[Kavinsky laughed. His head wasn't always a nice place to be in, but it wasn't plagued with night horrors like Ronan's. Occasionally, it was plagued by other things though. There was a reason he usually slept with a gun nearby and it wasn't just because he was worried about people. Most of the time though, he used his dream place as his personal playground. If it looked derelict it was because he'd made it that way. If it was ever on fire it was because he'd made it that way.
He liked this place better than the forest. The forest had always fought him, and even though he liked a little challenge sometimes, it was nicer not to worry about waking up scratched to hell by thorns. His favorite dreams, though, were the ones where he didn't plan on bringing anything back at all. Then there was nothing to worry about and he could fuck around to his heart's content, a king, a god.]
It's about intention. Knowing what you want and holding onto it. It's easier to get in and out before the dream knows you're there, so it doesn't fuck up your intent, but I can take shit either way.
[It was just easier when the dream was unaware.]
It takes practice, too. Months. Years.
[He'd worked hard to get to where he was and he was damned proud of it. Once, he'd been a boy, younger than Ronan was right now, with only tentative control over what he brought back and what his dreams held for him. He'd had no one to teach him; the burden had been firmly on his shoulders. But he'd done it, he'd conquered his dreams, given himself worth and purpose. He made his dreams work for him.
He wanted to ask why the fuck Niall Lynch had never taught his son how to dream properly, but it would open the door for questions about why no one had taught Kavinsky how to do the same. Maybe the older Dreamers were selfish. Maybe they didn't care. You'd think, with a gift as special as this, you'd want someone to know how to use it. That was part of why Kavinsky was going to teach Ronan.]
no subject
He liked this place better than the forest. The forest had always fought him, and even though he liked a little challenge sometimes, it was nicer not to worry about waking up scratched to hell by thorns. His favorite dreams, though, were the ones where he didn't plan on bringing anything back at all. Then there was nothing to worry about and he could fuck around to his heart's content, a king, a god.]
It's about intention. Knowing what you want and holding onto it. It's easier to get in and out before the dream knows you're there, so it doesn't fuck up your intent, but I can take shit either way.
[It was just easier when the dream was unaware.]
It takes practice, too. Months. Years.
[He'd worked hard to get to where he was and he was damned proud of it. Once, he'd been a boy, younger than Ronan was right now, with only tentative control over what he brought back and what his dreams held for him. He'd had no one to teach him; the burden had been firmly on his shoulders. But he'd done it, he'd conquered his dreams, given himself worth and purpose. He made his dreams work for him.
He wanted to ask why the fuck Niall Lynch had never taught his son how to dream properly, but it would open the door for questions about why no one had taught Kavinsky how to do the same. Maybe the older Dreamers were selfish. Maybe they didn't care. You'd think, with a gift as special as this, you'd want someone to know how to use it. That was part of why Kavinsky was going to teach Ronan.]