything was gone, just... black melting towards the sky, taking everything it touched. Poisonous. The forest strangled, being stripped away, so little of it left.
[Ronan's eyelashes are wet, and there's the hiccup of something that might have been a sob if Ronan would have allowed it. Whether the tears are for Cabeswater or because he knows what follows is hard to tell. Ronan is just glad for the lingering taste of the whiskey in his mouth, it feels clear and real. Reminds him where he is, that he isn't there, and that it isn't here, that he's okay. His too-fast breathing seems to finally calm, and if Kavinsky is particularly attentive, he might notice that Ronan matches his breath to the other boy's heartbeat. Like it's the only thing that steadied him.]
The night horror. The white one that fought your dragon-- It shouldn't have been there, but it cares about what I care about, so... I found its remains. Torn apart, its ribs ruptured, and these sick mushrooms burst through every part of it. From it's skull to the viscera.
Have you ever.. dreamt something that doesn't really fit in reality, it's too much of a dream, and so it's hard to look at? They was like that, but in reverse. Like the absence of dreams.
[It's clear that he focuses on the night horror so much, because if he's talking about that, then he's not talking about Aurora. He glosses over Adam and Orphan Girl, just because it feels easier to just focus on answering the question.]
And then I found my mom. It was... worse.
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When Ronan picked his head up to look at him, Kavinsky rubbed circles across his back. He didn't have the faintest idea what the black shit could be, but he had a feeling he knew what direction this was going. He knew Ronan had a completely different relationship with his parents, and just because Kavinsky's mom and dad were horrible douchebags didn't mean he couldn't relate to the deep pain of losing a loved one.]
Shit, man, that's- I'm sorry. I couldn't imagine- [He shook his head.] You shouldn't have had to see that.
[Downing the rest of his drink, he put the glass aside so he could wrap both arms around Ronan.]
I know I'm a fucked up asshole, but no one should have to find someone they love like that. Or something- your bird thing, too.
So this unmaker...
[He hesitated, and when he continued, his voice was softer.]
Did it kill you?
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But he'd been wrong. So wrong.
He doesn't say thank you, but he murmurs appreciatively, breaths a sigh in the space between them as he leans into him, like he needed him even more than he'd known. Like he'd had to get this second chance in order to be able to see just how much he'd lost before. And then there's that question, and before, he'd probably have laughed it off, made some quip about how something was always killing him. But more important, just for a moment, is the fact that he saw Kavinsky flinch.]
For what it's worth, he's alive. I mean, he's asleep, but.. the Unamker didn't get to him or anything. He's at the hospital. His grandmother visits. They think he's in a coma from when his car crashed. But it doesn't matter if they take him off life-support, he wont die. I know it still sucks, but- he's alive. For all I fucking know, after I die Skov and Swan and Jiang figure out how to wake him up and they... I dunno. They find a way to be happier than we were in that world.
[He smiles, but it's bittersweet, looking up at Kavinsky, holding onto him. He's unwilling to let go, but he's trying. To give him something to hope for, to try and make the burn of what had happened to his best-friend not cut so deep. It's not something he's ever been good at, but he wants to help, and he's trying. Maybe in part because it means times to catch his breath before talking about dying.
He almost asks Kavinsky for another drink first, but he knows it'd be mostly cerebral -- it wasn't like it'd hit him fast enough for him to feel it. So instead he just sighs.]
I'm definitely gonna need another drink after this.
[But it's not bitter, not like he's agitated that Kavinsky asked -- he knew the question was coming, after all.]
So I was connected to Cabeswater, somehow. Not like it was dying so I was dying or something like that. But- the Unmaker reached through Cabeswater to get to me. Everything was fucked. Gansey is supposed to die to kill it. And his girlfriend was.. I dunno. Going to kill her true love with a kiss or some bullshit. Anyway. Gansey's going to die and I was literally the fucking last person to know.
[Yeah, he's still kind of frustrated about it. He can understand it from Gansey; talking about your own death was bullshit. And he's always been the type to push his own shit down so that he could worry about Ronan. It was Blue and Adam who had known and not told him that they knew his best-friend was going to die.]
Apparently the only way to kill the fucking thing is a sacrifice on the ley line. Old magic. Gansey dies and so it dies. Or that was the theory, anyway. But it happened too fast. It was like... whatever was fucked up in Cabeswater was spilling over into the waking world. We were driving, trying to get to Cabeswater, because Adam had this idea that if Gansey did the sacrifice there, we could bring him back before he was really dead.
[There's a sound in his throat, somewhere between a sob and laughter, but bitter all the same, and it catches in his throat, and his eyes are rimmed in tears. Because obviously Ronan hadn't lost enough already, had he? And this is both why he hadn't brought it up, because if he didn't talk about it, then he didn't have to face Gansey's death, didn't have to think about it being real. And, well. It's why this takes trust -- because ]
But the street was flooded with blood, and Gansey was trying to figure out what to do but-- it started pulling me apart. I was bleeding black from my face, so he freaks out, of course. I had to-- tell them not to fucking touch it. It dragged me under, into... nothingness. Fragments of time, nothing at all. And all I could do was try and grab a dream, a piece of light to push it back from unmaking me and bringing it back in the instant of being awake, before it would grab me again.
And my phone's ringing the whole fucking time, because it's not just unmaking me, it's... Chainsaw, Orphan Girl... Matthew. So Declan's going to pieces and there isn't shit that I can do about it because I'm losing. [His voice quiets, sad and melancholy and heart-broken.]
It was happening so fast. And all I could throw at it was -- reflex. Flowers and a crown of fire, stars and music, and it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. But I fought it. I tried. After you died, I-- Fuck. There were more than a few nights where I don't know if I would have.
But I did. It wasn't even for a good reason, really. But it was my birthday the night before, I'd dropped out of Aglionby, I kissed Adam Parrish, and it turned out that Declan was only seventy-percent as much of an asshole as I'd assumed. For the first time in months it felt like, I dunno. Like there was-- something, you know?
[He tries to be quiet, to not be obvious, but his body shakes, and he's crying.]
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So there's hope for him. Maybe someone'll figure something out.
[He had to believe that because the alternative was unbearable.
He listened quietly to Ronan as he spoke after that, eyebrows raising at the fact Gansey had a girlfriend. The girl who'd been at the Fourth of July? He'd already made the joke that came to mind in this moment, so he didn't repeat it. As much as he was tempted to.
It was easier, instead, to be bitter and feel a little lonely that Ronan had had this group of friends who were totally in on all the weird shit in his life, when Kavinsky had only had Prokopenko--and then Ronan. And things with Ronan hadn't gone so well.
He didn't even know who the hell Orphan Girl was, and he didn't particularly care (right now, at least), but the idea of everything Ronan had created being unmade through him was- it made him hold the other dreamer a little tighter.]
I'm sorry. [His throat was tight again with unshed tears and his voice was a soft murmur.] I didn't- I never wanted you to fucking die. It's not fair.
[But life wasn't fair, and Kavinsky was well aware of that. It didn't stop it from feeling especially cruel that the boy he loved had been killed, though. Especially not when his life had just been looking up again.]
Nothing is going to lay a hand on you here. Someone hurts you, I'll break their fucking fingers.
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[He says it as pointedly as he can, smiling at K like he can force that sentiment into his heart if he believes it enough.
But then he's talking about dying, and it's difficult for Ronan to remember that he's just been thinking about there being hope in the world given how black everything feels. Like it's inside of him. And he feels-- he doesn't know. There's a desperation that beats in time to his heartbeat, a need that he doesn't know how to put words to, even when it feels like a coil tightening inside of him.
There's this mix of relief and something unpleasant for having said it, having the weight of it off of his shoulders, so the question isn't hanging in the air between them. But none of it was pleasant to say, even if it did answer why Ronan had been so intense about retrieving Chainsaw. Because he'd thought that she was gone, that he'd lost her, and then she was here. Of course, given who Ronan is, he knows that its possible he dreamt her, but he thinks that he'd be able to tell the difference. And Kavinsky just hugs him tighter, and Ronan clings to him, his cheeks wet and he doesn't even know what he wants.]
I know. I'm just- I'm glad that I'm here with you.
[It sure beat the fucking alternative. Maybe it meant that he never got a chance to see if he could have made things work with Adam, but it also meant not having to figure out what to do with himself. He didn't have to find out if there was a life in the waking world that Ronan could tolerate, or if he was only made for dreams. He didn't have to see what he could tolerate pushing himself through without wanting to throw himself into the sea, and try not to feel like a loser.
Kavinsky says he'll protect him, that he'll break someone's fingers if they hurt him, and it makes Ronan-- fuck, he doesn't know the words. He just knows that he wants him. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, to try and scrub the tears from his face. So that when he looks up at him, when he smiles at him he can at least try and aim for something sensual -- although his eyelashes are still wet and his blue eyes are glassy.]
What if I want you to put your hands on me?
[He says it like he means it, not like a secret. Here there was no reason to hide it, to feel bad about it -- if there ever had been. He thinks it's the closest he's ever come to actually asking for something he wanted, needed. Where it was words and not just kissing Adam, not just the other boy answering in kind. He couldn't explain the details, but he can feel it. Something to anchor him, to make him feel real and alive. Asking for something because he needed to believe that there could be good things like this, too. That dead didn't have to mean hopeless.]
--Kavinsky. I need you more than the alcohol. I should've asked for it before.
[He slips a hand under Kavinsky's shirt. Not enough to be lewd, not groping against his chest, but he touches him all the same. His fingers tentative and exploratory, drifting up against muscle and then fingers splaying against the other boy's ribs. Ronan sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, his heart racing, so alive and awake and coiled up inside of himself that he couldn't imagine ever sleeping again. But it was okay, it was fine: did he really need dreams when his body felt charged like this? There existed the potential for pleasure and euphoria, like he could feel good if he let himself.
He forgot. He always forgot. Kavinsky made him remember.]
no subject
He wanted to love him- not just fuck him, but love him.
Smiling, he cupped the side of Ronan's face in his palm.]
Okay. [His breath came in a little shaky, and not just because Ronan was touching him, sweet and soft.] You know, all the bad shit that happened between us before is behind us.
[He slid down farther into bed, which was easier said than done really, but he managed it all the same, so he could kiss Ronan. He deserved all of the best things in life; Kavinsky could still give him those things. He could still shower him in affection and wealth and material things. And sentimental things, too. He just- he wanted so much but all he needed was Ronan.
Skimming his hand down Ronan's back, fingertips tracing over his spine, he pushed under his shirt. He rubbed small circles across Ronan's lower back, skin-to-skin, and did his best to pretend he didn't want to rush anything. More important than that was the want to treat Ronan sweetly.]