#worstlynch

( ronan’s phone )

contact pic:

ringtone: asshole calling

text glimpse:

♡ ㅤ ━━ ㅤ ask meme.     dead by daylight  ,  survivor perks. / accepting!

@worstlynch​ asked:" i promised to keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what i plan on doing. " ( for adam )

On Sunday, the Lynch brothers knelt at the pew they’d always knelt at, three different heads bowed as they prayed. One with dark curls, one with a buzz cut, and one with blond curls. Ronan had made a promise to attend church alternating in Henrietta and in D.C. and went to lunch with his brothers. And he continued to fulfill the promise so that he could spend time with Matthew. Not unlike a custody agreement.

This particular Sunday, Ronan had been cagey (more so than usual) and could hardly look at Declan without scowling (also not unusual). He usually let Declan drive him and Matthew to whatever bullshit Declan had chosen. However, this time he’d shrugged his shoulders and said he’d meet them there. Had to promise to meet them there, a promise sworn with a roll of his eyes.

Ronan had to take a quick detour before he arrived at the restaurant, as planned. Except he had a small box with him with what seemed to be airholes cut out. He set the box down in front of Declan, directly on what was supposed to be his older brother’s plate, and took a seat with his resting bitch face on. Rather than look at Declan he pretended he gave even one fuck about the menu that was on the table.

He’d dreamt the previous night. Declan was good at keeping secrets and even better at lying and Ronan was good at being a shithead. But he didn’t want anything to physically hurt his older brother, not unless it had come from Ronan’s own fists flying. Only Lynches were allowed to hurt Lynches. So he’d dreamt. And at some point his dream had decided to become a different thing than his initial idea and it wasn’t a terrible change.

Within the box squirmed a small, gold-and-black kitten with legs that were slightly too lanky and large rounded ears and large rounded eyes. It had spots like a little leopard cub. There was something a little too intelligent about the warm honey eyes the ball used. Ronan already knew how well the little fuck could hide, even in plain sight, and that she would thrive with his brother like she was supposed to. She would eat curses and bad magics and warn off people intent on harming Declan, for whatever fucking reason, shit he could imagine people trying to shoot him for being so purposefully boring.

nonverbal starters. ( [ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger ) / accepting!

@worstlynch​ asked: [ guard ] @ adam

Of all things, a normal mugging had to happen to someone like Adam who barely had enough for just himself; all his earnings went to his tuition, rent and essentials. He faltered for a moment, raising both arms up to the sky as he surrenders. The man had a sharp knife, and Adam had nothing. Cabeswater was lingering, rustling, leaves ghostly brushing over his deaf ear to remind him of their presence. But maybe he didn’t need Cabeswater. He could surrender most of what he had on him and then plan out on extra shifts he can do to make up for what he’d lost. 

nonverbal starters. ( [ surprise ] for your muse to show up at mine’s house without explanation ) / accepting!

@worstlynch​ asked: [ surprise ] @ adam 

His coveralls were on, the strap of his messenger bag draped over his shoulder; he was all set for his shift at Boyd’s. Adam grabbed his keys and opened the front door, suddenly startled when Declan Lynch stood in his way. The brief fright reflected in those dark ocean blues of his as he steps back, then Adam breathed in through his nose, composing himself. “Ronan isn’t here,” He began, emphasising on the word here, stepping out of his apartment just to turn around to lock the door with his keys. 

she knows his type.    trust-fund, son of a gun, never worked a day in his life and probably never will.  not that that’s necessarily a bad thing  —  especially not for a waitress like may.  she takes things almost painfully slow, fingertips barely trailing along the aluminum length of the countertop as she makes her way to his booth, walking with that slight swing of curved hips, that signature smile cracked across soft features.  it’s all in the game, the only one she’ll ever win.  and a lithe hand tosses chocolate curls behind one shoulder, playful, as the other pulls a small steno pad  &  pencil from the deep pocket of her apron.  her palm is pressed flat against the table, an anchor to steady her as she leans in close.    “  what can i get ya, sugar?  ”    the word drips from full lips like molasses or miel  ;  slow, sensual.  a girl’s gotta get tips somehow.    “  we’ve got café con leche, sweet tea, you name it.  ”

[send my muse an icon, and they will... - no longer accepting!]

👻 tell a fear they have

fear is the mind killer. whelk is the czerny killer.

but noah holds his murderer so close to his heart, that no matter how declan lynch pries, it just won't open. ronan, adam, gansey, blue, they'd already staked their claim - any more people and his heart might not take it.

a tinier fear, then - a less conspicuous one. safer, as the eldest lynch would put it - prodding or not, a question's a question.

" bears. " he tries. it's not terribly convincing. " the woods have them, probably. i don't want to risk it. "