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penajavier · 3 years

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though you are no god - Frankie Morales x f!reader

This idea had been brewing for a while and hanging out in my drafts for a longer while, but I’ve finally found the inspiration to clean it up and share it! I am clearly a beginner at this and feedback/critique is always welcome.

Title: though you are no god (credit)

Pairing: Francisco Morales x f!reader. One use of the word “girl”.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.3k

Content/warnings: brief mentions of nightmares and trauma recovery, angst, smut, still somehow the sappiest shit I’ve ever written. frankie likes to be praised. strictly 18+

ao3

••••••••

The first time you get to witness Francisco Morales fall to his knees in front of you, you almost don't remember it happening.

His mouth presses hot and wet and urgent against your skin where he is bunching up your shirt to expose it. You are nearly as drunk as him, blindly pulling it off and throwing it somewhere behind him. The wall behind you is cool but does absolutely fuck-all to clear your head because oh god his hands are big and warm and his tongue is incessant and oh god this is Frankie, your goofy, kind, awkward, hot as fuck friend-of-a-friend. He pulls you forward a fraction just to tug on your pants and underwear, letting them gather around your feet without giving you the leg room to step out of them. He lifts your left leg over his shoulder with ease, and then his hands are bracing him against you and his tongue is working as if it has a mind of its own, circling your clit and sliding up your lips and you don't remember his fingers being that thick but somehow they are and you are close to going insane.

Maybe tomorrow you'll wonder how you ended up here, in a hallway in his apartment where he barely bothered to turn the lights on before pressing himself into you, effectively shutting off any sane connection you might have still retained to the world after however-many drinks you two had got in you. The night was supposed to be about Santi, you vaguely recall, but right now you honest to god cannot even remember what promotion he got that you were supposed to be celebrating. You might have made a mental note to apologize to him for leaving his party early, but Frankie adds another finger to your wet cunt and moans like it's pleasuring him more than you, and it's a real effort not to kick him in the chest or collapse on him then and there.

The fucker laughs as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and somehow increases his efforts to a degree you hadn't thought possible. It doesn't take much after that for you to feel that knot tightening in your belly, the electricity of it making your limbs shake. Only when he’s satisfied making you cum thoroughly on his tongue and his hand does he stand up, and for the first time since you got here, he speaks. "Hi," he says, the loopiest grin on his face, before leaning forward to kiss you without waiting for you to answer.

Your last remaining brain cell thinks to itself, this is going to be one hell of a night.

••••

The second time Frankie Morales falls to his knees in front of you, you can barely bring yourself to look at him.

It's been weeks (months?) since he practically fell off the grid, following your childhood best friend and designated bad-idea-haver Santiago Garcia into the guts of South America. You had reached the point where a part of you was bracing itself for the worst kind of news, of never getting to see your boys again or hell, not even knowing what the fuck happened to them down there. The rest of you was still holding on to your anger in a misplaced effort to stay hopeful, refusing to let you feel anything other than the need to wring their necks as soon as one of them walked back in the door. And that was it, the majority of your days spent getting on edge every time your phone rang or you felt you saw a familiar set of messy curls pass you by on the street, until you walked home one day to find him standing outside your door, hand poised to knock but hesitant.

"What the fuck?" the words escape you before you can help it, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. When he turns to look at you coming up behind him, you almost stop in shock at how absolutely shit he looks. "What the fuck?" you say again, seeming to have lost all your vocabulary at the sight of this stupid infuriating beautiful man finally standing in front of you in one piece, messy curls and all.

An eternity passes with the two of you simply staring at each other, your grocery bags forgotten in your hands and his fingers twitching in an effort to keep them to himself. The smell of fresh bread wafting from your grocery bag does little to alleviate any tension, and the silence is almost painful. You want to do something, say something of all the rage and hurt you've nursed in you at being left alone. How dare you, you want to bark at him, want to hold him by the collar and smack him or kiss his face raw.

You must take too long in your own head because he carefully extends a hand toward you, but you are so over-stimulated at the mere sight of him that you flinch.

That's what breaks him, you realize later when the storms have passed and the proverbial rivers have calmed. Not the pain and loss and grief of the mission - things he'll whisper into your chest when you let him - and not the physical battering he must have taken through it all. What breaks him is you flinching away from him, as if you'd forgotten who he was. It’s only me, it's your Frankie, he wants to scream; wants to gather you in his arms and breathe into your ribs. But all he can do is fall to the ground and plead with his eyes.

I'm sorry, mi alma he seems to be saying, and the sight of this glorious man breaking down in front of your doorstep makes you ache in the depths of your bones. You rush forward, all your anger evaporating away from you in the instant it takes to wrap your arms around him and let him rest his head on your stomach. The position is awkward at best. His touch feels almost alien and his hair doesn't smell like you're used to, but you let him cry, let him ruin the clothes you hadn’t given much thought to anyway, and it doesn't occur to either of you that the shirt is one of his that he'd left at your place.

You choke back the ocean rising in your throat, not knowing how to navigate everything you're feeling at the same time. Will we ever be okay? you wonder, your entire body feeling numb as he holds you just the tiniest bit more tightly.

You don't know then if you'll ever forgive him, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be the same man again, but right there in that moment none of it matters. What matters is that he is here, and you are holding him like you'd wished and prayed for in all those lonely nights. Maybe you'll never be okay like you used to be, but you have him for now, and you're too exhausted to think beyond that.

••••

The third time, it's fucking magical.

You and your Frankie have finally settled into a somewhat stable routine. After he left you with the promise to get his shit together, he made good on his word. It seemed as if the mission that must not be named put things into perspective for him - and for you, for that matter - and the two of you decided to give up on the delicate dance you kept orchestrating around each other. You had realized that you needed him much more than you could ever resent him for leaving, and he had realized he never wanted to feel the paralysing fear of thinking he'd never make it back to you again. You two had decided to sit down like adults and talk about it, and Frankie’s regular visits to his therapist had certainly helped.

Now, in the early morning light in your shared bedroom, he looks the very picture of calm. The birds chirp softly outside the window, blending in with the music of the traffic that you two have begrudgingly come to love. The nightmares haven't left him completely, but they're less frequent and far less incapacitating for him. You feel a rush of pride for how far he's come, how much effort he put into building himself back up piece by piece after being shattered to his bare bones. You’ve seen him curl into you out of fear and into himself during the moments of self loathing when he feels he doesn't deserve your kindness, but now he sleeps with his head tilted slightly upward, exposing the beautiful planes of his neck to you. He is beautiful, you've known it for as long as you've known him, but something about the soft sunlight turning his curls golden and the way you can tell he's truly at peace in this moment, brings tears to your eyes and makes your throat clench.

You lean up on your elbow and touch his face. His skin is soft, and he smells faintly of your body wash. Thief, you think fondly, brushing his unruly hair away from his forehead. he had stopped cutting it as frequently as he used to because he noticed you liked running your hands through it, and you realize with a jolt that that had been years ago, long before you two had any conversation about the future, even before he had his world turned upside down in the depths of an unnamed jungle. That is when you realize that Francisco Morales told you he loved you long before you had the sense to understand it, and this time you do cry.

He stirs in his sleep. You briefly worry that you woke him, but he simply turns his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply at your shoulder before falling back asleep. The feeling of his soft breaths against your skin makes you smile, and you feel yourself falling more in love with every one of them.

He wakes you up hours later with gentle kisses and the promise of pancakes, making you giggle with the way his moustache tickles your chin. When you find him in the kitchen later he seems more chipper than usual, smelling like a bakery and humming softly while setting the table for two. He greets you with a sweet kiss and pulls out your chair for you before sitting down in his own.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” you ask playfully, and he smiles wide behind his glasses that you’d finally convinced him he needed. Beautiful man, you can't help but think.

"Just wanted to do something nice for my girl," he answers with his mouth full and you flick a berry at him, which he expertly catches. "Oh so that's how it's gonna be," he puts down his fork and you start to run away, but he is far too quick. He catches you by your waist and pulls you into his chest, licking your cheek obscenely.

"Frankie, you dog!" you giggle, still fighting his grip.

"Dogs are cute," he shrugs, seemingly unfazed against you using all your force. He is gentle as anything with you, but he sure likes to show off his strength every once in a while. He lifts you effortlessly off the floor and sets you on the counter. "You think I'm cute?" he wiggles his eyebrows.

You almost playfully call him insufferable on autopilot, the way you've always bantered since you've known him. But you're aware now how he relies on verbal affirmations, and you've been making a conscious effort of supplying them whenever you can. So instead you hold his face in your palms and tell him that you think he's the most wonderful man in the world, and that you love him more than anything.

"Baby," he drops his head to your shoulder and sighs. You do this to him, making his heart swell and threaten to burst out of his ribs. He doesn't have the words, doesn't know how to tell you he feels like the luckiest man in the world every morning when he wakes up next to you, every time he hears your voice or feels your palm in his. He doesn't know how to tell you you've been his anchor and his best friend, or how he can't believe he gets to have this kind of domestic bliss at all. "Baby," he repeats, "I love you."

You try to deepen the kiss he initiates, but he pulls back and tells you he has plans for the day, telling you to get dressed for something outdoors. You feel a rush of happiness at the thought of him feeling more and more like himself with every day that passes, picking up old habits and finding joy in them. You kiss his cheek and run off to get dressed, beyond excited to see what he had planned.

The ride to the field is longer than you expected. Frankie has turned the radio on and it plays softly in the background as you two talk occasionally. It’s a calm morning, with the perfect weather that's neither too cold nor too warm. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it softly once he's parked, and then he hops out and opens your door for you.

"Such a gentleman," you tease.

"Yeah," is all he says before he's kissing you breathless against the truck. It takes you by surprise, but it's far from unwelcome.

Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, and you can tell it takes a special amount of effort for him to pull away from you, his hands still holding you close as he pulls on yours and leads you deeper into the field. The grass is high enough to tickle your ankles, and the whisper of it against your skin feels wonderful. He slows down, the pace leisurely enough for you to appreciate the wildflowers growing around you. He’s careful not to step on any, and you're struck once again by the multitudes that exist within this one man. The same man who has confessed to sins you could never have thought him capable of, now so careful with a thing as gentle as a dandelion. You think about his hand that is so gentle in yours, and the memory of it firmly wrapping around your throat as he does unspeakable things to you makes you blush, and you will yourself to come back to the present.

Frankie has led you to a tree, and you notice a tree house resting on the sturdier branches. It’s new, you realize, and look at him quizzically.

"Remember how I was supposed to pick up new hobbies?" he says sheepishly, gently leading you around to the other side where you see wooden footrests leading up. He urges you to climb up, and you are still so surprised that you can only obey.

"I thought you'd like this," he's saying. "It can be our secret place, we come here whenever we want. Not that we don't already have a home and privacy but I thought this could be nice to have. Like a little getaway close to home." He's rambling now, as you notice all the fine details he has paid attention to in the construction of it.

"Honey? Do you like it?" he asks when you've been too quiet.

"Do I like it?" you ask incredulously. "Francisco Morales, this is amazing!"

He immediately breaks into a wide grin, and you can see that he is proud of himself. He looks almost like an eager child, and you love the way his eyes shine in that moment.

"There's one more thing," he leads you to a small opening in the wall that serves as a window. You can see the clear sky and the field stretching out under you, and the cool breeze feels like a gentle caress. It's a beautiful view, and you lose yourself in the sights and smells for a moment.

"So am I looking at something specific?" you ask, wondering what it was he wanted to show you.

He doesn't answer, though, and you turn around to repeat the question. The sight that meets you nearly knocks you off your feet, and you cover your gasp with your hand.

Frankie is on one knee, hat resting by his feet and hand extended, holding the most gorgeous ring you have ever laid eyes on. You might be biased, but you couldn't care less.

"Darling, I-" he starts, but you don't have the self control that he apparently does, and you throw your arms around him.

He wraps tightly around you, only letting you have enough room to look up and kiss him. And god do you kiss him. You kiss him like he has never been kissed before, like you could pour every ounce of affection you have for him into that one moment, needing him as close to you as possible.

You don't realise you're crying until he kisses the tears off your cheeks, and then he lifts your hand and slides the ring on.

••••

The fourth time comes that night, after you've spent your day in the field, holding on to each other and bursting with mutual joy.

He sits you down on the bed, and kneels in front of you, kissing your shoulders gently. "Hey, Mrs. Morales," he smiles as he says it, even as he's biting the soft skin at your clavicle.

You laugh, telling him that’s not how engagement rings work. He only grins against your skin and bites harder.

You scratch his head and he purrs, lifting his head briefly to give you a sweet kiss before he's pushing you to lie down. Let me take care of you, honey, he whispers. Then his hands are on your waist and his mouth is on your chest, making you writhe in place. He kisses and sucks and bites, making sure to give every part of you equal attention. So beautiful, he's talking almost to himself as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down to your tummy.

His hands meanwhile touch and grab and smooth over any part they can reach, moving as if of their own volition. He knows your body so well that he can map it with his eyes closed, can recognize it with his last breaths. He reaches your cunt and pulls you closer, closer, inhaling deeply and groaning like he's hardly staying in control.

With the same patience he had displayed earlier in the day he teases you mercilessly, kissing around where you need him most. You pull on his hair and he tuts and bites your thigh. What did I say, baby - a flick of his tongue against you - let me take care of you. You whine petulantly, and he tells you to be a good girl for him. He even says please, the asshole.

The first lick against your clit comes at the same time as his finger pushes into you, and it takes everything you have not to lift off the bed. So wet for me, he moans against you, the vibration making your pleasure amplify. You fist the sheets around you, telling him how fucking good he's making you feel, how good he always makes you feel. The praise fuels him on and he pushes two more fingers into you at the same time.

You are so full and so stimulated with his tongue incessant against your clit, and he has no plans of letting up. You feel your orgasm hit you quick and hard, and you can barely warn him before you're gushing, soaking his face and trying to pull away from the overstimulation.

He looks up at you, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He licks you clean until you're begging him to stop, and then he patiently kisses his way back up your body.

"That was... that was amazing," you're out of breath as you say it, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in to taste yourself.

"Oh honey," he coos. "I've barely started."

•••

fin.

Tagging some lovely mutuals whom I love and who are amazing writers: @disgruntledspacedad @pedropascaldice @frannyzooey. Please let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (if there is a future) ❤️

#triple frontier fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #not rpf #yes im on hiatus yes i wrote a fic #we exist #and did i mention i've never seen the movie 🙂

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avengersapology-vid · 3 years

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Avengers: College Edition

Steve: Criminal Justice and Studio Art double major. He doesn't want to torture himself with anything difficult and still wants to study what he loves. He is still an over achiever though. Highkey hates frat parties, saw someone twerking upside down and almost cried but stayed because hes the designated driver (responsible KING). prefers small get togethers with his friends. Roommates with sam and bucky!! Joins Criminal Justice club, jokingly rivals with Engineering (Tonys Club) Everyone on campus loves him including the professors, wins Homecoming king and is very happy. Sam jokingly asks to be his queen, Bucky butts in and says "NO, im his queen". Can be found in the library or art studio, usually with ink or pencil markings on his hands.

Tony: Obvi an engineering KING has physics as a minor. procrastinates to the max "No Bruce I have everything under control" *crams for 46 hours straight on a constant IV drip of Redbull and coffee* Super smart and helps draw the blueprint for the new engineering building. Roomies with Bruce! Tony was in a frat for a bit his freshmen year but hated it and wanted real friends (Throws better parties anyway) met Bruce and all the other avengers during a 1301 intro class. Pulls women like no tomorrow. On the presidents list every semester and tutors math for free on the side. He is basically the Dad in STEM. Tries hitting on Natasha but she is just like :/ nah, when her and bruce start dating tony is surprised because bruce is his "quiet little cinnamon roll." Tony constantly teases bruce and is like "yall fuckin (;" Steve butts in "tONY PLZ I JUST WANT TO WATCH THIS MOVIE" Bruce is thankful for steves intervention. You know how he rivals Steves Criminal Justice club? He butts heads with Business Clubs leader (Pepper) until everyone catches them together at a party. Has a caffeine addiction. Works out with Thor and Bucky one day in the rec and almost dies.

Bruce: Physics and Engineering double major (Hardworking KING) In math club with Vision and Wanda. He loves being roomies with Tony because it helps him out of his shell. Likes to draw with Steve sometimes and enjoys the quiet. Doesn't procrastinate and gets things done in a timely manor. 4.0 icon we all strive to be. Him and Nat already know each other, but bond and get a lot closer while studying in the library and they eventually start dating. He takes her coffee when she works across campus and is always almost late to class because of that (He doesn't care though bc thats his BABY) "Um.. Bruce your class is in 5 minutes" "Okay and?.....Wait I have an ex-" *Sprints to his building* Takes boxing at night with Thor, Bucky, Sam and Steve!!! Loves sparring with Thor and can surprisingly take the big buy on pretty well. Gets his butt kicked by Natasha in a MMA class though.

Natasha: Majors in Criminal Justice and Minors in Psychology. Ballet club AND MOCK TRIAL!! Has a Job at the Criminal Justice Deans office and takes MMA classes on the side. She is on Mock Trial with Loki and they actually get along quiet well once they stop butting heads about the case. Introduces Sam and Wanda to dance and they have so much fun. Coffee dates with Bruce!! Her and Steve become RAs in the following years and are the coolest RAs you know. Prefers night classes, Bruce walks her to all of them. Psychology classes are her favorite and really wants to help children one day. Volunteers at a daycare during breaks. Sis can really out drink Tony and Thor. Puts Wanda under her wing and helps her with fafsa and what not. Her and Bucky get the Russian language credit by simply testing out. Has her sh!t together and while she has a lot on her plate she can take it. She is really the Mom of the group. Can be found dancing or with Bruce. Her and Clint are icons in psychology classes.

Clint: Deaf Studies with education minor! (we stan deaf clint in the comics) In the Archery club and wins nationals for the Uni. Loves to draw with Steve. Helps Bruce ask Natasha out! PRANK ICON! loves to do prank wars with tony, bucky, loki and sam. Was in the same frat with Tony but hated it as well. While he seems to have a more reserved demeanor he is still the life of the party. (Like he knows people at the clubs ya know?) Can get in anywhere and helps everyone rent out a club for the night in celebration of midterms being over. Loves reading in the library and loves morning classes and being productive early in the day. Cracks Tonys netflix and hulu passwords (no tony... tonyr0cks69 is not good enough) Wants to teach at a school for the Deaf. Bruce sets him up with a girl from engineering and that is his future wife.

Thor: Physical Education major and Communications minor! Here on a football scholarship and is in a frat (not the asshole one tony was in) and is a partying ICON. Tries to get Loki to party but Loki just wants to drink wine with the cat he snuck into his dorm. Learns Sign from Clint to prepare for his career in education. Loves working out with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Takes up boxing during football off season and spars with Bruce. Despite being everyones fav himbo he gets really good grades and is a very good writer. Loki dorms across the hall from him. Thor actually rooms with Peter. Peter is the freshman baby and Thor takes peter under his wing and introduces him to everyone and helps him with college stuff in general. Also hooks him up with MJ and brings him to the occasional boxing session. Has a loud booming laughter you can hear in all floors of the library when he sees a funny meme. One time he actually makes a very good point and notices a flaw in one of Tony and Bruces projects leaves everyone stunned. Picks on Loki in big brother fashion. Unironically calls weed the devils lettuce.

Loki: Pre-Law and Criminal Justice. LOVES to argue. (Devils advocate ass) In Mock Trial and Criminal Justice Club. Tony jokingly calls him steves sexy secretary in CJ club. Loves Mock Trial and is the president with Nat as his right hand woman. Sneaks a cat he found at the shelter into his dorm and names it muffin. Stays in the Library writing or going over cases. The one time he was taking Natasha a copy of the Mock Trial case packet and caught her and bruce smooching. (He screeched) "Haha funny joke yall heres the case packet BYE." He automatically texts the group chat "i think nAT AND BRUCE HAVE SOME TEA FOR US HMM". Lets Peter and Bruce come over to his dorm because he knows their roommates can get a little too much sometimes. Loki also becomes an avid twitter user and thats how he gains popularity on campus. (He called the uni out for their awful and expensive parking) Was able to convince the Dean with tony and steve to create a new parking lot. Caffeine addict!!! Him and Tony always bump into each other at the coffee shop. Brings baked goods to meet ups with the gang. Loves to play pranks (especially on Tony) Him and Bucky come up with a genius prank on him and even get pepper involved. Best dressed on campus and is in the fashion club. He is the embodiment of dark academia.

Sam: Criminal Justice Major with Aerospace Engineering minor. Gets introduced to Bucky and Steve during move in and they literally become brothers. Is both in Criminal Justice Club and Engineering Club. In the Historically Black Frat on campus and takes huge pride in that. Parties with tony and thor BIG TIME. Procrastinates by throwing paper airplanes at Bucky until Bucky is like "Um...dude your paper is due in like two hours." At that moment Sam got into work faster than he ever had. Loves gossip sessions with Loki and Wanda. Works out a lot with Bucky, Steve and Thor to get rid of stress. When he and Bucky finish a final they go to loki's dorm and ask "Hey can we see your cat." Helps prep food for friends-giving and decorates the dorm for holidays. HATES 8ams so so so much. Steve promises him pancakes if he gets up and goes. Binge watches shows during weekends and screams when Destiel is finally canon. Loves running and gets a Track Scholarship when Thor gets him to join a sport. Gets Peter to join track.

Bucky: criminal justice major and psychology minor. Buck is also in ballet club with Nat, it really helps him relax and gives him a free space to think (also he runs that shit like no ones business) Criminal justice club as well and LOVES to work out and box. One time Sam accompanies him to ballet and Bucky pushes Sam into a split... the scream was heard for miles. "Sam ballet is good for athletes it helps w-" "Yeah but its not good for my balls" Doesn't willingly procrastinate but once in awhile he will forget an assignment, you best believe his eyes will snap open from his nap and get to work asap. For one of his psyche labs he had to question Steve as if he were Steve's therapist to which Steve responds "Hey bro you dont have to hit a nerve that deep" He also likes to do dance with peter since it helps him get away from Thor for a bit. Not a big partier but once the weight of finals are off his chest you best believe he will go all out. Picks on Nat and says hes gonna steal her man, to which tony interjects and says "Not if I do first" Bucky also has a very comfy dorm, comfy lighting and tons of pillows, the man loves his sleep... and so does everyone else. Sometimes he finds peter, sam, THOR, tONY EVERYONE just napping in his bed before their study time. Overall, bucky is a smart boy and his time in college is kind to him.

Wanda: English Major and Education Minor. After being an orphan Wanda knows what it feels like to not have a parental figure there and she wants to change that for other kids by becoming an english teacher. She volunteers at an orphanage, specifically the one her and pietro were in for a brief moment when they came to the states. She loves to draw as well and takes plenty of art classes with steve. She paints a portrait of the entire gang and gives it to tony as a graduation present (he cried). She loves to do volunteer work for children and also spend a lot of time in the library, She helped Nat calm down before Bruce asked her out. Her and Loki are in constant competition for best dressed. "Loki ill let you win best dressed but you have to let me see your cat" "ugh fine... btw your shirt doesnt match your boots" "hEY" Her and Peter take alot of intro classes together and are constantly running around craft stores trying to get the right stuff for projects. Visits Vision at his Job on Campus and he visits her where she volunteers and eventually they start dating. She is constantly getting visited by pietro at 4am asking "Um do you have milk" "Pietro its 4am what do you ne-" "my OREOS"

Pietro: Track star business major, frat ICON with Thor. poor boy is STRESSED he hates college and is here on a track scholarship, constantly late and running around getting shit done. Queen of late assignments but still gets them graded because he is in Track. Yeah he has alot on his plate but he still parties with thor for hours. When he is drowning in assignments Clint is always there to help him, Bruce also helps him with biology and the more science-y classes. Likes to mess around and race sam at track practice. Not into coffee but will run on all the monster energy drinks you could possibly buy. Seriously is tired of 8 a.m courses, he just wants to nap after practice. Walks into the study room that everyone was in and actually looks more sleep deprived than tony. He gets a lot of tips from steve on how to have an easier time in college and it really helps him.

Vision: Grad student working on a civil engineering masters and a TA. Meets Wanda in the library and she asks him where the biographies are. He mistakenly says they are on the 2nd floor "Uh theyre actually on the third" "Then why did you ask?" "Cause I wanted to talk to you :)" He swooned. Through Wanda he met Tony and Bruce and became their best friend, He helped out a lot with engineering club and got them far. He spends a lot of time doing research for his masters degree, he loves relaxing with the group on weekends and picks on pietro as if he is already apart of the family. Him and Loki bond over intellectual conversations from time to time. Bruce and Nat go on double dates with him and Wanda. Went to a bar once with tony and bruce and had to stop tony from singing Queens entire discography, he had the best night that night. Helps everyone with getting into jobs and into grad school in general while everyone helps him let loose and have some fun.

Peter: Peter is a Physics major and eventually works his way up to biochemistry. (hardworking icon) He is the freshman baby of the group and is introduced to them through Thor. He dances with Buck and Nat sometimes as well. Tony obviously takes peter under his wing and helps him with assignments. One time everyone was in the same study room and him and pietro have a redbull shot gunning challenge. When Peter wins Thor picks him up and almost yeets the poor boy into the ceiling. "VERY WELL DONE YOUNG PARKER YOU SHOULD BE DOING THAT WITH BEER IN NO TIME." "Thor plz" Tony and Thor help him ask MJ out and even spy on them during a dinner date. (Imagine thor with sunglasses and a scarf around his head pretending to be tonys date) He feels so accepted in college because of the gang and gets all his work done on time. Goes out of his way to get everyone christmas presents and is so excited for friendsgiving. Becomes a little stressball during finals and midterms and stays in the library till it closes. He spots loki alot in there and helps loki with science classes while loki helps him with political science classes. He meets MJ through wanda and is obviously blushing the whole time while being introduced. Gets embarrassed when the guys flirt with aunt may. "guys plz stop" This is when Sam earns his "milf hunter" nickname. "Pete hows your aunt?" "She doesnt want you sam i-" its not like that... actually it is like that"

Coulson: Alumni Icon. Is the gangs Intro professor and is the reason why everyone meets eachother. (the class was chaotic indeed) Coulson loved that class so much and he still gets visited by everyone from time to time. He is obviously close with Nick. They were there that night when Tony was signing Queen at the bar and couldnt help but laugh.

Nick Fury: Dean for criminal justice and is heavily involved with criminal justice club and mock trial. He is tired of everyones shit as always. Makes a tiktok account for the criminal justice club and has no idea how to manage social media so gets Loki to help. Has to delete it when Loki commented "hah losers" on the engineering tiktoks page. He looks intimidating but in his office he has a picture with the club and has all the gifts he gets on display. (He even framed lokis comment because it was hilarious afterall)

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jaydicksummerexchange · 4 years

Text

JAYDICK EXCHANGE: SEPTEMBER 3

[ ❤ Works posted so far! ❤ ]

SECOND TO LAST DAY OF THE JAYDICK EXCHANGE!

Why the second to last instead of the last? That’s because we’ve reached 114 Exchange works for 2020! The more treats get added, the more we time we add to our juicy cabooses and keep the exchange train rolling. Until Saturday that is. Tomorrow is the final posting date, and we’ll reveal the wonderful participants on September 5 no matter what.

Here are today’s releases!

Claws by anonymous for solomonara [ART, Not Rated, No Archive Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: FanartHurt/Comfort, Injured Jason, Secret Identity, dick's teams don't know the red hood's identity, dick's harem of morally ambiguous older men, dick: he's not older, dick: wait i mean he's not my villain boyfriend, dick: damn it

Summary: Dick takes the Red Hood to a Titan safehouse after an injury. Explanations are expected.

Learning To Love The Fall by anonymous for 3isme [ART, Teen, No Warnings Apply, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Fanart, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Mechanic Jason Todd, Plane Pilot Dick Grayson

Summary: It's the early 1900s and the country of Gotham is recovering from a long war.

Trying to get a better life, Jason Todd has been moonlighting as an underground plane mechanic for illegal aeroplane racers, getting a cut of whatever the pilot wins. After one particular competition, he's accused of sabotage and, despite his protests, forced into deeper debt. At the end of his rope, he runs into Dick Grayson, ex-ace of the Gotham Air Force and supposed dead man. The war hero was supposed to have been shot down near the end of the war. Regardless, this pilot is the best chance Jason has to grab hold of that better life, and he's not going to let it go.

The Still and Quiet Surface by anonymous for TheWayneManner [FIC, General Audiences, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Gift Fic, Ficlet

Summary: Dick leaves the sea behind and never looks back.

Scents & Sensibility by anonymous for Nitrojen [FIC, Explicit, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fae, References to Jane Austen, although the writer has a pretty dark secret concerning our dear friend jane, Getting to Know Each Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Prompt - Something along the lines of the Princess and the Pea. It can be A/B/O, modern, fantasy, or even something that takes place in canon where there's some kind of curse. Have fun with it!

Give It A Shot (of espresso) by anonymous for morimaiter [FIC, Teen, No Warnings, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Hurt/Comfort, Barista Jason Todd, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Sexual Tension, JayDick Summer Exchange, very minor injury, art included

Summary: Dick was one of their regulars. And yes, that was his real name. The first time he’d asked Jason to write it on his cup Jason had given him a death glare until the man had whipped out a driver’s license to prove it. ‘Richard John Grayson’, printed right there. It hadn’t been an innuendo after all, just an unfortunate choice of nickname. He came into Gotham Grinders (and hell if Jason hadn’t heard enough innuendos about that name to make up for any lack of innuendo in Dick’s own) every Tuesday and Friday, which happened to always be Jason’s shifts. Every time he asks for some new over-the-top order, and every time without fail he also asks for Jason’s digits. Jason replies every time with:

“I’m sorry sir, we can’t give out personal information to customers. Will that complete your order?”

(Fic + Art)

Lazy Days by anonymous for BehindTheRobinsMask [ART, Teen, No Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Married Life, Married Couple, Established Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Literal Sleeping Together, Lazy Mornings, Domestic Fluff, Fanart

Summary: It's the weekend! Jason and Dick sleep in after a long night on the streets.

Taken in the Butt by the Gay Vigilante Acro-Bird by anonymous for solomonara [ART, Teen, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Romance Novel, Cover Art, Jason Todd is an Author, Partial Nudity, Birds, Vintage Gay Pulp Novels, Chuck Tingle-Adjacent, Please Forgive me, FanartDigital Art, JayDick Summer Exchange

Summary: The Red Hood has a secret: he's a part-time romance novelist.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea by anonymous for stribird (timidGoddess) [FIC, Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Heavy Angst, Self-Doubt, Lazarus Pit, Panic Attacks, Established Relationship, Bad Decisions, Romantic Fluff, Amnesia, Broken Promises, Road Trips, On the Run

Summary: Jason couldn’t do that. He could never forget what Dick meant to him. Which is why he had to bring his Bluebird back. Which is why he had to remind Dick of everything that he had lost.

Even if that meant forcing him into the Lazarus Pit. Even if it meant cursing him in the process.

tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef, that i'm a vegetarian (and i ain't fucking scared of him) by anonymous for prompt_fills [Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Protective Damian Wayne, POV Damian Wayne, Batman: Reborn, Jason Todd has a Heart, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Dick Grayson is Batman, Mutual Pining, enemies to idiots to lovers, Misunderstandings, Damian Wayne Plays Therapist, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, My Continued Mocking of Tim Drake (it's loving i swear), Donna Troy is a goddess and no one deserves her, My love for Donna Troy is so strong that I projected it onto Damian and I am not sorry, Unbetaed we die like Jason Todd refuses to, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Jealous Jason Todd, Pining Dick Grayson, BAMF Donna Troy AND MORE

Summary: It had taken a few weeks for Damian’s ill-fated hopes for the more platonic explanation of Grayson’s unseemly conduct regarding Todd to expire because Damian (unlike Drake) is not an idiot (and Brown had prattled on about every instance of very clearly not platonically fueled tension, slowly crushing Damian’s remaining hopes for Richard’s taste in romantic partners). Denial, heavenly as he has now known it to be, can only take one so far. And as a pragmatist and the grandson of the great Ra’s al Ghul and son of the great Bruce Wayne, he assesses the situation from a logical perspective, free of any emotions clouding his impeccable judgment, and comes up with a solution that benefits both himself and Grayson.

Jason Todd must die.

Or the story of how Damian Wayne became the number one shipper of JayDick and is not at all happy about it.

Si solo fueras tú by anonymous for fallogory [ART, Gen, Creator Chose No Warnings, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fanart, Kid Dick Grayson, Adult Dick Grayson, Kid Jason Todd, Adult Jason Todd, King Bruce Wayne, Prince Damian Wayne, Prince Dick Grayson, Poor Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Jealous Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug

Summary: Blue came first

Then Green arrives

Then Blue meet Red

And Green hate that

Or where Dick was Bruce's bastard child who was forced to lived like a prince until Damian's born and meet someone who make his world be upside down.

the smell of cold stone by anonymous for abcission [FIC, Mature, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Autumn, American Football, College Football, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, referenced Jason/Kyle, Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, past dick grayson/wally west - Freeform, implied Roy/Kory, implied Roy/Wally, implied Donna/Kyle, future besties Jason and Roy, Roy's eternal crush on Donna, frat boy Dick, Fluff

Summary: Their eyes meet on the quad one day; he’ll probably never see the frat boy again, but he’ll be nice fodder for Jason’s dreams at least.

#2020 jaydick exchange #dcu fanfic #jaydick summertime blues.#jaydick #dickjay #dick grayson & jason todd

117 notes · View notes

maatryoshkaa · 5 years

Text

young god | chapter 1

serial killer!han jisung au

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

genre: angst, thriller, romance

pairing: han jisung ( stray kids) x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: mild language, mature themes + violence

description: when your best friend Felix sets you up on a blind date with adorable medical student Han Jisung, you find yourself falling for his sweet words and dark eyes, and the even darker secrets he hides behind his charming, angelic smile.

watch the trailer here!

1 | blind date

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, but today it was nearly deserted: just you, two students studying in a booth across the room, and an old man reading what seemed to be a newspaper upside-down in the corner. A lone waitress was stacking clean milkshake glasses behind the counter.

It was raining hard outside, the drops sounding like impatient fingers tapping at the window beside you. As you peered through the glass, you caught a glimpse of a boy on a rusty bike, waiting to cross the street. Yang Jeongin, you recognized -- the delivery boy. A silver Walkman was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his lips mouthing the words to a song, a halo of dripping blonde hair sticking out from underneath his hood. He was smiling, despite the fact that it was pouring buckets, and he’d likely been up doing deliveries since 6 in the morning. Yang Jeongin was always smiling.

The light flashed red, traffic halted, and the delivery boy sped away.

Turning your attention back to the empty seat in front of you, you sighed.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

Your mind was running over all the ways you were going to give Felix hell when you saw him in class tomorrow; how you were going to explain to him that you’d been stood up on the blind date he’d arranged for you.

“You know what they call me? The Matchmaker of Miroh Heights. Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

You’d groaned as your best friend wiggled his eyebrows. Felix loved playing wingman. As the school photographer and a talented journalism major, he was the one who came up with the “Cutest Couples” section in the campus newspaper -- photoshoots and candid shots of pairings, most of which he’d set up. Still, you’d never thought that his...work...would extend to you.

It had been a while since you’d entertained the notion of love. You’d had your fair share of unrequited crushes and relationships that had not-so-pleasant endings, so the moment you’d enrolled into college and the workload had swept up your entire schedule, you’d left love on the backburner. You kept telling yourself that the right person would come at the right time -- but Felix seemed to have other ideas.

“Let’s see...Hyojong? Ah, no, I forgot -- he’s taken by that pretty senior. Lucky bastard.” He huffed. “Or...Seungcheol? Nah, doesn’t seem your type. Ah!” He snapped his fingers, making you jump. “I know!”

“Felix, for the last damn time -- I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

“Just one date? Please?” The blond boy hung up the last photo, a mischievous glint in his eyes visible even in the dark room. “I know a great guy -- health sciences major and everything. You two are practically made for each other.”

“I’m a psychology major, ‘Lix. I don’t know -- you know I’m no good at blind dates--” you caught sight of his puppy-dog expression, and sighed in defeat. “Fine! Fine. What’s his name, then?”

The school journalist flashed an impish grin. “Han Jisung.”

Han Jisung.

He was the reason why you were here, sat in a near-empty diner on a rainy Sunday afternoon, waiting for a date to show up while a pile of psychology coursework waited for you back at home.

Maybe he couldn’t make it, you told yourself -- it was pouring buckets outside. Maybe it was better to swallow your hopes and head back. Biting your lip, you pulled out your phone, tapping on Jisung’s contact (courtesy of Felix) and typing.

New Message

Hey, I’m y/n! I’m really sorry, but I had to leave.

Your finger hovered over the Send button, hesitating. What if he was on his way? Or got caught in traffic? Still, it had been over thirty minutes…

You were so caught up in your dilemma that you barely registered the sound of the diner door swinging open, and the sound of wet footsteps squeaking until they stopped at your booth.

“Hello!”

You nearly threw your phone into the face of the boy who had spoken, his hand shooting out to catch it before it fell to the floor. Drenched from head to toe from the rain -- cheeks flushed and breathing hard as if he’d been running, dark hair falling in his wide eyes, lips spread in a breathless smile -- was your date.

His other hand was hidden behind his back as he handed your phone back to you, cool fingers grazing yours as your eyes met.

Well, shit.

He was absolutely, devastatingly, adorable.

“O-oh, hi!” You stammered. “You’re…”

“Jisung,” he finished for you. “Han Jisung.” He glanced at the empty seat in front of you. “May I…”

“Yeah, of course!” Your heart rate was steadily increasing, and you wanted to slap yourself. It’s just a blind date, y/n, stop getting your hopes up--

Your gaze fell on the hand he was still hiding behind his back as he slid into the booth. Noticing your stare, Jisung slowly and sheepishly pulled out a small bouquet of roses.They were an unusual colour -- a faint, peachy pink rather than the conventional ruby red.

They were also falling apart, clusters of wrinkled petals dripping and blown askew from the wind and rain, no doubt.

“They’re for you. I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want them, it’s just--I passed a florist’s on the way here, but it started raining, and--”

“I love them,” you blurted, and, seeing Jisung raise an eyebrow, you giggled. “I really do.”

You gingerly took the misshapen bouquet from his hands, bringing the flowers to your face and breathing in softly. They smelled pleasantly of petrichor, and something else faint yet sweet.

Jisung watched you, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re -- really pretty.”

You felt the blood rush to your face, your tongue tying into knots and betraying you oncemore. “O-oh,” you squeaked, “th-thank you?”

He chuckled as the waitress came to take your orders for drinks and food.

As she left, Jisung’s gaze wandered around the vintage movie posters, records, and other retro paraphernalia that decorated the diner’s interior. “This place is something else.”

“Right? Every time I come here, I think I’ve stepped into a movie. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Dirty Dancing--” you blushed. “Sorry. I probably sound like a nerd.”

Jisung turned back to you. “Don’t apologize. What’s your favourite kind of movie? Rom-coms?”

“Psychological thrillers, actually,” you admitted shyly. Good gosh, that intense stare in Han Jisung’s eyes was making your heart do somersaults in your chest. “But romcoms are not far behind.”

He hummed in approval, an odd glint in his eyes. “So you’re into psychology?”

“Well, I’m majoring in psychology, so I kind of have to be -- although it’s been pretty hard on me as of late.” You sighed, suddenly remembering the mountain of final assignments weighing on your shoulders.

Jisung leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hands. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just--my final project.They’re testing our ability to communicate with and analyze a patient,” you explained. “Kind of like a therapist simulation. We’re supposed to find someone and, like, apply psychological concepts by giving them mock counselling over the course of a few months. And by the end of it, we have to write a conclusive report on their mental state. I can’t find anyone who’s willing to be my patient, which honestly makes sense -- it’s such an invasive topic.”

Jisung was silent for a long moment, dark eyes unreadable. Finally, he sat up a little straighter, cocking his head to the side. “I could be your patient.”

You blinked, mouth falling open. “Wha--are you sure? I mean, you really don’t have to--and it might take up a lot of your time--”

“I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you,” he replied, eyes glinting, and your heart skipped a beat.

“R-really?” You could already feel an incredulous, relieved smile spreading on your blushing face.

Jisung chuckled. “Just to see you smile like that, trust me -- I’d do anything.”

You were infinitely grateful that at that moment, the waitress arrived with your food. You weren’t sure your face could get any redder. You knew you were a hopeless romantic at heart, and had told yourself time and time again not to be swayed by sweet talk, but this was...different. There was something genuinely sweet in Jisung’s words -- he said them so honestly, with an almost childlike simplicity.

You sipped your drink in a feeble attempt to regain composure. “My turn to ask the questions. What’s your favourite food?”

“Cheesecake,” Jisung replied instinctively. You watched him bite into his burger and giggled at the way his round eyes widened even more before he practically inhaled the rest.

“Favourite season?”

“Winter.”

“Least favourite colour?”

Jisung froze, a weighted silence falling over the table. He swallowed, hard, before replying quietly, “Red.”

When you peered at his face, you felt an icy chill trickle down your spine. His warm brown eyes had darkened and grown impossibly wide, and the colour had drained from his cheeks. Had you said something wrong? You looked down at your clothes -- a soft, oversized beige cardigan and light blue jeans.

“W-well, it’s a good thing I’m not wearing red, then, huh?”

“No.” Jisung shook his head slowly, and his shaky gaze met yours. You felt your mouth go dry at how lost his eyes seemed -- bottomless pools of pitch black. “No, I’m sure you would still look pretty in red.”

As if on cue, your cheeks turned a bright cherry hue.

Deciding to change the topic, you cleared your throat. “What about dogs? Do you like dogs?”

Almost as quickly as it had come, the dark look vanished from his face. “I love dogs!”

By the time the waitress brought the bill, Jisung had you in stitches over a joke he’d made, and you’d long forgotten about the whole ordeal.

The rain had stopped when you two stepped outside. Behind the knitted clouds, the sun was setting, its rays of light seeping through the stormy sky like veins in marble. Jisung’s features were painted a soft gold, warm eyes sparkling as he turned around to face you. His hair was a strange colour, you noted -- under the dim lights of the diner, it had appeared a light brown, but now that you were in the sunlight, it looked more blond. It had also been dripping wet, soaked from sweat or rain or both after running all the way to you, but it had dried off now, the ends curling in his eyes.

Maybe you’d had one dose of sugar too many in your drink, because you suddenly found yourself wanting to touch it. So you did just that, fingers reaching for the soft, fluffy golden locks and ruffling them playfully. Jisung’s eyes held yours the entire time, his gaze questioning.

You huffed. “You’re cute, okay?”

He broke into a smile that made your heart flutter. “Okay.”

Cheeks blazing at your own sudden boldness, you quickly pulled your hand away, fingers lightly grazing the side of his cheek before you stepped back. “I--I’m gonna get going now. Thanks for a great time!”

“Of course. See you next time?” Jisung winked, handing you the bouquet of peach roses.

“S-see you!” With that, you turned and practically ran across the street, heart still threatening to leap out of your chest as you fought the butterflies in your stomach and the smile sneaking onto your face.

Behind you, Jisung’s face darkened, smile slipping from his lips as you disappeared from his sight.

#han jisung #stray kids #han jisung imagine #stray kids imagine #stray kids angst #han jisung angst #stray kids yandere #han jisung yandere #serial killer!AU #stray kids soft #han jisung boyfriend #stray kids boyfriend

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nalgenewhore · 4 years

Text

crossing line - part one

Lorcan Salvaterre was in love with his best friend. There was not one ounce of doubt in his soul that he was a complete goner for her.

Right now, they were on their way to the football game and there she was, sitting in the passenger seat and rapping along to whatever song she had chosen.

Uh, Martin had a dream

Martin had a dream

Kendrick have a dream

“All my life, I want money and power,” Elide was smiling, her lips, painted bright red, pulled into a wide grin, “Respect my mind or die from lead shower, I pray my dick get big as the Eiffel Tower, so I can fuck the world for seventy-two hours!”

Lorcan just shook his head at her antics and turned his gaze back to the road that lead to Elide’s school.

Even though they lived barely ten metres apart, they were technically in different districts so they attended separate schools.

She laughed as they pulled into the parking lot, rolling down her window and blasting Backseat Freestyle when she spotted a boy with beautifully brown skin and bleached hair, shorn short, meticulous wave patterns over his skull, his silk head wrap hanging from his bag, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Fen!”

The boy turned and cheered, holding his fist to his mouth as he rapped alongside her, “I’ve got twenty-five lighters on my dresser, yessir! Put fire to that ass, body cast on a stretcher!”

Elide was opening the door and racing across the parking lot to him before Lorcan had even pulled into a spot, throwing her arms around Fenrys’ neck, “You didn’t show up to movie night!”

“Yeah, I got a life outside the squad, Ellie,” he said, smiling as he set her down, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Cute bow,” he flicked her cheer bow, attached to the base of her high ponytail.

“Cute pants,” she shot back at him, slapping his ass. Fenrys snapped his teeth at her and they slowly started walking to the field, chatting quietly.

Just as they reached the gates, Elide swore and paused, “Fuck me, I forgot my poms! Shit, I’m so fucked.” She spun around, about to race home in Lorcan’s truck to get them and then saw Lorcan walking up, his football bag slung over his shoulder, her poms in his other hand.

“Looking for these?” he asked, a brow quirked up and he smirked down at her.

Elide nodded and smiled, reaching for them when he lifted them high above her head. She pouted and crossed her arms, sticking her bottom lip out, “Hey, that’s mean!” She just waited, fake sniffling and his restraint was shot, she was too cute and perfect. Elide grinned triumphantly as he passed them to her and rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Lorcan sighed through his nose and dropped a kiss on her head “Anytime, E.” They walked in step to the field. The guys were standing by the benches, smirking at the two of them and the look in Lorcan’s eyes promised a slow and pain-filled death.

The smirks dropped from their faces and Elide slid away from him, rocking on her tip-toes to press her lips to his cheek, “Good luck, I hope you lose.”

She pranced away and he called after her, “I hope you fall and break every bone in your body.” Elide just flipped him off over her shoulder and he watched her for a few seconds as she joined the rest of the cheer squad.

When he turned back to the team, they all had shit eating smiles on their faces. “What.” he snarled, tossing his bag to the bench. “Stop looking at me like that.” He used the hem of his shirt to wipe away the lipstick mark she had left.

It was Fenrys, of course it was fucking Fenrys, who began, “Lorcan and Ellie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” promised Lorcan, feigning a move at Fenrys, who shrieked and cowered, waiting for a hit that never came. “Ha, got you.”

“This is bullying, you know.”

“Boy, shut your bitch ass up or I’ll do it for you,” warned Lorcan, his hands busy with adjusting his head band to keep his hair back.

Fenrys just smirked back at him, “No you won’t, Ellie won’t let you.”

All Lorcan could do was scowl, “Fuck you.” But it was completely true.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

At halftime, Yrene stood next to a seated, half dressed Lorcan, his jersey and padding on the ground next to him. She held his arm and twisted it this way and that, asking him where and when it hurt. “Y, I’m telling you, it’s not that ba-ah, fuck.”

“Not that bad, huh?” she asked, her eyebrow raised. “Sure, Salvaterre. Wanna go back on and tear it more? No? Didn’t think so, you’re not playing.”

“But-”

Their team physio-therapist shot him a hard look and he promptly shut his mouth, glowering at the ground. “Lorcan, I know you wanna play, but if you’re trying to get signed to a university, you can’t be hurting yourself in exhibition game, ok? Save yourself till playoffs.”

“Yeah, fine.” He took the instant ice pack that she passed him and the roll of tape, fully prepared to wrap it himself, but then Elide appeared in front of him, worry on her face, her brows furrowed. “El, I’m-”

She slapped him upside the head, frowning down at him. “You idiot, you told me you were fine!”

“Ow, I’m injured, you can’t hurt the invalid!” he protested, passing her the ice and tape when she held her hand out for them. “I can do it myself, you know.”

She snorted as she moved behind him, lifting his right hand to hold the pack on his left shoulder. “Oh, I can just go back, then, if you don’t need me?”

“Shut up, you know I need you, I’m useless without you.”

Elide laughed, the sound melodious and full. It was the soundtrack of his dreams, a sound he would follow when he woke only to have reality crash down on him. “Don’t you forget it,” she said, her tongue poking out of her lips as she concentrated on snugly wrapping the tape. She glanced up at him and he was sure that the blush on her cheeks was from the cold. “That good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied. He leaned to his bag to grab his cutoff tank top, pulling it over his head and missing the way her eyes ogled his bare and sweaty chest, warm brown skin with copper undertones glowing under the lights as she helped him get his left arm through the hole. “You cold, E?”

“Um, yeah, I guess?”

“Mm, take my hoodie,” he said, passing it to her. She grinned and accepted it, the article of clothing practically drowning her, not that she minded. Elide turned back to the field and Lorcan stood, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, his chin resting on her head.

Elide hummed and held onto his forearms, tilting her head back to smile at him. “Am I staying at yours tonight?”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, I got your ticket.”

Elide turned in his arms and looped hers around his waist, “Ticket? For what?”

“My prom.”

She scowled at him, her voice monotone, “Wow, what a beautiful and romantic Promposal, thank you so much, Lorcan, of course I’ll go with you.”

“You won’t go unless you get a Promposal?” he questioned, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. “Spoiled brat.”

Elide pinched his side, hard. It was somewhat of a specialty of hers. “Obviously I’ll go with you. That means you have to go dress shopping with me, we’ll go tomorrow.” With that, she slid from his arms, halftime almost over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Who’s hosting tonight?” asked Elide, the game over and won by Lorcan’s team, not that that was a surprise, Staghorn Secondary had the strongest team and dominated over every other school, as well as Orynth Secondary, Elide’s school.

“Nobody, Fen and Con are never allowed to host again after last weekend and V is still grounded and Ro has plans.” Most likely with Aelin, the two had been skirting around a relationship for years.

“Fuck, that was so fun, though!”

“Remember the next morning?” Lorcan nudged her, chuckling at the memory of her still faded the next day.

“We don’t talk about that, what happens at Fen and Con’s, stays there.” She smiled at the memory, recalling how she had managed to convince Lorcan to go out and get her food, not that it ever took much for him to do something for her. She had him completely wrapped around her baby finger. “Oh, gods, and you hooked up with that girl, what’s her name?”

Lorcan gritted his jaw, “Don’t remember.”

“You so do, I’ll just ask Ace-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, she-devil. Leave it.”

Elide cackled as she dug her hand into his pocket and grabbed his keys, sauntering off, his eyes on her ass in her green and gold cheer uniform, a mini-skirt that hit just above mid-thigh and a tight, long sleeved crop top, her dark hair pulled up into a tight ponytail and topped with a gold bow. He barely realized that she was in the driver’s seat and starting up the truck.

“C’mon, I wanna get food,” she whined, honking the horn to get him to move from where he was frozen in place. “Hurry your skinny ass up!”

Lorcan bared his teeth at Elide, “I’m thicker than a Snicker and you know it. You wish you had cake like me.” She was completely unimpressed as he tossed his bag into the backseat and slammed the door shut, his shoulder barking in pain as he swung himself into the passenger seat.

Elide busied herself by adjusting her seat, moving it as far as it would go so that her feet could reach the pedals. She then jacked it up, still barely tall enough to see over the dash. Lorcan was utterly in love with her, How does one person become so fucking cute and beautiful?

Soon enough, she was pulling onto the road, the windows all the way down and the sunroof open. A couple moments later, trashy country music was blaring through the speakers and Elide was belting the lyrics, her voice like honey and sugar, even when it was hoarse after cheering.

Lorcan just watched her, falling for her over and over again. With every little, teeny voice crack, his heart fluttered in his chest and eventually she glanced over at him, “Sing!”

“Not gonna happen, princess.” To really make his point, he crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “Turn up here,” he nodded his head to the road that they lived on.

“I know where we live, you asshole, and yes, sing for me, you have such a pretty voice!” Elide pointed at him as she sang, “But he don’t knooowwww…..”

Lorcan rolled his eyes and sighed, but still, “I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive, I carved my name into the leather seats...”

Elide laughed and turned onto their road, “Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires, maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats,” she sang, turning the music low as she pulled into his driveway. She sighed contentedly, shutting off the truck and hopping out before Lorcan had even unbuckled his seat belt.

By the time he caught up to her, Elide was perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs as she spoke with his mother, Odette, she turned to stare at him with a look of complete disbelief, You still haven’t told her, have you?

He subtly shook his head and she sighed. Odette noticed his shoulder and glared as she moved closer, her long onyx hair swaying, “I told you not to play!” She began poking and prodding, turning her son this way and that. “You idiot, you’ve only made it worse!”

“Leave me alone, Hellas below, I’m resting, I promise.”

“You also promised us you wouldn’t play if it hurt,” commented Elide, munching on dry cereal, straight from the box.

“Hey, E, fuck off,” he said, batting his mother’s hands away. “I’m fine, I’ll take an ice bath tonight, it’ll be fine.”

“Ooh, sounds fun,” Elide teased, hopping off the counter. “‘K, I’m gonna go home and get some stuff and say good night to my parents, I shall return!” With that, Elide was gone, leaving out the back door attached to the kitchen.

“You should tell her,” Odette stated, picking something off of his shirt. “You should hear how she talks about you when you’re not here, baby.”

“She talks about me like I’m her best friend. And that’s it.”

“Oh, baby, you know I love you, but you are just so mind-numbingly stupid.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was sprawled across his bed when Elide arrived, her makeup washed and her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She still had on her uniform when she walked in. “Hey,” she greeted him, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

Lorcan snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her into bed with him, nuzzling his face into her hair. “Hi.”

She sighed and melted against him, “I’m gonna get changed and then I’m sleeping. I’m pooped.”

He chuckled and nodded his head, sitting up and pressing his lips to her temple. “Me too.”

She smiled softly and brushed his hair off his brow, her long nails scratching his scalp. It was times like these, these soft and warm and intimate moments when the words were sitting heavy on his tongue, but he couldn’t ruin any of these fleeting seconds, precious and so incredibly temporary. He stayed silent, grinning sleepily up at her. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, seeming like she felt the fragility of this second and wanted to preserve it.

Lorcan flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, cursing himself for everything. He was so, so fucked. Groaning slightly, his shoulder screaming in agony, he sat up and turned on his music, the soft vibes of Frank Ocean floating around the room.

Round the city, round the clock

Everybody needs you

No, you can’t make everybody equal

Although you got beaucoup family

You ain’t even got nobody being honest with you

A soft grunt was pulled from him as a body launched onto his lap, pinning him to the bed.

His best friend was wearing a pair of his sweats, emblazoned with Staghorn Secondary’s mascot on the thigh, his number thirteen beneath it, as well as his initials. She wore a black sports bra, her thick hair still pulled into a bun. Elide grinned as she straddled his lap, holding up a container of something.

Lorcan shook his head, “I’m not doing it.”

Elide sighed and she unscrewed the cap, leaning back to place the lid on his bedside table. The scent of freshness permeated the air around them as she scooped out a dollop of the face mask with her finger, “You are.”

“I don’t want-”

Too late, his protests went unheard and Elide dabbed it on his cheek, her brows furrowed as she carefully spread the clay mask on his face, making sure to leave his stubble alone. “Come on, it makes your skin so so soft,” she said, a light sparking in her dark irises.

Lorcan just sighed through his nose and let it happen, his hands running up her legs to hold her thighs. He resigned himself to the knowledge that Elide was the love of his life and he just didn’t have the luxury of being hers.

@myfeyrelady @schmlip-scribble @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae

songs (if u were wondering at all) (by order of appearance):

Backstreet Freestyle - Kendrick Lamar (good kid, m.A.A.d city, 2012)

Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood (Some Hearts, 2005)

Nights - Frank Ocean (blonde, 2017)

#thank u 2 my muse alyssa #she's literally my everything #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #crossing lines #cl 1 #ooh doggie we in for it now

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mikauzoran · 4 years

Text

Marichat: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Seventeen

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...to distract.

“Marinette, My Love,” Chat Noir called gently as he frowned at the clock on his staff’s readout. “I think it’s time to call it quits. It’s getting kind of late.”

“What? What time is it?” She didn’t even look up from her sewing machine as she fed the fabric through, hands rock steady.

He propped himself up on the chaise. “One-o-five.”

“Meh. That’s not too bad. I can still get another hour or two of work in,” she replied with a subtle shrug of her shoulders so as not to throw off her stitch. Then she sighed and muttered, “I had hoped to be further along on the dress Clara Rossignol commissioned, but I’m not really used to working with such high-end fabric, so I’m having a little trouble with how it’s behaving.”

Chat made a mental note to bring his girlfriend presents of different types of expensive fabrics more often. If he split the gifts between Chat and Adrien, he’d be able to give her more without her scolding him for spending too much on her.

He’d finally found an upside to her thinking he was two separate people.

“You look like you’re getting the hang of it, though. You’re such a quick learner. I’m sure you��ll be able to finish in record time now that you’ve got some practice with it,” he encouraged, sitting up.

She blew out a breath, her bangs billowing up. “Maybe, but I’m still behind where I thought I’d be, and I need to get to work on my entry for the Dior contest if I’m going to meet the deadline in a month. I need to come up with something that’s really going to wow Maria Grazia Chiuri, so I want to be able to take my time with it.”

Chat got up and went over to her, depositing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tomorrow, Princess. Right now, you need to sleep…and I need to be taking my leave.”

She stopped sewing to turn and gawk at him. “You’re going home? After what your father said to you?” she snorted incredulously.

Chat winced, remembering Gabriel’s scowl and his clipped voice as he’d succinctly raked Adrien over the coals for fumbling an interview question that had caught him off guard.

Apparently, Adrien’s awkward response about his dating life had brought shame upon the family and dishonor to the company.

He only hoped that Gabriel hadn’t guessed the real reason why Adrien had kind of freaked out a little and stuttered for a full ten seconds when asked if there was a girl or guy he was interested in. The possibility of being outted on live, national television was kind of terrifying, so he thought that his reaction was understandable, but, according to Gabriel, Agrestes were prepared for any situation and conducted themselves with poise. No son of Gabriel’s would ever behave in such an undignified manner.

So, that was kind of like getting disowned for being bi, he figured. It felt like it at least.

He’d told Marinette that his father had given him a dressing down and soft-core disowned him for not living up to expectations during a company marketing event. Now he was wishing he would have come as Adrien so that he could tell her the truth, but he hadn’t been thinking straight in his rush to transform and get away.

“No,” he responded quietly. “I’m not going home tonight. Maybe, when I’m discovered missing by his assistant tomorrow morning, he’ll think about what he said to me. For now, I’m going to head over to the Liberty. I kind of want to talk to Luka, and even though your parents said it was okay for me to sleep over when I needed a safe space, I still feel kind of awkward. I don’t want your dad thinking we’re…like…you know.” He cringed.

She gave him a warm smile and a pat on the arm. “If you want, I can explain the asexual thing to them, if that’d make you more comfortable. I want you to feel at ease here.”

“I do,” he hurriedly assured. “I am. I just… Sleeping over would feel different now that we’re in a relationship. I kind of…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to get his thoughts together.

She waited patiently.

Chat took a long inhale and blew it out slowly. “Thank you. I kind of want sleeping over to be more romantic and special than me running away from my troubled home life.”

“Okay.” She nodded, taking it in stride. “All right. Whatever you need, Minou.” She slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you head out, then, so you get to bed at a decent hour? I’m sure someone’s still up on the Liberty. Text me when you get there, though. I’m just going to get a little further on this dress, and then I’ll turn in too.”

“Marinette, you need to call it a night,” he sighed, mentally shuddering at her idea of “a decent hour”.

“I’ll wrap up within the hour. Promise,” she insisted, an innocent look on her face as if she really believed herself.

His eyes narrowed and mouth tightened into a disbelieving frown. “Princess, I know you. You’ll get caught up in your work, lose track of time, and fall asleep at your machine. Has your therapist talked with you about your self-care habits? What does she say about you burning yourself out?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, spinning around in her chair to face her sewing machine once more. “She says I need to slow down and not take on so much,” Marinette scoffed. “She says I don’t have to save the world single-handedly because it’s not like I’m Ladybug.”

Chat’s eyes widened as he stared at the back of his girlfriend’s head, suddenly feeling like he was seeing double.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Marinette grumbled. “I gave her a piece of my mind about how Ladybug doesn’t save the world single-handedly. She saves Paris, and she’s only able to do it because she has you. There’s no ‘single-handedly’ about it,” she huffed indignantly, completely oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal panic.

Meanwhile, Chat Noir felt like he had been hit with a truck.

Marinette’s therapist didn’t know what she was talking about, and suddenly Marinette’s chart-topping stress levels and unwillingness to talk about her problems made a whole lot more sense.

“Shit,” Chat breathed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Marinette spun around in alarm, eyes scanning for danger.

“Nothing!” He quickly slapped on a neutral smile, hoping it didn’t register on her BS meter. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s great. Except for the fact that you’re not getting enough sleep. Let’s fix that.”

In a fluid motion, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

Marinette gave an indignant yelp as he carried her up the ladder to her loft followed by a squeak as he deposited her onto her bed.

“Chat Noir!” she protested.

He pushed her down, silencing her with his lips.

Quickly, her complaints were forgotten as she enthusiastically lost herself in the kiss.

“P-Please take better care of yourself,” Chat entreated breathlessly when he pulled back.

Some of the haze faded from Marinette’s eyes as her brow furrowed. “Minou?”

“Please,” he begged. “I love you so much, Marinette. You’re the most extraordinary, smart, talented, wonderful, giving person I know. I know you’re tough, but I’m afraid you’re going to break if you keep pushing yourself so hard, so…please try to take care of yourself at least half as well as you take care of everybody else. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, Minou,” she sighed, reaching up to caress his face. “I’m sorry, Chat Noir. I’m working on it. There’s just so much to do and so few hours in the day. It’s hard to fit it all in.”

“I know,” he whispered tenderly, leaning in to nuzzle her forehead. “Believe me. I know how hard it is to juggle everything, so I get it, but the first item on your checklist needs to be you. You’re too young to abuse your health like this.”

“I’m working on it,” she mumbled self-consciously. “I’m seeing the therapist and trying her suggestions.”

“You’re doing a good job,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “and I’m so proud of you, Marinette.”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. “How can I help?”

“Help?” she echoed, blinking.

“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Is there anything I can do? Anything I can take off your plate? Like, can I do coffee runs for you or help you study for tests or do homework with you? Maybe we can sit down and look at your to do list and see if we can organize things better. Literally anything you can think of that I could do to make your life easier.”

“Oh, Chat Noir,” she sighed, a grateful smile stretching across her lips. “Thank you, but I couldn’t add more to your load. You’re busy enough with your own stuff.”

“Not too busy for you,” he objected, wearing a serious expression “I’m your partner, My La—Love,” he quickly covered his near-disastrous slip. “I’ve always got your back. We’re a team, so don’t be afraid to lean on me for support. That’s what I’m there for. I want to help.”

She studied his face for a moment, taking in his earnest expression.

She smiled, pressing her lips lightly to his. “Okay. You’re right. You’re my partner, and I shouldn’t be afraid to rely on you. I’ll brainstorm and let you know what you can do.”

A bright, relieved smile exploded onto his lips, rivaling the sun with its radiance. “Thank you, Marinette.”

“Thank you,” she stressed. “…All right. I think the first thing you can do is head out so that I can go to sleep before I lose all self-control and start working on Clara’s dress again.”

“Uh-oh. Can’t let that happen,” he chuckled, stealing a quick kiss for the road. “Night, night, Princess. Love you.”

“Love you,” she giggled, watching him go. “Don’t forget to text me when you make it safely to the Liberty.”

“Will do,” he promised, disappearing up through the skylight.

As he bounded across the rooftops, following the Seine to the Pont de Grenelle near where the Liberty was docked, he muttered to his kwami, “Plagg, remind me to text her when we get there because I think I’m going to be too preoccupied freaking out because my girlfriend is Ladybug.”

#Marichat #Adrinette #Adrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Chat Noir #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Kissing #Writing Prompt #Mikau's Writings #Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses

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hh-rose · 5 years

Note

Omg can u do a case fic where cas & dean have to pretend to be a couple !!!?

“Dean, I think I might have found a case, but I don’tthink you’re going to like it,” Sam said as he put his computer on the tableand sat across from Dean.

“Why wouldn’t I like it?” Dean said looking at Sam.“Does it have something to do with Harry Potter because so help me God, Sammy,I will let them die.”

“First of all, no it’s not about Harry Potter. Secondof all, rude,” Sam said with his bitchface. “There seems to be a problem at this couple therapy place inBrooklyn. Couples will go in there absolutely hating each other, and come outlike it’s their honeymoon. Then, they go missing the next day.”

“Maybe the therapist is just good at their job,” Deansaid. “Why would I have a problem with this again?”

“Well, we have to investigate it, but we can’t go in asFBI agents. There needs to be a fake couple,” Sam said. He could see therealization in Dean’s eyes.

“And who do you suggest play this struggling couple?”Dean asked as if he already knew the answer.

“I just think that you and Cas are the ideal people forthis job,” Sam said. Dean groaned, but Sam still continued. “All you have to doit tell the therapist you’re having some problems with your relationship. It’snot like you never had any of those.”

“Where is Cas?” Dean asked, hoping that he hadn’talready agreed to this.

“Packing his bags,” Sam said with an apologetic smile.Dean got up from the table, smacked Sam upside the head, and walked to Cas’sroom.

Dean was had always thought that Sam had had an inklingabout Dean’s feelings for Cas. He had always hoped he was wrong, though. Deancould barely handle explaining the feelings to himself, let alone another humanbeing. He was in love with Cas. And now, thanks to his annoying youngerbrother, he had to pretend to be in a relationship with him.

Dean walked up to Cas’s door. He took a few breathesand knocked on the door. He pushed it open to see Cas trying to decide whichtie to bring. God, he’s so cute. Deanshook tried to shake that thought off as he moved closer to Cas.

“I’d go with the grey one if I were you. It’s my leastfavorite color, and we are supposed to be fighting, so it’s perfect,” Deansaid. Cas smiled at him.

“Well, you should wear that hideous sweater because itdefinitely makes me want to fight with you,” Cas said putting a button-downshirt into his bag.

“Are you really on board with this whole thing?” Deanasked, but he could tell Cas didn’t know what he meant. “I mean we’re in a goodplace right now, do you really think bringing up a bunch of bad things thathappened is the best idea?”

“I think that we have been through a lot, and somepotential hoodoo therapist isn’t going to ruin our profound bond,” Cas said.Dean tried to ignore the feeling profoundbond gave him.

“Alright. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” Dean said.“Meet me in the garage.”

Upon their arrival, Cas and Dean found out that thiswas more than just therapy. It was a two-day experience. There was a bedroom atthe therapist’s office that you had to stay in. The first day, you talkedopenly about your problems. Then, you had to share a bed. The next day, you fixany problems that need to be fixed. Dean did not like the sound of that.

The therapist’s name was Julia Ring. She started herpractice seven years ago. She had a ninety-nine percent success rate. It wouldhave been one-hundred, but she says that there is always room for improvement.Dean felt like his head was going to explode.

“Cas, Dean, why don’t you tell me what seems to betroubling you?” Julia asked with a bright smile. Cas and Dean exchangedglances. It looked like Dean was going first.

“We’ve been togetherfor nine years,” Dean started. “We have two kids,both teenagers. We adopted them. We work together, along with my brother.”

“That’s great, Dean. But you didn’t answer my question.What seems to be troubling you?” Julia asked again.

“We have been together for a long time, but Cas alwaysleaves,” Dean said. He felt Cas look at him. He hoped beyond hope that hedidn’t hurt Cas.

“Cas, why did you leave Dean?” Julia asked.

“Most times it was to help Dean. There were some thingsI needed to work out for the greater good. One time he kicked me out, though,”Cas said, glaring at Dean.

“You know I didn’t want to do that. You know that wasbecause of Gadreel. I would never have kicked you out if he wasn’t there,” Deanalmost yelled.

“Who’s Gadreel?” Julia asked.

“He’s not important,” Dean stated blankly.

“Okay. Dean how did you feel when Cas left?” Juliaasked. Dean so did not want to answer that question. He felt broken every timeCas left him. He felt as if a part of him was missing. But was he really readyto admit that to Cas.

“I felt as if I did something wrong. I felt like I wasthe reason he left,” Dean said looking at the floor. “People leave me a lot, soI guess I should be used to it. But it’s different with Cas. It hurts more whenhe leaves. I don’t feel whole without him.”

Dean did not plan on saying that much. In fact, hedidn’t plan on saying most of the things he said. There had to be some sort oftruth telling thing in there. That’s how she was doing all of this. Dean couldonly imagine how she got people to make up.

“Cas, do you have anything to say about Dean?” Juliaasked. Cas swallowed.

“Sometimes Dean treats me like a child,” Cas saidtrying to avoid Dean’s eyes. Dean knew he treated Cas differently sometimes,but it was only because he didn’t want Cas to get hurt.

“Alright. I want you to think about what each of yousaid tonight. You will be staying in that room right over there,” Juliagestured to a room. “Tomorrow, we will reconcile.”

Dean and Cas walked into the bedroom. Dean put theirbags down next to the bed as Cas looked around. They would have to examine theroom for hexbags.

“I think she used some sort of truth-telling spell inthere,” Dean said sitting on the bed. “I don’t know if you felt anything, but Icertainly didn’t want to say half of the stuff I said.”

“I agree, Dean,” Cas said as he walked around. “Weshould look for hexbags. Who knows what kind of hoodoo she has going on inhere.”

Dean stood up and looked under the bed. There weredozens of hexbags under there. Not only were there hexbags, but there was aring of something around them.

“Uh, Cas. You should probably see this,” Dean said. Caswalked over and looked under the bed. His eyes widened. He looked confused, butalso like he knew what was happening.

“Dean, these are hexbags. There cupid sacks,” Cas saidexamining one of them. “Cupid sacks are things that cupids use to makepeople…well to make people do things. If you put a ring of salt around them,they make people…”

“Fuck?” Dean asked.

“Well, yes,” Cas said. “I don’t think she used atruth-telling spell out there. I think she used lover’s quarrel charm. It makespeople who are say things that truly bother them about the person they love. Normally, cupids use it when theyare trying to stop a couple who isn’t destined to be together.”

“So you’re saying that Julia is making people fight,then making them have sex, and then they’re cured?” Dean asked. Somethingwasn’t making sense.

“Not exactly. When you make love under the spell of acupid, you are fully committing to that person. There is no turning back. Fromthat moment on, you are one,” Cas explained.

“True love is the most powerful thing in the world. Itis powerful enough to make an average witch a god. Cupids have a way of makinganything in the general vicinity of their magic fall in love. Julia is using itto make people commit, and then she is using their love to make her morepowerful,” Cas continued.

“So, are we not going to sleep tonight?” Dean asked.Cas looked at him with that amazing face he makes when Dean says somethingstupid.

“Not unless you want to spend the rest of your lifewith me,” Cas joked. Dean was ready to throw Cas onto the bed and tell him thatthat was exactly what he wanted. But he couldn’t. He’d just have to wait itout. What they needed right now was a plan.

They destroyed all the cupid sacks that were under thebed. They stealthily got rid of all of the lover’s quarrel that was in the mainroom. All they needed to do now was come up with a plan to stop Julia. Theywere pretty sure she wasn’t a cupid, so they needed to figure out who she wasand why she had all this stuff.

The next morning, Cas and Dean strolled into the mainroom. Dean knew that Julia thought that they did the deed and were fixed, soDean grabbed Cas’s hand. Cas looked up at him. Dean just smiled and hoped Caswould play along.

“How was your night?” Julia asked with a huge smile.

“It was wonderful. I have never felt more in love withthis man,” Cas smiled at Dean. Dean’s heart melted, but he played it cool.

“Cas, honey, could you get my phone? I forgot it on thebed,” Dean said to his faux beau. Cas smiled and let go of Dean’s hand. He wentto the room to get the gun and the witch killed bullets.

“Thank you so much, Julia,” Dean said with the fakestsmile anyone had ever made. “I just want to know one thing,” Dean checked tomake sure that Cas was in place. “Where’d you get all of the cupid stuff?”

Julia stood up, but Cas was right behind her. He grabbedher and put the gun to her head. Julia tried to get out, but it was no use.

“How’d you know?” Julia asked.

“How’d we know that you stole things from a cupid tomake people fall back in love? Then, stealing it to make you more powerful?”Cas asked as he pushed the gun harder into her head.

“I’ll tell you,” Dean moved closer to her. “It’sbecause I’m Dean Winchester and this here is my buddy Castiel. Maybe you’veheard of us.”

“Of course. It is every witch’s dream to be killed by aWinchester. Or their guard dog,” Julia snickered. Cas took that as his cue topull the trigger.

Cas and Dean cleaned everything up and headed out tothe car. Dean put their things in the trunk as Cas called Sam to tell him whathappened. Dean got in the car and waited for Cas to get in.

“Dean, I think we need to talk,” Cas said as Deanstarted the car. He was praying that Cas wouldn’t say that. He waited until hepulled out to say anything. It was going to be a long ride home and Dean wantedto delay this as long as possible.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked. Cas bit his lip. Deanloved when he did that. But this was not the time to be swooning over theangel.

“I didn’t tell you last night, but lover’s quarrl onlyworks if the two people have mutual feelings for each other,” Cas said tryingnot to look at Dean. “You can tell if people are meant to be together based onwhat they say. If people are nice about the problems they have, they are meantto be together.”

Dean remembered apologizing to Cas. He remembered Cassaying things nicely. He remembered feeling like shit when Cas said he made himupset.

“So, you’re saying we’re meant to be together?” Deanasked finally looking at Cas. Cas smiled and moved closer to Dean. He lacedtheir fingers together.

“If that’s what you want,” Cas said.

“We did make a hell of a fake couple,” Dean added.

“I’m in love with you, Dean Winchester.”

“I’m in love with you, Castiel.”

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jacquievandegeer · 3 years

Text

the session- a play for vegans

Zoom The Host will let you in soon-announcement

Claudia, the host shows up, she waits for the guest, who is late, she gets up and comes back with a coffee and a glass of water.

She let's the guest in: Gerald, a man in his thirties.

Claudia: Hello Gerald, how are you? Thank you for filling in the forms. If you have any question, do not hesitate to ask me now, or if you want to write later, you can write to my assistant. Are you ready?

Gerald: Yes, I think so.

Claudia: Good, so straighten your spine, close your eyes, feet on the ground and start breathing...in...and out....in....and out...in and out...in...and out...continue breathing like this...very good...very good... Now we are going back in time, back to when you were a little boy...a little boy of eight years old... Do you see him, that little boy...is he there with you Gerald? You do not have to speak, just nod. Take your little boy by the hand Gerald...ask him what you can do for him...what can you do for little Gerald?

Gerald: He is scared...he knows that today it is slaughter day...he loves the cows so much...and the pigs...he does not want to see them leave...he knows what happens...he saw it the year before...he remembers the cries, the blood, the suffering, the loss of his animal friends...they have names, he cares for them, deeply...he wants to hide...daddy is angry...he is shouting...coward...sissy..

Gerald cringes and starts to sob, silently, then louder.

Claudia: Keep breathing Gerald...in...and out...in...and out...straighten up, you are the adult Gerald, you are there to take your little Gerald in your arms, in your heart...you may start talking to your little Gerald...

Gerald: You are safe little Gerald, you are with me now, you are safe...animals are safe with us...no more killing...no more blood...you do not have to hide Gerald, you are safe with me...safe..

Claudia: Is he listening to you? How does it feel to have little Gerald with you, so close to your heart? Are you both happy to be with each other? Does he feel safe and protected, is he happy to be with you?

Gerald: He is...he is...and I am too. We belong together.

Claudia: Good Gerald, now let your little Gerald go and assure him that you are always there for him. Keep breathing...in ...and out...in...and out...and say goodbye, and now you come back, open your eyes and wiggle your toes and fingers...very good.

Gerald: Oh my god, that was intense. So intense...

Claudia: You did very well Gerald. I think you are ready now to leave your trauma behind and move on. Little Gerald is safe now.

Gerald: Thank you so much Claudia. I feel it. I am ready to confront him now.

Claudia: When are going to see your father?

Gerald: Tomorrow. Tomorrow I want to see him and talk with him about it.

Claudia: Good. Let me know how it goes. Take care Gerald, and take care for little Gerald.

Gerald: Shall I disconnect now? Thank you for everything Claudia.

Claudia: That is all right Gerald. Good luck!

The zoom stops. Gerald is logged out.

Claudia ( opens a binder, puts on glasses and start reading)

I love Piglet and Clara, every morning I feed them and talk to them and sometimes I sing to them, they love me too, I feel it. Daddy does not want me to talk or sing with our animals, he calls me a sissy. Today he told me there will be a surprise for me, a surprise for Piglet and Clara too. He takes me to the stables. I hear Piglet screaming, it is a high pitched and loud scream, I am scared for her, it does not sound good. Daddy opens the stable and I see piglet, she looks me in the eyes and she bleeds, her throat is cut, a waterfall of blood in a bucket, Piglet hanging on her little back legs, the screaming her eyes seeking help, understanding, everything is dark, blackness...I wake up in my bed, my mother besides the bed looks tired...I stop talking...I stop listening...my eyes turn inwards...

Okay, that is done, so that was Gerald. Excellent.

The phone rings, Claudia hesitates, checks the number and decide to pick up the phone. We hear Gerald's voice and all the other voices, we see Claudia.

Gerald: I am there now, I decided to go now. Claudia, I am there, I feel good, I feel power, I am free! Do you want to talk to him?

Claudia: Not necessary Gerald, you are ready now to talk to your father, bravo!

Gerald: He wants to talk to you Claudia, isn't that amazing? He wants to get to know you!

Claudia: Gerald, I am sorry but...

Gerald: Claudia, here is my dad...talk to him!

Gerald's dad ( in a strange whispering voice): Help me, please help me, he is about to slaughter me...

Claudia: What? Gerald!

Gerald: He is so happy hanging upside down, he feels connected to his animals now, don't you? Don't you?

Claudia: Gerald, what is happening? Where is little Gerald? Isn't he scared?

Gerald: I am here Claudia, I am not scared, daddy is scared and I like it! Big Gerald is going to get the bucket now and the big knife!

Claudia: No! Nonononono...

Gerald: What do you mean Claudia, no? Aren't you proud of me? I breathed in and out and in and out and got back with little Gerald and we are happy to work together. Daddy, stop screaming, I can not talk like this with my therapist!

Claudia: Gerald, shall I come over? Give me the address please, wait until I am there Gerald!

Gerald: Therapy is over.

Claudia: Gerald...

Gerald: Can you stop mumbling my name Claudia, my name is not Gerald anymore, it is Piglet, I am Piglet!

Claudia: Piglet, listen to me Piglet, please do not do this, do not do the same thing Piglet, please...

Geralds dad: AAARGHuuuuuuuhggggaaaargh....aaaargh.....aargh...

Gerald: It's done Claudia, I did it, I will send you some sausages if you want or are you vegetarian?

Claudia: I am a vegetarian....Piglet...but thank you...

Gerald: Now don't hang up...I know you want to warn the police, but you can not, as a therapist you swore an oath not to betray your clients, remember? Remember?

Claudia: Yes, yes, I remember...Piglet...

Gerald: Can I call you Clara?

Claudia: Yes...Piglet.

Gerard: I always loved you Clara.

Claudia: Yes...Piglet.

Gerard: I have to go, the bucket is full, I will eat the sausages alone Clara. Goodbye.

Claudia ( stares in shock to the phone): Piglet... Clara... This might be my breakthrough...a spectacular psychological finding, blowing up the whole theory of inner selves... the representation of wrath...I am curious...I stand with the victims...I can not be silent...oh this never ending dilemma...have to justify that. Be silent. Let it go, breathe in... and out...in...and out...always a challenge...intuitive, efficient, and useful. May the past be truly behind us...breathe in... and out...in...and out...

( Claudia puts the phone on her desk, closes the computer)

0 notes

save-the-cronch · 7 years

Text

Sincerely Me

Welcome to my fic that is using a title that is overused! Anyways, this is based off a set of one-shots I posted, originally, on my other account.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Evan kept his head down as he walked to the school’s computer lab. He had to quickly finish his ‘self-help’ letter before his mom picked him up for his therapy session with Dr. Sherman. Slowly, Evan pushed open the door to the lab and shuffled over to a computer on the right side. Silently, he logged into the computer, found the google chrome search logo, clicked on it, and signed onto his google drive account. He moved the cursor over to the google doc containing his letter. After he clicked on it, he watched as a new paged popped up, and his letter loaded onto the screen. Evan quickly read over the letter, and noticed that he left off with:

Maybe if I could just talk to her. Maybe, nothing would be different at all.

He silent thought for a second, tapping his fingers on the table. Eventually, he began to type out the last part.

I wish everything was different. I wish I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean, let’s face it, would anyone even notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?

He stopped typing briefly. Evan knows this isn’t what his therapist had in mind for him to write. These letters are supposed to say the good things in life, but when there aren’t any good things, why make it up? Why not just tell the damn truth? No one would even care anyways.

Sincerely, your best and dearest friend, me.

Suddenly, his phone began to ring. Evan fumbled with it in his pocket. He quickly checked the caller ID and was relieved to see it was his mom calling him.

“H-hello?” He asked. Evan has always hated phone calls, can't stand them. Even though it was just his mom calling, he still stumbled on his words.

“Evan, I’m not going to be able to bring you to your appointment. They needed extra help at the hospital and I was the only one on duty. Also right afterward I’m going to class, there are leftovers in the fridge for dinner.” Heidi Hansen rushed her words as if she really needs to get back to work. Which, Evan assumed, she probably does.

God, Evan thought, I'm such a burden, she wouldn't need to work so hard if I wasn't around. I have so many problems. She has to spend too much money on my pills and therapy, I hate it.

"O-okay, yeah, I’ll ea-t that.” Even while he says this, Evan knows he won’t.

“Did you finish your letter sweetie?" Evan knows that all his mom wants is for him to get better. However, he also knows that she knows she'd have a better life without him.

“Yeah, I just pr-printed it n-ow.” He says, clicking on the little printer button on the top right of the screen.

“That’s fantastic sweetie. I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Totally fantastic. Except for the fact that his letter basically states that he wants to just disappear and never come back.

Evan nods his head but then realizes she probably couldn’t even see him. Stupid. “Okay, love you.”

“Love you too honey.” And with that, she hangs up the phone.

Evan sighs once again, and then, he stands up to go and grab his letter. Before he can even take a step, Connor Murphy appears in front of him. Oh great. Evan really hopes he's still not mad about this morning. Connor had thought that Evan laughed at him, and so he shoved him to the ground. However, what had really happened was that Evan didn't laugh at him, He would never laugh at him. He would never laugh at anyone really. Evan was just nervous, and so he let out a nervous chuckle. Because of this, Evam have a mental freak out moment. He still didn’t know if Connor’s here to yell at him some more or what but he was absolutely terrified.

“Evan? Right?” Connor asks, looking Evan up and down, then into his eyes. Evan shivered slightly and nodded. Evan didn't shiver because Connor was scary, he's actually really pretty. Like his sister, Zoe. Wait, not the time Evan. Shut up. Evan looked back at him, and he noticed something. Connor seemed like he was trying to tell Evan something, but then seems to think better if it and instead says, “How’d you break your arm?”

It was an easy question to answer, Evan had practiced the answer many times, but he still stuttered.

“Oh, uh, I f-fell. Out of a tr-tree.” Evan stuttered out, picking at the hem of his shirt. Evan hates lying, but he didn't want people to see how broken he really was.

“Well, that’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Oh my god!” He laughs out.

Oh, how wonderful. Evan thinks. Now I'm an even bigger loser.

Evan nodded, “Yeah, uh, yeah.”

Connor glances at Evan’s cast, and he seems to notice no one has signed it.

Shit, now I not just a loser, but a friendless loser. Evan doesn’t know how this could get any worse.

“No one’s signed your cast.” Connor points out as if Evan hadn’t already realized no one liked him.

“Yeah, uh, I kn-know.” Evan just wishes he could stop stuttering, dammit!

“I’ll sign it.” Connor offers, probably pitying Evan. Defiantly pitying him. Most people did.

“Oh, you, you don’t have to.” Evan mentally hits himself, what is he doing? He needs his mom to think he actually talked to people. Why is he telling him no?

Connor ignores him and He holds out a hand, expecting a sharpie. Thank God he's persistent.

Evan nods his head and then stuffed his hand into his pocket. He pulled out the unused sharpie and handed it to the taller boy.

He grips Evan’s hand and tugs it towards him. “Ow,” Evan mumbled.

“Sorry,” Connor seemed to have pushed it out. As if he's not used to saying sorry. Connor quickly scrawls out his name, filling up half of the blonds cast with it.

“Oh, thanks,” Evan said, with a kind of sarcastic, sort of thankful, and a bit of wanting to get the hell out of there asap tone of voice. Thankfully though, Connor doesn’t seem to notice and smiles at the shorter boy. However, it’s more of a grimace. He then takes a piece of paper from his bag and lifts it up.

“Is this yours? I saw it at the printer. ‘Dear Evan Hansen,’ You're last name is Hansen, right?”

“Uh, yeah that’s mine, um, th-thanks.” Evan reached to take it, but Connor pulls back.

“Because there’s Zoe? What the hell,” He whispers this, seemingly confused, and Evan begins to freak out. Once again.

“C-connor, please give that ba-back.”

“You did this on purpose!” Connor’s yelling now, Evan hopes he can maybe calm him down?

“What?” Very good Evan, ask a fucking question. This is super helpful.

“Yeah, you saw I was the only other person in here so you printed this wanting me to see it.” Evan knows that Connor is totally misunderstanding the situation. Evan also knows that he has no clue on how to deal with this.

“No, I-”

“You were hoping I’d freak out right? So you can tell everyone what a fucking freak I am?”

“No, please-”

“Well FUCK YOU!” The long-haired boy pushed past Evan and runs out of the computer lab. All Evan can do is stare at him as he runs, forgetting that he still has his letter.

“You what?” Jared asks from the other side of the phone, clearly enjoying the situation that Evan had gotten himself into.

“I-I printed my letter out at school and Co-connor saw it. He thought I wanted t-to get him ma-mad! He saw that I me-mentioned Zoe, and-”

“Wait, so he read some crazy sex letter you wrote about his sister? That’s messed up.” Evan starts to really hope that Jared stops laughing soon.

“It wasn’t a sex le-letter Jared! It’s for my therapy-therapist.” Evan is trying to explain this the best he can, but Jared doesn't like to listen. He never listens.

“You write sex letters to your therapist? That's kinky.”

“JARED!”

“Whatever man, but why are you telling me this?” Evan can imagine that Jared is probably lying upside down on his bed, playing video games. He's definitely not paying attention to their conversation at all.

“Because you’re my cl-only family fr-friend.” That's all they’ll ever be because Jared knows that Evan is too much of a weirdo.

“Yeah, okay, I gotta go dude. Good luck with that sex letter!”

“IT’S NOT A-” Before Evan can finish, Jared hangs up the phone. Evan groans, tossing his own phone onto his bed.

How the hell is he supposed to convince Connor Murphy that that letter was meant to cause no harm.

Also, how is he supposed to get it back from him before he tells the whole school? And, once the school knows how will he live through the taunts? No, wait, forget the jokes. Connor is probably gonna kill him.

God Dammit.

Connor stared at the orange bottle in his hand as he sat on his bed. For once it was made, he wanted to feel productive for his last few hours alive. He also had a box filled with all the stuff he had taken from Zoe over the years placed on his desk. He has about an hour before Zoe gets home from jazz band practice, and his mom won’t be home for another two. Connor isn’t sure when his dad will be home, but it’ll probably be late, as usual.

Connor uncaps the bottle and empties all the pills into his open palm. With no more thought, he downs all the pills and lays back onto his bed, waiting for the effects to kick in.

Zoe Murphy usually considers herself a lucky girl. She’s lucky because she made jazz one as a freshman, and sits in the first chair. She’s lucky that she is smart enough to be in most senior classes. She’s lucky that Alana Beck actually considers her a friend. She’s lucky that her brother doesn’t follow through on his death threats.

Zoe Murphy is also lucky that she got out of jazz band earlier than usual. A lot usual. AT least, according to the doctors, she is. Is she had called the ambulance not even five minutes after she had, her brother would have had no chance of survival.

So yeah, Zoe Murphy is a lucky girl. Luck apparently just comes naturally to her, and even though her relationship with Connor has been torn to shreds years ago, she’s glad that she’s luckier than most. Really fucking glad.

“Yo, Evan, did you hear what happened to Murphy last night?” Those are the first words Evan hears out of Jared’s mouth on the second day of school. Evan shuts his locker and looks at his family friend. Jared is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, gripping the straps of his backpack.

“N-no, what happened to-to him?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but you know Calvin Ferrell? Well he lives across from the Murphy’s and he told Kelly Petie who told Kyle Gold who I overheard telling Kevin Lakes that an ambulance showed up at their house around five last night, and Calvin saw Zoe Murphy running out with paramedics pushing a stretcher with Connor laying on it out of the house and into the ambulance. Calvin doesn’t know what happened to him but Connor isn’t at school and neither is Zoe. So obviously it was something really big right? I mean why else would paramedics be there?” Jared is much too enthusiastic about this.

“J-jared! Why do yo-you seem so, so ex-excited? Wh-what if he di-died. That wo-would be te-terr-terrible!” Evan whisper yells.

“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it, I mean so what? No one likes him anyway.”

“Jared th-that isn’t nice! You sh-shouldn’t say, say things like that!” Evan remembers how alone he felt this past summer, and knows that whatever Connor was feeling is probably ten times worse than what he feels. He hopes Connor isn’t dead, he decides that if, no when, Connor gets back to school, Evan will try his best to try and brighten the brown haired boy’s day.

“Whatever tree boy, I’m going to class.” Jared shrugged his shoulders and left Evan standing in the hallway by himself. Evan sighs. He knows Jared fakes a lot of how he acts. He just wishes Jared was like he was when they were younger, his actual friend.

Dear Connor Murphy,

I heard about what happened the other week and I want you to know I failed as well, over the summer. You’re not alone.\

Sincerely Me.

Connor stared dumbfounded at the letter in his hands. It was his second day back after being out of school for three weeks, and he had no idea as to why a letter had fallen out of his letter. He was even more confused when he realized the letter was addressed to him and not whoever owned the locker next to him. Then after reading the two sentenced note, he felt something inside him. It wasn’t happiness at being recognized, it was more like relief. Someone out there, though he had no idea who knew in some way how he felt. And who wouldn’t get the smallest spark of hope after realizing that?

Evan watched from around the Corner as Connor neatly folded up the letter and placed it in his hoodie pocket. Then he saw the brown haired boy give a small smile, and Evan couldn’t help but smile as well.

For the next month, Evan continues to write letters to Connor. He writes the letters on Monday and Wednesdays after his homework, then on Tuesday and Thursday mornings he shoves them through the cracks in Connor’s locker. Evan know’s that Connor doesn’t check his locker until after third period, so he knows that he won’t be caught.

Sometimes the letters contain personal information as Evan knows that Connor doesn’t know it’s him, so he’s not worried, for once, about being taunted. Sometimes they just include small things that happen over the week. Usually, the Tuesday letters are the long ones, informing Connor about Evan’s weekend, the Thursday ones usually remind Connor how great he is.

Evan’s noticed that Connor is usually happier on the letter days. He’s also noticed that Connor skips school a lot, but he’s always there on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.

Connor has gotten a total of six letters so far.

The second one was almost as short as the first, giving Connor one simple tip on calming down.

Dear Connor Murphy,

Counting down from ten is always a great strategy to calm down, in my experience at least. Also, my mom, she does it a lot, especially when my dad tries to contact us. He’s very inconsiderate when he does.

Sincerely, Me

Connor felt like punching this guy’s dad after reading it.

The third letter talked a lot about trees, as did the fifth letter. The fourth told Connor that the mystery guy has a crush on a girl in junior year. He wondered if Zoe knew the girl as the letter never mentioned her name. The sixth letter was longer than usual. It seemed as though Letter Guy, as Connor now calls him, was stressing about something and just couldn’t stop talking. It started out about a math test the kid had, then there was a paragraph on why trees are so important to the environment, then two sentences wondering if Connor liked trees as much as he did, and it ended with five sentences of the guy apologizing as to how long the letter was. Connor thought it was hilarious, and kind of adorable. He kept that letter on his bedside table.

After the next two letters come, and Connor finds himself wondering who the guy is, he realizes that he might actually sort of like him. But he tries to ignore it for two reasons. First, why would this guy like him back, especially since he already likes someone else? Second, Connor doesn’t even know who writes the letter, how can he like someone he doesn’t know. However, Connor does know the letter guy, very well from all the information he writes down. He just doesn’t know his name or what he looks like.

Evan sits behind Connor in math class, which Evan actually quite enjoys. Math is fourth period, which means Connor comes in right after reading Evan’s notes on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s. This also means that Evan gets to see the small smile on Connor’s face due to the letters that he receives.Evan always enjoys seeing that smile. It tells him that he was once again successful in making Connor happy. Evan knows that it isn’t a permanent fix, but he also knows that it works for at least an hour. And an hour is better than nothing in his opinion.

After Thanksgiving break, Evan realizes that he hasn’t thought, or written, about Zoe in a month. This really confuses him, how can he go from fawning over the guitar player to never even thinking about her? He isn’t entirely sure.

That is, at least, until the first Thursday of December and Evan catches himself staring at the older Murphy all of math class. At first, Evan tells himself that he was just making sure his letters were still making Connor happy. It wasn’t until Evan was in his room, trying to go to bed while still thinking about the long-haired boy that he shoots up, now fully awake.

“Fuck I like the school shooter.”

Which then leads to Evan actually slapping himself.

“Dammit Evan, stop listening to Jared.”

Evan continues to mutter to himself about the fact that he has just figured out that he is bi. However, he isn’t just bi, no, he’s really really bi for the kid he writes letters to, to make him feel better.

That’s when his mother, Heidi Hansen, Knocks on the door.

“Sweetie are you alright?” She asks, concerned that her son is mumbling to himself at eleven at night.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Evan shouts back, quickly laying back down.

That night Evan falls asleep with only the thought of Connor Murphy on his mind.

The next letter Connor received he was surprised to see that the mystery writer told him he wasn’t into the junior girl anymore. At that, Connor walked to his math class with a small spring in his step. He knows that the letter boy might not be into guys, but he doesn’t like the junior anymore, he has a slight chance now.

When he gets to math, the kid that sits behind him, Evan Hansen, already has a notebook out. Connor remembers in middle school when he had a small crush on the blond haired kid. He can’t help but hope that Evan was the mystery writer.

Connor spends all of math wondering what Evan’s hand in his would feel like.

When Connor walked into math, Evan couldn’t help but blush at Connor’s happy gait. Evan can’t help but hope that it’s because Evan doesn’t like Zoe anymore, and maybe Connor likes him back. But that’s insane, who would like the wallflower anyway?

Evan spends the rest of the class wondering what Connor’s hair would feel like with Evan’s fingers combing through it.

The week leading up to winter break, Evan can’t stop thinking about what he should get Connor for Christmas. Sure, Evan is Jewish and celebrates Hanukkah, he knows that Connor celebrates Christmas. He only knows this because he overheard Zoe asking Alana to come over on Christmas Eve, as Zoe’s parents apparently want to meet her.

Evan wasn’t sure on what to get Connor until he was at the store with Jared because apparently he needed knew flannel and his mom thought he was ditching Evan. Which, he usually does, but Mrs. Kleinman doesn’t need to know that. Evan had seen a couple black hoodies and remembered that Connor’s were all worn out and faded. Then as he was walking up to the cash register, money already in hand, he saw a bowl full of nail polish and quickly plucked out a black bottle. Connor usually as his nails painted, sure they were almost always chipped, but they were also always black. Black seemed to be his signature color.

Wednesday night, Evan wrapped the gift for Connor, taping his note to the present.

Connor Murphy didn’t go to bed until one am that night. Usually, he’s asleep by 12 on Mondays and Wednesdays, but this time he stayed up. He needed to get it perfect. Sure there was a chance that Mystery Writer didn’t celebrate Christmas, but that’s why Connor is signing the card Happy Holidays instead. It doesn’t need to be a Christmas gift. Just a thank you gift.

Thursday morning, when Evan went to put the gift outside Connor’s locker, he was surprised to see it propped open, and not shut like normal. Curiosity was digging at him, so Evan carefully opened the locker and was even more shocked to see a small wrapped item on the bottom of Connor’s locker. He picked it up, and then he noticed the card, which was addressed to him. Well not him exactly, but it did say To: My Mystery Writer and who else would Connor be calling a mystery writer?

Evan felt a small smile grow on his face as he placed the gift he got Connor on the bottom of his locker, and quickly put the one Connor got him in his bag. He then swiftly shut the locker and made his way to his first class.

After third period, when Connor got to his locker, he was glad to see that Mystery Writer took the gift, he was also happy to find out that he was left a gift as well.

Throughout math class, Evan couldn’t focus. He just stared at Connor’s head. Which probably wasn’t a good idea in hindsight as Finals is the week he gets back from spring break, and he really should be paying attention the review they’re doing. But at that moment, he really didn’t care.

The first thing Evan does when he gets home is putting the gift Connor got him under the small house plant he has on his desk. Even though he doesn’t do Christmas, maybe this one time he can pretend.

When his mom gets home and sees the gift on his desk, she asks where it came from.

“O-oh, well um. There’s this b-boy, C-connor Murphy, and earlier this year he wa-was in the hos-hospital? So, um, I decided to, uh, write him letters. I-I wanted to ma-make him feel good. So, uh, I gu-guess he got me-me a gift?”

“Oh honey, that’s so kind of you! I’m so glad you have another friend!”

Heidi was so excited to see the excitement in her son’s eyes as he talked about Connor.

Evan didn’t have the heart to tell his mom that Connor didn’t know it was him writing the letters, which is how he ended up baking cookies with his mom the day after Hanukkah ended. As soon as they were done, Heidi had already left for work, and Evan was tasked with the job of bringing them over to the Murphy’s place.

Before he left, he found a pen and a piece of paper to quickly scrawl out a note.

Cynthia is a bit confused as to who would be ringing her doorbell at nine at night. She is even more confused when no one is at the door, and she looks down to see a plate of cookies with a note taped to it. She leans down to pick up the plate, walks back inside and shuts the door. When she gets to her kitchen, she plucks the note from the plate and reads it.

Dear Connor Murphy

Have an excellent Christmas

Sincerely Me.

Cynthia can’t help but grin at the fact that Connor has a friend. She can’t remember the last time Connor even talked about a friend. Cynthia places the note back onto the plate, then proceeds to pick the plate up and carry it upstairs to her son’s room.

She knocks twice on the door, and the music that was blaring from inside is turned off. She hears heavy footsteps and then the door opens, revealing her son who seems to not have gotten dressed today. Instead, he is in sweats, a tank top, and has an apron covered in paint over his pajamas.

Cynthia doesn’t fail to notice the hard glare on her son’s face, and so she just holds up the plate.

Connor glances at it, and noticing the note, he picks it up and reads it.

Cynthia also doesn’t fail to notice the small smile and slight blush that Connor suddenly now has, as he takes the plate of cookies and ducks back into his room.

Cynthia can already tell that whoever this new friend is, is a good fit for her boy.

Christmas morning comes, and Evan figures that now is a good time to open Connor’s present. He brings the gift over to his bed. He tears open the wrapping paper and finds a book with a note covering the title.

Dear Mystery Writer

You always talk, or write, about how you love trees, so, here.

Evan flips the paper over and sees a beautifully drown Oak tree on the back. Evan knew Connor drew, as that’s what he does for most of math, but he never knew he could draw so, realistically. Before even glancing at what the title says, Evan gets up to pin the tree to his headboard, smiling proudly at it, before looking at the book.

Evan laughs when he sees it’s the Encyclopedia of Trees.

Connor also sits on his bed as he opens Mystery Writer’s gift. First, he looks at the note that was taped to the gift.

Dear Connor Murphy,

Your sweatshirts seem to have a lot of holes, I didn’t know if it was for comfort or what but I got you a new one. Oh, and I really like your nails so here’s some more polish.

Sincerely me’

Connor can feel the blush already beginning on his cheeks.

He unwraps the gift and instantly notices how soft the two hoodies are. He also decides that he will be using the new nail polish until it ran out. He can also feel his blush deepen and nearly scolds himself for feeling and acting this way. He shouldn’t start to like someone he doesn’t know the name of. He really shouldn’t. But then again, when has he ever done something he should do?

A week after school is back in session, the Kleinmans come over to the Hansen’s place for dinner. When Jared enters Evan’s room, he instantly notices the tree that’s still pinned up, and as Evan was gathering snacks downstairs, it felt only reasonable for Jared to see if he could see who drew it. It certainly wasn’t Evan, as his art skills were no better than Jared, who could only draw cartoon cats and nothing else.

When Jared is close enough to read the signature, he would have spat out his drink, if he was drinking something. Why would Conor Murphy draw Evan Hansen a tree?

When Evan walks back into his room, Jared plays innocent and asks his family friend who drew the tree.

When Evan blushes and says that it’s from Connor Murphy, Jared demands that Evan tells him why Connor drew him a tree.

After Evan is done explaining the letters, Jared can’t stop laughing.

“So first, you write sex letters about his sister, and now you’re writing sex letters about and for him?”

“No! Th-they’re not se-sex letter Jared! An-and I only wro-wrote about him on-once!” Which, was the wrong thing for Evan to say as it throws Jared into another fit of hysterics.

For the next month at school, Jared starts to act differently when he’s around Connor, and Connor severely hopes that Jared isn’t the letter guy as that would mean Connor has a crush on Jared, and he really hopes that isn’t the case.

However, for a slight second Connor is relieved when Jared tells him who the writer is.

Connor was casually reading one of the letters when Jared pops up and says “I see you have another love note from Evan tree boy Hansen.”

At that Connor watches as Jared's eyes widen and he quickly leaves. It takes a second for the brand new information to kick in, but then Connor realizes that the cute dorky kid that sits behind him in math. The kid he’s always had a small crush on. The kid he silently hoped was the mystery writer, is actually the mystery writer, and Connor doesn’t remember the last time he was this happy.

Evan was just about to walk out of school when he suddenly heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Connor Murphy running to catch up with him.

“Evan, can we talk? Now?”

Evan isn’t sure why Connor wants to talk to him, but being who he is, he gives a simple nod and lets Connor lead him to the tree that he usually sits under during lunch.

“So, uh, Jared told me you were the one writing letters to me. Is, uh, is that true?” Connor seems nervous and a little hopeful. Evan isn’t sure why.

“H-he told yo-you?”

Connor nods.

“OhgodI’msosorryIprobablywasn’tthepersonyouwantedtpbewritingyouletters. Sorry.”

“Uh, could you repeat that.”

Evan takes in a large breath of air before repeating his previous statement. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I probably wasn’t the person you wanted to be writing you letters. Sorry.” Evan’s nervous that Connor hates him now, and really doesn’t want that. He wants to be friends with him, especially since that’s the closest he can probably get to Connor liking him back.

“No! I’m glad it’s you. You’re probably the nicest kid in school, anyone else I would think was making fun of me. I just wanted to say thanks. So, uh, thanks.” And with that, Connor dashes away from Evan.

The next day at school, Evan is surprised to see a note flutter to the ground after opening his locker. He bent down to pick it up and is happy to find that the letter is from Connor.

From that day onwards, Evan and Connor correspond with letters for each other. They both want to talk outside these letters, be friends in real life as well.

In February Connor finally lets himself fall completely in love with the blond haired boy. However, he doesn’t tell anyone, especially Evan. Either way, Evan likes someone else. Sure, they have some of the same features, but there are plenty of kids at their school with brown hair. And the way Evan describes his crush? Definitely not him. One letter Connor received was all about this crush. Apparently, he has beautiful brown hair, gorgeous blue eyes with a small bit of brown in the left, and a face that was crafted by God himself.

Sure, Connor has brown hair, but so does half the student body. And yes, Connor has a bit of brown in his left eye, but so does Jared Kleinman and this other kid in his AP lit class. And Connor’s face was most definitely not crafted by God. No way in hell.

So yeah, Connor accepted that he likes Evan. Like, a lot. But he’s also accepted that Evan will never like him back. And that’s okay. Or so Connor tells himself.

It isn’t until mid-March that Evan asks Connor if he wants to go grab ice cream on Friday after school.

Connor replies back with a no shit and his phone number.

After school, Connor drove Evan to A la mode, his favorite ice cream place, and they hung out at Evan’s house until Connor left at eleven at night, running into Heidi Hansen, who was thrilled to finally meet the boy her son speaks so highly of. She then asked Connor for his mom’s number so she could talk to her.

Both moms were ecstatic to hear about their sons hanging out.

They were also happy to talk to each other about them.

Both boys had a blush on their faces for an hour afterward.

And both of them fell asleep with the other on their minds, once again.

For the last two and a half months of school, Connor and Evan are practically attached at the hip. Evan was at Connor’s house for Easter since Evan doesn’t celebrate it and his mom was working. Then, they skip prom and just hang out at Connor’s house watching 80’s movies. They fell asleep on the couch, Evan’s head on Connor’s shoulder, and Connor’s head on Evan’s head.

At the end of senior year, Evan informs Connor that he didn’t apply to any schools so that he could take a gap year and save up for school for a while longer. Connor decides then and there to just not go to college until Evan goes. Connor doesn’t want to be alone, he’s not good at making friends, and to get through life he just really needs one. He got lucky with Evan. He doesn’t think he will get as lucky again.

Evan gets a job at the Pottery Barn, and Connor works at the Michael's next door. They always share their lunch breaks together, and they carpool to work as Evan doesn’t like to drive, and Connor does. Plus it means more time being together, and neither of them will pass up that opportunity.

That winter, Connor, and Evan were at Evan’s house. Heidi was at work, taking on the night shift and wouldn’t be home until early the next morning. The boys took advantage of that situation and broke out a bottle of bourbon to share as they watched Lord of the Rings.

By the time they were on the second movie, both of them had a pretty good buzz going on.

And both boys were a little Childish when drunk.

“Hey, hey Evan.” Connor whispers, giggling.

“What?” After there’s a slight pause, Evan asks again, “Co-connor, what?”

“Oh! Oh right! I wanted to tell you something.” Connor isn’t giggling anymore, but he still has a large smile adorning his face.

“And?”

“It’s very important. I’ve know for a while now. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was nervous. Haha, I’m kind of nervous now, but like, less than usual. You know?”

“Co-con, just to-tell me. Please?”

“Oh right! I haven’t said it yet! Well, I like you!”

“I know th-that Con! That’s why we-we’re best fri-friends!”

“No! I mean I love you! Like, I want to date you and kiss you! All the time. But I don’t cause I don’t think you’d like that.”

“Well, th-that’s not true Co-con! I want to kiss you all the time too!”

“Really?” Connor’s very surprised, but also extremely happy.

“Ye-yeah!”

“Then, can I kiss you?”

Evan answers with a swift nod and Connor grabs Evan’s shirt collar and pulls him in for a sweet kiss, that’s long overdue.

When they pull back, neither of the boys have their eyes opened all the way. They’re both smiling, and they’re both still gripping onto each other.

Evan goes in for another kiss, and they fall back onto the couch, kissing lazily until they fall asleep, Evan on top of Connor, arms, and legs tangled, smiles still on their faces.

When Heidi comes home, she promptly ignores the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. Instead, she grabs a blanket from the basket by the TV and spreads it over her son and his new boyfriend. She smiles as she takes out her phone to send a picture to Cynthia, telling her that she expects the twenty bucks the next time they go out for coffee together.

She also decides that she’ll talk to the boys about the bottle after she congratulates them.

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inthequeeryetgood · 7 years

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Still Looking Up

A Raven’s Home fanfic Rating: T Paring: eventual Raven/Chelsea (Chrave) Summary: PARENT TRAP(ish) AU. Raven and Chelsea ended up falling out big time after the chinchilla controversy in their senior year of high school and haven’t spoken to each other since. When Levi, Nia, and Booker discover a photograph of their moms from their good old days, the kids decide it’s time to try and bring the two old friends back together. Chapter: 1/?

(You can also read on AO3)

They’d only just begun their new adventure in Chicago (that’s what she’d called it when she’d told Levi about the move—he’d seemed less than convinced) and everything was already stressful. Their new landlord had conveniently forgotten they were moving in that day and had gone off on vacation with his mother, so they’d had to push back their move-in by two days. Then, the first hotel they’d tried to check into didn’t allow pets, and neither did the one after that. Chelsea thought this was not only inhumane and unfair to all of the poor dogs and cats and turtles and other creatures that may be traveling with their humans, but wildly inconvenient for her. But they were finally settling down in their third-attempt hotel, which did allow pets, with less than—she glanced at her watch—ten hours to go until Levi’s first day of school and thirty-four hours until her first day of work. She closed her eyes and rested against the headboard for just moment, just taking in the fact that, yes, she was really here, and yes, this was really happening. Her entire life had been turned upside down within a matter of months and had kept spinning and spinning ever since. But it felt like things were finally settling down, despite how crazy the past twenty-four hours had been. And soon, they’d be in their own apartment and settled into their new work and school routines and things would be back to normal. She couldn’t wait for normal. When she opened her eyes, Levi was climbing up onto the foot of the room’s single queen bed, his nearly-as-big-as-him backpack in hand and their golden retriever Zoodles at his heel. In one quick movement, Levi dumped the entire contents of the backpack on the bed. Pencils, pens, crayons, folders, and notebooks covered the white, standard hotel-issue bedspread in a rainbow of color. “What are you doing, bud?” she asked, rolling some of the crayons that had strayed her way back toward Levi’s pile, with little success. “I have to organize my backpack for tomorrow. I can’t be the new kid and the kid with a messy backpack,” he answered, without lifting his gaze from the task at hand. With nimble hands and a little (unhelpful) help from a slobbery dog, he began sorting his pencils and pens into piles. “Do you want any help?” She started to reach forward but he shook his head and stilled her hand. “Thanks,” he said. “I got it.” Chelsea nodded, and returned to her resting position against the headboard. She admired and respected her son’s independence, absolutely, but it always made her a bit sad to think about why he was so self-reliant, so willing to go and do things his own way. “Alright, but make it quick, okay? You need to get to bed soon. There’s school in the morning.” “I know, Mom.” Chelsea sighed, and felt a warm, wet patch forming on the side of her jeans. She looked down, and, of course, Zoodles had his nose pressed into her outer thigh, bashfully begging for her attention. “Come here, buddy,” she called, and he scrambled happily so that his head was resting safely in her lap. She gave him a big scratch behind the ears. “Tomorrow everything will be back to normal, I promise.” She didn’t know why she was hoping so hard for normal, all of a sudden. For years before her marriage had started to fall apart, she’d been hoping for a return to anything but normal, anything but the monotony that she had inexplicably and then unwillingly fallen into Garrett. Her life had once been just a bit extraordinary, had had a touch of magic. But that was a long time ago, almost eighteen years now, and nothing worth thinking about anymore. She had a new life and, starting tomorrow, a new new life with a new job and a new apartment in a new city. She had a lot to look forward to. There was no use in looking back. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Paris Fashion Week was always the most stressful time of year for Raven, even though it probably wasn’t supposed to be. Fashion Week was supposed to be a time of socializing and showing off (both of which were things which Raven knew how to do very, very well). By the end of the week, though, she was always exhausted and cranky and even a little bit intimidated by all the other amazing designs she’d seen, and all she wanted to do was go home and do nothing for another week except take several long bubble baths and spend some time with her kids. If you had told Raven fifteen years ago that she would be passing up shopping in Paris so that she could go home to be with her children, she’d laugh in your face and go back to flipping through her latest copy of Vogue. Yet, here she was, in the back of a car on the way to the airport, bouncing her leg in anticipation. “Could we go a little bit slower?” she muttered under her breath, checking the time on her phone. She still had over an hour before her flight was supposed to leave, and didn’t need to worry about silly things like security to get on the private jet. But the sooner she was there, the sooner they possibly could take an earlier space in the take-off queue, and the sooner she could be back in Chicago and on her way to pick up her kids from school. Raven sighed and leaned her head against the cold glass of the window like she’d done as a child in the backseat of her parents’ station wagon. They were stuck in the usual traffic around the Arc de Triomphe, which meant the stop and start and stop and start of almost standstill traffic. Raven closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. There was no need to be anxious, there was no need to get upset. She’d be home with her kids in ten hours’ time and she wouldn’t even remember this car ride. If she just let herself let go of the things she couldn’t control, she could be at peace. At least that’s what her therapist always said. Her pilates and yoga instructors, too. Even her ex-husband had said something to the effect at one point, long ago. But Raven Baxter was all about taking control, and always had been. Letting go wasn’t a concept that came to her easily or often. She managed, though, and with just a few more deep breaths she felt herself center and her muscles relax. Things were better. Things were calm. When she opened her eyes, she would be at peace, able to enjoy the rest of her ride through the city before they hit the Autoroute. But when she opened her eyes, she immediately felt her muscles re-constrict and her breath catch in her throat. Her body became the absolute opposite of at peace as a shock of red hair flew past her window. Raven’s face pressed even further against the glass, trying to catch another glimpse of the red-haired cyclist, but to no avail. The bicycle was gone, disappeared into the mass of cars ahead of them. Her every nerve felt on fire. Raven would love to say that was the first and only time she’d ever jumped at the sight of long, red curls that seemed at one so familiar yet so distant. She felt silly for her excitement, for thinking that, of all the places in the world, she would find her here. She didn’t even want to, she told herself. They hadn’t spoken in almost eighteen years, despite Raven’s earliest efforts, and now she wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way. She could hold a grudge as long as anybody. She settled back into her seat, head against the leather interior instead of the window, and closed her eyes once more. Her body was still vibrating with energy, and her heart still thumping wildly in her chest. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax. She needed to take a nap. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — The plane landed that afternoon in Chicago at 2:12, which gave Raven exactly 48 minutes to collect her things, get the car, and get over to the Lakeshore Day School before the final bell rang at 3:00. When she pulled into the parking lot and looked down at the dashboard clock, she smiled victoriously. It was 2:51. She still had nine minutes to spare. In the spring, the grounds of the Lakeshore Day School were lush with blossoming trees and beautiful flowers, and during the fall the leaves on the trees all turned magnificent shades of orange, yellow, and red that Raven hadn’t really gotten to see while growing up in San Francisco. But during the winter, the campus looked no more appealing than the arctic tundra, its perfectly manicured lawns hidden beneath a layer of frost and its trees mere skeletons, crouching over the stone façade of the school building. On a normal winter day, Raven would turn up the heat and wait in the car for the kids to come out of school. But it was unseasonably warm outside (thanks, global warming) and she’d been cooped up in cars and planes for too long already. She needed fresh air and to stretch her legs. Benches lined the walkway up to the school’s giant front staircase, but Raven had had enough sitting, so she decided to lean against one instead. She pulled her phone out of her purse and began swiping through meaningless email after meaningless email and responding to some less meaningless texts, when she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision, a flash of red hair leaning a bike up against the other end of her bench. She shook her head and sucked in a breath. “No. Not again. You’re not gonna fall for this twice in one day.” She kept her focus fixed on her phone, sent a text to her group message with the twins telling them she was outside, but her curiosity was messing with her, telling her to look up! look up! She scoffed again. She wouldn’t. She had more dignity than that. She looked back at the clock on her phone. It would still be five minutes before the bell rang. She could last five minutes without looking up. She had to beat this damn urge somehow. She was a grown woman, a famous fashion designer, she traveled around the world on a weekly basis. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was getting pathetic. A few seconds later, the figure finally stepped out from the edges of her vision, and Raven rejoiced. She’d done it. She hadn’t looked up. She was probably cured now. She’d never ever have to— A large weight crashed into her lower legs and sent her almost toppling over the back of the bench, but she was able to catch herself, keep herself upright. Her phone was another story. It crashed to the concrete on the other side of the bench with a horrifying crunch. She tried to go get it, but the thing that had crashed into her—apparently a giant golden retriever—was blocking her path no matter which way she moved. “You better get your slobbery mouth away from my pants, dog. They’re suede,” she muttered, trying to push it away, but to no avail. The dog would not budge. She kept up the struggle. “Where is your human?” “Zoodles, come back here!” Zoodles? Raven thought. What kind of weirdo name for a dog was that? But the dog backed off instantly and took off jogging toward the voice, leaving Raven covered in hair, slobber, and her own sweat. She leaned over to dust off the bottoms of her pants as best as she could, hoping the slobber wouldn’t leave any stains. “Are you okay?” the voice said, much closer than it had been the last time. There was something about it that felt so familiar. “I am so sorry about that. We just moved here and he’s been really excited by all the new places and people. Haven’t you, Zoodles?” Raven froze. That voice. It was more than just familiar. It was the voice. Her voice. She couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or ashamed or proud that it had taken her so long to figure it out. After all these years of compulsively searching for that voice, for that hair, for that girl, she’d found her. But suddenly, she couldn’t unfix her gaze from her feet. She watched the tiny droplets of melted frost roll down the rounded toe of the leather boots. The voice spoke again. “Are you okay? Should I call somebody?” Raven shook her head, finally stood upright, and turned so she couldn’t see the other woman, but more importantly, so the other woman couldn’t see her. “I’m fine,” she grumbled, with a cough, hoping her hardest to disguise her voice. She was a bit out of practice. “Okay, good.” She could hear the woman’s smile in her voice. “My name is Chelsea Grayson. My son Levi just started school here today. He’s in the fourth grade, but I should probably get him tested out. He’s a really smart kid, a lot smarter than I was at his age. Or I was ever, really. I’m assuming you have kids that go here?” Raven remained silent. The bell rang, a shrill hum in the distance, but then it was quiet for a long time between them. Raven could hear Chelsea shifting in what was surely a pair of pleather loafers, and release then a soft sigh. “Sorry to bother you,” Chelsea finally said, her voice quiet, the disappointment carrying through. Raven heard the soft clip-clop as she began to walk away toward the school, but it stopped abruptly. “Oh, is this your phone?” Raven held out her hand behind her, still unable to turn around, and she felt the cold metal of her phone thunk heavily into her outstretched palm. “Thanks,” she squeaked. She didn’t get a response this time. As she was inspecting her phone for damage—apparently the fall sounded a lot worse than it had actually been—a pair of voices that she could never forget called out to her, and two pairs of footsteps began pounding thunderously down the pavement. Before she knew it, she was sandwiched between two eleven year olds. Her hands quickly found rest on the backs of their heads. “Hey, babies,” she whispered, squeezing them closer, planting a kiss to their hairlines. “I missed you.” “We missed you, too,” Nia, her youngest but wisest answered. “Did you bring us anything back from Paris?” Booker, her oldest and decidedly less wise, but loveable nonetheless, asked immediately after. “You know what? I don’t remember. We’ll have to see what’s in my suitcase when we get home.” She chuckled softly, reveling in being home again, having her children so close. “How was school today?” They shrugged out of her hug simultaneously. It was okay,” Booker answered. Nia nodded her agreement. “Yeah, nothing special.” “What about last week?” The twins shared a look. “The same.” Raven narrowed her gaze. “Well, how about I give you two the car ride to think of some better answers, and we’ll talk about it more at home. Sound good?” The twins both shrugged and began to trudge toward the parking lot, their shoes, the only non-regulated part of their uniform, leaving two trails of footprints in their wake. Raven started after them, but as she began walking, she realized that she’d made a critical error. She’d forgotten entirely about Chelsea, forgotten that she’d left her bike at the other end of Raven’s bench, forgotten that she would be standing directly in Raven’s path to the car. But she realized her mistake too late. Chelsea was standing frozen at the end of the bench, her eyes wide and her now shorter red curls flowing gently from beneath a floppy winter cap. “Raven?”

#raven’s home #raven’s home fanfic #raven’s home fic #raven x chelsea #chrave #writing tag

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geekprincess26 · 6 years

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The Snow: Chapter 12

Summary: Sansa Stark thought she was well rid of Jon Snow. Then an untimely blizzard reunited them. Now Sansa wants out, and Jon just wants to explain.

Previous chapters: on my blog starting here | on AO3 here

Later that afternoon, as the sun completed its descent behind the hill next to the flat, Jon emerged from his room to find Sansa retrieving a box of pasta noodles from his pantry. She jumped half out of her skin, and he apologized at once.

“No, it’s fine,” she said when she had caught her breath. “I should be the one apologizing anyway. It’s your kitchen, and I’m messing it up.” She tilted her head toward the stove, and Jon smiled.

“You should be messing it up if you’re hungry,” he said, and gestured to the pasta box. “Did you want me to – ?”

Sansa shook her head. “It’s one of my special dishes, after all,” she said, and Jon smiled again. Sansa had left the lion’s share of the cooking to him when they’d lived together, since her own culinary repertoire consisted of about three or four recipes. One of those was pasta with salt, pepper, and Parmesan cheese, which even Jon had to admit was a better comfort food than most of what Sansa terms his gourmet cooking.

Jon retrieved a pot from one of the lower cabinets and handed it to her. Sansa dropped it into the sink and began running the faucet. Her cheeks had gone pink by the time she turned to face him.

“By the way,” she said, “I talked to Myranda today – my agent – and she mentioned that the girl playing Sophia from Wolves R Us dropped her role.”

“Oh.” It took a few moments for Sansa’s comment to register. Jon had performed the voice of Ghost the direwolf from a new animated feature based on an old fairy tale. It centered around a family with four children who discovered an orphaned litter of mythological creatures called direwolves, which were twice as large as normal wolves and ten times as fierce except with their owners. Each wolf formed a telepathic bond with one of the children, and Jon’s friend Wylla Manderly, the director, had asked him to perform the role of the eldest direwolf, a red-eyed albino named Ghost. The actress set to play Sophia, the second eldest child, had quit the project abruptly the prior week after recording less than half of her part.

“Yeah, she did,” he said, and Sansa nodded slowly. She looked nervous.

“Well, Myranda’s been contacted by Wylla Manderly, and they want me to read the lines for Sophia,” she said. “I’d just be reading with the crew for the audition, and even if I get the part I wouldn’t have to read in the same room as you, even if they do rereads with your part. But I told her I’d let you know anyway.”

Jon stared at her. Sansa had been known to take the roundabout way to a point, but this time he could not see one.

“What do you mean?” he asked finally. “I mean – you don’t need to ask me for anything. Unless Wylla put me in charge of casting without my knowing it.” He raised an eyebrow and leaned back toward the counter. “Which I doubt.”

“Well, no.” Sansa opened the pasta box. “But she didn’t – well, she wanted to make sure we were OK working on the same project, even if we weren’t going to be in the same room. I didn’t tell her I’m here or anything,” she added hastily. “And anyway, you were in on it first, so – ”

Jon shook his head, nonplussed. “That doesn’t mean that they can’t pick whoever else they want,” he replied. “If they like you for it, they should have you. Who cares what I think?”

The words left his mouth more sharply than Jon had intended. Sansa’s flush deepened, and he sighed.

“Look,” he said, “what I mean is if you want to take it, then take it. I don’t mind.” He held out one hand palm-up. “Here.” He nodded toward the pasta box, which Sansa was holding upside-down in midair after having emptied its contents into the pot. She reddened a little more and handed it to him.

“I mean it,” Jon said, willing his voice to soften. Sansa’s answering look was almost shy – that was one he hadn’t seen in over a decade – but she nodded.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and reached toward the stove-side crock of utensils to retrieve a wooden spoon. Jon reached into the cupboard directly above him and handed her a jar of salt, and Sansa thanked him again.

“Have you worked with Wylla before?” he found himself asking. Sansa shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I’ve heard good things, though. She loves ad libs, from what I’ve been told.”

Jon grinned. “You could say that,” he said. Wylla sometimes gave the actors versions of the film’s scenes that were twice as long as the cuts she planned to include and paired them with intentionally vague direction just to get as many possible interpretations and improvisations as she could. Jon, who had known Wylla for some time, had not been entirely surprised, but her methods had mildly annoyed a couple of the other actors at first until they’d gotten used to it. Sansa, however, would have fit right in with those of his colleagues who had used the extended scenes as a chance to improvise silly monologues about life on Mars and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Jon spent the next few minutes sharing anecdotes of his time on set with Wylla, which induced more giggles from Sansa. Only after she had drained the pasta and cut part of a stick of butter into the pan to melt did she stop short.

“Oh,” she said suddenly. The smile left her face at once. “I forgot to ask you earlier, when we were eating – I can go to the store while I’m in town tomorrow, just to get some food and other things for here. Since, you know, I’ve used them.” She shrugged again. Jon shook his head.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “I always get those things delivered, anyway.”

Sansa still looked worried, and another thought occurred to Jon. “Wait, you’re going to be in town anyway? Did the police ask you to come back?”

Sansa shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. Her shoulders slumped. “The officer I talked to yesterday said they didn’t have any more questions. They just had to talk to me again after the accident because it’s standard procedure for anyone who’s witnessed a death.”

Jon gaped at her. “Witnessed – wait, you saw the woman – I thought you said she was dead when you got there?”

“She was.” Sansa’s shoulders slumped farther down. “She had a heart attack behind the wheel. That was what started everything. They think she died of it right away. I only saw her afterward, when I pulled over to see what had happened and found her dead on her seat.” She turned to the sink and picked up the strainer full of freshly drained pasta, but made no move to transfer it to the pot. “They said that her name was Sarah Mordane, and she had five grandchildren.”

She upended the strainer over the pot. Jon drew back to avoid the drops of boiling water that splattered out of it. When Sansa turned around to set down the strainer, the unshed tears in her eyes glittered icy blue in the rays of the stove light.

“Sorry,” they murmured at the same time. Sansa closed her mouth at once and hung her head. Jon ran a hand across his.

“Jesus, Sansa, I didn’t – I’m sorry.” That sounded pathetic. “I’m so sorry.” Still pathetic. Sansa shrugged. She must have agreed with him.

“It wasn’t any of your doing,” she said, and turned back to the pot. “Don’t blame yourself, Jon.”

Jon shook his head, even though he knew she could not see it. “It’s not that,” he replied. “It’s just that nobody should have to – you shouldn’t have to go through it at all in the first place. Let alone twice.”

Sansa shrugged again. “At least I got out alive,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “And don’t worry, I’ll be talking to my therapist as soon as I get back home.”

“No, that’s not what I – but if it helps,” Jon began, but found nothing else to say except, “I’m still sorry, Sansa, I’m so, so sorry.” He wanted to reach out and wipe away a few of her tears himself. He wanted to hold her and rub her back and keep telling her how sorry he was. However, the rigid way with which Sansa was holding her shoulders told him she would welcome none of it, and so he stood rooted to the spot.

“Anyway,” Sansa said after a few minutes, “I – I can still call up whatever shop you use to order the food and everything, or go online if that’s what you want.” She retrieved a plate from the drying rack and dished some of the noodles onto it. Her hands shook when she reached for the salt and pepper shakers, though, and she ended up dropping both. Jon grabbed them both off the floor and held out the one with the salt.

“Here, I’ll grind it,” he said. “Just tell me when.”

He repeated the process with the pepper, and then with the Parmesan cheese he always kept in the refrigerator, a habit left over from when Sansa mixed it with her pasta during their marriage. Sansa thanked him quietly.

“So about the food,” she said, “I really should – ”

Jon waved it away. “No,” he replied firmly. “Don’t worry about it, Sansa. I mean that.” He set one hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped back, startled, and Jon held both hands up palm forward.

“Sorry,” he said. Sansa shrugged.

“If you change your mind – ” she began. Jon shook his head.

“I won’t,” he assured her. Sansa nodded and turned to trudge out of the kitchen.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Jon did not see Sansa again until half-past eight the following morning. She entered the kitchen to find him cleaning up the dishes he’d used making the oatmeal cinnamon muffins that sat cooling on a wire rack on the countertop.

“Morning,” he greeted her, and reached into the cabinet for another coffee mug. “Coffee?”

Sansa nodded. She murmured a quiet thank-you when Jon handed her the full mug, but she looked nervous, and her eyes darted about before settling on him.

“I contacted Pod Payne while you were sick,” she said. “He put me in touch with a lady who did legal consulting on one of my projects from a few years back.” She took a sip of coffee. Jon’s eyebrows rose. Sansa never drank her coffee black. Now she was drinking it black and barely even flinching.

“Her name’s Jeyne Westerling,” Sansa continued, “and she’s a barrister in Leeds. She knows a lot about the Solicitors Regulation Authority.” Seeing Jon’s confused look, she added, “The agency that handles a lot of professional misconduct complaints against lawyers.”

That did not clear up much of Jon’s confusion, but he nodded anyway.

“So I sent her an e-mail yesterday,” Sansa continued, “and she responded today. She told me how to – ” She took another gulp of coffee, set down her mug, and rubbed one hand around the other. Jon’s frown deepened. It deepened again when she did not say anything further.

“She told you how to what?” Jon asked gently. Sansa blinked, shook her head, and looked back up at him.

“To file a misconduct complaint against Jeyne Poole,” she said. The words spilled out so suddenly that it took Jon a few moments to string them together.

“For what?” he asked.

“For threatening you,” Sansa replied at once, as though the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, when she told you she’d have you arrested after you found me in the park.” She twisted her hands around again. “Even besides that, she was lying because it would have been a false charge and she knew it. So I want her to be professionally disciplined.”

Jon merely stared at her. He supposed she was right, although he’d never have thought of such an action himself; after the divorce had been finalized, he’d been far too eager to forget Sansa’s lawyer had ever existed. But if Sansa was telling him about it now, she probably needed –

“The thing is,” Sansa continued, “Jeyne – I mean, Jeyne Westerling – told me I’d really only have a chance at it if you participated – you know, we’d both have to write statements for the complaint, because I didn’t witness what she said to you. So if it was just me bringing the complaint, they’d probably reject it.”

Exactly.

“So,” Sansa went on, “Jeyne said if you were willing to see her with me, she could talk to us both, although she’d understand if you wanted to talk to her through your own lawyer, since it was a divorce case between the two of us.” She bit her lip. “I told her I’d talk it over with you and get back to her.”

“My own lawyer – what? Why? We wouldn’t be going to court, would we?” He’d never had to go to court, not even for the divorce, and the hell with all of it if he’d start now.

“Well, not really,” Sansa replied, her voice lower. “But we might have to talk to the review panel if there’s a hearing and tell them everything that happened. It wouldn’t be for a while, though; Jeyne said the review process can take six months or more.”

Jon stared at her, incredulous. “And you’d do all that?” he exclaimed. Sansa nodded. Her face was paler than it had been when she’d gotten back to the apartment the prior morning.

“What she did to you – ” She shook her head. “It isn’t right, and I know how rich that sounds coming from me, but I can’t – I’d never have asked her to do it, and I didn’t want her to do it. I don’t want her to get by with it.” She took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that, especially not with everything else going on.”

“You mean everything else that you did ask her to do,” Jon reminded her more sharply than he’d intended. “That makes the whole complaint sound rich, Sansa, not just you.”

Sansa’s shoulders slumped. “I know,” she said, “but Jeyne said if you went along with it, we could still have a good case because the point is that she went to an unethical distance in representing me.” She bit her lip again. “Especially if I can say I didn’t get a divorce because you were hurting me or robbing me or committing a crime.”

“And what? You’ll tell them you got a divorce for infidelity instead? You realize that doesn’t sound a hell of a lot better, right?” Jon’s voice got louder with every word. “So the whole bloody review board will get our dirty laundry, is that it?”

“No!” Sansa leaned forward to brace her hands on the snack bar. “They don’t have to hear that part of it; Jeyne just said it would help if they knew I didn’t divorce you for a criminal reason. And even if you’d – cheating isn’t a crime, anyway.” Her voice began to tremble. “But I can tell them you didn’t cheat, if you want, and that the divorce was entirely my fault. It’s the least I can do, anyway, because it is the truth – ”

“Oh, Christ almighty.” Jon speared his hand through his hair so hard it ripped the rubber band half out. “Ow!” Sansa flinched and backed away from the counter as Jon reached back to massage his head. The stricken look she wore reminded him all too well of the screaming match they’d had the night before he’d gotten sick, when he’d screamed at her and she’d apologized so many times for hurting him. Jon swallowed the retort screaming on the tip of his tongue, clenched his eyes shut, and sighed.

“Is that what this is about?” he said once he thought he’d gotten a bit more control of his voice. “Going out at all bloody hours to avoid bothering me? Going to the store and getting that Alys Karstark to fix Gram’s vase and filing this complaint and all that? You want to stack one thing on top of another till you can make up for things? Stop feeling guilty? Make the last three years never happen? Make the last week never happen? Jesus.” He shook his head. It felt heavy. So did his arm when he reached up to rub his forehead with the heel of one hand. “Did anyone ever tell you things don’t work that bloody way? Ever? Or are you just going to keep sitting there and banging your head against the wall to try and make things better?”

He almost choked over the last word. At this rate, she’d tear them both apart if she thought what they’d undergone over the past week could make anything that had happened since he’d signed up to do that film with Ygritte North better. Sansa flinched again.

“No,” she finally responded. “I’m not stupid enough to think I could ever make up for what I did. I couldn’t make up for a millionth of it if I spent the rest of my life trying.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky huff before she continued. “That doesn’t mean I won’t take the chance to right a little bit of the consequences if I can. You were right. Jeyne never would have done what she did to you if it hadn’t been for me. So if I can right even that little bit, and that’s all I ever get the chance to do, I’ll do it. I’ll do it every time. Anything I can. I don’t care what it is.” One tear rolled down her cheek, then another.

Jon sank his elbows onto the snack bar, buried his forehead into his hands, and blew a long, harsh breath through his clenched teeth. He heard Sansa’s shaky gasps across from him. Part of him wanted to reach out and hold her. Part of him rejoiced that she might just understand some of the three years’ hell she’d put him through. Part of him wondered if she was actually trying to match him hell for hell.

“Fuck’s sake, Sansa,” he ground out. “Do you want to kill yourself at doing this stuff? I bloody get that you feel bad, but bloody hell.” He exhaled again, but that only made his breathing more ragged.

“You could have frozen three yards from the door out there the other night,” he continued, and gestured back toward the kitchen’s glass doors. “You could have broken your back trying to shove me around in my bed with that fucking tarp. And last night, you could have been been mugged – worse – God – you could have been grabbed and – ”

His voice shook harder. When he tried to talk over the shaking, it came out as an ugly rasp. “Did you ever think you were making it worse? Did you ever think what I’d think – the person you’re trying to make this shit up to – if anything ever, ever, happened to you, I couldn’t – I’d go – I’d never be able to handle it – I couldn’t breathe – I’d never get – Jesus Christ, Sansa.” Unable to look at her, he turned and leaned heavily into the counter next to the sink.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa’s voice was shaking worse than his. “You’re right. Nothing I do will make up for any of it. The last few days – I wasn’t trying to make it worse, then, I was only trying to do whatever I could not to make it worse for you. And I know I made it worse, because as much as you hated it when I was gone, I hated when you were sick, and whether or not you believe it, if anything had happened to you, I couldn’t have – I just couldn’t think – and I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, ever.” Her words gave way to sobs, and it was several minutes before Jon could force himself to turn and see her reaching up to swipe the tears off her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater. A wordless murmur arose from his throat, but Sansa did not notice it.

“And I’m not trying to do anything so I can stop feeling guilty,” she whispered before Jon could say anything else. “I’ll always feel guilty, but that’s not on you. It’s never been on you. It’s on me. And I’m not just guilty, I’m sorry, Jon. I’m – ashamed and horrid and sorry.” Her face crumpled. “Sorry,” she gasped, and clapped her hand over her mouth before she turned and fled the room.

Jon stared after her into the dark, empty hall. He stared into it long after the sounds of running water and Sansa’s shuffling feet had stopped. He wanted to yell at her to stop beating herself over the head. He wanted to yell at her to stop beating him over the head. He wanted to sit down with her and hold her and anchor them both to the floor so their heads would quit spinning and the whiplash would just stop.

When he finally mustered the energy to trudge back to his bedroom, he slapped the left-click key on his computer mouse, turned off his music, collapsed onto his bed, and cried.

#jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #jonxsansaff #jonsansaff #multi-chapter fics #my writing #modern au #angst #drama #hurt/comfort #fic: the snow

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finding--cat · 7 years

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I really can’t release this to the world without paying homage to a few people who are absolutely crucial to the reason I’m able to share The Longest Sky today.

To Marisa/@marisa-writes for being my writer-friend for 8 full years, for talking me through the trials and tribulations of writing and sharing, and for always believing in me;

To Nadia/@justnadia for reading an earlier draft and lifting my spirits about this piece, for talking me through my reservations, and for sending me photos and quotes that reminded her of the story;

To Rachel/@ramblingrachell for becoming my instant friend and volunteering so heartily to look over this huge chunk of work, for being so enthusiastic and for warming my heart every time we speak;

To Kari/@justcloseyoureyesandseee who offered me, by far, the most comprehensive constructive criticism I’ve ever received and who continues to blow me away with her thoughtfulness and intelligence;

And to Steph/@ilivemydaydreamsinmusik, in small part for teaching me weed vocabulary and fixing all my little mistakes, and in much larger part for her unending support: the encouraging cartoons reminding me to write, the music that helped to inspire the story, offering to read it again, and her general aura of coolness and kickass-ness that I aspire to embody in my own writing someday--

Thank you all so much. I hope you know how much you’ve done for me and how grateful I am to have had you be a part of this. I dedicate this to all five of you.

There are so many more of you who spoke words of encouragement to me and/or who expressed interest in what I was working on, and I am forever grateful to you for that. I hope you enjoy the product of your kindness to me!

Part I: The List

I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.

Emily Brontë, from ‘Wuthering Heights’

1.1

No amount of fidgeting with the lever or pushing at the ledge with her hands will open the window. It’s only a little opening; a dated semicircular pane no bigger than the surface of her nightstand, but it’s the only way to let in fresh air. And it won’t budge.

“Just use the ceiling fan for air circulation,” Rosen suggests from the doorway. She’s armed with a box of childhood personal items curated by Mom. Ari carried the box in her second suitcase – it put her over the weight limit for the flight as it housed a stack of books from Rosen’s bookshelf, two high school yearbooks, and Polaroid pictures that once hung on a laundry line across Rosen’s bedroom wall arranged into an album. Rosen balances the heavy box on one raised knee as she wipes her sweaty brow and pushes a damp strand of chestnut hair from her face. “That’s what Jacks and I do.”

“I want to open the window,” says Ari, leaning her body weight against the pane without success. “I won’t be able to sleep without it.”

Rosen raises a brow. “Air outside’s no cooler than the air in here.”

August in West Virginia is muggy and damp, but the air conditioning in the house is on the fritz – has been since June, according to Jackson – and Ari doesn’t think she can sleep without fresh air, no matter the humidity. It would be like sleeping in a coffin. Suffocating in a stale box.

It took her an hour in the morning to fix the broken blinds in order to let the light in. She has to let the air in, too.

Rosen sighs. “We can look at it tomorrow. Jackson’s dad repainted the trim outdoors when we moved in; window’s probably painted shut now.”

Ari tries one more time to shift the pane. Without success, she slumps against the wall.

Rosen pauses, still bracing the box on her knee as she peers into the room. “When are you gonna unpack?”

Perhaps she’s confused by the suitcase on the floor that doesn’t fit in the closet or under the tiny twin bed. But the luggage is empty, all the clothes stored snugly into a small chest of drawers and personal products tucked into the drawers of the nightstand.

Ari looks up. “I already did.”

“Oh.” Rosen raises her brows. “I just thought…”

“What?”

She shrugs. “I thought you’d bring your photos, like mine. Or your textbooks – Mom says you’re trying to get into U of R for your master’s. Hell, I even thought you’d bring that ratty old lamb you used to sleep with.”

Ari blinks. For some reason, it surprises her that Mom didn’t tell Rosen about the time Ari threw Lamby away like a candy bar wrapper. It was last winter, right after Louis left and Ari moved back home to Massapequa. Mom cried when she went to take out the garbage and saw Lamby sitting amongst the refuse, his buttoned eyes staring up at her beneath a banana peel and coffee grinds.

“No,” Ari says. Her voice takes on a high and unnatural pitch in her attempt to sound sympathetic, but she has to try. Dr. Sodhi made her see how it frightened her loved ones when she acted too blasé. “I have everything I need.”

Rosen nods, though her lips purse together in a tight smile. “Okay. Just looks a little bland, that’s all.”

It does look bland, Ari notes. The room is cozy, only big enough to house a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The wall above the bed features a framed landscape photo of Sutton Lake, West Virginia, snapped in 1987 according to the print. All in all, it’s not unlike a motel room. And a motel room is not unlike Ari: impersonal and vacant, nightstand varnish peeling and wallpaper fading.

Rosen takes her box down the hallway and wishes Ari goodnight – Ari’s first of many in Tillson City, West Virginia. She’s called her parents to let them know she arrived safely. She’s made her bed with linens Rosen brought in, fresh from the laundry. She’s unpacked her scant few belongings.

This is it. The start of something new in a different state. No parents, no friends, no former flames, no therapists. Just Ari. It’s been Just Ari for a while, but now there are no pretences. Nobody to burden or inconvenience. Nobody to cast her sad smiles or give her pity hugs.

Except for Rosen.

With a gulp of stale air, Ari smoothes her palm over her shorts, feeling the list crinkle in her pocket.

Come one in the morning, Ari’s still not asleep. She tosses and turns on the unfamiliar mattress, a little bit too soft for her liking, with a sheen of sweat dusted across her upper lip. The sweltering temperature of the room isn’t lessened at all by the ceiling fan, which rocks back and forth as it spins and squeaks like it’s on its last legs.

She needs air. She needs it to breathe.

Ari cringes when the hardwood creaks on her way down the stairs, freezing in place in fear of waking Rosen and Jackson. After several seconds, when no sign of movement or change in breath comes from their bedroom down the hall, Ari steels herself and continues down the stairs in a flurry, with stealthy, cat-like steps.

She hasn’t had a chance yet to peer in the garage, though Jackson proudly told her that’s where he intends to store his Harley once he gets his license. She uses the light of her phone to guide her out the front door and across the driveway to the garage. The garage door is new and slides up easily with a quick twist of the latch, though the rest of the structure is so old it seems tilted to its side.

Her light comes in handy again while searching the garage. Rosen and Jackson use it for storage rather than parking space, as is apparent by the couch and dining room table covered in a tarp, all its chairs hanging upside down from the table’s surface. They dragged a U-Haul behind their little Honda from New York full of furniture from their apartment, but the Hawleys had even more to give when they arrived and the garage is where most of it ended up.

Ari climbs over a microwave stand and nearly knocks a floor lamp to the ground, but she makes it to the ladder leaning up against the wall. With a great deal of struggle but very little noise, Ari drags the full ladder out of the garage and onto the driveway. Then she stands it on its feet, rung by rung, and leans it against the side of the house.

She shines the light of her cell phone toward the second storey window. It’s a long way up to the sky, and probably not advised to ascend to the second floor in total darkness. But Ari has to feel the fresh air sweep past her in order to sleep. And what’s more, she can do this.

After steadying the ladder against the house and testing its sturdiness, Ari begins to climb. On the third rung, her foot slips – just for a moment – but it’s enough to encourage her to tuck her phone back into the drawstring of her pajama shorts, using only the light of the moon to guide her.

It’s so dark here. Even on Long Island, city lights brighten the streets at night, casting the sky grey instead of black. In the middle of West Virginia, Ari can look up to the sky and see stars.

Stars, motherfucker, she thinks triumphantly to herself, which nearly causes another ladder accident. With regained footing, she blinks to adjust her eyes to the darkness and continues to climb.

Mom and Dad registered Ari and Rosen for ballet classes when they were young. The instructor staged five-year-old Rosen front row, centre for the final performance, and Rosen pirouetted to perfection even with a wicker basket prop in her hands. Meanwhile, seven-year-old Ari was nestled somewhere on the outskirts of the back row, fumbling with the basket caught on her tutu and ultimately spinning herself into a heap on the floor. There was no ballet class for Ari the next year.

Needless to say, Ari’s lack of balance was never quite rectified, and standing on the tenth rung of a ladder in the darkest part of the night while using her cell phone as a flashlight with one hand and her other hand digging in her pajama pocket for an Exact-o knife puts her well outside the boundaries of her comfort zone.

Then again, Dr. Sodhi suggested more than once that venturing outside her comfort zone could offer opportunity and renewal. That’s what the temporary move to Tillson City is about, after all – separation from the comfort zone. At least, that’s what it means to Ari – to Rosen, it means a helping hand to assist with wedding preparations.

Using the Exact-o knife, Ari applies pressure to the trim, cutting around the ledge where it’s been painted over. The navy-coloured trim doesn’t help with visibility, and she may accidentally cause a few scratches and scrapes during the process, but she figures neither Rosen nor Jackson is likely to haul themselves up here anytime soon to get a close look at the damage.

Her knees shake only once, and she retracts the knife before slowly bending down to grab hold of the ladder to steady her balance. Whoever needed ballet?

With the window trim carved to her liking, Ari slides the blade of the knife underneath the bottom of the window and tries to pry it open using leverage. She’s able to wiggle it around, and with a small crack, she feels it budge. Once she slowly maneuvers the window toward her, she can slide a finger underneath and pull it open the rest of the way, though not without nearly knocking herself in the face first.

And that’s it. She did it.

She climbs down the ladder with more enthusiasm than she had when climbing up. She skips the last rung and hops to the ground, blowing upward to get the hair out of her eyes as she fixes her hands on her hips and stares up at progress. An open window: a doorway to the summer breeze and the song of the birds.

She did that.

Back in her new bedroom, Ari picks up her denim shorts, folded carefully across the top of the dresser, and digs into the front pocket. She removes a crumped piece of paper and unfolds it slowly, wary of tearing the edges. The paper flattens when it’s pressed against the wall, though its creases have been fixtures for weeks now. She uses Scotch tape to adhere it above the light switch. A central location, one she’ll be forced to look at every day.

Mom and Dad knew about the list. They thought it was advice from Dr. Sodhi that Ari was taking to heart.

But it’s not. It’s Ari’s idea. All the ideas on the list are hers. And she is the one who abides by it diligently, her own code to living, because if she doesn’t – if she strays from that self-imposed path – she could go back to Before.

Tillson City is not the place for Before. Tillson City is not the place for After, either. No, Tillson City is very specifically a place for Now.

In the morning, Ari wakes to the sun shining through the small window. The room is still hot, but at least it’s not a stale, muggy heat. She could bask in it for hours if she wanted to. But after a few blinks when her vision comes into focus, she eyes the list taped to the wall.

And she gets up.

She joins Rosen in the kitchen while throwing her uncombed hair into a ponytail, the laces of her gym shoes untied. As Rosen whirls around with a smile, Ari takes a seat at the kitchen table and leans over to take care of her shoes.

“How many eggs? Two or three?” Rosen asks. “Jacks always asks for bacon and eggs on Sundays. Pancakes are on Saturdays – sorry, you missed that one yesterday.”

“Oh.” Ari straightens. “I was just going to eat something small. Maybe a banana. I’m thinking of exploring the area a bit.”

“A banana? What are you, a monkey? That’s not enough,” Rosen counters.

Ari tries to hide her smile. “You sound like Grandma.”

“Well, she’s right. At least have one pancake.”

Ari sighs.

“And I was gonna take you around today. I’ll show you all the local digs – well, the ones that matter, anyway – and we can check out a couple of vendors for the wedding. If we have time, maybe we can go to Charleston so I can stock up the freezer.”

“Charleston? Isn’t that an hour away?”

Rosen shrugs. “Forty minutes or so. Drive’s not too bad.”

“You drive forty minutes to do your grocery shopping? There’s nowhere close by?”

“There’s the Piggly Wiggly in town, but it’s small. Kroger’s in Charleston’s much better, I think. Don’t tell Jacks, though; he’s sensitive about that kind of stuff. Wants to inject into the Tillson City economy as much as we can. But I feel like I’ve been pretty generous to the local economy in planning the wedding so far, so I don’t mind taking my business elsewhere once in a while.” Rosen finishes whisking the eggs and turns back to the stove, where a pan sizzles with meat and grease. Over her shoulder, she asks, “How many strips of bacon did you say you wanted?”

“None,” Ari replies. More hesitantly, she adds, “I don’t eat meat anymore.”

If there was a record player in the room, now would be when the music came to a grinding halt. Rosen stops stirring and freezes, only her pupils moving as they dart toward Ari. “You don’t eat meat anymore? Like, all meat?”

“All meat.”

From Rosen’s throat bursts a laugh Ari’s never heard from her before: it’s short, harsh, guttural. “Since when?”

“Since three months ago.”

“What?”

A beat passes, and Ari calmly repeats, “Since three months ago.”

“So, like… not for that long.”

Ari shrugs. “I guess not.”

“So…” Rosen struggles to reason, “it’s not like it’s a long term thing.”

“I plan for it to be,” Ari says slowly, “if it goes well. So far, I like how I feel. I’d prefer not to eat meat.”

Once chatting eagerly about her plans for the day, Rosen now regards Ari across the kitchen with an arched brow of skepticism. Then she returns her gaze to the stove, using tongs to flip strips of bacon in the pan, as she mutters, “You didn’t tell us you didn’t eat meat.”

Jackson enters the kitchen in a pair of pajama pants and a rumpled white t-shirt, stopping mid-yawn to observe the exchange between the sisters. His dark hair sticks up in almost every direction, curling well past his ears and down the back of his neck, and Ari half expects Rosen to go after him again about cutting his hair to a reasonable length for the wedding.

But she doesn’t – her stare is fixed on Ari.

“Sorry.” Ari avoids Jackson’s gaze as she finishes tying the knot on her shoe and lets it fall from the chair to the floor. “I didn’t think it would come up too often. I thought I’d mostly be making my own food.”

“You thought I’d make meals for me and Jacks, but not think about you?” Rosen’s face scrunches in disbelief.

“No, I just… you don’t cook,” Ari admits. Rosen exhales sharply, blinking as if she misheard, and Ari quickly adds, “At least as far as I remember. I thought I’d be doing my own thing most of the time.”

“Uh… okay.” Clearly upset, Rosen gestures to the bacon and eggs heating on the stove. “You’re right, I guess I don’t cook.”

“I didn’t know,” Ari says with a shrug. Her last memory of Rosen attempting to cook in their family home in Long Island, she burned the rice, confused hoisin with soy sauce, and severely undercooked the chicken. It was a miserable stir-fry to swallow and resulted in the Pate family fighting each other for access to the house’s two bathrooms to be sick with food poisoning throughout the night. After that, Rosen declared she was no good at cooking and would rather spend her time outside of the kitchen. “If you’re cooking more now, that’s great.”

“Well, if you won’t eat what I cook, then I guess I don’t cook so much anymore.” Rosen waves a hand through the air.

“I don’t mean for you to have to change anything,” Ari stresses with a huff. “Eat what you want. I’ll fend for myself.”

“We have a tiny enough kitchen as it is without three of us trying to make two separate meals.”

“I’ll wait until you’re done, obviously,” Ari fires back. “I’m not doing this to inconvenience you, Rosen, I—”

“It’s fine.” Jackson inserts himself into the discussion with a nod to Ari. He has a hand on Rosen’s forearm before she can raise it to point a finger. “Rosie. Hey. It’ll be fine, all right? We can all eat together; Ari just won’t eat the meat. We can cook everything separate. Not a big deal.”

Rosen fixes her stare on Ari for another couple of seconds before Jackson’s touch reminds her he’s there. She glances at him and dons a soft smile of gratitude. “Fine. Not a big deal.” Before she returns to the eggs and bacon, she mumbles under her breath with arched brows, “Just wish you’d told us, that’s all.”

Dear Ms. Ariana Pate, We regret to inform you that we are not able to offer you admission to the Master’s program in Biology at the University of Rochester. Each year, we receive a large number of applications for this program from highly qualified candidates. Based on a composite of information including your academic performance record, comments from referees, relevant professional activities, and proposed research statements, your application, considered as a whole, was not as strong as others we received. Though we regret delivering you an unfavorable response, we wish you—

“I said, do you want me to take you around the Hawley house? Ari!”

“What? Whoa!” Ari looks up from her phone to a churning flip in her stomach as Rosen takes a quick turn around the winding West Virginia road. She grabs onto the handle, abandoning the phone in her lap.

“It’s beautiful there – they’ve got a wraparound porch with white pillars, wooden boxes of impatiens on window ledges and everything. True Southern charm. We’re actually thinking of having the rehearsal dinner there. Well, we’re about ninety percent certain, it just seems a bit much to have the wedding reception next door in the barn, too.”

Ari gulps, her head rushing as the car whips around another curve. “What?”

“Jackson,” Rosen declares, ripping her eyes from the road to spare Ari a harsh look. “His family home here in Tillson City. I said: do you want to go?”

Ari shuts her eyes. The world keeps spinning. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Do you want to see it or not?”

“Uh… if you want me to, I guess.”

At her sister’s sigh of annoyance, Ari knows Rosen’s lost her patience with her. Ari’s been distant all day, ever since that final email came in from U of R. It was her last hope – and a long shot, at that – but the deflation she feels is proof that somewhere within her, perhaps just beneath her skin and ready to escape, there still existed some form of hope. Now that it’s gone, the numbness remains.

Everyone promised Ari the lush, rolling hills of West Virginia were the most breathtaking sight her eyes would ever behold. Breathe in the clean air, they said. Open your eyes to nature, they said. You’ll feel your mind and body heal instantly. Old gaping wounds will stitch back together. Aches and pains will dissolve like morning dew in the sun. You’ll stand taller. Raise your chin higher. Feel like a real, human person again. That’s what they said.

Well, they were fucking wrong. As Ari hunches over in her seat and bile rises in her throat, she bitterly thinks that no one bothered to mention the sharp, winding roads and the constant uphill-downhill travel. Rosen’s pointed out the quaint details of Tillson City as they’ve passed by during the day: a charming red farmhouse over here, hunter green woodlands over there, yellow deer crossing signs because they graze everywhere in the winter – but Ari couldn’t follow her gestures, and now she’s on the precipice of very real vomit spilling from her throat all over Rosen’s beige, ancient Honda she lovingly calls Old Man Earl.

“You don’t have an opinion?” says Rosen, unimpressed. “If you want to stop hanging out with me so badly, might as well just say it.”

After a full day of tagging along on Rosen’s errands, passively accompanying her to pick up Jackson’s blazers from the dry cleaner’s and meet a woman from Craigslist one county over to purchase secondhand lanterns to create do-it-yourself centerpieces for the wedding, Ari feels the kind of heaviness that only follows unproductivity; an exhaustion born from listlessness. The kind that sinks into her bones and drags her to the ground.

Staring straight ahead and not sparing her sister a glance, Ari calmly replies, “I’m just tired. But if you want to go to Jackson’s parents’ place, that’s fine.”

“I don’t need to,” Rosen stresses, “I just wanted to show it to you. But if you don’t want to—”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Ari sighs, long and deep. “Let’s go. I want to see it.”

Her enthusiasm is lackluster at best, but Ari thinks she’s being conciliatory until she catches Rosen’s expression out of the corner of her eye: solemn, pained.

“Sorry,” Ari offers. The word comes out in monotone even though she drummed up all the sympathy she had.

“You know, it wasn’t Mom or Dad who suggested you come out here to stay with me and Jacks until the wedding,” Rosen says.

“I know.”

“It was me.”

Eyes fixed on the flat stretch of road ahead, Ari nods.

“When Mom called me after your accident, I was so scared. She said you were fine, probably wouldn’t even need to stay in the hospital overnight, but I couldn’t stop sobbing. Jacks had to come in and take over the call for me; I couldn’t even talk. I knew things had been bad for a while, Ari, but that night it finally hit me… I realized I could lose you.”

The road whips by, fields of yellow and green. “Rosen…”

“I know we haven’t been close lately. Not since I met Jackson and you moved in with Lou and everything just got… busy. And I didn’t realize that I missed you until that night – until the night I learned I could have lost you forever. So I called Mom first thing the next morning and I told her, when Ari’s ready, I want her to come here. I want her to get away from all that shit in the city and all the people who fucked her over and just… start over. Reset. Tillson City’s not much, but it’s a good place for that.”

Running her tongue along her front teeth, Ari nods.

“It wasn’t just about you,” Rosen’s quick to add. “I wish I could say it was. I wish I could be that selfless, but I’m not. It was about me, too. I wanted you here with me. I wanted to get to know you again. I wanted to be close with you again, like when we were kids. When we had each other’s backs and we told each other everything.” As the car slows in front of a long driveway lined with a canopy of trees, Rosen turns on her blinker and pulls off to the side of the road. She glances at Ari. “I know you’ve been lonely. And, I mean, I’m getting used to a new town, to a new way of life… it’s nice to have someone familiar with me who knows where I’m from. That’s why I’m glad you’re here.” She shrugs, offering a soft smile as she pushes her side bangs behind her ear. “I think we’re supposed to be together right now. I think we need to help each other.”

Mustering a small grin, Ari reaches across the console to pat Rosen’s hand. “Okay,” she agrees. “We can try.”

Rosen’s eyes brighten, but she’s careful not to display too much emotion. She pokes her thumb in the direction of the driveway and says, “This is the Hawley place.”

Ari leans forward to examine the surroundings, though the house is covered by such thick forest it’s impossible to see beyond a bit of evergreen trim.

Sitting back in her seat, she says, “Looks pretty impressive. Let’s check it out.”

The Tillson City economy isn’t exactly booming. Originally a coal mining town, the population spiked following the first World War and then slowly trickled down beginning in the eighties as the country relied increasingly on alternate fuel sources. These days, a good portion of its residents – Jackson included – work outside of town.

“New businesses are pretty rare,” Rosen tells Ari as they wander downtown on a Wednesday morning, “and if one opens, it usually closes shop within six months.”

That’s why, she explains, she wants to scope out the newly established Kalene’s Garden, across the street from a business called Sherman’s that Rosen claims is Jackson’s friends’ ‘favourite piss-stained hole-in-the-wall dive bar.’

There are plenty of florists in Charleston, forty-five minutes down the road in Kanawha County, but Jackson wants the wedding arrangements to be local, both to benefit the rural economy and to eliminate stress and unpredictability. Kalene’s Garden, according to Rosen, opened only last year after the owner’s husband was dishonourably discharged from the U.S. army and fled the state, leaving her with two young kids and a mortgage.

“I figure she’ll need our money,” Rosen tells Ari with a smile, “so she’ll give me whatever I want for the wedding.”

A little bell jingles overhead as they enter the shop. If possible, it’s even more humid inside than out, but Rosen is the only one who complains. Ari’s immediately taken by the hanging plants in every corner, long vines spilling out from pots and tangling underneath, bright bouquets of lilies and bluebells crowding the counters, and the line of small potted trees leading to what Ari believes to be a greenhouse. In the air is a scent so fresh and sweet that Ari could bottle it. In fact, she finds the whole place charming and serene, even more so because they’re the shop’s only customers.

They’re directed to a small, cluttered office off to the side, where a petite woman in rounded glasses named Sherry presents them with a binder of wedding fodder. Rosen prattles off the details that Ari’s heard over group text or phone or in person a thousand times – the wedding is December sixteenth, to be held in Jackson’s family church, and the bridesmaids are wearing taupe – and she’s looking for the perfect wintry centerpieces to compliment her DIY lanterns and the perfect bridal bouquet, frosty yet soft.

When they get stuck on whether white roses are too bridal or not bridal enough is when they lose Ari completely. She removes herself from the room without either woman batting an eyelash in her direction. Then she roams the shop by herself and finds a small table of succulents that captures her attention longer than any bridal discussion ever could.

Tiny little succulents, unassuming shadows in the background, will outlive all of their floral counterparts. In the right soil, their roots flourish, widening and stretching to absorb the most amount of water in a flood. In a drought, the water storage in their roots is what helps them survive. Ari likes that about them, these smart little plants. They’re planners who take care of themselves, always stockpiled in the event of a waterless apocalypse. Dr. Sodhi kept one in her office, and Ari often stared at it when she went in there and was expected to speak. No matter how she fluctuated up and down, Dr. Sodhi’s succulent was always the same.

“Lookin’ for a friend?”

Ari gasps at the sudden voice, spinning around to face its owner. A woman in a sleeveless white blouse waters a ficus near the cash register. Her lips curl into a small smile, her tight black curls framing high cheekbones.

“Um… my sister’s in the office talking to Sherry about wedding bouquets,” Ari explains.

“What about you?”

“Just browsing.”

“Lookin’ for a friend?” the woman repeats.

Ari blinks. Does she really look that lost and lonely? Her eyes dart around the room before returning to the woman’s sharp face, and she replies tentatively, “Are you… offering?”

The woman laughs heartily, without mocking or scorn. She sets down her watering can and joins Ari at the circular table. “They are friends to us, you know,” she says, grazing her index finger across the top of thick succulent leaves. “Plants of all kinds, really, but succulents especially – they’re so versatile, so adaptable. People can rely on them. They fill a room with company even if a person lives alone.”

“Yeah,” Ari murmurs. Her eyes follow the woman’s long, nimble fingers as she spreads tiny pebbles in the soil surrounding the succulents. “So, um… how many friends do you have?”

The woman chuckles again, deep and warm in her throat. “Well, this is my shop,” she answers, “so I s’pose you could say I’m never without.”

While Rosen leaves the shop that day armed with several printouts and magazines to flip through, Ari pays $3.99 in change for a mini foxtail agave, leaves a brilliant green and opening like a flower. When she gets home, she finds it a nice, heated spot on her window ledge where it can bask in the humidity right under the sun. She spends a long time watching it there. It doesn’t grow, it doesn’t change, it doesn’t move. Maybe it feels that it’s stuck with her for good.

Either way, Ari gives it a couple of tablespoons of water to drink, gently touches its leaves, and mentally ticks off a box on the list above her light switch: Take care of a plant.

A few days later, Rosen is abuzz with excitement because her wedding dress, shipped from Manhattan, is ready for its first fitting with a seamstress in Charleston. When Ari agrees to accompany her as Maid of Honour, Rosen decides they should make a day of it. She packs water bottles in the cup holders of Old Man Earl and loads snacks in her purse as if they’re on a true cross-country voyage instead of spending less time in the car than Ari has spent travelling six blocks in Midtown during rush hour.

But it’s nice that Rosen’s excited about it, and truthfully, Ari doesn’t have anything else to do. They cross a wide bridge to enter the city, and as Ari looks out the window and stares down to the water below, she feels it’s almost like re-entering New York. Almost.

She hasn’t lived in Tillson City for much more than a week, but already she feels overwhelmed by the amount of people outdoors and the number of cars on the road in Charleston. It’s a glamorous riverfront metropolis in comparison to the arid and mountainous Tillson City. It has a movie theatre and a mall and food trucks and an actual skyline – albeit a pathetic one. Adorable, not pathetic, Ari corrects herself.

The sisters wander through the Historic District, where Rosen points out the white-pillared colonial homes that seem to be the inspiration for the Hawley family home back in Tillson City. According to Rosen, she and Jackson aspire to build the same kind of home –“not until after we’ve had two kids, though, or at least not until I’m pregnant with our second”– and they ogle at the beauty of a downtown core embedded in an awning of leafy trees. Ari extends their walk several blocks, despite Rosen’s complaints, in order to log a full ten thousand steps for the day.

They drive to the only mall in town – in fact, the only mall Rosen knows of – and Ari picks out a new pair of yoga pants that are stretchy and cheap, but good enough to get the job done. Rosen finds two cushion covers in JC Penney that perfectly complement the living room set, so they both leave the mall in good spirits.

It’s as they sit on a patio along the waterfront, Ari with an ice water and Rosen with a white wine spritzer, that their pleasant outing turns sour. Ari is content to people-watch along the boardwalk, amused by the amount of people clothed in apparel from West Virginia University – “Take Me Home” and “Forever a Mountaineer” splashed across their chests and the WVU logo embroidered on their ball caps – but Rosen’s got wedding fever and has a hankering to discuss the design for the invitations.

“I don’t really get why wedding invitations are such a huge thing when I could just send out a mass email to all my guests and have their replies instantly,” Rosen muses, scrolling through samples on her phone. “But whatever, they’re pretty.”

“So if the designer gives you his final copy by Thursday and the invitations are printed by Labour Day weekend, when will you send them out?”

“Two months before the wedding,” Rosen answers robotically, having planned these details down to the minutiae. “The deadline to RSVP is two weeks from the wedding date to get the final numbers to the caterers. They’re upset that we’re pushing it that close, actually, since the kitchen at Jacks’ parents’ place is limited and they need to know in advance if they need to rent extra prep space.”

“Why not ask everyone to email you their reply rather than send it back through snail mail?”

“Well, Grandma doesn’t use email,” Rosen points out.

Ari rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure Mom and Dad would send along her RSVP.”

“This is the way wedding invitations are done.”

“Yeah, but people set up wedding websites these days to cut printing costs on RSVP cards and postage. Receiving replies by email would make it so much more efficient and environmentally friendly—”

“The invites are already pretty set in stone,” Rosen cuts her off, adding matter-of-factly, “so.”

Ari shrugs, leaning back in her seat. “All right.”

Rosen takes Ari’s recoil as invitation to lean forward, ensuring the space between them isn’t compromised by an inch. “What about my bachelorette?” she asks with a sly grin.

Eyes on a middle-aged woman lovingly feeding her partner a corn dog with all the high cholesterol fixings, Ari takes a large swig of water and then deigns Rosen a glance. “What about it?”

��What have you planned?”

“I thought it was a secret for the bride.”

“Yeah, but you eventually have to let me know the date, and what I should wear, and if I need to bring pajamas and a toothbrush…”

“Oh.” Ari takes another sip of water, knowing full well that her prolonged silence drives Rosen up the wall. “I’ll let you know, then. So far I’ve only seen that one bar in Tillson City – Sherman’s, I think? – so I don’t think it’ll be much of a surprise.”

Rosen’s spine stiffens as she straightens in her chair, brows turning downward. “Tillson City? My bachelorette is in Manhattan.”

“What?”

“I told you in April that when you plan my bachelorette, plan it in Manhattan.”

“But I thought the bachelorette party took place a week before the wedding.”

“It does.”

“And I thought, with you living here and all the guests travelling here, it might be less stressful to just… have it here.” Ari finishes slowly, the last few words quiet as the creases in Rosen’s forehead plateau into valleys.

“But all my friends are in New York…” Rosen trails.

“You said you had friends here.”

“Those are Jackson’s friends.”

“You said they were your friends, too.”

“Ari!” cries Rosen, her knee jerking into the table and causing two elderly women nearby to look over in shock. “Obviously I want the rest of my bridal party to be at my bachelorette, and the rest of my bridesmaids live in the city. And I want to go to a strip club, like I told you, and I want to do that bachelorette bingo game I sent you that just can’t do in a small town where everybody knows everybody.”

“What game?”

She huffs. “I sent it to you. It’s from Pinterest.”

“Oh.” Ari sips on her water even though her thirst is thoroughly quenched. “I haven’t had the time to look at it yet.”

“You haven’t had time.” Rosen repeats this in monotone, her voice dangerously low.

“No.”

Rosen smacks her lips together. “But you don’t do anything. How can you run out of time when literally nothing is on your schedule?”

Ari pales, but quickly gulps down the sting. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Nobody would understand! That makes no sense. Honestly, Ari, I gave you this responsibility, like, three months ago, and so far you haven’t done a single thing, which is like…”

Rosen trails off, too frustrated to continue. Ari shouldn’t prompt her, but she can’t help it. “What? It’s like what?”

When Rosen’s eyes lock with hers, they’re hardened and sad. “Do you even want to be a part of my wedding?”

The stare of the elderly ladies one table over fix on her again. Under the spotlight, all Ari can do is nibble on her lower lip.

“Everybody cares about you,” Rosen says, softer now. “I can’t have a conversation with Mom or Grandma without you coming up, even when it’s about my wedding. It’s all Ari’s acting like this or Ari’s off Zoloft again and we all brainstorm ways to help you. God, I even asked you to move out here with me! But you have to do something sometime, Ari. Sitting around waiting for something to happen to you – that’s stupid. Get a job, go on a date, plan my bachelorette! Whether it’s for yourself or for someone else, just do something.”

Ari doesn’t reply.

Dr. Sodhi once told her that in situations where she feels so misunderstood she doesn’t know where to begin, it’s sometimes best to let the yeller do the yelling and not say anything at all.

Ari’s alarm sounds at precisely 7:30 a.m. She spends five minutes listening to the gentle rustling in the house: footsteps up and down the stairs, the coffee grinder buzzing in the kitchen.

Must go on a hike. Hiking today. Today is about hiking.

Focused repeats of the day’s purpose help her throw off the covers and sit up. It’s easier to get out of bed this way. It’s easier than it used to be, anyway. Ari squeezes her eyes shut to forget the days she’d get out of bed at four in the afternoon, showering in just enough time before Louis got home to spare herself his groaning about how she’d done nothing since he’d left for work in the morning.

She uses a small spray bottle to spritz her succulent, just enough until its leaves are dewy and hydrated. It basks in the sun, and Ari imagines that if it had a face, that face would be smiling.

When she descends the stairs, Jackson is hopping into the car on his way to work with Rosen sending him off at the door. It’s enough time for Ari to slip around the corner unnoticed to pour a quart of water into her bottle from a pitcher in the fridge. She refills the pitcher with water from the faucet and is halfway through her water bottle when Rosen enters in her fluffy bathrobe, wisps of hair sticking out of her messy ponytail.

“How do you not get sick chugging that much water on an empty stomach?” she asks, upper lip curling in revulsion.

“It kickstarts my system,” Ari replies after a loud gulp. She stands with a hand on her hip. “Flushes out toxins. Improves blood flow to my brain, keeps me in a good mood.”

Standing stock still, Rosen uncurls her lip but says with a shrug, “Whatever.”

“You should try it.”

“Not interested.” She pointedly moves across the kitchen to the hot pot of coffee left for her by Jackson. “Two cups of Joe is what mama needs.”

Ari doesn’t bother arguing. She finishes the rest of her water bottle while Rosen pours herself a steaming mug of coffee, and then she turns her attention to the weather. It’s a beautiful summer day, eighty degrees and clear. Ari’s wandered the neighbourhood and figured out the roads close to home, but she hasn’t tried any of the woodland trails yet. She aches to be sheltered by a rooftop of trees, golden rays poking through the leaves.

Plenty of sunlight. That’s an item on her list, and she should start paying more attention to it while the August sun is still here.

“Do you want to hike with me?” she asks Rosen. “I think I’m gonna go through the forest at the end of the road. Jackson said it’s a nice walk.”

“Um…” Rosen trails, focused on pouring the milk, “what time?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen?” Ari suggests.

“Oh. Then no.”

Ari’s shoulders slump. “We could go later this morning if you want.”

“I have those paint samples from Benjamin Moore to try on the bedroom walls,” Rosen replies with a cavalier shrug.

“This afternoon, then?”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be able to find a swatch that I like and then go back to the store to get them to mix it.” She looks to Ari with a gasp, stumbling upon a great idea. “You should come!”

“To Madison?”

“If they have the paint colour I want. Wanna come?”

Ari definitely didn’t coax herself out of bed this morning to sample paint chips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What do you mean? What else are you doing?”

“Hiking.”

“You said you were gonna do that now.”

“I was trying to find a time we could go together!” Ari speaks through a laugh, though her lips don’t curve into a smile. “Sorry – backing up – are you interested in a hike or not?”

“Not,” Rosen says simply.

“Fine. That’s all you had to say.” Ari refills her water bottle from the pitcher in the fridge, adding on her way out, “See you later, then.”

Ari packs a couple of snacks for her hike and stays outdoors until early afternoon, when her quads ache in the most accomplished way from the uneven terrain on the hills. After she showers, Rosen has only just begun to swatch paint samples on the walls of the bedroom she shares with Jackson, so Ari lets herself out onto the back patio, barefoot, and finds herself dialling home. Nobody picks up.

It’s a couple of minutes before her cell rings, Home alight on the screen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Ari, hi,” gushes Ana Pate. “I heard the phone ring but I was outside watering the plants. I forgot how long it takes!”

“That’s because I always do it for you.”

“I know. You do my weeding, too. I’m missing that.”

“That’s what you miss, huh?” Ari says dryly.

Ana chuckles. “Of course not. Miss everything about you. How are things going? Rosen says you’re developing a routine.”

“Yeah.” Ari stretches her legs in the sun and tries to ignore the icky feeling that Rosen’s been speaking to their mother about Ari’s schedule. “I’ve been doing okay. Keeping consistent, I guess. Which is good – for me, at least.”

“For anybody,” Ana insists. Ari’s not quite so sure.

“How are you and Dad?”

“Oh, fine. He’s out right now picking up a few things for dinner. I’m sure that man will come back with a steak even though I told him no red meat until the wedding. Do you know how much it costs?”

“Red meat or the wedding?”

“Both. We’re on a diet, both of us. At least until the cheque’s cleared.”

“Hmm, yeah. It’s all about Rosen’s wedding.” Ari cringes, instantly aware that her attempt to sound lighthearted has miserably failed.

“Well, it is exciting. And just remember: she’ll be excited for you, too, when the time comes.”

Ari clears her throat. She has to hear enough about the fucking wedding now that she’s living with Rosen full time.

“So, um… has any mail come for me?”

“Mail? You mean like a letter?”

“Yeah. Maybe yesterday or late last week?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe a credit card bill. Why?”

“Nothing,” Ari says quickly. To Ana’s expectant silence, she caves. “I was hoping to hear back from Fordham about that continuing education course.”

“Oh, honey. This late in the summer?”

“Yeah.” Ari casts her eyes down. “It was a long shot, I guess.”

“Well…” Ana sighs – a sigh Ari knows far too well. A sigh of sympathy, of sadness, of surrender. And Mom only uses it with her. “It’s probably for the best, don’t you think? You don’t want to be doing too much too soon. You should rest.”

“I can’t rest, Mom,” Ari says. “I can’t just do nothing anymore. I need to be busy; I need to keep my mind active.”

“You need to heal,” Ana says firmly. “You’ve been through a lot. Your mind needs a break.”

“I need to have purpose,” Ari insists. “Otherwise, I—I’ll sink into that dark place again.”

Another sigh. Then Ana says, “Well, I’m sure Rosen will keep you busy the next couple of months with the wedding. That should help.”

Ari rolls her eyes. “You might be shocked to learn that devoting my life to her wedding doesn’t exactly give me a lot of purpose.”

“Oh, Ari!” Ana snaps. “You have purpose, and you know that. That’s what you and Dr. Sodhi spent so long talking about. I’m sorry you didn’t get into a school this term, but I have to be honest, I really don’t think that’s what you should be focusing on right now. I don’t want you to get bogged down in an intensive program that you’re not as interested in as you thought you might be. If you go back to school, it should be because you have something in particular you want to study, not because you want to keep yourself busy. That’s running from your problems, honey. You know better than that.”

After a long pause, Ari gulps. “That’s not what you said to Rosen when she got into NYU Law.”

“Well, those were different circumstances. Rosen had a clear path for her future.”

“Was dropping out before the end of first term part of her clear path?”

“Don’t do that, Ari. Don’t be unfair. She followed her heart. Now she and Jackson are about to get married, so I think she’s happy with her decision.”

Ari says nothing.

“You know, you are doing something meaningful,” Ana adds softly. “You’re there for your little sister when she really needs you. She’s juggling planning a wedding and becoming a homeowner in a strange new town – she’s just as overwhelmed as you are.”

At this, Ari shuts down. The ‘just as [insert adjective here] as you are’ measure of relatability is, in fact, the opposite of relatable.

But it does remind her why she’s here, six hundred miles from home and cut off from everyone she’s ever known other than immediate family. It’s not just to get a grip on herself. It’s not just to help Rosen prepare for the wedding. It’s to give her parents a break. To let them pretend, for a few months, that their daughters are both happy, healthy, functioning adults who are making progress and being independent in the world.

The truth is that they only have one of those daughters, and she’s not Ari.

In the afternoon, Ari declines Rosen’s second invitation to join her in Madison to pick up a gallon of Palm Desert paint, which is “richer than Sepia but not as dark as Café Royal”, in favour of returning to the Tillson City downtown core. She takes Jackson’s bicycle, which is a little rickety and not adjusted to her height, but it carries her safely to town. She parks outside of Kalene’s Garden, where there is not a bike rack in sight. Ari hopes against all New York City hope the bike has little chance of being stolen.

Inside, she runs across the same woman who helped Rosen with her wedding flowers.

“I remember you,” says the woman whose eyes peer over thick bifocals. “You were here for the Hawley wedding.”

“I remember you, too,” Ari says. “You’re Sherry.”

“That’s right.” The woman holds out her hand to shake over the cash register. “And what’s your name again, dear?”

“I’m Ari.”

Sherry pauses with a slight frown. “Ari? I remember Jackson Hawley’s fiancée having a floral sort of name…”

When the ladies in the Massapequa hair salon used to mix them up, Ari used to joke that she hoped they didn’t give her Rosen’s ridiculously-shaped bangs. Lightheartedness doesn’t come easily anymore, so she replies evenly, “That’s my sister, Rosen.”

“Oh, of course. Rosen! What a pretty name.”

Ari blinks. “Yeah.”

“Well, what can I do for you, dear?”

Ari slips her backpack off of her shoulders and begins to unzip it. “Actually, I was wondering if Kalene is here? I wanted to speak with her if possible. It won’t take long.”

“I’m sure she can spare a bit of time,” Sherry says with a smile. She leans over the register again to point down the aisle. “She’s just in the office. She won’t mind if you give a knock on the door.”

Ari thanks her, but still she approaches the office on light feet, wary of disturbing the peace. She doesn’t want to be a bother. She doesn’t want Kalene to think she’s entitled or overbearing. She should just go home. She should just save everyone the grief.

She knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

Knuckles white, Ari pushes open the door and sticks her head inside. When she spies Kalene at the desk, her hair tamed in a low bun and her ruffled military green blouse complimenting her skintone, she pastes a smile on her face. Even when she spots a toddler seated on the floor with building blocks surrounding him, Ari can’t hide her smile.

Kalene holds up her head, her impossibly long neck elegant and straight. “You’re back,” she says warmly.

“Yeah—yes,” Ari stammers. She clutches the papers in her hand, certainly creasing them but too nervous to care. “I can come back, though, if this is a bad time—”

“Come on in. Take a seat.”

Ari obeys, lightly closing the door behind her. The office is humid, a little box of a room stuffed with binders and papers, a computer, and potted plants on every surface: the desk, the bookshelf, the window ledge. There’s just enough room on the floor for the toddler – a little boy, no more than a year old – and his small lunchbox full of toys.

“This is Mekhi,” she says, gesturing to the boy, “my youngest.” She reaches out to pet the back of his head. “Sometimes he comes with me to work when his auntie falls through on babysitting – don’t you, Mekhi? Hmm?”

He stares up at his mother adoringly, wooden block in his mouth and molten brown eyes blown wide.

“He’s adorable,” Ari says with a laugh, “and very good at building blocks.”

“The civil engineer of the family,” Kalene jokes. “So,” she continues, closing the binder in front of her, “what brings you back?”

Ari sucks in a breath, and just as promptly exhales. “I just—um,” she starts, glancing down at the resume in her hands, “I have a—I wanted to ask if you…”

She shakes her head, inwardly cringing. With another short breath, she looks up.

“I was looking for a friend,” she blurts out, “the other day, when you asked. I’m looking for a lot of things, I think.”

She pauses, wincing at Kalene’s possible reaction, but the woman is straight-faced, listening intently, and scrutinizing Ari with a thoughtful expression.

So she goes on, “I make myself these roadmaps—lists, really—to help me get through each day, but they don’t mark with an X what I’m searching for, so I’m really going on nothing. I realize this is really not a convincing preamble, but I just wanted to tell you that… I really like it here. In your shop. It makes me feel, um… warm? Not physically, but, like, inside of me. I feel warm when I’m here, and I feel in good company, and… that means something to me.” She hesitates. Then, swallowing her fears, she finishes, “I know what it’s like to not feel anything at all, so when I do feel something – anything – I latch onto it. I don’t want to forget it. And, um… I want to work here. Volunteer, even. If you’ll let me, even for just a few hours every week. I just want to spend time, if that’s okay.”

When Ari takes a breath, Kalene is smiling again. Maybe it’s not the shop, but Kalene herself who emanates warmth.

That’s a new thought. Ari hasn’t felt warmth from another human since Louis, and that was long, long ago. It was the sort of warmth that dulled over time until one day, she convinced herself she’d imagined it was ever there in the first place.

“What’s your name?” Kalene asks.

“Oh. Sorry.” Ari thrusts her resume into Kalene’s hands. “I’m Ari Pate. Rosen’s sister. She’s marrying Jackson Hawley, if that means anything to you.”

“It doesn’t,” Kalene confirms. With a quick look at the very top of Ari’s resume, Kalene promptly hands it back to her. Ari’s heart sinks. “Ariana,” she reads.

“That’s my full name, yes. Um, I—I have a degree in Molecular Biology with a minor in Environmental Science, and I know that seems heavy, but I think if you look at my experience, you’ll agree that I—”

Kalene holds up her hand, effectively sealing Ari’s lips together. “Would you like to come back tomorrow, Ariana?”

“For an interview?” Once again, Ari offers her resume.

Kalene declines. “For a training session. An orientation, let’s call it.”

Ari’s breath comes out in a gust. The blood drains from her head in a moment of surrealism. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t want to see my resume?”

“If you want me to look at it, then I will. But we’re a small shop, as you can see, and this is our passion. So it bodes well, to me, that it gives you a good feeling to be here. Those are the people I want to work with – not the ones with the most impressive resumes. At the end of the day, all those words on paper mean nothing. It’s what you put forth in action that carries weight.”

Ari nods slowly, more in awe of this beautiful woman than ever. Is she going fucking crazy, or was that the smartest thing anyone’s ever said to her?

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Count on it,” says Ari, rising to her feet. She nudges a few stray blocks at Mekhi with the tip of her sole. He reaches for one particular block and looks up at Ari with a sloppy, saliva-coated grin.

“Ten o’clock,” says Kalene, opening her binder as Ari takes her leave. “We’ll put you to work.”

Ari volunteers at Kalene’s on Wednesday and Thursday, five hours each day. Her shoulder-length hair curls and frizzes in the humid shop, and for the first time, that’s the biggest of her concerns. Kalene shows her how to water the irises in the plant basket, and in return, Ari tells Kalene what she knows about the structural biology of roses.

By Thursday night, though her thighs hurt from crouching to tend to the plants, Ari feels satisfied to near delirium. She’s come home with two new succulents: a beautiful kiwi aeonium with deep pink, outlined leaves, and one called a jelly bean, whose leaves look like just that. She arranges them next to the foxtail on her window and admires them with pride. Pride – a swell in her chest she’s not felt since that A in organic chemistry in junior year, all those years ago.

When she finally leaves her room to steep a mug of sleepytime tea – for a better, more peaceful sleep, it promises – voices filter up the stairs. She descends slowly, wary of disturbing Rosen and Jackson in the living room but unable to boil water in the kitchen without passing them.

“He’s single right now; he’s probably looking for someone,” Rosen says.

“I think you’re confused. Luke doesn’t look for someone, he finds someone,” Jackson chuckles.

“So maybe he could find her.”

“It’s not a good match, Rosie.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t see what the problem is. He’s a nice guy, he’s a longtime friend of yours, and I don’t see why it would be crazy to introduce him to Ari.”

Ari’s ears burn at the sound of her name. On high alert, she speeds her pace to the bottom of the stairs. Cuddled on the couch, Jackson and Rosen meet her eyes.

“Hey!” Rosen exclaims, using a hand on Jackson’s thigh to stabilize herself as she moves to the edge of the couch. “Great news: I ran into Jacks’ friend, Luke, in town and told him my sister was staying with me for a while. We chatted about you a bit. He seemed really interested.”

Blankly, Ari says, “Interested in what?”

“In you, of course. We thought it would be fun if you two met.”

Ari blinks. “What?”

“Tomorrow night. At Sherman’s – you know, that little dive bar downtown.”

“It’s not a dive bar,” Jackson interjects in offense.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a local establishment.”

“It’s a dive bar.”

“No, it’s a neighbourhood pub,” he argues. “The owners keep it clean, and yeah, sometimes it can get rowdy in there, but in general folks go there for a drink after the game, to listen to some live music, to socialize.”

“I still think it’s a dive bar,” Rosen says with a shrug.

Jackson rubs a palm over his forehead. “People ‘round here don’t think of it that way, so you best watch how you speak of it in front of them.” Redirecting his attention to Ari, he adds, “It’s charming, don’t worry. It’s a lot of fun there.”

“I didn’t say it’s not fun, Jackson,” Rosen snaps. “I know it’s fun; I always have fun there.”

“You mean the one time you came with me?” he deadpans.

Rosen huffs in annoyance and promptly looks away from him, maintaining eye contact with Ari. “Luke’s really great,” she gushes. “He’s been working full-time at the DMV since high school and word has it he’s got a lot saved up. He wants to buy a plot of land and fix up a house right here in town to be close to family and friends. Oh, and he was on the football team in high school with Jacks. He’s really built.”

Jackson stares expressionlessly at the back of Rosen’s head.

Ari looks from Rosen to Jackson and back to Rosen again. Rosen might very well be holding her breath until Ari gives a definitive answer, so after prolonging the torture another few seconds, Ari slowly says, “He sounds… great.”

With a triumphant exhale, Rosen shoulders slump with a satisfied smile. She softens, tipping her head to the side in that telltale display of sympathy Ari knows far too well. “It might be good for you. You and Louis broke up, like, a year ago—”

“Six months ago.”

“—and I’m sure you’ve been lonely. I mean, I know you have, and that’s why you’re here. And you’re trying all this new stuff lately, like yoga and vegetarianism and whatever, so why not try a blind date? Honest, I think you’ll have fun.”

Ari groans internally. It’s times like these when having no one who cared for her would be easier to manage – there would be no one to disappoint, no one to have to humour. Even though Rosen’s arrangement sounds like absolute misery, Ari knows she’ll still end up doing it. For Rosen. And that’s a fucking kicker.

“Can’t he come here instead?” Ari asks. “That way there’s less pressure, especially if you guys are here to help if the conversation gets slow.”

Rosen scrunches her nose, repulsed. “You don’t invite someone to your house for a blind date,” she says, as if common blind date etiquette is written in stone. “How is that less pressure? You meet in a social setting so if they turn out to be a murderer, everyone hears your screams.”

“That is comforting,” Ari says dryly.

“Okay. Rosie, stop,” Jackson says, nudging Rosen in the back. He leans forward to take control of the conversation. “Luke’s a good guy. He’s not a murderer, for Christ’s sake. He’s the one who suggested meeting at Sherman’s, so it’s probably best to follow through with that. Besides, Rosie and I are out tomorrow night – it’s Sawyer’s birthday in Charleston.”

Rosen sags with the event reminder, seemingly not too thrilled to attend the birthday celebration of Jackson’s older brother, who lives and works as a corporate lawyer in Charleston.

“Oh!” Rosen cries. “But we can drop you off on our way there!”

It’s not quite the consolation prize Ari hoped for. Her eyes shake as she fights not to let them roll. “Great.”

“So you’ll go?”

Rosen’s lips form a pleading pout. Jackson sighs in defeat. As for Ari, well, she was doomed from the moment she walked down the stairs.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Photo Credits: Anton Darius, Jesse Summers

#tls #my writing #fic #1dff #thank you for giving this a shot :)

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