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metrops2016-01-14 10:43 pm
cabeswatered) wrote in metrops2016-01-14 10:43 pm
Entry tags:
( i am unknowable. )
an adam parrish open post
① leave a prompt! ② ??? ③ profit!
an adam parrish open post
① leave a prompt! ② ??? ③ profit!
LOL NO
HAHAAAHH NO REGRETS
Gansey -- [ whatever he'd been about to say evaporates into the cold air of cabeswater, nothing more than a breath drifting from his lungs. cabeswater is timeless, seasonless, everything and nothing at once; adam knows it knows, he can feel the ley line hum beneath his, almost as if it's in mourning. but gansey is already dead and not even born, even as they sit here, in the wintry clutches of cabeswater, watching their breath take form in front of them. the strange part is, he isn't cold, exactly, despite the light chill of the air against his cheeks, or the way his nose reddens; maybe it's cabeswater keeping him warm, or maybe the winter is just an illusion, cabeswater's way of telling him -- them -- all things die, in time, and now it is time, for one of them, the only one of them who doesn't deserve it. ]
[ it makes him angry, almost -- no, not almost, he can feels thrums of it just under his skin, prickling at his fingertips, bubbling up inside him like a volcano about to erupt -- to think of a world without gansey in it. what is adam parrish without dick gansey? what are any of them without gansey? they would all blame themselves, in their own different ways, if they let gansey die. let, he thinks, like they even have a choice in the matter, like it's something for a jury to decide, like it isn't supposed to be adam's fault. the vision sometimes still keeps him up at night, when gansey isn't there to fill the dark emptiness, the space that only cabeswater ever resides otherwise. it won't let him forget; adam doesn't want to forget, either, as much as he tries to convince himself he does. the blood is on his hands, and if he can't change it, he'd rather keep it that way then let it be blue -- even ronan, for as sharp as his edges are, wouldn't be able to live with himself if he cut gansey that deep, too deep. ]
[ could adam live with himself? he's lived with so much else, lived with knowing just how broken and unwanted and dangerous he can be. he isn't dangerous like ronan is; ronan is the tornado you see miles away, never knowing if it will hit you or not, if you'll get caught in the whirlwind of debris hurtling at a hundred miles an hour; or if it will pass you right by, in some kind of miracle, while the rest of the world gets run down, destroyed by a thoughtless storm. but adam -- adam isn't something you see coming, adam isn't a natural disaster. adam's brand of danger was manmade, born from nothing more than a life he would never know, from the normalcy of fists and shouting and degradation in place of hugs and laughter and praise. he knows it's a fantasy, to think family could be anything but family without fighting -- he's seen gansey's and blue's and ronan's, and how they all fight, but it isn't the same. there's love, somewhere in between the shouting and indignation; declan, for all his ire, still loves ronan, wants to protect him from the evils of the world. adam never could say his father loves him, not when their only conversations begin with alcohol and end in adam's face beaten and bruised. but it's his pride that makes him truly dangerous -- the pride he had to dig out of the ground instead of being handed it to on a silver platter. what wouldn't he do to prove that he isn't just the dirt beneath people's shoes? that he can save gansey instead of living with the knowledge that maybe he isn't any better than his father after all? ]
[ he turns his head, brows pensive, and looks out at the snow-covered treetops, their boughs heavy with a downfall unseen, unheard, unknown. adam feels it, too, laden with things unsaid, things he might never get to say, things he's already said, things he regrets. he doesn't regret this, cabeswater, or gansey, or the thing they've become, the two of them (the three of them, because cabeswater is part of adam, just as he is part of cabeswater). adam can practically feel the pulse of gansey's heart through the ley line, pounding hard against his ears, and even in his bad ear he can hear it, the deafening roar of gansey's life. it's gone before he looks back, eyes downcast for a moment, staring at the perfection of gansey's hands, like someone took great care and caution to make them. it used to make him mad, gansey's lack of visible flaws, in contrast to every one of adam's glaring imperfections. but now, he looks upon gansey in wonder, in awe, of everything he is and everything he could be, if given the chance. ]
[ his eyes wander up the length of gansey's arm, over the curve of his shoulder, the line of his jaw. god, that perfect jaw. he would kiss it, if he didn't have something to say. or, he could kiss him anyway, he thinks, because their chances to do this are becoming fewer and more far between. for all adam knows, this could be the last time. so he leans over, one hand settled against gansey's neck, drawing him closer; their lips touch and adam feels like it's the first time all over again (and maybe it is the first, or the last, or somewhere in between, depending on when you happen to look at it from), little butterflies turning his insides to a warm, gooey mush, and it occurs to him then just how much he loves richard gansey iii and how much he wants him to be his, for as long as they're allowed. it isn't fair that their allowance is almost up, that gansey could very well be taken from him. he hasn't had enough of him yet. ]
[ he presses his forehead against gansey's, fingers gripping tighter at the base of his neck. adam doesn't open his eyes, too afraid of seeing gansey and knowing that he knows. his voice is very nearly shaking, but he manages to keep it even, low, almost a whisper. ] I don't know what I'll do if you die.
[ ah, there it is, out in the open: the quiet, undeniable truth known between them, the inevitability of a fate nothing, no one, can escape. he knows it's not an if, really, it's just a matter of when. he's thought endlessly about asking glendower for gansey's life, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes: hasn't glendower already granted gansey his life? noah died; gansey lived. would it be asking for the same favor twice to save gansey again? who would have to die in his place? he doesn't want to think about it, or the possibility of gansey ending up like noah; he wouldn't be able to bear having him at his fingertips and not really being able to have him, not with all the warmth and life and energy he was once afforded. it wouldn't really be gansey, just like noah isn't really noah, not like he used to be (and, really, they'll never know what the used to be was like). adam would hate knowing how gansey was and have to live with knowing how he isn't. he just wants gansey, but he knows good things never last. he can't keep this one forever. ]
i am so emotional over this god
Gansey closes his eyes, forehead pressed to Adam's, breaths coming out in a small puffs of condensation while they settle here in the midst of the chilly winter trees, in Cabeswater, and hears Adam's words echo right into his bones.
If.
There is no if. It's absolutely a matter of when, and Gansey thinks he's known that now for a while. Maybe for longer than he's actually been fully aware of, all the way to the very moment he'd been brought back to life.
Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not.
(-- but for how long? And why? Why him? Why save him?)
Gansey doesn't believe in coincidences; he doesn't believe it was a simple matter of timing and place.
But what is the point of it, the use of it, when in the end, he knows that he's running on borrowed time, a time he really owes Noah, because it's his life he'd traded for that night?
He can feel his throat growing thick with the pain of wanting to cry and trying his very best to remain the stable, solid presence Adam needs, fingers grasping for the other boy's, to take them in his and give them a gentle squeeze.
He's afraid. Of course he's afraid. He'd been on this quest for nearly seven years now and he can taste the conclusion on his tongue, bittersweet, especially knowing how much he might be forced to leave behind.
He might find Glendower, but at what cost? ]
It's all right. [ It's not, and the words feel empty and unfeeling in his mouth. Does he sound convincing? Probably not. He can't even convince himself right now, even if the thought is so terrible, so selfish. Is it bad that all he wants right now is to run away, somehow? Take Adam and run.
(But where? You can't outrun your fate.)
His voice is quiet, trembling too. ] We still have time.
no subject
Yeah, time. [ he laughs again, raising his head to look out over cabeswater, the only place where they really do have all the time in the world. ] We could stay here and nothing would ever change. I bet Ronan's mom would love the company.
[ he's talking nonsense, he knows he is. they can't stay here, not really. theoretically, they could. adam knows cabeswater better than anyone, now. he is cabeswater. he could find a place no one would ever find them and they could stay there and nothing would ever change. they might change, but cabeswater wouldn't. he knows they can't do that, though, even if it is possible. he couldn't live with himself knowing blue and ronan (even noah, probably) would be out there never knowing what really happened. he can't just abandon them, even if it means letting gansey die. watching him die. not being able to save him. having his heart shatter into a million pieces because gansey is the one person who means everything to him. ]
[ sometimes, he wishes it could have been blue. that way, he could have saved himself an extra ounce of pain and watching gansey die would be more like getting punched in the gut than someone ripping your chest open with their bare hands. but it was never blue, even then. it's always been gansey, and it always will be. and that's the worst part, really -- that he can't just stop feeling. one look at gansey is all it takes to send him reeling all over again; one kiss and adam melts like warm butter; one touch and his heart flutters. it's never enough, and now it never will be. he wants to believe it's going to be alright, in the end, but that would just be setting himself up for more misery than it already will be. ]
[ he turns back to gansey, really looks at him. he's already memorized every part of him, but a memory is never quite the same as the real thing. and, for a moment, he just wants to look, while he still has time. ] What are you thinking? [ it's impossible to know with gansey. even after all this time, he's never been very good at reading him. ]
oKAY I'M BACK
If he gives into his fears and the pessimism that threatens to drown him at every moment he isn't battling against it with a relentless optimism, then he wants to kiss Adam as much as he can, for as long as he can, until he quite literally can't do it anymore.
It's terrifying to know just when it is you're going to die. These days, Gansey finds himself preparing without meaning to as if that will make it better - the leaving. But this isn't a quick trip to England. This is forever.
Historically, Gansey hates goodbyes; he's not very good at them. When he discovered Henrietta's connection to the ley lines, he'd left London - and Malory - without a word or a note. He regrets it and he promised he would never leave like that again, but now with the end too near, he finds he wants to leave and spare the pain of a goodbye.
He could never do it though. Malory isn't what Adam and Ronan and Blue and Noah are. No one could be what Adam is to him. Adam is everything. The most fucked up thing he could think to do is to leave him without a word. He considers the mercy in that - a clean break - but in the end, Gansey's too selfish for it anyway. He could never do that to Adam and he certainly couldn't do it for himself.
A moment later, breaths shaky, Gansey pulls back. ]
I'm thinking that I don't want to be afraid. But I am.