burnyoudown | Open RP Post

Entry tags:

ic: open post

Open RP Post

🔥 Hit me up on plurk or via PM if you have any questions/want to run an idea by me first/what-have-you.
🔥 General squick/trigger list.
🔥 m/m for anything shippy.
🔥 General headcanon for Kavinsky. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
🔥 Kavinsky's kink list.
🔥 This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Dimitri had ended up as Jiang's roommate for senior year. So, yeah, he knew about Kavinsky in the same way that everyone else did- rumors and misinformation, folk tales and legends. But, he also knew he was someone that Jiang called a friend, that he thought was worthy of loyalty, and he didn't seem like a boy that gave either sentiment easily. So he might not know Kavinsky personally, but he had his suspicions that there was more to the boy than what the rumors said. Word of mouth typically held everything but the truth, anyway.

And well, Dimitri also wasn't blind. He might only have seen Kavinsky in passing- when he was stopping by to talk to Jiang, or passing him in the hallway, or across the room at a party- but that didn't stop him from noting that he was drop-dead gorgeous. Of course, Dimitri had always had a thing for dark-haired boys, sharp enough to cut yourself on. And while everyone else looked at Kavinsky and saw an immigrant, an outsider, Dimitri was reminded of a childhood in Russia so long ago he didn't quite remember it.

He wasn't in love with the boy, or anything so dramatic, but there was... he didn't know. Magnetism. A draw. A few filthy dreams, here and there. Nothing remarkable.

But it was a rough day for Dimitri. The days after dreaming nights always were. He was- good at it, for the most part. He wasn't afraid of waking with some irate creature of vines and flowers, resulting in the most confusing murder Aglionby would likely ever see. No, it was the after that was the hard part for Dimitri.

Feeling so euphoric as he held his dreams in his hands.
Feeling so utterly and completely a creature not of this world, so utterly and completely alone.

The rumor was, that Dimitri was high all the tine. Jiang seemed to suspect there was more to it than that, smart kid that he was. But it wasn't entirely incorrect, it was just-- sometimes being high was the only way he could cope with being a dreamer in a world like this. He'd skipped classes, of course, and smoked a few joints- though in an attempt to be polite to his roommate, and also to not set off the smoke alarms in the hall- he'd done his best to blow the smoke out the window, rather than just letting it hang in the room. It's not enough, of course, but he feels less like the only reason to drag himself out of bed would be to throw himself off the roof.

It's better, it's enough, he can make it through until dark.

He squints at the alarm clock when he hears the knock on the door, not expecting Jiang until a couple hours after classes end; he usually does his homework in the library, unless he's helping Skov, knowing how loud the dorms can get, especially with how close they are to the common room. Jiang would also probably not bother knocking, it occurs to him as he drags himself from where he'd been laying on the floor. As he gets up, flower blooms in shades of orange and purple float lazily through the air, displaced from where they'd been scattered across his skin, and they sing like songbirds at the movement. Distantly, he thinks he should have brought the vine back too; they'd keep longer that way.

He doesn't know what he'd been expecting when he'd opened the door, but it wasn't Kavinsky.

In a way he couldn't explain, he feels undone and exposed, like the secret is stretched between them and not floating in the room behind him. But maybe that's because the only thing he's wearing are silky pajama pants that sit almost treacherously low on his hipbones, the hem flopped over his feet, and a pair of black sunglasses that were supposed to hide the misery. The lenses are dark, but not dark enough to hide the pain and the longing, or the fact that he's a little bit high, which isn't nearly high enough. Glee crashed against reality which always feels like a cage.

It's the middle of winter, in Henrietta, and he shivers a little, like he hadn't noticed it before. His hair is messy, but in a less artfully sculpted way than usual; more like he'd taken a shower and just let it dry.

He takes a moment, clearly biting back a sharper reply, and instead tilts his head a little as he looks up at the other boy, sunglasses to sunglasses.]

Kavinsky? What can I do for you?

[Kavinsky looked the other boy over for a moment, eyes flickering over his body but surprisingly lingering on his face. Of course, it was a little hard to tell when he was wearing sunglasses himself, but, more importantly- he recognized that look. It resonated deeply within him, made him feel a little raw and aching. Not in a sexual way, but in a lonely sort of way.]

I was looking for Jiang. [He replied, glancing past Dimitri and into the room behind him.] It's not that important.

[But he thought maybe his arrival had been well-timed for other reasons.] But you look like you could use some company.

[He was vaguely acquianted with Dimitri, of course. It was hard not to be when he was Jiang's roommate and he went to Kavinsky's parties. Really, Kavinsky wished he knew him better. He seemed like an interesting sort, the kind he was prone to pulling under his wing. And right now, that look on Dimitri's face? Kavinsky thought it was more than what met the eye. He wondered if he'd looked that way himself sometimes, because he'd sure as fuck felt it.]

Is it cool if I come in?

[He didn't usually ask. He usually just went on in and made himself at home, like he owned the place. But he was, surprisingly, trying to be polite. That tended to put people in a better mood and Dimitri already looked like he wasn't feeling one hundred percent. Hot, always hot, but also- again, Kavinsky knew that look. Sometimes, he felt like it'd settled into his bones.

How did he broach the subject he wanted to bring up? Assuming Dimitri didn't tell him to get lost, of course.]

I wouldn't say no.

[He flashes a sharp sort of smile, and when Kavinsky asks if it's cool if he comes in, Dimitri almost says of course- but then his brain catches up, and the vague sound of songbirds reminds him that the room is a mess, and not with clothes, but with dreams. So he hesitates, starts to ask Kavinsky to give him a moment to clean things up, but then the other boy is telling him that it's okay, that he doesn't have to, doesn't have to be shy about it.

And the truth is that Dimitri has gone his whole life wanting to have someone to share it with, someone who believed in him enough to believe in his dreams. Unlike his mother.

So there's a moment, where he has to swallow his breath because he feels so fucking affected. But after a moment, he lets him inside. Somehow, this feels like it means something, feels like a balm to the poison in his bones. That knowledge of not being of this world, of not belonging to anyone, only his dreams. He almost wants to take his hand, but instead he just gets the door and gestures him inside, closing it quickly, leaving them in a room filled with dozens of flower blooms that seemed to float under their own direction. They were alive, but not sentient. Flower blooms that sang with the voices of songbirds, though for one or two the tune sounded more like a radio pop song than something on a forest path.

A coral-toned flower settled on Kavinsky's shoulder, twirling gently, as curious as a flower with a bird's heart could be.

Dimitri watched Kavinsky, quiet, his blue eyes following him not just because he was gorgeous, but because- it had been a long time since he'd shown anyone something from his dreams, longer still since his heart had raced with anticipation, eager and aching for understanding. Since he'd believed that there was a chance he might get it. And behind those dark sunglasses, Dimitri needed it so badly it tore him apart, made him hate the world because he hated how it made him feel.]

I told you it was a mess.

[But his voice is soft, quiet as a sinner in a confessional, but Dimitri's never had much use for religion. But there are two secrets here, wound up together. That Dimitri could dream things to life- and that the things he dreamt to life were flowers and songs and feathers. It felt like he was so desperate that he'd taken all his walls down before Kavinsky had even had a chance to ask.

But that was just how he was, when he liked someone.]

[Kavinsky was glad he'd offered the reassurance, the gentle nudge. And he stepped inside after Dimitri allowed him in, looking around the room again now that his view of it wasn't obscured. He didn't think of what was going on inside as a mess. A mess would've been horrible creatures or blood or maybe a dead body. This was-

He looked over as one of the flowers landed on his shoulder, and he smiled. It was lovely, no doubt dreamt from a caring mind with a caring heart. Slowly, like he was worried about spooking the flower, he reached up to pull off his sunglasses. He wanted a better look at this stuff.

It made Kavinsky's chest ache, thinking about someone else keeping this stuff a quiet secret for years. He knew what it felt like to be alone, to want so desperately to be able to share it with other people.]

This isn't a mess.

[His voice was also quiet, like he was worried he'd break the magic in the room by speaking too loud. After a moment, finally, he turned his attention to Dimitri.]

You dreamed all of this, didn't you? Have you ever seen Fantasia? These have the same vibe.

[Beautiful, he meant they were beautiful.]

They're a lot nicer than the shit I dream.

[There it was, his confession. How could he not talk about it when he was standing here with a delicate singing flower on his shoulder, watching dozens more drift through the air? If ever there was a time when he felt safe and secure in revealing his own secret, it was now.]

[He smiled sadly. Ronan deserved good things. He deserved good dreams. Kavinsky knew it wasn't easy to have good dreams and that just because you could control them sometimes didn't mean you could give yourself good dreams every night. He was sure Ronan had terrible dreams more than anything else and honestly, he knew how that went.]

Yeah, I'll show you everything.

[It was a promise. He would give Ronan things to have good dreams about. They'd build a life together, compile good experiences and memories and make up for everything that'd happened before.

And god, but every time they said I love you, it felt a little more true and real and meaningful. Kavinsky's chest swelled with fondness every time and he didn't care in the slightest that they'd become the sort of couple he'd tease and poke fun at back in Henrietta. The kind who made heart eyes at each other all the time and couldn't keep their hands off each other. He understood it all now.]

Yeah, good point. You gotta go for what you want.

[He wrestled out of his pants and boxers successfully, dropping them to the floor (though it was closer to flinging them over the side of the bed), and smiled as he sat up again.]

Fingers first or-?

[Impatient, him? Nah, never. He asked while skimming a hand over Ronan's hip, up his side, and back down again, touching him for the sake of it, because he needed something to do with his hands and Ronan was literally right there.]

[Dimitri had so many feelings curling in his chest that he hardly knew what to say. He wanted to just-- he wanted to hug Kavinsky and bury his face into his shoulder and just hold onto him, the one person in his life that's ever believed in his dreams, ever seen the sort of beauty in them that Dimitri felt with every beat of his heart. There was something about the way that he looked at the little singing flower and smiled.

Dimitri knows how many boys here would have laughed, mocked the entirety of it, all that it meant, or killed them. And Kavinsky-- this isn't a mess. He almost wanted to cry. Instead, Dimitri slipped off his sunglasses, carefully folding them up as he set them back on his nightstand by his bed, giving him a moment to catch his breath, to try and slip into something cool and disinterested, but it was too late.

Kavinsky asks him if he dreamed all of this and his heart swells all over again as he nods, speaking softly. But then he's not the only boy standing here with a secret, and it suddenly makes sense why Kavinsky is so careful with his flowers. He wants to say something, about how much it means to him that he sees how special this all is, that he understands, that he's not alone. But instead he crosses close to the other boy, shyly pressing fingers against his ribs.]

Can I.. hug you?

[He could hardly resist, honestly. He just wanted- needed- he didn't have the words for it, for what it was. Just that he wanted to wrap his arms around him, wanted to feel something else in his bones, other than loneliness. Feel like maybe being so utterly not of this world wouldn't feel so bad if there was someone else, if he could drag himself to Kavinsky and wrap himself around his finger when every other inch of the world made him hurt. Could they be friends like that? Dimitri wanted to be friends like that.]

[Kavinsky folded up his sunglasses and put them in his pocket, watching Dimitri in-between frequent glances to the flowers. He couldn't imagine laughing over something like this, or mocking the other boy. The other dreamer. Emotions sang through his veins, joy that he wasn't alone, understanding about what Dimitri must've been through, emotionally, up until this point, and so many other feelings. He wasn't alone. And these flowers were as precious as any dream, unique and wonderful and magical.

Reaching over, he gently, ever so carefully, scooped the flower off his shoulder and set it back afloat, just so it wouldn't potentially be crushed by accident. He'd feel too guilty if something happened to it, especially if it was his fault. Then he nodded.]

C'mere.

[Nearly as gently as he'd handled the flower, he tugged Dimitri to him, wrapping his arms around him. It was- good, the contact, the warmth of his body. He was trying not to think about how the other boy was only wearing pajama pants; it felt a little selfish right now to think about that sort of thing when they were clearly having a moment, two dreamers. Lonely, no longer alone, overcome with emotions.

Kavinsky didn't usually let himself be so soft with people he didn't know very well yet, but the look on Dimitri's face when he'd opened the door- he still remembered it. He didn't think the other boy was going to make fun of him, just like Kavinsky hadn't made fun of his flowers. How could he? Dreams were so special.]

You're not alone. You never have to feel alone ever again.

[It was a murmur, soft and genuine.]

[The flower went back to floating around the room, almost dancing with the other blooms, with a trill of song that sounded almost thankful as Kavinsky gently moved it from his shoulder. It was endearing, almost sweet, all the things that the other boy wasn't supposed to be. But Dimitri believed this more than anything, this other dreamer standing in front of him. Kavinsky gives him an invitation, tugging him into him, and Dimitri's voice hitches as he presses to him. Something desperate in it, in the way that he wraps his arms around the other boy, pressing his face to his shoulder. He presses himself to Kavinsky like he doesn't want even air between them, between the warmth and the comfort.

He didn't cry, but he was still clearly wrecked. But in a better way than he'd been when he first answered the door. This was something different, a familiarity even though in truth they'd really just met. But there was something helplessly intimate about this, two dreamers in a room drifting with Dimitri's dreams. And then there's the words that Kavinsky says:

That he never has to be alone again.

Dimitri lifts his head from his shoulder, looking into the other boy's dark eyes. And he feels-- too overwhelmed for words, even when there's so much that he wants to say, wants to ask him. Instead, his fingers curl softly, slowly around the tie that's loose around his collar. But it makes a good handhold, perfect for tugging him down a little, those couple inches so that Dimitri can kiss him. Helpless and needy and overwhelmed and he does it without really thinking about it. It's just the only way that he knows to say it: how much this means to him, how much he needs this, needs him.

He doesn't know how to feel like this and not want him. He doesn't linger too long, just a few breaths, just long enough to hope that Kavinsky could feel what he was trying to say. But he doesn't pull far away, leaning up on his toes, the other boy's school tie still in his fingers but with less tension on it- for the moment. He leans against him, chest to chest, but he doesn't apologize for it. He doesn't take it back.]

[Of course, he had a reputation. He was a tough boy, sharp and cruel in some ways, but he was more than that, too. Beneath his sharp exterior, he was soft and caring. It just took the right person or situation to crack open his shell. This was both the right situation and the right person. It wasn't every day he met another dreamer.

He held onto Dimitri tight, like he could make up for whatever he'd been through up until this point with the sheer power of a hug. He wished he could. He wished things were that simple. The only thing he could really do was make things better going forward.

A second before Dimitri kissed him, Kavinsky realized what he was going to do. He was at once grateful he was still wearing his uniform because sometimes ties came in handy (ha), and grateful that he'd stopped by the dorm room when he had. For once, he'd nailed the whole 'right place at the right time' thing.

So when Dimitri kissed him, Kavinsky kissed him back, trying to chase his mouth when he pulled back, before collecting himself. Sliding a hand up to cradle the back of Dimitri's head, fingers sinking into his hair, he kissed him again. Honestly, he'd wanted to do that almost since the moment the door had opened, but at first, he'd thought he was just being himself. You know, unable to help himself around attractive boys. Now, he knew it was more than that. It might have been sudden but- Kavinsky didn't always do slow and patient very well.]

[Ronan wasn't quite sure what he had expected to happen after Hennessy sapped most of the power from the ley line.

Not enough to manifest even a piece of the Lace with.
Not enough for Ronan to live off of, either.

So, yeah. If he was honest, he guessed that he'd expected to die. But selfishly, if he didn't think about Opal or Matthew, he was okay with it. This wasn't his fault. And he'd tried, hadn't he? Could anyone say that he hadn't be fighting to stay alive? After that summer, he'd been spiraling out of control, and he remembered the way that Declan had pushed him, hands on his shoulders, Ronan tensed with the prediction of violence that was as sure as a memory.

But no, it was worse: it was the truth. And he could almost see how it pained Declan to say it in the way that he snarled the words, how he grasped Ronan's shoulders and then pushed him away. He'd almost laughed it off, but he'd known. So he'd done all he could to find a way for him to live without him. To make it so that when Ronan lost the struggle, Matthew wasn't another casualty on his hands.

Yet.

Things got better, strangely. There was Adam. There was Ronan and Declan who got through his birthday without Ronan even being particularly tempted to punch him in the face. He kissed Adam, impulsive, unsure if he'd live through whatever was coming. And he thought finally that maybe he wanted to. Not that he forgot about Kavinsky- but slowly he was becoming a little less urgent about joining him. So when he almost died, he fought- fierce, pieces of dreams in his fingertips, threads plucked from the light of stars that didn't yet know they were dead, the rain of storms that were nothing but a promise. Ronan dragged into the dark and seizing ever shard of light he could find.

Time was a circle and that night he'd lost track of endings and beginnings- it would have been easy to slide away. But instead he brought back scribbled notes that said tooth and claw, tooth and claw... like a promise to give all that he had. Sharp music notes he grasped in his fingers, blue flowers, mint plants, and- of course- flaming crowns because he still wanted to be kings.

But maybe it was why Glendower had been dead, too.

Ronan thinks he imagines it as he's being unmade- terrified to his heart as the thing turns him inside out, pulling the threads of him into nothing, so he's choking on sea water and stardust- but he'd swear that someone holds his hand as he drowns. Blue eyes bleeding black, dying as it tries to unmake him inside out, between the trees and branches and oceans that ran in his veins.

So Gansey dies, and then he doesn't.
Ronan does drop out of Aglionby.
But he doesn't drop out of life.

He tries. He really tries to live a life, to date Adam Parrish, but it turned out that he didn't really know how to do that either. So Ronan did what he always did: he dreamt and he fought and he died. Except again, he doesn't. The nightwash doesn't claim him. It would have been poetic even -- a dragon of fire and a white Mitsubishi so sharp he almost called said the boy's name in the dream. He thought that maybe he'd done it before, but couldn't quite remember.

It's leaves and branches and cool, soothing comfort, a presence that wraps around him with lingering touches. Lindenmere, of course. Magic that reaches through the dark and keeps him breathing, again, like it had before. Almost like Lindenmere was a better sort of dreamer itself, knew how to keep Hennessy from touching the line that kept them alive and connected.

But, there was something off. There always had been, but Ronan had been trying not to face it -- making the same mistake twice. Was Lindenmere even a forest, or was that just the shape he gave it because it was easier? So he didn't have to think about it; naked in a lake or a waterfall or flowers and music, the bassy, pulsing electronica that made him feel like he could breathe. Trees had seemed right for Cabeswater. But Lindenmere was more- a different creature. Dangerous, but not in the way of fairytale forests. Dangerous like Ronan had been a summer not so very long ago.

Lindenmere knew him in ways that Cabeswater had never been human enough to understand, would have replicated pieces it could grasp and got the thesis wrong.

His perfect dream had been a gift from Lindenmere: no people, no one he could bring back with him, no horrors to ruin Adam with. Just his hands on the wheel of a beautiful car with a black grille that bared its teeth, and the glee of high speed and cataclysm of vehicular mayhem. All he brought back with him was the joy; almost like the happiness of racing a beautiful boy.

Cabeswater wouldn't have understood the very human desire to drive a gorgeous fucking car through the front of a shitty club playing music you hated.
But Lindenmere did.

It loved him better than he knew how to appreciate, flirted with him in a way that felt familiar, all firelight and warm shadows in a summer night. He should feel more alone, and yet, somehow, it felt almost like sharing breath. It was a forest and yet it felt intimate and close, like it understood the pain that bled into the air. Was there anyone like him? Anyone that could stand him?]

The car- in the dream- will you tell me about it?

[There were almost tears in his eyes just from acknowledging it. But he had to know. Had to know if the truth that whispered around his heart, teased even by Bryde, if it was real or just another dream. So he walked through Lindenmere's strange woods, like the scene of all the fairytales that had never been told. He reached up, letting his fingers brush against leaves, trail against the bark of a tree- open affection, but it was always easier with Lindenmere than anyone else. And he waited, his heart skipping against his ribs.

He had to fix the whole fucking world, so many dreamers he needed to save now-now-now... but this was more important.]

[Alive, alive, alive. It thrummed through him like the beat of a heart, even though he was so much more than that now. He was the trees, he was the leaves, he was the very essence of the forest.

He'd been so afraid Ronan wouldn't want him if he knew he was here, that he'd realize he made a mistake or something. So he'd hidden, as well as he could. Until now, until the pain he could feel from Ronan. The world had been turned upside-down and shook hard--not just Kavinsky's but the rest of the world, too. Things were different now but-

Fuck, but he wanted to hold Ronan, wrap his arms around him and assure him that everything was going to work out.]

What do you wanna know?

[His voice came from somewhere just out of sight, accompanied by a gentle rustle of leaves. He was still hiding and yet at the same time, he wasn't. Would Ronan recognize his voice?]

I know what makes you happy, man.

[There'd been a time where he'd thought he'd made Ronan happy. Maybe it'd been true, maybe it'd just not been enough at the time. He didn't know.

He sighed and the leaves rustled again.]

I've missed you.

[Ronan laughs at the question, though it comes out a little bit like a sob -- there was no world where he wouldn't recognize the sound of Joseph Kavinsky's voice. He needed this, needed him, and that was the real question under the one he asked outloud: is it you, please tell me it's you. He followed the sound of his voice, the rustle of leaves, like he might be just out of sight.

Unlike with Bryde, there's no frustration, irritated demands to show himself, it's just.. hope. He thinks the feeling that coils inside of him like a spring is hope. He touches the trees here and there, all lingering fingertips, and he hopes that it matters, that he can feel that Ronan... That this isn't that summer, isn't the dreamfield, isn't a boy terrified of what he might be.]

You make me happy. You- made me happy, before. It's you, isn't it?

[He couldn't quite bring himself to ask, to say his name outloud, but it was in him, on his skin, his body like a shout. Like he was calling his name. He says I've missed you and Ronan almost crumbles, almost hugs one of the trees he's so desperate to put his arms around him.]

I need you. Can you-- can I see you?

[He'd just been waiting for Ronan to ask, and Kavinsky might have been a jerk but he wasn't cruel. He didn't make Ronan wait or tease him. Instead, Kavinsky stepped out from around a tree, just a few feet ahead. He looked the same, even if he'd changed so much. But they both had, in more ways than one.]

I'd hoped I had. You were all I wanted.

[More than the destruction and fire and racing, he'd wanted Ronan.]

You made me happy, too.

[And he hoped it wasn't too late, that they could still- that there was still a chance.

He eyed Ronan for a moment, just long enough to mutter a soft fuck, before he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around him. Kavinsky was as real as he wanted to be here, and in this case it was pretty fucking real. He clutched Ronan tight, pressing his face into his shoulder.

It took a lot of effort not to cry, so much that his throat felt tight. If Ronan cried, that'd be it for Kavinsky's already strained self-control.]

[There's so much he should say, but he says fuck and he crosses the distance, and Ronan's arms are open for him by the time that he gets there, so that he can hug him as Kavinsky wrapped his arms around him, his heartbeat skittering just from the feel of it, the weight of it. Real. As real as they wanted it to be, because they decided what was real- especially here of all places.

The weight of him, the press of his warmth against him through the thin fabric of his shirt, how tight he clutched at him... he hadn't been willing to say it, not even to himself, a secret he hid in shadows. But it had been there when he'd reached out, tendrils in the sea, for someone that would understand.

Ronan tries not to cry, of course. But he can't help himself. Not when he's winding his arms around the boy-shaped part of the forest that he loved, nuzzling his face into the side of his neck as Kavinsky's face pressed into his shoulder. He needed this -- he'd needed this for months, for more than a year, just to be able to hold him in his arms, alive and breathing. Warm and vital and everything that he'd loved.

They weren't loud tears, just soft sniffles, the dampness against his skin. Adam leaving, his brothers gone, Gansey and Blue traveling the world, everything else he'd cared for dead or lost. Maybe it had to be Kavinsky that he brought back.]

Is it-- is this okay?

[He didn't quite know what he meant. Being a forest, holding him, being alive. All of it, everything. Because he wanted.. he didn't know. He wanted to keep him forever.]

[God, it was so good to be held, to have physical contact and affection. He'd needed this for so long, even before he'd become a forest. Especially before then. But also especially now. If he'd gone one more day without this- well, he'd probably have been all right but he wouldn't have been happy.

He wasn't loud about crying, either; his tears were quiet, though every now and then a little shudder coursed through him. He didn't want to let go of Ronan. He knew he couldn't keep him here forever, that eventually he'd have to go, but Kavinsky was going to cherish the moments he had. And the knowledge that Ronan would be return.

He laughed a little when Ronan asked is this okay.]

Which part? [He sniffled.] 'Cause holding you right now's pretty nice.

[The rest, being a forest...he wasn't sure. Some days, he thought he was going to go out of his mind without something substantial to do. Others, he was content to just watch over Ronan and feel the power of the ley line and everything that went with it. The worst part was this; knowing Ronan couldn't stay in the forest forever, that they would never be able to race again, that he couldn't lie in bed next to him.]

It's weird being- this, now. But it's better than where I was before.

All of it. Everything. I-- I want you to be happy.

[He knows it's sappy, but it's also true. And he feels.. responsible. Not just because of the 4th of July, but also because of the 4th of July. But he'd been so young when he'd dreamt Cabeswater a place in the world, on the leyline, that it had never really felt intentional. But with Lindenmere- Kavinsky- it had been months of prepwork, and then asking, reaching, desperate for something to reach back, something that could love him, want him, not leave him.

Greywaren. Protector and protected. Which he'd understood conceptually, but now he feels it with his heart.

Because he loved Lindenmere, but it had been.. he doesn't know. Kinship, leaves and flowers, the only place in the world where he still felt at peace, so beautiful it made his heart ache. But he hadn't loved Lindenmere like he'd loved Kavinsky, dreaming about him with shaky hands that couldn't get his jeans off fast enough. He'd wanted to love him in every way you could love someone, wanted to love him with his clothes off, so desperately that it had terrified him.

Now he just cries silently and holds him. He lets one arm slide away from clutching at him, but only so that he can trace his fingers through his hair, soothing, comforting, his other tracing lazy shapes against his back.]

You've always been my best dream.

[He felt it every time he was with him, but he'd never thought to say it outloud before, thought Lindenmere might need to hear it- but he did now.]

You saved my brothers. You saved my life. Even as a forest, you're still beautiful and dangerous and everything I want.

[Which was a sideways way of saying that if Kavinsky still wanted him-- this wasn't a deterrent for Ronan. But then, even standing here like this, they felt the same, even if he didn't quite know what that meant.]

[The safety of Ronan's arms around him was something he thought he'd never get to know. Now that he was experiencing it, he never wanted to let go. Ronan cared about him--more than that. He didn't have to say it out loud for Kavinsky to be able to pick up on it, and it felt a little like cheating, but hadn't he always been a thief?

He also felt warm, proud, pleased. He'd done right by Ronan, helped not only him but his family. He knew Ronan's brothers meant a lot to him, even if their relationship was difficult sometimes. Not saving them would have been like not saving Ronan; Kavinsky could have never not acted.]

I just want to be with you. Being part of a forest isn't so bad when you're around.

[He sniffled, then added-]

You saved me. I was somewhere else before this and it was-

[How did he describe what it'd been like?]

-it wasn't bad but it was lonely.

[And he just wanted to be with Ronan, wherever he was. Kavinsky'd never dealt with loneliness very well. He was afraid of being alone more than almost anything else. He just wanted to be cared about, to be loved.]

[It wanted to tear the world apart, burn it down. It had been locked up for so long, for no other crime than for being what it had been made to be- what it had been dreamt to be.

But in this strange place, this ocean of forgotten dreams, it found that it was not alone. There was something else here that burned like it did, and he found this creature had a name: Kavinsky. It was a creature of memory and emotion, tendrils made of energy rather than shadows and ashes and ruin. And maybe they should have destroyed each other, but they do not. They snarl tendril in tendril, body to body.

They talk in a language that's truer than words, than human speech. They speak in dreams, in the pieces of themselves they show one another. This creature that was so much more than a boy, and yet had once been shaped like one, doesn't judge it for its anger; he knows what its like to want to burn everything when you've been ignored, pushed away, and forgotten.

It feels something. It doesn't know if it's Kavinsky that allows it, if the boy has somehow taught it what it's like to want something without wanting to break it, but it's sure that it was never meant for feelings shaped like this. Tormenting Aidan becomes less a thing it can enjoy, because it means leaving, it means yearning, it means desperate searching when it returns. Looking for the flavor of his energy, the shape of his tendrils. It means tangling their forms back together, like he doesn't want to burn the world, he just wants to stay here, with this boy, shadows and tendrils and something both more and less than touch.

So of course it loses.

It is no longer the all-powerful nightmare, a force of nature that even dying stars fear. It is something with soft places that it tucks into someone else's body. It is still angry, but its heart wants something other than the world on fire. It just needs a world big enough for a nightmare and a dreamer.

Maybe that's why Aidan is able to rewrite its story, to change it into something boy-shaped. Maybe it already was.

It can feel it happening, and desperation surges through every bit of shadow and darkness that makes up its heart. Rather than try to fight the magic, it just presses back with one truth: that its story is tied to Kavinsky's, and it can't have him without the other boy. Yearning, needy, a promise said not in words, but in touches and shared stories -- it would not leave him behind.

The magic considers, and then agrees.

It expects a hard landing, expects it to hurt, but instead two naked boys -- Kavinsky, and a boy-shaped thing now named Vesper -- land on the soft grass in the middle of a magic dream forest in Henrietta, Virginia. Thankfully, they're far from the Kingswood, or Elijah would probably have eaten Vesper for crimes both real and imagined.

Wrapping its arms around Kavinsky isn't the same as tangling their tendrils together, and it makes it shake and shiver from how warm it is, from the way that it feels. It's sniffling to hold back the tears, overwhelmed with emotions it doesn't even have names for. It doesn't even know how to explain, where to start, what to say. It knows language, but it is not as easy or comfortable as how they spoke in the dream sea.]

--I didn't want you to be alone.

[Kavinsky's existence was a series of unexpected events, one after another after another. He'd thought his life had come to an end on the 4th of July and yet- he'd continued. He'd thought he would spend forever drifting in the dream sea and yet- here he was. He'd thought he would be alone for just as long and yet- he wasn't.

Finding companionship in the dream sea hadn't been in his plans but it was far from unwelcome. Though, to be fair, he hadn't had plans since ending up there. It was hard to plan at all when he'd been a tangle of emotions and thoughts and memories, unable to interact with the world as he'd known it.

He was alive now, though. Alive and he could feel his heart beating, his breath expanding his chest. He could feel the gentle breeze and leaves and grass on his skin. He wasn't shy or embarrassed about being naked, which was probably a good thing since he didn't know when he'd end up with clothes. Right now, he didn't care.

He was captivated by pretty blue eyes and dark hair and fuck, for a moment he almost thought- but no. No, it wasn't, and that was better somehow. He smiled and it was soft and a little sad while he curled his arms around Vesper, uncharacteristically gentle.]

That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.

[He murmured, dark eyes as soft as his smile.]

It makes me want to kiss you.

[Dmitri returned the gesture, so they ended up leaning in, shoulder to shoulder, a quiet sort of intimacy, silent understanding. The Kavinsky asks him what he's living for, and he tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling of the dreamspace that they're in.]

Nah, it's alright. It's just -- it wasn't easy, obviously.

[He laughs a little, but it's wry more than anything. And if being glad that someone else knew what it was like to hate everything that staying in the world felt unbearable, well- then he was an asshole too. Of course, much like Kavinsky, he usually got the moniker anyway.]

It wasn't anything grand like that. When everything went to shit, one of my friends got me drunk and high and took me to see a movie. Which I admittedly spent most of with my head in his lap, but it was cool enough I wanted to watch it again. I wanted to- do that again. There's a painting I wanted to finish. One of my other friends wanted us all to roadtrip cross country and drive down to Cancun for his birthday, get a beachhouse for a week or until we all get sick of each other and I decided I wanted to be around for that, 'cause no one else would know how to bake the cake.

[He shrugs his shoulders, trying to find the words, stumbling as he tries to explain how he managed to keep breathing.]

At first it was just- stupid shit like that. Saying I wanted to be alive for another week or a month or until the summer or whatever. Now... well, I have my friends. And we go on dates sometimes. And I have a little sister, and I can't think of anything worse than leaving her alone with my mom. So I manage.

[It feels sad and small, and like it isn't quite enough, which it isn't, but it's honest. These days most of the time he didn't feel like he wanted to die, he just- got a little tired of being alive. But he was trying. And like he said: he thought that was what was important.]

[He bit his tongue, held back from asking if there was an innuendo in there. He didn't really care; it wasn't any of his business. He didn't want to come across like the asshole he was and risk pushing this boy away when he had so few people in his life who were willing to be there for him.]

Those are good reasons. I don't think there's a reason to want to stay alive that's stupid or bad.

[Sometimes, Kavinsky'd wondered what it'd be like to have siblings, but he wouldn't wish his parents on anyone. Any siblings of his would've been just as fucked up as he was, probably. No one deserved that.]

You know this goes both ways, right? If you- if you need someone to talk to, any time, you can come to me. I'm a good listener, promise.

[Which might surprise some people, but- Kavinsky might not have been the best with words all of the time, but he could lend an ear and a shoulder to cry on. He could be supportive. God knew he was aware of how fucking lonely and messed up the world could be. He wanted to be able to be there for his friends, for the people who mattered in his life. Maybe because no one had ever been there for him before he'd met them. He'd spent so much of his life being lonely.]

I don't know if I've ever done anything nice for someone before.

[Vesper was a little shy about his body, but not from modesty, more just that it felt strange and alien, that it didn't know quite what to do with itself. He was both something more and less than the amorphous thing of claws and darkness that he had been before. But somehow, the thing that matters to it most is that it is shaped to fit to Kavinsky. It is not Ronan, but it shaped a little bit like him, inspired by those lost desires.

Its breath hitches as Kavinsky wraps his arms around its body, and it mirrors the gesture, a little bit clumsy at first, but then almost desperate. The way that he presses into the boy's arms, clingy and needy, almost like it thinks it can still tangle their bodies together like they had been back in the place they'd been trapped before this. But skin is more of a barrier than it had been before. But it's still better like this, better to be in his arms, pressed chest to chest, than it would be to be alone.]

I've never kissed someone before, but I... I think that I'd like it if you did.

[It was hard to call what they'd done in the dream sea kissing, when they were all darkness and shadow, emotion and memory, tendrils and talons. Cabeswater was not the Kingswood, but it held a similar pedigree; enough energy for even a thing like Vesper to breathe. But it found that more than anything, what it wanted right now was to breathe Kavinsky, to taste him, to lie here in the grass and the leaves and have him teach it all about skin and bones.]

I'll stay with you. If you want me to. I don't... this isn't my world.

[It had nowhere else to go. But more than that, it wanted to stay with Kavinsky. It slid shadows against the boy's skin, not as weighted as his fingers, but heavy with intention, almost-there, but a whisper of what he'd been before. But that was okay, he thought.]

It's never too late to start.

[And Kavinsky considered this an ultimate sort of kindness. He would be nothing without Vesper. Lost in the dream sea for the rest of time, maybe. So he really, genuinely, appreciated what they had done. It meant a lot to him. And- he somehow wasn't surprised that they hadn't kissed anyone before. The impression he'd gotten from the dream sea was- hard to put into words, but it meant he wasn't blindsided by this.

Smiling, he gently cupped the side of Vesper's face in one hand and kissed them, just as gently. It was fond and tender and full of appreciation. He was reluctant to pull back but when he did, he brushed his thumb softly along Vesper's cheek.]

I want you to. You can stay with me for as long as you want.

[They could figure things out together. Vesper, the world; Kavinsky, how he would fit into things since he'd died and was now alive again. But he wouldn't have to hide things from Vesper. He wouldn't have to pretend he wasn't a dreamer. It filled his chest with fondness and hope.]

I'll help you. I'll teach you about things.

[He could be patient, after all, when he wanted to be. And lord, but he wanted to be patient with Vesper. He wanted to do a lot of things with Vesper, if he was being honest.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 18 of 18

Open RP Post

maybe we can be alone together;

:eyes:

:wibbles: these boysssss

;o;

no subject

;o;

no subject

no subject

no subject

Kavinsky-Lindenmere-Mister-Impossible stuff

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

this crawled into my brain;

👀

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject