Aidan Murphy 🐍 Ronan Lynch (dreamsthief) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2017-10-25 19:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | aidan murphy |
Who: Aidan Murphy
What: Dreaming
Where: His couch in his shithole apartment (Jackson, South Carolina)
When: Wednesday night, October 25th, 2017
Warnings: Some explicit imagery including sex, death and self-harm.
Aidan's normal dreams, the ones he didn''t rule in, sometimes those were even more horrifying than the things he dreamed up on purpose. Aidan Murphy's life was fucked up enough that he didn't even really need an imagination to come up with half of the things that tended to sprout from his twisted subconscious while he was dreaming. Ronan called them night horrors, so Aidan did too. But it wasn't the night horrors that Aidan was actually afraid of. Nothing would ever be more terrifying to him than the things that he had no control in making, or unmaking.
It was usually the same thing every time. His father's bloody, mangled body in an alley. Aidan hadn't actually seen his father the day he died, but he'd imagined it plenty of times, plus he had the memories of Ronan's father mixed in there too. Whoever had done it, they'd messed up his dad so badly that they couldn't even have an open casket funeral. It had to be closed, the sight of his father too unseemly for an already unsettling day. They'd done what they could but according to his mother later, who was more or less vacant at the time, they hadn't been able to fix his face enough for any part of it to be even somewhat recognizable. Aidan had tried to sneak a peak inside the casket anyway, and his mother had come out of her semi-permanent comatose state to yell at him before he got the lid open. He had still imagined a million times how his father had looked, but now with Ronan Lynch riding shot gun in his head, memories of Niall Lynch's broken body mixed in and flooded Aidan's already over worked imagination. When he dreamed of his own father now, he just looked like that. Broken and beaten to death in an alley, far from home.
He would rather face down a thousand night horrors than see his father like that again.
The next thing he usually saw was himself bleeding all over the bathroom floor, matching vertical cuts down the length of his wrists. It wasn't like the times that Ronan had to dream a clone of himself to distract the night horrors from trying to kill the real Ronan Lynch, this was more like a memory, except for the part where he died. In his dreams, Aidan watched himself die almost every night. In his dreams, his little brother never found him lying on the floor, already whoozy from blood loss, and made the call to 911 that saved Aidan's life. His brother had only been ten years old at the time.
Headlights. The roar of a finely tuned car engine. Tires squealing on shoddily paved cement roads. Aidan's heart racing almost as fast as his car sped through the night. He never felt more alive than when he was strapped into his seat, going at least thirty over the speed limit, and leaving all of his shit in the rear view mirror. There was nothing better than the sound of a revving engine and the sensation of going so fast that it feels like you're flying over the pavement. The danger of being caught and the exhilaration that came with it, the fearlessness that Aidan felt every time he got behind the wheel.
Suddenly Kieran was in the passenger seat, looking at him smugly before opening his mouth to speak in a language it took Aidan a second to realize wasn't his own. Scio quid estis vos. (I know what you are) Ever since Ronan had come along, Aidan almost exclusively dreamed in Latin, but he could switch between that and English whenever he pleased. "You don't know me," Aidan responded vehemently through clenched teeth, hands gripping harder to the steering wheel until his knuckles started to turn white as he fought back the primal instinct to rip him apart and pressed down harder on the gas. "Not anymore."
Quod tu es? (What are you?) Aidan frowned, momentarily confused. That voice didn't belong to K. A thrill filled his chest as realization settled in a moment later and Aidan blinked, turning to see Seth sitting in the passenger seat. Something in Aidan instantly quieted despite the constant storm raging inside him. He didn't have an answer to Seth's question, and even if he did, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it. He didn't want Seth to start looking at him the way he would once he knew how big of a freak Aidan Murphy really was. Aidan's silence stretched on until Seth smiled, the sight of it causing a lump to rise swiftly in Aidan's throat but he couldn't look away. His sharp gaze stayed on his friend as Seth moved in closer, too close to be mistaken for friendship. The first brush of Seth's mouth against his was electric, lighting Aidan up from the inside as he felt a hand sliding from his chest down towards his lap, long fingers that Aidan had fixated on for months wrapping cleverly around him and then... eyes closing, Aidan gasped.
Aidan woke up with a start, feeling warm all over and trembling, covered in a layer of sweat as he shook his head and quickly closed his eyes again with a deep, shuddering breath. That brief euphoria from the tail end of the dream was very quickly replaced with an intense feeling of shame, bordering on physical nausea that passed over him in waves.
He quickly found the familiar edge between awareness and sleep, his and Ronan's kingdom, and purposefully lingered there this time instead of falling into a deeper sleep. Aidan hadn't yet been as ambitious as Ronan when it came to dreaming things. The limitlessness of their abilities made him feel dangerously unstable in ways he couldn't always cope with, but emboldened by the euphoric sensation of Seth taking him into his hand, Aidan felt larger than life. Ready to rule over his domain. The real world might not be his, but this world was. It was his to shape, or destroy.
Aidan Murphy Aidan Murphy Aidan Murphy
The world around him lurched with the soft whisperings, and he was once again surrounded by that familiar forest of old trees that whispered his name over and over again. Nunc scio quid estis vos. (I know what you are now.) The trees only spoke Latin, but Aidan was well familiar with the dead language by now. If there was one thing consistent in his life, it was that Aidan Murphy was only good with dead things. Quld? (What am I?) Aidan posed the question to the trees, like he was dreading the answer.
The trees whispered back, Tu es Greywaren. (You're Greywaren) And yet, there was another voice among them that echoed far more softly in answer. Procella. (The storm)
Looking down, Aidan suddenly realized that his entire right arm was covered in spiders. Small, black as night, but enough of them on him that he couldn't see one bit of pale skin underneath them all. He hated the things. When he was a kid he used to have reoccurring nightmares of spiders crawling all over him and into his mouth while he was sleeping, and then choking to death on them. He held such a strong association with that particular fear that Aidan thought maybe that's why they kept showing up now, when he should have control over what he did and did not dream. Sometimes he brought things with him he'd rather forget.
They aren't spiders, he told himself firmly, and then they weren't. Instead of a thousand spiders crawling all over his arm, they were butterflies, a sudden burst of color in an otherwise dreary dream world as they all seemed to take flight at once, like they couldn't get away from him fast enough. Aidan didn't really blame them. He was a hard thing to be near. An impossible thing to love. Sometimes he didn't know why the people that did actually put up with him even bothered half the time. Mostly Seth. At the thought of his one and only friend, Aidan's insides started to heat up uncomfortably. Like he was going to explode out of his own skin at any second if he didn't turn his thoughts to something else. There was no one who got under his skin the way Seth did, but every time Aidan considered telling someone about Ronan, the mechanic was the only person he ever wanted to tell.
He barely even thought it before it was real. Usually it took Aidan a little more concentration than that, but not this time. This time, without even thinking too hard about what he wanted to create, he dreamed something into being. It wasn't much, it was still an incredibly small thing in comparison to the sheer gravity of the things that Ronan Lynch could dream up out of nowhere when he was even younger than Aidan was now, but it was still something to them: A raven feather, as black as Aidan's hair.
It felt as real as it looked, turning the lightweight object over in his hand and running three fingers over the soft, smooth edges of the feather. Aidan swallowed, feeling a strange mixture of fear and pride as he held his creation in his grasp, small and insignificant but still his. When he woke up, he was still holding onto it for dear life.