Mother’s Day was a bitch. At least it was for the Lynch Brothers and, by extension, Adam Parrish. Crammed into their usual pew, Declan, Matthew, and Ronan sat with bent heads as the priest delivered the special homily recognizing and honoring all the mothers, and especially the Holy Virgin Mary for bringing our Lord and Savior into the world to save us all. Ronan dug his fingernails into his wrist and focused on that instead of crying. Matthew was sniffling. Declan had a hard, removed look in his eyes. Aurora Lynch had passed less than a month ago.
Adam sat on the steps outside of the St. Agnes apartment, listening to the drone of the pipe organ and waiting for Ronan to emerge. He had not seen or spoken with his mother in months.
Blue Sargent was currently deep into the 300 Fox Way Mother’s Day Madness. It was a day when all the childbearing women of the household were given free reign to order about their offspring. Typically this meant asking for extravagant breakfasts, massages, and calling out a never-ending chorus of “fix me another drink, will you?” Blue and Orla were grimly making mojitos in the kitchen, the fresh mint giving Blue all sorts of flashbacks to time spent with Gansey. Orla was quickly getting frustrated with her lack of attention.
Gansey had declined to visit DC for the usual champagne brunch at his family’s home. His mother was, of course, deep into her political campaign and she had been most disappointed when Gansey couldn’t come, especially because it would mean he that was missing her fundraising gala. Helen had called numerous times to berate him but Gansey had only replied that he could not leave Ronan alone.
Ronan was not alone, even if Gansey had left, he wouldn’t have been alone. He had Adam now, as well as Declan and Matthew. It was shocking and wonderful to spend time with Declan and enjoy it. But the reunion with Declan reminded Ronan of one awful truth: Declan had never been reunited with their mother. All those trips to Cabeswater—bringing Matthew along but excluding Declan—Ronan didn’t think he would ever forgive himself.
Henry Cheng was spending the day with his mother and he rather wished that he was not. His mother was…complicated. What did one do when the person who birthed them and raised them went through a radical transformation and became a Power? Henry spent the morning at his mother’s side, entertaining himself with RoboBee while she did the things that she did. Lots of phone calls were involved and meeting with intense looking men in suits, including former hitman, Mr. Gray.
After the morning service at St. Agnes was over Ronan fetched Adam and the two of them went back to the Barns. Matthew and Declan joined them. Later, Gansey arrived with Blue and Henry. Ronan had stripped out of his Sunday suit and was sprawled on the lawn in his usual attire of shredded jeans and black muscle tee. Adam was lying on the grass next to him and he was helping Opal make crowns out of daisies and clover and Queen Anne’s lace. Chainsaw stalked around the trio, making her usual raven commentary that only Opal and Ronan could decipher. Declan was grilling and Matthew stood at his elbow, chattering away and holding whatever Declan told him to. The scene was remarkably similar to Ronan’s eighteenth birthday party except that they all looked tired and sad.
Blue settled down next to Ronan and showed him how to blow on a blade of grass to make it whistle. Ronan, being the musician of the bunch, mastered the skill and before long he and Blue and Opal were composing grass symphonies. Adam contented himself with chewing on a long stem of grass and applauding. Henry and Gansey gravitated to the grill. Gansey quizzed Declan about his apartment and the dream business. Henry, whose mother was tied to the trade of dream objects, supplied his insights. Matthew got bored and ran over to play with Opal; they had ganged up on Ronan and before long the three of them descended into a loud, tangled mess of limbs.
Adam watched with a fond smile, silently wondering at these strange dream creatures. He wondered most of all about Ronan, who had given life to both Opal and Matthew, becoming, in a sense, mother and father and brother to them. He had also given life to a host of dream animals and the recently departed Cabeswater (Adam felt a pang remembering the spectacular forest). With a deep, heartfelt sigh Adam decided that Ronan was probably one of the few people alive to know, on some level, what it was like to be a god. Gods made something from nothing, populating the world with their creations. With all of his imagination and power and his ability bring forth the perfect partner (rather like Niall had done with Aurora), Adam was again overcome with the knowledge that Ronan had chosen him. He was dating a god…
Declan interrupted the wrestling match to announce that lunch was ready. Everyone gathered around the picnic blankets. There were hotdogs and hamburgers with the fixings, potato salad, chips, slaw, baked beans, deviled eggs, fruit, cupcakes, tea, and a pitcher of mint mojitos that Blue had smuggled out of the house. The food came from the grocery store deli but the cooks there were good, getting the down home food just right. Everyone loaded up their plates and dug in. Opal was soon a mess and Ronan fussed at her and tried to clean her face off but she kept batting his hands away. Ronan gave up with a frustrated huff and Blue laughed, asking if he was finding child rearing to be difficult. Ronan smirked and tousled Opal’s hair, “You have no idea.”
After their bellies were full it was time for remembrances. Declan started. He talked about Aurora, getting choked up as he told about how she always knew when he was having a bad day, how she would find a way to make him smile. Ronan did not talk and Matthew cried. Adam said that Aurora had shown him what a mother should be and that he had loved every moment he had spent with her. Blue and Gansey chimed in with their memories of golden Aurora visiting with them beneath the boughs of Cabeswater.
They did not speak of the mothers who were still living, though they did raise a glass in honor of mothers in general. At some point Henry made the comment about Gansey deserving recognition for mothering them all through their years at Aglionby. Adam asked if Gansey wasn’t more of a father figure and Ronan answered, gruffly, that he was both. “He nags like a mother but then he gets all authoritarian like a father.” Gansey looked affronted but Blue agreed, teasing him for his dad jokes and dad fashion choices. It was decided that Gansey could be an honorary mother and Opal solemnly placed the flower crown she made on his head.
The day drew to a close and they went their separate ways: Blue returned to 300 Fox Way, Adam to St. Agnes, Henry to Aglionby, and Gansey to Monmouth. Declan and Matthew stayed with Ronan at the Barns. The brothers sat on the front porch and watched the sun set behind the trees. Opal raced around the lawn, chasing fireflies and shrieking in the language of the trees. Ronan found it ironic that Opal, originally named Orphan Girl, had since gained an unlikely family while he and his brothers had become the true orphans. They were all the family they had in this world.
Matthew nodded off and Declan woke him and sent him inside to sleep. Before Declan retired for the night he placed his hand on Ronan’s shoulder and squeezed. “Mom would be proud of you,” he murmured. “Dad, too. You’re a hell of a guy, Ronan, and I’m so damn lucky that you’re my brother.”
Ronan sat on the steps until it grew uncomfortably cool. Opal was curled up next to him, her head in his lap. He watched as the lightning bugs settled down and the deer crept out of the woods. It seemed impossible that the world kept going now that Niall and Aurora were gone. He felt a twinge in his heart and recalled the ghost of a boy who had been his friend. Gone but not forgotten. Ronan sighed deeply and picked up Opal, cradling her to his chest as he went into the house. Ronan put Opal to bed, brushing the hair out of her eyes, and watched the dream girl sleep. So many things had changed, were still changing, but Ronan would not forget the loved ones who had passed on. He scratched at the still itchy skin over his hipbone where the tattoo text spelled out remembered. As long as he and his brothers lived Aurora would not be forgotten.
It wasn’t that Ronan didn’t love Adam; because, fuck, did he love Adam.
It was that Adam was this being that was so profoundly and entirely something else, something so worthy of every form of admiration Ronan feared he would never be able to give Adam, that Ronan couldn’t imagine calling it merely love.
It was more than infatuation with the idea of Adam, with the idea that his perfect hands and his perfect lips and his whole being wanted Ronan the way Ronan wanted him.
It was more than that, than wanting the feeling of standing on the porch with his mouth captured in Adam’s, more than that feeling of perfect hands tangled in the back of his tshirt, more than fingers tracing down throats and tattoos and hipbones.
It was more than a feeling.
It was a knowledge that existed in Ronan’s subconscious, a sense of rightness.
Rightness in the way that Adam did things, as simple as sitting in the passenger seat of the BMW with music blaring, or lying tangled in the sheets of Ronan’s bed, mouth agape and eyelashes fluttered onto his cheekbones, dreaming.
It was the way Adam grabbed Ronan’s sweatshirt to wear when he couldn’t find his own, the way Adam glanced towards him when he thought Ronan wasn’t looking, (Ronan was always looking).
So no, Ronan didn’t just love Adam, or want Adam, or have feelings for Adam.
Ronan and Adam were a pair that went together without reason or explanation.
They just existed, these two seperate entities filled with so much passion for one another, and that was enough.
My little sister, Amelia, went missing 4/20/2017 in Davis County, Utah, with a dead phone with no minutes, and no change of clothing. She’s sixteen, pale, thin, about 5'3" with short, black hair. She often shaves the side herself. She may go by Haven or Kya depending on her acquaintances. She has a variety of ear and facial piercings, some real, some faux, so an accurate description is difficult. She has a tattoo of a crescent moon near her hipbone, and another tattoo of a mix of the Cancer and Gemini horoscope symbols on her wrist. She was last seen when my mom dropped her off at her school in Kaysville. She was meant to go to a job, or an interview afterward, and never showed. The school, the place of employment, and the police have all been contacted. Neither parent knows the last names of her close friends, and she doesn’t have any current social media accounts. She’s been off her medications, cold turkey, ever since, and could be in very real danger. If she’s found, please contact the police, or send a message. I’m stuck on the opposite end of the state, and there seems to be very little I can do from here aside from this. Please boost. I want my sister back, and I want her safe.
Finally, I have my human!impala fic that I promised everyone about 2 weeks ago!
Originally, it was a simple case that just involved getting rid of a witch that was taking out the women that used to be in her fiancé’s life. Sam and Dean were used to this type of case without the help of Cas, so they left him to his own devices. What they didn’t count on was the witch finding a personal interest in Dean.
Dean has always been… a flirt, to say the least. However, it was always harmless flirting. The day he met Connor, however, Dean’s flirting turned out to not be so harmless.
“Y/N, is that you?” Your head hurt from nodding, being crushed into a tight hug by Calum, the tears in your eyes flooding like a tsunami of emotions.
“Oh my god, you’ve grown so much!” It’s been four years since you’ve seen Calum. After the meet and greet, he had told you to stay backstage and watch the concert from there. Once the concert was over, Calum immediately introduced you to the boys, taking you to dinner then back to their hotel room to ‘reconnect’, as he calls it. The boys had all warmed up to you, well except Luke. He seemed to be rather bothered by your abundance of tattoos, but slightly drawn to it. You stayed away from him, afraid you have somehow made him uncomfortable or pushed him away. He seemed to stick to Michael a lot, Michael kept murmuring things into his ear and seemingly reassuring him of something. Calum kept rambling on and on about things that you have missed out in his life, Ashton and Michael randomly throwing mild banter amongst the midst of it, creating the interesting and comical feeling to the whole atmosphere. Your eyes kept being drawn to Luke, seeing him play with the hem of his shirt. “So, Y/N, how many tattoos do you have?” You were ripped away from the trance you were under from staring at Luke, looking back at Calum, Michael and Ashton, even Luke seemed interested. “Huh? Sorry I didn’t catch that.” Calum cleared his throat, “Um, if you don’t mind sharing, how many tattoos do you have?” You frowned, thinking about it. “Um, wait let’s count.” You lifted your shirt, pointing to Calum’s tattoo on your ribcage. “One,” The light bulb on your hipbone, “Two,” A tattoo with two hands holding each other, “Three,” the counting went on for about three more minutes, “and mine, the tree, a total of forty-seven.” The boys were impressed, but Luke’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Wait so Calum is one of them?” Luke, for the first time that night voiced his opinion. “Yeah, she was my first relationship.” Calum looked at you, smiling. “But that was a long time ago, right Cal?”
A/N: I saw the post about Colin’s tattoo and had to write a thing. The above picture is in reference to the tattoo that I have decided Killian has on his hipbone.
She loves his tattoos. She loves to run her fingers across his Milah tattoo, caressing the dagger that once bore her name, fingernails sketching out the pattern of the bursting heart. His love for Milah always amazes her, his willingness to fight three-hundred years to avenge her. (It’s his ability to love that’s shown through this that she admires and yet struggles to grasp - especially when he vows he loves her more - that his heart wasn’t capable of loving as much as it is now that he has her.)
She loves to run her teeth down the elaborate design of the anchor and ship wheel tattoo along his hipbone, tasting his skin as she goes. Her tongue tracing the curves of the tentacles as he says her name followed by a string of curse words. Emma presses a smile into his flesh, making sure he feels it. When she initially saw it, he labeled it his pirate tattoo, telling her that when he first inked it into his skin, it was to solidify his promise to never work under the throne again.
He has two feathers on his left shoulder blade, white accented with gray ink. In a moment of vulnerability, shirt strewn haphazardly across the floorboards, he tells her the answers to what’s behind her eyes, what’s racing through her mind. She learns it was for Liam, the feathers symbolizing the Pegasus wings that allowed them to fly to Neverland. At the time, it was the exact comfort she needed, a glimpse into his box of lost childhood, into his beginnings.
But her favorite is the small black swan that graces the spot over his heart. The one he claims he got over the not-so-missing year, right before trading The Jolly Roger. The tears that fell because of the way he looked at her like she’s everything - because It’s you, Emma. You’ve always had my heart and the three words that are caught in the back of her throat. It puts to rest any doubts that still linger. It’s her tattoo.
She loves the obscurity of them all, hidden under layers of leather and button ups as if they’re only hers to see, to discover. Others only catch fragments and glimpses, her father (thankfully) still unaware of their presence. The absence of his annoyed eye rolls when she reaches for them under their concealment during the mundane days at the station. Not that she would care if he knew anyway. But it still feels nice, like their little secret amongst the people they are closest to. She loves his tattoos.
So I did a thing. I want to thank @optomisticgirl for being my awesome beta and encouraging me to write. <3
Summary:Killian is looking pretty damn lickable in those scrubs and Emma just can’t help where her mind wonders.
Rating: M (just a little PWP, no big)
When did scrub pants become sexy?
No one had given Emma this memo but here she was, daydreaming about the way those pants stretched across Killian Jones’ ass. And what a good-looking ass it was. It looked firm, something you could hold onto when pulling him deeper into you and the view from the front wasn’t half bad either, not when you could tell how blessed he was with every step he took.Oh but when he was reaching for things off of the stock shelves, that’s when she’d lose it. She’d tilt her head to the side and run her tongue along her bottom lip she would feel a warmth start to creep over her body. Her breathing increased ever so slightly and she internally cursed herself; she didn’t need to alert Killian that she was being affected so deeply just by standing in such a small space with him because if she did he would certainly see the blush of pink across her cheeks or the dilation of her pupils. With a burning she could feel low in her belly she knew she was already wet, completely ready for this incorrigible man.