hi uncle nina! it's my birthday today and u don't have but will u pretty plz consider reposting that part of ch6 of rm where raven in on the phone with kenny b4 his hate with jers? i thought it was super cute and i really wanted to read it :3
awwww, happy birthday, darling! i hope it's as lovely as you are!
and i--sigh.
okay.
i hate complicated feelings surrounding chapter six ( aka the introduction to the iconique ravesey hate that i deleted from stress ) because i actually did love it...i just rushed the hell out of it, didn't plan it out very well and it was a mess. it could have been a lot better.
part of why i deleted it was actually because of that ravenstan/kenny phonecall because i felt worried that i revealed too much about how not cool and actually boy-failure-y stan was too early and could have kept the suspense going longer but aaaaaa i just wanted y'all to see how CUTE he was, like??? and how nervous! AAAA!!!
buuut considering the cat has been out of the bag, or rather, the raven has flown the nest for some time now...and it's the beauteous day you were born...i will humbly present you with this b-day present in the form of my incompetent idiot girl ramblings/writings, though, i fear it is not at all as grand the gift of your life is.
so, without further ado darlings, here is the endearing, embarrassing phone call ( it was over discord actually ) that ravenstan had with kenny prior to showing up to blondie's for his little hate-date with jerseykyle. it's a mess and unedited, but regardless, please know that from whatever hurts or harms you, i hope you heal, please rem(ember) to smile, pendejos,
and to now, as always, angels:
please enjoy the very, very...
worst part of your day. ;)
-uncle nina <333
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She favorites recipes on Instagram.
It’s a little embarrassing how Carmen knows- that when she’s at his place watching him sketch dishes she can’t taste, he’s also paying attention to what’s on her phone. And it’s usually kistchy things- dresses and outfits with legwarmers, pop-culture breakdowns he doesn’t have time to understand, and yes, occassionally, recipes.
Carmen adores her company. It’s a private truth, one that they boht know and yet he can’t admit under her gaze. She’s a friend of Richie’s which is endlessly fucking confusing. Both because of how incredible she is, and because it is truly insane to imagine Richie with friends.
Carmen supposes they’re friends too, now. It doesn’t feel quite right, the way she scribbles notes for him in the mornings and has slept over quite often. She’s busy, has her own life and her own career and he’s lucky for the time he spends with her. He doesn’t really have time to date her the way he’d like to, with dinner dates and late night drives down Lake Shore, watching the sunrise over the lake on mornings where time feels like no object.
He’s clearly given this some thought.
Anyhow, it doesn’t matter now. Now, she’s slept over. He’s got a full-size, which felt like a good enough excuse to share the bed, even though every time they do he still ends wrapped around her like a vice, like roots of a tree, raveled in a way that seems inpenetrable.
She��s sipping on an energy drink- he’s offered her the coffee that he’s imported, and prepared with care, but she’d obviously thought it was too bitter. And now he keeps energy drinks in the house when she stays over. She’s popped in one of her wired earbuds, and the light washes over her like a halo. She’s got a bonafide glow while she sits on his counter, scrolling through recipes.
“That looks good,” he hears himself say, a little outside of himself, as she stops scrolling. It’s a pasta dish, and she’s favorited it. It looks more complex than it is, really, but he’s not sure he’s a good source.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, I had it once when I was in Paris. It was fucking insane, Carmen, it’s so good. I’m always looking for a place to get it. I don’t really think there’s a place in Chicago where you can get it, actually.”
“It was seasonal actually,” he says back, her eyes fixed to his now, “Ever used to make it every fall. Easier to source the pine nuts.”
She looks so, so fond of him that Carmen could entertain the idea of leaning over the counter and kissing her. It’s incredibly tempting, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, endeared by his knowledge. He feels guilty, how he plays with the pencil, knowing she’s stared appreciatively at his hands. He enjoys being pretty to her, leaning into the fantasy that he could be more than her weird fuck-up friend of a friend that’s too chicken-shit to ask her out. How odd is it, that he knows what it’s like to wake up to the smell of her shampoo, but has no idea how she likes to be kissed?
He’s so bad at this he’s failed before he’s even started.
He can cook, though.
Cooking is methodical, and so he does it. it’s an easy love language, for him. he dices the parsely and the other fresh herbs, sautes them wirh precision, uses some of the nice butter from work- it’s a marvel, at the end of it, fragrant and warm, waiting for her arrival.
When she does make her arrival, just on time for him, he plates the dish before she comes in.
“Oooh,” she preens, raking her eyes up and down him. He feels perciebed, but in a way that he’d like to be. Look at me, he thinks. What a pleasure to be seen by her. “Is this all for me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he stammers out, “Thought I’d thank you for all your help. Late nights you’ve been staying up with me, talking through the menu and all- thought I could make you something.”
When she tastes it, it’s careful and adoring, and he’s good at this.
“Yes chef,” she says teasingly, “Oh my god, Carmen, this is so sweet. You didn’t have to do that. I like being here.”
He wants to kiss her again, doesn’t know why he’s not letting himself. She meets him halfway, though, kissing the corner of his mouth that only a fool would imply has plausible platonic deniability.
“Thanks, Carm.”
“Anytime.”
He’ll kiss her properly next time.
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