#'im sorry ive begun to bore you im sorry of tiring you too'

[stargirlsuicide]

reading our old messages. might kill myself

[aeirithgainsborough]

very Important adam/ronan things to take away from the cdth sampler:

“like the other lynch brothers, he was a regular churchgoer, but most people assumed he played for the other team.” i am SCREAMING. top tier gay joke. well timed.

everyone: ronan’s eyes aren’t pretty. adam: mhmm  e y e l a s h e s

much to say about the revelation that ronan is partly at the barns to keep his dreams hidden and in check, and how much he relates an inability to change and be like everyone else to having to stay there. almost like he’s stuck huh! i’ve been saying!!

of note that words used to describe ronan’s existence are BORED and MALINGERED.

fingers crossed he finds some balance between his dreams and his wants/needs that allows him to leave the barns and grow but after the Great Crab Disaster I’M WORRIED.

fire imagery EVERYWHERE. i’m WORRIED again.

“there are stains that spread faster than you drive. if you drive, it’ll take fourteen years to get there. seventeen. forty. one hundred. we’ll be driving to your funeral by the end.” good to know ronan is still the most DRAMATIC boy in the whole of virginia. absolutely no chill.

dont like the possible foreshadowing of that driving to your funeral by the end, though. must leave lynches alone!

“it’s very safe” asjkajjka DECLAN PLEASE 

“ronan kicked one of the volvo’s tires” asjkajjka RONAN PLEASE. 

ronan trying to act nonchalant by cramming chocolate covered peanuts into his mouth and choking a little is Peak Disaster Gay. 

matthew’s music must be awful if ronan and declan are in agreement over it, must have playlist. 

ronan who lives to pretend he doesn’t care wondering if his brothers didn’t say anything about his moving because it didn’t make a difference to them is huhhh. don’t like it, take it away pls.

i’m sorry, ENTIRELY WRAPPED UP IN! ENTIRELY! 

entirely

wrapped

up

in

shut up!!!! shut upppppp! 

“is there any version of you that could come with me to cambridge?” tbh nothing would have readied me for this. adam i-can-do-everything-alone asking ronan if he could go with him. so much growth, too much pride, nowhere to put it, send help.

the fact that ronan doesn’t stay in cambridge when he visits adam because of plausible deniability, that if he doesn’t try there’s no evidence he can’t make it there. rip. 

ronan! missed! him! like! a! lung! 

dramatic again, but entirely relatable bc damn, same ronan, same. 

a) ronan thinking about how his heartbeat is the same as everyone else’s so he wasn’t that different and b) JUST LIKE ADAM’S HEART WHEN HIS HEAD WAS RESTING ON HIS HEAD = much too much to think about. need to lie down for a bit.

he could move to follow the guy he loved!! we all knew it was love, we’ve always known it was love, but! the words. the words!!!!! brb sobbing.

i have only had jordan for a day and a half but if anything happened to her i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. 11/10 would marry.

art forgery plot confirmed!

THIS WAS HOW IT HAD BEGUN

bitch fkajdkajksja GIVE ME A WARNING. 

still can’t compose myself RE the info that ronan saw adam and immediately sent a desperate prayer up to god 

will the word please ever be the same again? definitely not!

adam’s arms adam’s hands his lovely! boyish! hands!

the description of his expressions with all its contradictions and multitudes is just my favourite thing ever. it encapsulates everything i love about adam fucking parrish.

and the fact that ronan instantly recognised all those multitudes in him. there was always a level of understanding ronan had for adam throughout trc that no one else did and this tells us he had that before he even met him, he just... recognised something in him i just... ;______; 

please 

ronan knowing all the harvard stats because he was the person adam could crow to, how he takes on that adam that is still full of contradictions and multitudes, how he finds it hard but he absorbs all the facts and all of adam’s anxieties, even in the face of his own anxieties about adam leaving and falling in love with the shining, educated people that ronan thinks are better than him. that absolute, unwavering support 😭😭😭

tbh there’s a whole ass lot to unpack in this section so imma try and do it briefly (she says!)

ronan lynch is a romantic cdth confirmed: 

he could have texted adam but he liked the soft surprise of it

over the past few days ronan had played his reunion with adam over in his head MANY TIMES

adam i love you but that outfit sounds awful. you are a student, it’s a friday night, put some sweats on and stuff some cheetos in your mouth. 

the sweet nervousness of their reunion, how they walk past each other and both seem so uncertain. they’re a year into dating and the still get nervous and unsure after a few weeks apart and it’s CUTE and definitely speaks to their excitement/anticipation levels.

THE WATCH. big time softness. 

they hugged hard ;_____; 

im just so relieved that they’re allowed to touch each other and be intimate and aren’t consigned to the ‘boys in love aren’t like that boring boring’ corner. 

the way ronan thinks about how adam fits as he remembered. huh. you’re really gonna do this to me.

his hand still pressed against the back of ronan’s skull the way it ALWAYS did when they hugged. 

you smell like home. you smell like home!!!!!! brb ive gone absolutely fucking feral. 

i both want to play repo because it sounds fun and don’t want to because it sounds complicated and i fucking hate instructions. much confusion. 

adam pressing his shoe hard against ronan’s and then his leg and then breathing in ronan’s ear I AM HOWLING. ronan’s nerve endings being made a marvel of I AM SOBBING. it’s very important that m/m ships are afforded the same level of explicit attraction as m/f (and i don’t mean explicit as in nsfw, i mean as in obvious)

no offence because i love them but all of adam’s friends sound Extra™

“to the outside eye, ronan lynch was a loser” pls ronan, you are giving me an ulcer.

scary spice i asjkjdkjskdjak

queer crying club! i stan!!

also adam saying in the epilogue of trk that he wanted to save all the adam’s hidden in plain view and then going to college and scooping up all the criers and giving them something to do is far too much to handle.

don’t think about that and the time he thought about how he used to spend his nights crying on the trailer steps and wondering why he bothered until gansey came along and offered him friendship. dont think about how he’s essentially paying that forward DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.

hand holding, arms around each other, hip to hip walking, can’t wait anymore kissing, I MISSED YOU. love that for me! 

but also the fact that adam reaches down for ronan’s hand and its so natural. ronan’s hand is there so he just. takes it. 

hearing ronan’s thoughts on what happened with robert at last is A Lot. the way it’s still happening, always happening, kept fresh and savage shows how affected ronan was by it all and still is and i think its so important that he’s not just. angry and hot headed. there’s more to it than that. its painful, it makes him feel sick, its unending and it really speaks to how much adam means to him. 

adam thinks he has no one BITCH YOU’VE GOT ALL OF US. 

and ronan. 

but. how he feels like he has nothing still. the way his voice hitches on ‘because’ because it’s all still so painful. i wanna wrap him up. i wanna take everything that hurts away. i wanna tell him he’s so loved. guess i’ll just have to sit back and watch him work his way through it all I GUESS. no but i am looking forward to his growth in this trilogy, especially considering how much he’s grown already. adam parrish invented character growth lets 👏 be 👏 real 👏

it had never been a fight between them/it was a fight between adam and himself, between adam and the world/for ronan it was a fight between truth and compromise, between the black and white he saw and the reality everyone else experienced. i LOVE this. it so well encapsulates them. and it’s so important that they can realise their differing world views and their complexities and meet in the middle somewhere.

“ronan put his lips on adam’s deaf ear, and he hated adam’s father” FUCK ME UP. my absolute favourite bit 103930%. absolute incoherent mess over here. not! okay! see other post for more coherency because i only had it for 5.7 minutes. 

frowning, guarded, crumpled adam who i’ll literally. never be over in all of my life. 38983/10 will love him until the end of time. 

i want it too much. !!!!!! going feral again over here. WHAT DO YOU WANT ADAM? I WANT IT TOO MUCH. definitely will never shut up about this. 

scared adam is going to be a visionary so pretending chapter 6 doesn’t exist. 

LINDENMERE ;________;

i love it already

i CANNOT believe that ronan is being dream invaded and challenged and he’s over here like hmm nice bike ELEGANT and ROUGH and READY like ADAM asjkasj please ronan you are so embarrassing!! 

also. ronan thinks adam is elegant and rough and ready so! there’s that!

i literally. cannot. cope with the HILARITY of chapter 8. the whole thing is a complete and utter DISASTER. it’s absolutely gone off in adam’s room after all his work at constructing a well put together boy. ronan comes for a night and everything goes BONKERS. amazing. 

(really worried about what this means RE ronan being able to exit the barns and grow and change and not be bored and not feel like a loser so we’re focusing on the hilarious disaster of it all.)

p.s. adam sleeping slotted between ronan and the wall OKAY. THIS IS FINE! 

p.p.s. adam’s bed hair is WILD. 

p.p.p.s i have missed adam and ronan so so so so so much and im an emotional fucking wreck

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

weak [connor m. x fem!reader]

like what i do? consider buying me a coffee!

look i know ive been like. dead. but i sorta pushed myself to finish this in order to post Something

im so sorry ive been so inactive hhh ive been busy with work and college and 

warnings: 

         The first time you met Connor Murphy, he’d been leaning against a washing machine with a book tucked underneath his arm, fumbling with his wallet. The soft swears spilling from his lips seemed to fill the air, and part of you wondered whether you should just come back and do laundry later - considering the demanding weight of the basket in front of you was starting to become grating - or if you should just go in and do your laundry, despite the intimidating air he seemed to carry around him. The weight of your laundry basket barked at you, and you made up your mind and walked in, apparently immediately grabbing his attention. He looked up, saw you standing there awkwardly as you made eye contact before hurrying over to an empty washing machine to start making sure you had sorted shit correctly. The sound of a heavy sigh grasped your attention, your shoulders jerking slightly as heavy footsteps grew closer. You looked up, and there he stood - taller than you and built like a beanpole, hair pulled back into a low, lazily crafted bun.

        He didn’t say anything at first, sort of looking down to his wallet for a moment. Then his eyes caught yours as he shut the empty leather wallet, and jammed it into his pocket. You immediately grew tense as you nearly dropped the shirt you’d pulled out, and then your nails dug into it as you watched this complete stranger approach you. He sighed, then frowned, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

        “Fuck, sorry - hey, uh, do you have any extra change? Fuck, sorry - I don’t have anything smaller than a twenty and, uh-” he paused, “I ran out.”

        “That wasn’t smart,” you said without thinking, before immediately growing flustered. You dug into the bag you’d swung carelessly over your shoulder before heading out to do laundry, pulled out the coin purse you kept full of spare change - which was mainly shit that your parents kept sending you, as a ‘just in case’ you need it for whatever reason, despite the fact you’d been fine and more collecting coins rather than using them - and tossed it to him. The weight crashed into his chest, and he looked from the little black bag to your face.

        “What the fuck do you have in here?” He asked. Maybe your bag was growing a little heavy.

        But you failed to suppress a small smirk and answered him anyway. “Coins.”

        His eyes flutter from you to the bag and then back to your face. “... Gold coins?” He asked, unzipping the little pouch. Then he paused, before finally replying to you as he strode back over to his laundry. “Thanks.”

        “I want that back, y’know,” you said.

        “Yeah. Whatever. Sure. I’ll pay you-”

        “The rest of the bag, dumb ass.” You clicked your tongue, “don’t pay me back.”

        “Whatever.”

        So you continued what you were doing silently, debating whether you should plug in your headphones and turn on a podcast or something - or maybe see if this stranger will watch your shit just in case and run back to grab your laptop and plant down somewhere and see if you can knock out a bit more of one of your papers. You stood there in silent debate, realizing that this dude still had all of your change in his hands right as you went to find your quarters. You looked back to him, and he was just standing there, toying with the zipper mindlessly. He didn’t look back to you.

        “Yo. I’d like to do laundry, dude.”

        He looked back to you. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

        The next thing you felt was your bag hitting your chest, and you watched this dude smirk as he turned back to what he was doing, now finding his phone and fumbling around aimlessly with it instead. You debated asking his name - but in the end, you really didn’t care at that time. He finished his laundry, thanked you for your shit, and then walked out - hopefully with a plan to fold that shit once he got back to his dorm room. You plugged in your headphones, and left the sound of three brothers distract you from the bullshit amount of time you’d be sitting here. Could you leave? Sure. Did you trust it? Absolutely not - not after the last time when some asshole stole one of your hoodies. Sure, you got it back - but not without a few stains that you immediately struggled to wash out, causing for you to waste a fuck-ton of change with multiple washes.

        The next time you met Connor was late at night inside a coffee shop that wasn’t too far from your campus. The one in the building was closed, and you’d rather go buy a cup from wherever rather than try to find any coffeemaker and make it for yourself. Honestly, you just didn’t want to wake anyone up with the smell of burnt coffee - that would be a string of apologies you didn’t want to have to make. So you sunk into your boots, shoved your wallet into your sweatpants pocket, and set out to the nearest place you could find that was open - a small local joint, according to your phone. You were relieved to find that it was in fact open, and escaped into the shop, the sweet smell of coffee greeting you. The tired eyes of the barista greeted you, and you felt bad for coming in so late - how much longer was this place open anyhow?

        She let out a soft sigh, stretching as she walked over to greet you. College student. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her. You glanced at her name tag - Joanne - before she finally greeted you. She rolled her shoulders back, the soft pop audible even to you as she forced a smile, “welcome to the Bean Hut,” she said, “what can I get for ya’?”

        You glanced to the menu, rocking back and forth as you searched for something. You rattled off your order, trying to keep it as simple as you could so that she wouldn’t have to strain herself too much - because jesus, you were actually starting to get concerned for her health. You glanced over to the emptying case of different treats. She caught your gaze as she punched in your order, pausing as she debated something internally.

        “If you want something, get it. We throw away what we don’t sell,” she said, “waste of food but, fuck, what can you do?”

        “How much is the banana nut bread?” You asked. She rattled off a price, so you bought a slice for your roommate and a chocolate croissant for yourself, watching her unfold a paper bag with THE BEAN HUT printed on the front in stereotypical hipster coffee shop font. After a moment, you hurried and unfurled your money, handing it to her as you heard the front door of the shop open with a jingle, and glanced over your shoulder while taking the bag from her.

        You hadn’t introduced yourself to him before, as you didn’t have the chance to, but you immediately recognized the stranger as being laundry-boy. How many lanky dudes with man-buns were there on campus anyhow? Besides, you really couldn’t forget how fucking cold his eyes were. He scanned your face, taking in each detail as he tried to pin something to you because you were familiar but he just couldn’t pinpoint where.

        “Welcome to the Bean Hut-” Joanne had begun, only for Connor to glance from her to you, “oh. Connor. The usual?” She asked. 

        “Yeah - hot chocolate and a-”

        “A vanilla bean scone,” she finished, already in the process of punching in his total, “I know.”

        You looked over to this Connor, jamming your hands into your pockets, “are you gonna need some extra change this time, Connor?” It was dumb and it was nothing but it was enough to get his attention, as you caught his eyes flickering to you for a second as he opened his wallet.

        He pulled his card out of his wallet, handing it over to Joanne to run. He sort of smiled and said, “thought I recognized you,” before turning to face you. “I’m good. Thanks.”

        You weren’t sure if he was being friendly or what. That’s just how this dude seemed to speak - sorta unwavering, always with cold eyes and his hands hidden away in his jacket or jean pockets no matter what. But you just sort of forced a smile, rocking back and forth on your heels as you glanced over to Joanne, busy at work with making your drinks. “You come here a lot?” You asked, looking back to Connor.

        “Yeah. Usually.” 

        “Busy?”

        “No,” he sort of shrugged, “I just like the hot chocolate.” He left it at that, not pushing forward. You were a stranger - he didn’t have to spill his entire life story to you. This was just a fluke in fate, a mistake where your paths crossed again and it probably wasn’t meant to happen. At least, that’s what Connor thought - you looked like you were nothing like him, bundled up in warm sleepwear while he was stuck looking like he was going out for the night again. Connor didn’t do that. Connor didn’t like going out with his roommate to parties, he didn’t care for drinking unless he was home or somewhere he couldn’t fuck things up. You sucked in your cheeks, giving him a once-over.

        The first time you’d seen Connor, he’d only been in a t-shirt and sweatpants - the usual college attire, you’d come to learn - but now he stood before you in jeans that were baggy at the knee and ripped (factory ripped, you’d decided at the lack of fraying), leather jacket over a unzipped hoodie over plaid, and worn leather boots that you could see staring to stretch away from the soles, begging to be replaced soon. You finally spoke up, cutting through the awkward silence that had drawn between you, “going somewhere?”

        “Didn’t change.” He looked over to you, “are you working on a paper or-”

        “Yep,” you popped the ‘p’, “research paper. Physics. It’s boring.”

        “Boring?”

        “To most people, yeah.” You shrugged, “I mean, it’s cool and all, but I don’t even need it for my major. I just wanted the science credit-”

        “So you chose physics.” Connor stared at you with bewilderment, “y’know, there’s easier classes on campus-”

        “I took AP Physics my senior year in high school. I’m not going in blind, hon,” you tried to suppress the smallest little smile. He just stood there, watching you badly fighting back a smile, and then the crumple of a paper bag caught his attention as Joanne slid a medium-sized coffee-cup over to you, and then a bag to Connor, before turning back to her job.

        You barely had the time to take your drink and turn before Connor stopped you. “Hey,” he’d called, causing you to glimpse back at him over your shoulder. “It’s Connor.” He said, reaching back to the counter behind him, “my name- I mean,” he stumbled over his words, “Connor Murphy.”

        After a moment, you smiled. “[y/n],” you said, “nice to meet you, Murphy.” Then you were gone, the soft chime of a bell marking your exit as you took your walk back to your dorm. Connor Murphy. You committed the name to memory. Something told you that you’d meet him again - somehow. You lifted your cup to your lips, fighting back to urge to tear it away as the burning liquid spilled onto your tongue as you let the warm caffeine seep into your body, into your entire being. You’d have to go back sometimes. Maybe you’d run into Connor again. 

        If you were honest, you’d never been that much of a party person. Or, well, rather - you’d never been a ‘let’s go party with complete strangers and get wasted’ kind of person. Parties with friends? You were down - but now you were sitting in the corner of a room with a red cup in your hand, guarding the drink with your life. You’d lost sight of your roommate, slightly cursing that fact since she’d asked for you to keep an eye on her if she started drinking - which had happened almost ten minutes after the two of you arrived. On the better side of the spectrum, she’d worked up the confidence to finally talk that guy in her intro to theatre history class that you could tell was into her, and maybe they’d be making out somewhere. On the other hand, you’d get up and find her sometime soon, ditching your drink for the night because it was shitty beer, not even the kind of stuff that you could normally stomach. You’d hoped that maybe someone would have pitched in, maybe brought wine coolers or something with any more flavor than that sad grain water shit. But you’d stopped looking after a while, dodging between drunk freshmen and listening to girls coo over the smallest things - which made you fight back a smile, because drunk girls were always adorable in your opinion, some getting more giggly, and on the rare occasion you’d had one asked if you’d eat and try to feed you peanuts when you’d admit that you hadn’t. It was a sweet notion - fuck anyone who said that drunk girls were embarrassing. You’d punch a fucker for harassing a drunk girl, or any girl.

        The music seemed to increase in volume after minutes, leading you to finally push yourself out of your seat, finding the kitchen and dumping the shitty beer into a sink before you wandered with the intent of finding your roommate. To your surprise, she’d been sitting out back with journalism-dude’s arm around her shoulder, laughing at some video on his phone, headphones shared between them. You only smiled as you turned, wandering around inside with the hope of finding somewhere quiet. Bedrooms were a no-go, since you didn’t want to walk in on anyone fucking (the risk alone was too much for you, because how do you walk away from that sort of thing? You weren’t sure.) and bathrooms were only a somewhat safer bet. After a while of wandering, you’d finally found an unlocked bathroom that seemed empty when you knocked. And lo and behold, you opened the door to find a certain scrawny dude sitting in the bathtub, phone now pressed to his stomach as you pushed your way inside.

        “Are you fucking stalking me?” Connor said, staring at you with furrowed brow as he watched you shut the door behind you.

        “Shut up, Murphy.” You hesitated to lock the door, but glanced back to him, “mind if I-”

        “God, fucking please,” he scowled, before shifting slightly, giving you enough room to sit beside him if you wanted.

        You weren’t about to turn the offer down. The door clicked locked, and you crossed the tiny bathroom to sink into the spot next to him, snagging your phone from your back pocket in the process. “So why are you here?”

        “Roommate dragged me here.” Connor looked over to you, clicking his phone on and off mindlessly, “some shit about wanting to get out and enjoy college. You?”

        “Same thing, I guess,” you shrugged, “roommate’s crush was gonna be here and she wanted to talk to him. So I came along to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble-”

        “And now you’re doing that by hiding in a bathroom.”

        “She’s with that dude and they’re watching something together. She’s safe for right now, dude. I’m not shitty like that,” you frowned, “c’mon, Murphy. Do I seem like the kind of girl to just abandon her friend like that?”

        He shrugged, looking back to his phone for a second. “[y/n], right?” He asked, finally looking back over to you. You nodded. He shifted again, pressing his back against the corner as best as he could. “What’s your story?”

        “My what-” You’d started, “Murphy, what the fuck-”

        “I’m just trying to make fucking conversation.”

        You stared at him, watching as he rolled his eyes and went back to his phone without a word. Fine. “I was raised in a town not too far from here, I took a bunch of AP classes in high school so that I look pretty fucking good on applications, and now I’m here. Nothing special.” 

        He glanced over to you, not really responding at first. And finally, he sucked in a breath, and put his phone down as he finally turned his attention to you. “Guess we have that in common.” He said, and you perked a brow at that. “The ‘nothing special’ shit.”

        “Spill your story then, Murphy.”

        He smiled a little at that before looking away, licking his lips before he finally settled on a starting point. “Uh, I guess - I’m from out of state, I have a sh-” He stopped there, “I have a pretty okay sister and okay parents,” he said, both feeling a bit strained for him to say. “I, uh, dealt with some shit in high school, aaand now I’m here in a bathroom at a party.”

        You shifted, trying to find comfort in sitting against the edge of the tub and the wall. “I feel like you’re leaving out details. C’mon. Spill shit.” You paused for a moment, “you say something, I say something. Go.”

        Amusement flickered in his eyes as he smiled again, “alright. I took tap for years as a kid. Loved it,” he said softly, “and then I threw that out.”

        You nodded, pursing your lips together. What could you tell him? “I have a dog at home. Her name is Pepper and she’s the best girl in the world.”

        “I played baseball as a kid.” He drummed his fingers against his leg, “and threw that out later, too. It was fun, though.”

        “Nice.” You hummed for a moment, mentally scrolling through your library of things to tell. “I was in a production of Cinderella when I was ten as one of the stepsisters. It was the best fucking shit, and I kicked ass in the role.”

        He chuckled at the thought. “I wrote a lot of shitty teen poetry in high school.”

        “I still write a lot of shitty teen poetry in college,” you smirked as you brushed hair from your eyes. “Shitty teen poetry is fun, Murphy.”

        You watched him shift against the uncomfortable tub and wall. “I smoked a lot of weed.” He shrugged, “I don’t smoke as much anymore.”

        “Surprise, surprise.” You rolled your eyes, “never saw that one coming, Murphy.” Before he could protest, you elbowed him, “I’m kidding. You only somewhat look like a stoner.” You let out a heavy breath, trying to come up with another fact. “I have a little brother. He’s in high school.”

        “I have an annoying little sister. She’s also in high school. Jazz band.”

        “He’s on the soccer team - but he has been thinking about taking art classes again. He used to draw a lot.”

        “I draw a lot.” Connor said, “considering I’m an art major.” He smiled at you, “tell your brother to go for it.”

        “I’m undeclared.” You let out a sigh, “not sure yet. Maybe I’ll major in English or something.” You couldn’t fight back a smile, “can you draw me?”

        “Can I? Yeah, definitely, if you’re paying.”

        “Guess my poor college ass is just gonna have to take a rain check, Murphy.” You finally stole a glance at the time. “I should probably go check on Tessa. Walk me out, Murphy?”

        You pushed yourself up and out of the tub, spine popping in the process as it ached from the awkward curvature of the tub and wall. You stepped away, only to be surprised when Connor rose too, stretching as he stood, shirt riding slightly above his hips and giving you a glimpse of a sliver of skin. You tore your eyes away from that. You almost expected him to notice and greet you with a crooked smile and a “like what you see?” But he didn’t, double-checking his pockets for his phone and wallet - you begun to doubt that he would have even noticed your little glance. You unlocked the bathroom door, stumbling out into a quieter hallway with Connor in tow, and you wandered downstairs. When you couldn’t spot your roommate, you fished out your phone, only to find a single text there for you.

        Tess: journalism guy coming back w me, sorry

        You groaned slightly as you turned back to Connor, about to say something when he merely showed you his phone, sort of pinching at the bridge of his nose with annoyance. You understood why the moment you read the text.

        J: wont be back tonight. enjoy the dorm to urself.

        “Great. Our roommates are fucking,” you clicked your tongue, “or that’s just a really fun coincidence.”

        “He never shuts up about Tessa.” Connor jammed his phone into his jeans pocket, “c’mon. You’re staying with me, I guess.” He took you by the wrist, guiding you out of the party.

        “Cool. Fun. Sleepover with art major Connor Murphy. I’m down.” You said, excitement just oozing out of you - absolutely. Completely. Good thing he was guiding you, or you’d probably melt into a fucking puddle. You were glad Connor couldn’t read minds. He didn’t need to hear your stupid snarky shit.

        “You’re taking Jer’s bed,” he shrugged, “he won’t care. And if he does, then tough shit for him.” He released your wrist, letting you fall into step beside him. “Sorry.”

        “For what? Our roommates happen to be into each other. It’s just a coincidence, Connor.”

        He didn’t verbally respond. He only shrugged at that, and the two of you continued on your walk towards your dorm. Thirty minutes later, you’re standing in his room and he’s already stripped off his jacket without a second thought, before he started digging through his clothes. You didn’t expect for a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to hit you a second later, as he looked over to you, eyes flickering down to the shirt that’d fallen to the floor. Minutes later and he turned away from you, making some comment about how he would say something about the bathrooms, but he didn’t need to risk someone finding ‘some girl on their floor’ right now. You only shrugged, turning away and changing as quickly as you could. His shirt and pants were longer than you expected, honestly - and maybe that was because he was a tall dude. 

        “That’s J’s bed.” Connor motioned toward one, “take it. He can deal.” He threw himself onto his own bed, comforter shifting.

        You walked over and set your phone down on the nearby nightstand before finally sitting down and watching Connor. “You draw, right? Can... I see some of your work?” 

        He just sorta glanced over to you as he plugged his phone in, the soft chime filling the pause in the air. Connor shrugged as he stood, walking over to his desk, picking up one wire-bound sketchbook that’d been sitting in the corner, holding it out to you. “Class shit.” He shrugged again, before picking up a smaller, Moleskine one that had been carelessly thrown on top of his laptop, and he tossed that one to you as well. “Pocket sketchbook. I draw random shit in that one.” And he gingerly picked up another, a landscape one, and walked that one over, sitting down beside you. “Aaaand watercolor shit.”

        You set the watercolor book and his pocket sketchbook on the bed beside you, flipping open the wire-bound one he’d first handed to you. Pages upon pages of tonal work - different objects, all with shadows dancing in different places - greeted you before gesture drawings saw, messily scribbled down with features often ending up slightly smudged. Connor watched you flip through the pages, before shutting the book once they turned blank. Next was his watercolor - one he seemed a bit more careful with, from how he brought it to you with careful grasp. You flipped it open slowly, a picture of a landscape there to greet you: lush greenery, mountains, and a lake. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the small home-y feeling you’d gotten from it. When you flipped through the rest of the pages, there were other landscapes, and some paintings of birds, and then the last was a vague sketch of a figure, done completely in greys. You shut the book, and Connor took it from you to deliver it back to it’s place on his desk.

        The last was Connor’s pocket sketchbook. You slipped the band off, opening it to find the first dated image was from over a year ago. Page after page was filled with the most mundane things - a girl with an ice cream cone, her grin wide and hair being blown in the wind; a sleeping dog,, a boy with an arm in a cast seated at a desk, trees, sometimes even pill bottles.

        “That’s from when I was fucking sick,” he scowled, “and my mom wouldn’t let me out of the house to do anything.” He tapped the sketch of the NyQuil bottle, “so I drew the shitty cold medicine she’d brought me.”

        You nodded, flipping through. Every so often, you’d find pictures of the same girl: some of her lost in music, some of her just curled up in an chair. When you finally looked up to say something to Connor, he licked his lips, already knowing your question. 

        “That’s my sister, Zoe.” He shut his eyes, shifting uncomfortably beside you.

        “She’s pretty,” you sort of hummed, “you’re really talented.”

        He sorta chuckled at that. “Thanks.” He slipped the sketchbook from your hands.

        “Kinda sad I don’t have anything to show you, unless you wanna read some shitty poetry.” He snorted at the comment. You elbowed him, “c’mon. I’m not kidding. You showed me your art, I can show you some of my amazingly shitty poetry next time we meet.” And then you paused, looking to where you’d set your phone down, and picked it up. “You,” you began, “should give me your number.”

        “Why-”

        “C’mon, Murphy. The universe obviously wants us to be friends or something.” You picked up your phone, pulling open the contacts, “why keep fighting that?”

        He couldn’t really argue with that. He took your phone from your hand, closing out of your contacts and opening messages, punching in his number before sending a text. Barely a second later, his phone buzzed, and he shoved your phone back into your hands. “Done.” He stood, stalking across the room back to his bed.

        You rolled your eyes at the string of emojis he’d sent himself, all taken from your most recently used. Original. You set your phone down, before finally crawling into his roommate’s bed without a second thought. “Night, Murphy,” you’d called out, and then a lamp flickered off, and eventually you managed to fight the foreign feeling of another person’s bed enough to drift off to sleep.

        Connor was a welcome figure in your dorm room - one floor below where his was. He’d often swing by after his classes, glad to find you curled up in bed with your laptop set on top of your lap desk. At first it was Connor sliding in after he came from classes. Later it turned to Connor bringing you a hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant, and more dumb conversation to keep you company while your roommate was usually out. Other than Connor’s visits, the two of you had started heading over to the library for study sessions, or out to a coffee-shop just to sit around and people-watch while talking about whatever life shit the two of you could come up with. Sometimes it’d be about his sister and things he did when he was a kid, other times it’d be you gloating about your brother’s soccer skills. 

        Connor had stretched himself out across the end of your bed, phone resting on his stomach as he stared up at your ceiling. You’d been invested in this story about some shit one of your friends had gotten into back during your freshman year of high school, typing at your laptop without pause the entire time. He marveled in your ability to multi-task, honestly, because he knew he would have veered off into typing at least half of his thoughts up by mistake. You slowly trailed off, voice growing soft as you stared at Connor, his focus intensely placed on your ceiling.

        “You okay?” You asked, stretching a leg out to nudge his arm. He finally glanced back over to you, propping himself up on his elbows.

        “Are you staying here for Thanksgiving?”

        You were caught slightly off-guard by the sudden question, but shook your head anyway. “No - why?”

        “Just... wanted to ask.”

        “Are you?”

        He shook his head after a moment. “Mom wants me to come home.” He paused, “but if you were staying, I could have probably gotten out of it-”

        “Do you not want to go home?” You interrupted him, closing your laptop and moving your lap desk aside. “I mean - you could come with me if you want, but you’d have to put up with my dad asking if you’re my boyfriend.”

        “No - fuck, I mean, I want to go home. Just...” He paused, “I don’t know. There’s a couple assholes I’m not looking forward to seeing.”

        “You’re from out of state, right?” You asked, forcing a small topic change. Connor had appreciated it, and simply answered you with a nod. “How are you getting home? I don’t see you driving anywhere, so...” You sucked in your cheek, “flying? Bus?”

        “Flying. I’ve uh... got a flight to catch Friday after-”

        “I can drive you? To the airport, I mean,” you clarified, “y’know. So you don’t have to Uber or anything.” 

        He stared at you. You writhed slightly in discomfort, shifting blankets around you before breaking your gaze away from his. “Okay?” He said, “why?”

        “... Because we’re friends? Because I might be heading out that way anyway since I literally pass by the only airport around here when I drive home, and I thought “well, gee, I could give my friend a ride” since I care about art major Connor Murphy, my snark-master of a pal?” You smiled, “unless you’re leaving from somewhere else?”

        “No - I mean, I am leaving from-” He stopped for a moment, “yeah - that’d be great... thanks.” 

        Zoe picked him up from the airport. She’d been leaning against her car that’d once been his, arms folded across her chest as she stood, waiting for him to finally move his ass and get out there. The sound of his bag rolling behind him filled the empty silence that he’d grown used to, the weight of his carry-on luggage starting to grow more and more frustrating with each step. He’d only thrown a couple books in along with his sketchbook, and now he was regretting it because his neck was stiff and his spine was stiffer and - fuck, did he ever mention he hated flying? His ears had popped and everything was still slightly muffled despite the fact he’d tried almost every trick he could come up with. The idea of a hot shower was utopian to him. Zoe didn’t greet him with a hug, but with her usual steely eyes as she popped the trunk before sliding back into the driver’s seat.

        Great. A fantastic start to Thanksgiving break. Only more thrills would await him. He shoved the handle of his luggage down, almost carelessly throwing the bag into the back of his sister’s car. With a slam of the trunk, Connor ignored the glare that Zoe threw him as he climbed into the passenger seat, his carry-on bag nestled in the floorboard between his legs. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He was greeted with a picture of you, smiling with your arm around some kid - “hope you had a great flight! 2nd fave art geek here thanks u for ur wise advice of ‘go for it’” - and he smiled slightly at your nickname for your brother. 

        Zoe caught a glimpse of his phone, barely a millisecond before he clicked it off. “Who’s that?”

        “Just a friend,” he shrugged. 

        “When’d you meet her?”

        “... September. Laundry girl.” He said. Zoe nodded. For the few times Connor had spoken to his family (as for the most part, they left each other alone, and it had usually been Cynthia calling Connor for an update in how he’s doing before passing the phone to Larry and then to Zoe), he was glad to see that Zoe remembered his little story of you.

        “Oh.” Zoe pressed her lips together. He looked over to her, watching her expression. She was thinking - probably trying to figure out as much as she could from that little glimpse of you as she could.

        “If you want to ask something, then fucking ask.”

        Zoe landed on one of the most obvious questions. “Is she single?”

        Were you? He didn’t recall you having a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anything. Besides - you’d probably spend more time with them than with him, right? Connor was... fine company, but definitely not better than a partner. “I don’t think so.”

        “Is she your type?”

        “I don’t have a-”

        “You like cute girls who aren’t afraid to say shit to your face, geeky boys who are shy - but if any of them are shorter than you then you’ve probably thought about dating them at least once.” Zoe looked over to him, “you have a type, Connor.”

        As he sat there trying not to gawk at how bold her statement had been, at how sharp her tongue was, his phone buzzed once more. When he looked down to see your name, he was glad to see the words “(but if you ever need an out, i’m here <3)” printed across the screen. He fought back a smile as he texted you his thanks, trying to ignore the glance from Zoe that would surely be followed up with more questions. To his surprise, she kept her eyes on the road and her mouth shut. Which, in his experience, usually meant that the moment they got home, she’d probably casually drop the “Connor has a girlfriend” bomb in front of their mom and then she would take to questioning him. To his surprise, she didn’t. At least, not until halfway through dinner while Connor was still prodding at the vegetarian lasagna his mother had made, absentmindedly answering her questions.

        Then Zoe said it, casual and cool after a long sip of water. The moment she set the glass down and begun to clean up around her, it just slipped out casually, “Connor has a girlfriend.”

        Before he could refute it, his mother was already beaming at the mere aspect of him having a anyone in his life. “Connor, is this true?” She was ecstatic and it slightly hurt him to crush her hopes.

        “No, uh, she’s just a friend,” he said, glaring at Zoe as she strode past to put her dishes away, “we, uh, met when doing laundry. Her building’s water got turned off for a few days,” he began to sink into his seat, “and she helped me out.”

        “What’s her name?” Larry piped up, surprising Connor. He was sure his dad wouldn’t care enough to ask questions. But the moment your name rolled off his tongue, his father nodded, mulling over your name alone. “Sounds nice.”

        The rest of the conversation was dominated completely by questions, making Connor dig up all the information he’d learned about you. The fact you were from not-too-far from campus, your little brother, what your parents did, your major - the fact you were smart and took Physics made his mother smile, because something about the idea of him (potentially, in her eyes) having a smarty-pants girlfriend pleased her. Most likely because it meant you could maybe help him and cue the whole study-dates turning into real-dates montage as the two of you fell for each other, since she had always loved the prospect of movie romances. He shoveled the rest of his meal into his mouth, thanking her before escaping to the solitude of his somewhat-empty room.

        Then came the day he ran into Jared Kleinman and his friends, overhearing the nerdy boy brag about “all the pussy he was getting at college” arrogantly. Fucking hell, Connor felt bad for whoever Jared’s roommate was - either the poor dude was legit getting sexiled over and over, or he had to deal with Jared trying to talk big game. Of course, as fate would have it, Connor couldn’t just walk into one of his favorite ice cream parlors, get his favorite flavor, and walk out - Jared had to spot him.

        “He-ey, Connor!” He called out, Connor glancing over his shoulder before paying for his cone and crossing the room, jamming his free hand into his hoodie pocket. Jared didn’t give him a moment to greet him or anything, “How’s college?”

        “Fine.”

        “Meet anybody?” He smirked a little, “I mean, I’ll be surprised to hear anyone would approach your psycho ass, but there’s always miracles.” He snorted.

        “Does it matter?”

        Jared feigned pain at the remark, “C’mon, Connor,” he immediately lowered his voice, “there’s no shame in being a virgin.” With a click of his tongue, he leaned back in his chair, now smirking again his stupid arrogant Kleinman smirk. Now he remembered why he couldn’t fucking stand Jared.

        Before he thought it through, he replied, “Yeah, well, good thing I have a girlfriend then.”

        Immediately he regret it as Jared immediately lit up, smirk never leaving. “Really? You got some proof there, Connie?”

        He nodded, and internally thanked the fact that you had a habit of taking selfies of the two of you - and was even more glad to find that he hadn’t deleted the few you took with his phone after he sent them to you. He never could have brought himself to do it - but he brandished his evidence, which was a picture with you pressed into his side, beaming with joy that you’d managed to steal his phone long enough for the picture. The phantom touch of your hand at his waist returned as he remembered just how close you’d actually been to him. “Her name is [y/n],” he said, watching Jared take in every aspect of the photo, just trying to scan the smallest hint that he was lying.

        Apparently, he found none. “Okay, then,” he said, “how long have you two been dating?”

        “Almost four months,” he lied, “we, uh, met in a gen ed class.”

        “Y’know, you could be lying, Connor. You two should Skype with me sometime,” Jared draped one arm over the back of his chair, “or, better idea: maybe you could bring her here for spring break. I’m sure your family would love to meet her, huh Connor?”

        He was gonna fucking kill him for being so fucking smug. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to her about it.” Which translated to he’d have to convince you somehow because he can’t just let Jared know he lied.

        He waved Jared off, ignoring the cold drips of ice cream running over his fingers as he escaped to the safety of his - well, Zoe’s - car. The moment he turned on the engine, the gravity of everything he just said crashed down onto him. There was no way you’d actually agree to fake-date him, right? At least whenever Jared called or whenever you were here with him. And then the two of you could part ways and pretend the entire thing never happened and he’d come up with some elaborate reason why the two of you broke up. Connor let out a heavy sigh, picking up his phone and opening it to your contact info.

        This was going to come crashing down around him, wasn’t it?

[xcherry-popx]

I have to go to bed now so I won't see your reply for a while but please feel free to like,, tell me as much about ur daydreaming/your experience with madd!! it helps me figure stuff out and I really enjoy reading ur thoughts and stuff (sorry if that,, doesn't make sense I'm sleepy orz)

you have unlocked: info dump! 

im going to split this up into parts!

part one: what it feels like

for me, it tends to be super immersive, especially if im not on any mental health meds! everything else turns into a dark grey, making my daydream more and more appealing. i think my daydreaming is also linked with my dissociation, but i can daydream without it. inside my daydreams, i personally can see both what my pov would look like and also everything else at the same time, kind of like when you know what your room looks like blindfolded. i can still see the outside world, but i tend to ignore it or do an easy task like pacing.

i can also feel things like things im touching, or if i have, for example a different outfit or longer hair, im able to feel that too, along with any injuries! however, i know my daydreams are unusually immersive, so i know it may be different for others

part two: triggers for my madd

songs tend to set things off, as do fanfics or headcanons i read about! also, when i read, my daydreams go wild, and the pov becomes the main character. after i read, i tend to add different details or rerun scenes as part of my own daydreams! that happens after watching game playthroughs, too. also, all my kin memories are pretty much just daydreams that i realized i couldn’t control or change, or that felt way to familiar

part three: side effects i experience

as i mentioned before, i can feel any injuries. it hurts, and plays on repeat over and over, even if i try to drown it out with different daydreams, often for at least a few hours. i also have intrusive daydreams about violence happening, or scenes involving my parents. 

often times, my parame has an abuser (often a relationship partner, although parental abusers do occur), and i become extremely scared of things that remind me of in daydream abusers. the things that happen to parame can feel like they happen to me, and i end up with new fears afterwards.

i tend to have intrusive daydreams whenever i am in a dark place, causing me to have an extreme fear of being alone in the dark as a result.

my feet often ache due to pacing for so long, and i usually forget to eat or drink while daydreaming. my ears also have begun to ring at times, i suspect as a side effect of listening to music loudly to create a more immersive daydream.

i often tend to adopt my paras habits, but since all my paras tend to be unhealthy versions of myself, it tends to also include negative habits.these are most often rudeness, isolation, and suspicion of everyone else around me irl.

i feel my parames feelings, so i end up being angry at others or extremely sad for days on end. my feelings tend to change fast, and my heart will begin to ache deeply if the daydreams switches emotional tones too often

i have intrusive sexual thoughts due to my ocd, and to combat this i try thinking up sexual daydreams with my f/o’s, even if i dont really want to, and it tend to leave me feeling distressed.

theres probably more, but those are the ones that come to mind right away.

part four: paracosm dump

i wanted to include a positive end after discussing the negative side effects, but this part will be under the cut

glitch: set in the bnha universe! glitch is the quirk parame has. the story is mainly set in an alternate universe. pretty, much, i was brought into the checkpoint (a small pocket universe created by one of my paras quirk) by the use of a timeline swap quirk and checkpoint working togther, bcs im the alt version of someone they know i guess. i have a lot of knives in this one, and me and checkpoint attack each other alot its fun. checkpoint brings a bunch of the bnha chracters into the place, before putting everyone back, including me. i focus on the time in the pocket universe though

saccharine daydream: set in the bnha universe! saccharine daydream is my hero name. i was discovered with no memories by the us government as the child of a well known cult of villians. im brought with another character over to japan under the guise of a transfer, and join class 1-a. after moving into the dorms, im kidnapped by the cult again. this is where it splits into different timelines! one version is that im successfully restolen by the heroes, and recover, becoming devoted to being a hero and destroying the cult, which also happens to be lead by a para version of my mom. the other version, the heroes fail, and some of my favorites are caught and held as prisoners. i fight in this ring thing every night to earn extra rations for them to have more to eat. this timeline is… sad….

time god: set in the death note universe! i’m the god of the world, and there’s multiple timelines i manage. i am the god of time. i have an assistant whos tired of my shit tm but wants to live forever so tolerates me. the whole kira event is the most iteresting thing ive seen in a long time and im very bored, so i bring everyone back to life and put them back into the timeline. they are able to regain there memories to make things more interesting. at some point i decide i want to be super involved and drop myself into the world. shinigami dont know i exist and i choose to ignore them because theyre boring. my tragic backstory is i committed suicide and was brought back to life for a killing game to choose the successor to the old god. everyone had one power each and mine was going back in time. i didnt want to die so faked a relationship with someone who scared me and made me do traumatizing shit and then eventually killed her in her sleep to win.

arcade master: set in the ndrv3 universe. im the ultimate arcade gamer. i have an abusive twin whos the ultimate youtube singer or something like that. in one timeline i kill her out of fear and am executed, in another she somehow dies

thats not all of them but my infodump urge was killed by my irl mother calling