#It's just a fine line to juggle when I still have aspirations to actually make a game out of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chrysalispen · 4 years ago

Text

a dream in flight (cid/wol)

for @smitten-miqitten. thank you so much <3 i hope you enjoy!

AO3 HERE

fic under the cut, as always.

===

The morning was a rare one, having dawned clear and cloudless - albeit every ilm as cold and bracing as the one that preceded it. The overbright sparkle of a sun with no warmth bit as strongly as any blizzard, but the crystal and stained glass windows of the great cathedral seemed to filter the merciless glare of eternal winter into something gentle and cheerful.

Although a bone-deep chill lingered without the doors as ever, it was stiflingly warm in the nave. Folk large and small had gathered beneath the roof of Saint Reymanaud’s, brought together by the common threads that bound them to the Warrior of Light -- she who had ended the Dragonsong War alongside Ishgard’s greatest knights and heroes. The union was an occasion to celebrate as much as any feast-day, and to that end all present had turned out in their finest: city-state leaders in ceremonial dress, various personages of the High Houses using the occasion as an opportunity to display themselves and their sons and daughters to advantage, Brume folk in their best attire.

Cid Garlond had long since grown weary of observing the still-gathering crowd and now contented himself with staring through a small pane of glass into the body of the sanctuary. Light streamed through the massive arches like golden prayer-ribbons, weaving their way along marble walls and ancient buttresses. The floral wreaths that bookended the hefty spruce pews were a donation from the Gridanian Botanists’ Guild, sprays of color and scent and life (some alterations had been made; he doubted the artichoke flowers lining the steps to the altar dais had been Era’s notion, or Fufucha’s for that matter).

“Hells, you even let them deck the pews,” the sardonic drawl echoed slightly from old stones. “I suppose you really are serious about this.”

That was a voice he knew, and normally one that was wont to cause his hackles to rise- but in this instance the unsettled flutter in his gut left him more inclined to look favorably upon its owner, if for naught else other than long familiarity.

He let his shoulders roll back as he glanced up at the taller Garlean out of the corner of his eyes, then shook his head. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression I would do anything like this on a lark. Goodness knows there were other venues. More discreet, at the very least.”

“Well, I daresay there’s still some time before the festivities commence.” Nero Scaeva’s shameless grin was all teeth and no small amount of mirth; Cid thought to himself with a sort of sour amusement that his colleague and erstwhile rival was quite enjoying his predicament. “You could always abscond with your lady as soon as she arrives. Make for the Dravanian hills. Biggs and Wedge would cover your escape, no doubt.”

“While you simply sit back and watch, I suppose? Or would you help them?”

Nero offered only a lazy shrug of his shoulders, a lift and a drop and spread hands.

“Perhaps, Garlond. Perhaps. I find myself feeling oddly magnanimous this morning, as it happens.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to curtail these passing generous impulses of yours, Nero.” Cid’s lips tilted in a wry half-smile of his own. “I suspect Era would be cross if I let you assault the guests.”

“Spoilsport,” he said. Cid scoffed, though it was without rancor. “In that case, I suppose you are determined to endure, come what may. Stand still, your collar’s gone askew.”

As the other man cast a critical eye on his neckwear Cid fought not to fidget in place. His eyes strayed frequently to the doors of the cathedral, and in the back of his mind he could feel Marques fluttering about like a trapped bird buffeting its wings against an invisible cage. Strange, how the most significant sennight of his life had begun much like any other, and even stranger that he felt so anxious, knowing how long he had felt ready for this very day. He supposed it was public speaking jitters- there were quite a lot of people here, after all: many of them faces he knew as well as Era did.

But then, he told himself, that was the point, wasn’t it? The other ceremony - the real ceremony, as far as Cid was concerned - was somewhere else. This was a sort of… test run, one might say.

Just a test run, he repeated to himself, and he couldn’t say why it was that which served to ground him, but it did. Some of the tension in his muscles seemed to flow out of his limbs, like icemelt into a mountain stream. It hadn’t entirely fled him, and he was sure the second the doors opened and all eyes were upon him it would return. But the fluttering in his head had subsided, and that was what mattered.

He exhaled softly as Nero stepped back to give him space. A frown knitted the other Garlean’s brow: an emotion that looked almost like concern.

“Jests aside, you’re looking a bit pale, old friend. Are you quite sure you’ve not changed your mind?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll be fine,” Cid assured him. He glanced towards the entrance to the vestibule. “Once she’s arrived, I’ll be better than fine.”

He didn’t have to wait very long. Three turns about the space later there was a flurry of activity at the doors and a vision in white stepped across the threshold, the long and lacy train of her dress draping the floor at her back like spun frost.

Era looked as stunning as she always did to his eyes, of course, regardless of what she wore. But as lovely and intricate as it was, Cid took little more than cursory notice of her dress. His attention caught itself upon other, smaller details: the shine of her eyes - just slightly too bright - and the tight curve of her smile, and the white-knuckled way she clutched the bouquet of white lilies in her hands. She was as outwardly composed as ever but he knew her tells well enough by now to see that in truth, she was no less unsettled about the prospect of a very public display than Cid himself.

So, he thought, it appears I won’t be alone in this either.

He nudged his companion in the ribs with one elbow. “You see?” he said. “Better than fine.”

“Well then, Garlond, let me be the first to offer my congratulations-”

“Jumping the gun rather, aren’t you? The ceremony hasn’t started yet.”

“-upon your miraculous recovery from stage fright,” the engineer finished. His lips tilted in something that was either a sneer or a smirk, and knowing Nero as he did, it could well have been both. “As amusing as it is to entertain the notion of watching you faint away upon your approach to the altar like some dewy-eyed Coerthan virgin afflicted with the vapors, I suspect the timely arrival of your fellow aspirant to matrimony has just saved me a good deal of trouble.”

“You would actually give up the opportunity to watch me embarrass myself in front of what must be half the realm sitting in those pews? Seven hells, Nero, you are getting soft.”

A derisive snort. “Spoken as if your lovely and more than somewhat terrifying bride wouldn’t simply pluck you from the floor and princess-carry you to the altar herself should it come to that. He'll not escape you that easily, eh, Era?”

The neutral set of her soft lips barely twitched, but the flash of good humor in her eyes was all the answer Cid needed. Her smile took a genuine turn at last - a soft and slight thing that would have been imperceptible to anyone else - and the cloud-like softness of her tail twitched, nearly hidden in the layers of snowy lace and satin. At the same moment, he watched the tilt of her shoulders relax. Just the barest hint, really, but he suspected it to be a reflection of his own selfsame thought process.

“He'll be fine, and so will I,” she said at last. She was responding to Nero but her eyes, luminous and wide, were fixed upon Cid's. "We go together."

“Right. Well. Upon that note, I believe I’ll be finding my seat. Away from the aisles, if it please you,” the tall blond shrugged, making a show of turning his back as he strode towards the exit to the sanctuary. “Do make an attempt to remain vertical for the duration, Garlond.”

Cid managed to suppress a mirthful grin of his own until Nero had quit their presence before turning it upon a lily and lace-bedecked Era.

“He suggested we take the opportunity to elope, but I think that would be a touch impolite- tempting as it might be.”

“Besides which, everyone is already here and waiting,” she said. “It would be a bit rude to elope now. We might as well get on with it.”

He laughed and it would have gone unnoticed were she not looking at him; the sound was swallowed in the ringing swell of a tolling cathedral bell. The sound crashed against stone like an invisible wave, once, twice: the final call for their gathering to take seats.

Era’s ears swiveled forward at the sudden sound before relaxing back into the wreath of flowers woven into her hair, and lifted one hand midair while juggling her bouquet into her right. He tucked her elbow about his much girthier forearm so that her hand rested just above the back of his wrist. The small ring she wore caught the light with a tiny, delicate sparkle -- a mote of light with a deep blue center.

“I suppose that’s our cue. You will catch me if I fall, won’t you, love?”

“Always. Even if I tear my dress doing it.” Smile steady, her soft eyes flickered towards the nave entrance. The slight weight of her hand resting upon his was warm and secure, a silent comfort. “Shall we?”

Cid took the hint for what it was.

“Let’s,” he said, and reached for the heavy wooden doors.

~*~

“Era? Sweetheart?”

By ilms the ache began to subside and with it, the Echo vision faded and passed. Her fingertips fell away from the spot where they had lain pressed to her temple.

The sight that awaited her when she opened her eyes was of quite a different venue indeed: no massive flying buttresses or walls of cold and heavy granite to be found here. The tiny chapel of Saint Adama Landama sat on a high point as did the Holy See’s grand cathedral, but that was where the similarities between the two locations ended. The view afforded here was not that of majestic snow-capped mountains, but a small and dusty lichyard. Beyond the box canyon that housed the old Sunroad waystation of Camp Drybone lay malms of flat scrublands and shallow watering holes, populated only by tuco-tucos and herds of wild aldgoats that had taken advantage of cooler hours to graze and water.

At last the day had dawned upon what she considered the real ceremony.

Today she would in truth marry the man she had loved for so long, in this place which meant so much to the both of them. Of course she had wanted their friends to share in their happiness, and Cid had in turn agreed for her sake. But here, the difference was as stark as night and day. Looking upon the well-worn pews strewn with laurel and desert saffron, the anxiety that had so plagued her in the great cathedral was… well, not what she could call ‘nonexistent,’ not exactly, but there was far more of excitement in it than aught else.

How long had it been, in truth, since they had met? The first time it had been wholly incidental. They had been little more than ships passing in the night -- albeit those ships were ghost-ships, left unanchored and unmoored and empty to drift slow and wide upon deep currents. Newly recruited to the Scions and looking for information, she had instead found him, half-concealed in a solitary corner of the lichyard draped in his borrowed robes and weeding an aged plot. He had been too shy to even look her full in the face while he stammered out a frightened response to her question.

Then, he had only known himself as Marques. Sometimes she wondered about the part of him that they both knew was still Marques, looking upon the world as it was now: the world that Cid Garlond had helped to shape. Be it for weal or woe.

She had forgotten for a moment that he was still watching her. When she glanced at him after the sound of his clearing throat caught her attention she saw his brow knotted with concern, eyes cast in brief shadow.

“Era, is aught amiss?”

“Hmm? No, I’m fine.” Era punctuated her words with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him. The small bouquet of baby’s breath she clutched in one hand was warm, the simple ribbon that bound it ever so slightly damp where moisture from her palm had started to sink into the fibers. “I was just thinking about the day we met.”

“Mmm.” The furrowed crease that had extended nearly down to the bridge of his nose relaxed. “Good old Marques. I’ll wager he never would have dreamed of a day like this.”

(Sometimes she wondered if he wished he could still be Marques. She would hardly blame him.)

“On a day like this, where would he have been?” she wanted to know.

“Well away from the churchyard.” Cid reached for her, his broad, rough mechanic’s fingers lacing through hers. It was already hot and his hand was as warm as hers, but it was a gentle warmth- one that enfolded her hand much like his steadfast presence had enfolded her heart. His grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. “Tending some of those newer plots on the high road, methinks.”

Before she could think about it she had voiced the question.

“You don’t miss it overmuch, do you?”

“What? Being ‘Marques’?” At her nod, that grin turned somewhat wry. “Aye, well... were I to be completely honest, I think I do miss that daft old bugger on occasion. He was a tabula rasa, after all, and that sort of existence does have a certain appeal. Fewer responsibilities, for one.”

“But?” Era squeezed his hand, and his focus caught upon their laced fingers.

“But all other matters aside, I know full well what I would have missed. There are times… well, I have my bad days, and sometimes being Cid Garlond feels a terrible beast of a burden. I’ll not deny it. But days like this? I can’t say I would wish to be anyone else." He paused. "Or anywhere else, for that matter.”

Cid's eyes were the precise grey-blue of cornflower blossoms, as guileless and open to the sun as the Thanalan sky. She had always loved his eyes: windows which afforded her a glimpse into a soul that was both noble and incessantly kind, even in those early days when he had not known himself. The worry she had glimpsed was gone, passed across their surface and moved on like a cloud drifting away from the sun. It left them as lovely as ever, and brighter to her own loving gaze than any crystal would ever be.

Like a crystal, he reflected the light she bore in truth.

Her throat felt suddenly tight, as though there were a lump she couldn’t swallow past, and she blinked furiously to clear the uncomfortable burning sensation that pricked her eyes.

“Come now, darling,” Cid chided her with a soft laugh. “Save your tears for the ceremony, eh? The good Father’s waiting on us, and so are the crew.”

She almost held out through the entire ceremony. Almost.

Motes of dust billowed in the shafts of sunlight that slanted through the windows of the chapel - in truth, little more than a meeting-house - as if in benediction upon the small gathering. Small as it was, Era clutched her bouquet until her knuckles turned white as she tried to ignore the small handful of people in the pews. Her free hand, held in his- it all felt so seen, and fame or no, she had never liked to put herself on display.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the movement of Cid’s lips, though there was no sound. She blinked at him, wondering if he had said something and she had merely missed it, until they moved again:

Relax. Look at me.

That message was unmistakable, followed as it was by a very slow and deliberate wink and the mischievous tilt of a half-smile. She felt her own lips stretch in response and her grip on his hand relaxed ever so slightly - and she caught his faint grimace and felt the flex of tendon and muscle, and realized she must have been squeezing his fingers more tightly than she had intended.

If old Father Iliud had noticed any of that silent exchange, he gave no outward sign, bless him. He merely looked from the bride to her groom, both in their modest attire, Era in her lace, then out upon the few witnesses sitting upon the weathered and somewhat rickety benches that passed for pews. The smile he bestowed upon them all was very much like the sunlight slanting through the dusty windows, gentle and ever-present.

“My dear friends,” he said, his voice quiet and warm and intimate, as if he addressed only the two of them in the comfort of a private parlor, “words cannot well express what a wonder it is, to see all of you who have gathered here today. To share in a day like this, to celebrate love, is to celebrate joy itself.

“We have all weathered many a storm these past five summers. Yet those who endure hardship and emerge wiser and kinder for the experience are the strongest of us- and the secret to their strength so very often lies in the company they keep on their journey.”

As she listened, she remembered.

There had been another time he had clasped her hand like this. The rift, beautiful chaos, an endless sea of stars and a cold to numb the very soul as they were cast adrift in the vast and unfolding eternity of interdimensional space: her only anchor the softness of chocobo down and the warmth of Cid’s hand, fingers intertwined and grasping like tapestry threads. Era had forgotten many things, some more important than others. It was a circumstance she had accepted long ago; for better or worse, a not-insignificant part of her time had been spent trying to assemble the disparate pieces of her life before and after the shipwreck.

But that she would hold in her heart until she cast away her mortal coil, for the memory of that warmth was also the moment Era had realized she was in love with him. It had been exhilarating and wonderful, that quiet awareness of something that had waited with such patience for her to see it, like the petals of a morning glory unfolding to bask in the full brilliance of the sun.

The company we keep--

Such a long and strange journey it had been, all of it. And Cid had been there with her from the first step.

“Era,” a voice murmured. “The rings.”

She’d been lost in so much reflection she had nearly missed her own ceremony, she thought with a sort of rueful embarrassment. Cheeks coloring slightly, she set the bouquet aside just in time for Iliud to take her emptied hand and fold her fingers into those of her groom.

Iliud stretched his other hand first towards Cid, his palm open and facing upward as the engineer reached for the bauble that lay in his hand and lifted Era’s hand with a reverent touch. They faced each other now; the pews were visible from the corner of her eye if she chose to perceive them, but she barely noticed. Her focus lay upon the delicate white gold ring and the tiny jewel settings, blue as his eyes, as he slid it onto her finger with painstaking care.

“Let this be my promise to you,” Cid murmured. He held her hand high, close to his mouth, and she could feel the damp warmth of each soft exhale as he bent over his work. “Be they clear skies or the darkest storms, I would navigate them all with you at my side.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, grave and earnest, a pilgrim paying homage.

“And Era.”

Thus prompted, she reached for the remaining band. It was a simple piece: the metal brushed and polished to a precise sheen, pleasing to the eye but sturdy enough to withstand much of its owner’s heavy manual labor. Her hands felt clammy with sweat. There was a sort of… no, lightheadedness wasn’t the right word. Giddy, she amended. Reality was asserting itself bit by bit, wondrous and overwhelming-- it wasn’t a fever dream or an Echo vision.

She could blink once, twice, a hundred times, and this day - the fact of her marriage - it would all still be real.

He held his own hand aloft, awaiting her next move in patient silence and an unwavering smile. Era’s fingers trembled slightly, albeit not from any particular apprehension, as she positioned the ring to slide into place. It caught on the wide point of his finger for the space of a heartbeat before moving downward once more.

The chapel seemed terribly hot, or perhaps that heat in her cheeks was self-consciousness-- Era had never been one for grandiose speeches or noble vows. Nevertheless, she bowed her head studiously over the much larger hand she cradled, his fingers curled with delicate care about hers, to seal her words with a kiss of her own.

“Let this be my promise to you,” her words echoed his, a statement bold and simple in equal measure. “No matter the adventure or the quest that leads my steps, you will always be at my side, in word and in deed. We go together.”

The ring shone with the reflected light of the afternoon sun, and she shut her eyes against it just long enough to brush her lips against roughened knuckles. She lowered his hand, still held securely in her own, to see her emotions mirrored in his face. He was still smiling, but his eyes were suspiciously bright and by the knowing tilt to his lips, Era rather suspected she was in the same state.

Iliud’s hands cast small shadows over theirs as he raised each palm to place upon the crowns of their hands, then their backs, in light and careful benediction. Just as Cid had received foreknowledge of this part of the ceremony so had she; her ears flickered back and then forward again in a small, tight swivel. Still, her fingers tightened their grip ever so briefly, and with silent determination she kept her gaze firmly set even as her vision went dim and she blinked furiously.

“What the fates have seen fit to join,” he intoned, “neither man nor nature may cast asunder. By those powers granted to me and the immeasurable privilege to preside over this union, I bid you take your first steps in life across the threshold of this holy house.”

Heedless in truth of the emotion between them - or mayhap perfectly aware of it - the old priest’s hands raised aloft as the pair turned at last to face the pews.

“Era and Cid Garlond, I pronounce you husband and wife, and alongside my fellow celebrants in your shared joy wish long life and happiness upon you both. May you go forth in peace-- and may the Twelve smile upon you now and forevermore.”

Her joyful laugh, thin and shaking and half-tearful, was muffled beneath her husband’s kiss. She tasted salt, but almost as soon as the impression was there it was gone and he was grinning at her, the Cid she knew and loved. Sunlight glittered in bright blue, the tears in them fading like a receding rainfall to be replaced once more with eternally fair skies.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cid whispered, taking her elbow in his. They took their first step down the aisle in tandem. “The airship’s waiting.”

“Airship? I thought we weren't-"

“Aye, you heard right. It's all been arranged. We’ve the whole of the next sennight to ourselves and an open sky ahead.” His wink was all boyish mischief, ceremonial solemnity fled in the wake of what Era saw now was suppressed excitement. “So you just tell me where to go, and I’ll take us there. Just like always, Missus Garlond.”

“But the Ironworks-”

“There’s no less than a dozen folk who have offered to take up projects in our stead,” he kissed her cheek, and she squirmed at the tickling scratch of his beard, “on both ends. This will be just the two of us.” “Not even Biggs and Wedge?”

“Not even Biggs and Wedge.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, then: “...Oh dear. That... wasn’t quite how I meant that to sound.”

Unfazed, Cid tossed his head and laughed. His hair, that beautiful silver-streaked white-blond, shimmered like his wedding ring band in the filtered sunlight and with that single peal of sound she fancied she could nearly see his soul. He was happier than she had ever seen him, and it had made of itself something tangible and incandescent. Radiant.

And reflected light or not, she couldn’t help but find him the most beautiful man she had ever seen. My husband. She thought her way around those two words, testing them.

“I’m sure they’d understand,” he said, smiling. “Right! Well then, my fellow navigator, I believe we’ve a course to chart. Let’s be about it. To the Excelsior?”

Era beamed at him. This, too, was the happiest day she could remember, and it would end with a shared dream, borne aloft and bound for adventure.

“To the Excelsior.”

The chapel doors flew open on their weathered hinges, and with hearts and hands joined, Era and Cid Garlond set forth into the light of a new day.

#cid x wol #era hess #cid garlond #chrysalispen writes

21 notes · View notes

tsfanart · 7 years ago

Text

A Story for Logan. And also for Anyone who Hates Writing Dialogue.

Or: A fanfic about writing fanfiction. (OR an idea that very well may be only funny in my head. We'll see.)

"Alright, you ready, Virgil?"

"Yeah, dude, I've been ready."

"Excellent. What about you, Patton?"

"Let's do this!"

"Great. Three, two, one..."

"HAPPY NAME DAY, LOGAN!"

The physical representation of Thomas Sanders' logical side woke up with a start, as he discovered two of his fellow characters standing over him with party blowers in their mouths.

Logan rubbed his eyes. "Good morning...what?"

"Today's your Name Day!" Patton explained.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's the one-year anniversary of when your name was first revealed to the Fanders," explained Virgil, who stood off to the side since his aloof demeanor meant it would have been out-of-character for him to also be hanging over Logan's head with a party blower.

"Oh...okay?"

"Sarah didn't want to wait until November to show you how much we all care about you, especially since she tore you to shreds with that whole flash card thing yesterday," Patton explained.

Logan rubbed his forehead. "Alright, first, why are the projects featuring me the only ones that are meta and post-modern like this? And second, what's in November?"

"Your birthday," Roman explained (of course, he had to be the one to do so since he hadn't had any dialogue since the fifth line).

"Ah, yes, the anniversary of when Thomas first used his teacher character in a Vine short," Logan responded as he put on his glasses, since in real life people are always doing more than just talking, and so dialogue tags in a story have to acknowledge that at least some of the time.

"Right!" Patton went on.

"Okay, and the second part?" Logan persisted.

Virgil gave a shrug. "Look, she just thought it would be fun. The Q and A video last year already established that we all know we're fictional, and as the one who tends to be the most literal-minded, she just thinks you're the one who's most likely to acknowledge it directly."

"But another fanfic? Can she really afford to be spending time on this? She still has two and a half more sets of flash cards to write for the rest of you, and she's only a third of the way done with that other super-angsty project that I won't say anything more about just so her readers can suffer. AND she's falling behind on the Secret Admirer AU, not to mention she still hasn't finished the last chapter of Chess, and I can't believe you just included links to those last two, this is not the time for a plug, Sarah."

Roman snickered. "Okay, fine. We just thought that would be funny."

Logan sighed. "But Thomas doesn't even read fanfiction. Doesn't she want to make something for me that he'll notice? Especially since he likes those birthday cards so much."

"Eh, we're just gonna let this one slide," Virgil said (but didn't explain, since Sarah has already used that word three times in just the first page of this story). "Anyway, this is just gonna be a one-time thing. We'll make some sort of glittery collage poster for Roman in a couple weeks 'cause that's more his thing. We just thought a fanfic would be more your thing."

"Really?" Logan asked, half-amused. "We're making a poster for Roman on his special day even though the idea of doing so is going to have a totally different connotation this time next week?"

Patton leaned over and put his hand over the NameDay boy's mouth. "Shh, let's not worry the readers with that now."

"Or make promises we can't keep," Virgil muttered, despite the fact that the story Logan was alluding to was already in the editing stage and would definitely be posted when Sarah planned for it to be.

"Anyway," Patton continued, "the angst will come when it comes. Now's the time to be silly and ridiculous!"

"Ugh, but why so much meta talk? Didn't her last attempt at this kind of writing totally flop?"

"Well, yeah, but her audience is over three times bigger now. And--"

"Wait," Logan interrupted, staring at the underlined text a few lines above him. "Really? Again? Did you seriously just include a link to the failed project I was talking about?"

"What? It's worth a shot," said the same Side who got interrupted (although no one knows which one because Sarah didn't specify that before the interruption, and unlike in the opening lines the characterization was vague enough that the line could have belonged to any of the other three).

"And what audience is this even trying to reach?" Logan went on. "Is it supposed to be a LAMP fanfic?"

"I mean, not exactly, but we already covered that in the title," Roman said (since, again, he hadn't had the chance to speak in a while on account of juggling a conversation among four people is obnoxiously difficult).

"What are you even talking about?" Logan said, taking note of said title for the first time. "She's great at writing dialogue; people have told her that her whole life."

"Which is exactly why it's so much pressure," Virgil pointed out (a dialogue tag that had miraculously not been used yet).

"Okay, okay," Logan said, resigned. "We'll give her one shot to be quirky and relatable and see how it goes. But look, this story isn't even about me anymore. I thought the reason you all started this was to make up for the flash card thing."

"Well, yeah, that's a fair point," Patton admitted. "But when has that not happened? Even if her readers don't realize it, these stories always end up going in a different direction than she originally planned as they evolve."

"We'll try to do something more legit for your NameDay later, I promise," Roman insisted. "It doesn't mean this story wasn't worth writing."

"Yeah!" Patton joined in. "I mean, maybe I'm just being optimistic here, but we're hoping that this could give aspiring writers in the fandom a bit of reassurance to know that everyone agonizes over their work sometimes. And that sometimes you just need to put everything down and write a ridiculous piece like this in order to keep going."

Logan gave a half smile. "Alright, fine, you've got me there. But now that we've sorted everything out, can you let me get back to sleep? In case you hadn't noticed, it's only six in the morning," he said, gesturing to the bedside clock that no one had acknowledged prior to that point.

"Oh wow, you're right," Virgil said, giving a yawn (and likely forcing all of Sarah's readers to do the same). "I guess we should get to bed now. See you later," he said before leaving the room.

"Hopefully with an actual present next time!" Roman said as he, too, went outside the door.

"Hope you liked the imitation we're trying to do of the fade-outs from the end of Sanders Sides videos!" Patton called out as he closed the door behind him.

And Logan went back to sleep.

Welp...I'm gonna take a risk with this and tag @tinysidestrashcaptain @not-so-innocent-bi-sander and @randomslasher. Just because I associate them with being...writers, specifically. And if at least one of these three finds it funny, I'd be happy. :P

#my fanfics #thomas sanders #sanders sides #metafiction #crack fanfic #logan sanders

326 notes · View notes

halo-of-honey · 7 years ago

Text

The Florist and the Chief

Jim Hopper x Original Fem. Character

Synopsis: Hopper and his girlfriend, Mac get in an argument about what happened to her one winter night.

Words: 8,795

Notes: I took some liberties with this fic, so bare with me. (I am aware that the band Greta Van Fleet is not actually a Led Zeppelin cover band, but for the purposes of this story, they are)

[[ Read on AO3! ]]

Rap rap...rap...rap rap rap.

A young woman stood in the kitchen of a small cabin in the woods. She was facing the counter, her hands pressed into the cracked linoleum. She was of average height and build with long auburn hair that at the time was secured in a messy plait down her back. Her glasses were propped atop her head; the left lens had a spiderweb pattern radiating from the bottom corner. When she heard the knock on the door, it startled her but she didn’t move to answer it. She could hear the rustle of the person on the other side leaning to press their head against the wood.

“Mac...I know you’re in there. Open the door.” a rumbling male voice growled.

The young woman sighed, “El!” she called out.

All four locks on the door slid open without anyone touching them. Moments later a tall, hulking man in a khaki uniform let himself in. Hawkins Police Chief, Jim Hopper shut the door behind him and relocked it. He reached to grab his ranger hat off his head and tossed it onto the empty kitchen table next to the door. Across the living room, the first bedroom door creaked as it swung shut, latching with a soft click. Mac had yet to move from the counter.

“Hey, I know I’m late.” Hopper mumbled apologetically. “Why didn’t you come to the door?”

Mac shook her head, “I’m tired, Hop. I just want to go home.” she sighed

“Why don’t you just stay here? It’s late and the roads are getting icy.”

Mac finally turned around, “I really just want to be in my own bed tonight.”

Hopper’s face immediately dropped as he took in the young woman’s face, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing, I need to go home. Alright, Jim? I just need to go home.”

✧✧✧✧

“Hey, hun. How’s your day going?” Hopper said as he leaned back in his chair.

It was almost four o’clock and Hopper had only just gotten a chance to sit down. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, went to light one, then remembered who he had on the phone and put it back. Instead he reached into the top drawer of his desk and grabbed the pack of cinnamon gum he kept there. He popped a piece into his mouth and started to chew, feeling less than satisfied but knowing it would make the young woman on the phone happy.

“Good, I had a couple orders to do today. An anniversary and some office birthdays. And poor old Ms. Grayson’s daughter, Linda came in about doing the arrangements for Mr. Grayson’s funeral. She wants daffodils and I felt so awful trying to explain to her that they’re not in season.” Mackenna Kinney replied on the other end of the line.

Hopper frowned, “Right, I forgot about that.”

“Well...no matter. I’m just happy for the work. I could use the distraction today.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Oh you know. Bad hair day, spilt my coffee on myself on the drive in and had to turn around for new pants. Dropped a bushel of yellow roses when I finally made it to the shop and probably bruised all of them. You know me, a mess as usual.”

“You’re not a mess, Mac. You’re wonderful.”

Hopper could almost hear her grinning across the connection, “Aw shucks, Jim. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted something.”

“You know me too well, Mackenna.”

“So, fess up. What do you need?”

“Today has been nuts. I only just got a chance to sit down and call you.” Hopper confessed.

“Chief, what do you need?” Mac repeated.

Hopper pressed his lips together. He didn’t like to admit it, but he loved when she called him Chief, “I told El she could go over to the Byers’ house after school. I’m supposed to pick her up at six, but I don’t know if I can do that anymore. I was hoping you could go for me.”

“Oh, of course! That’s not a problem at all.”

“Good. I really do appreciate it.”

Mac chuckled, “It’s fine, Jim. Six o’clock you said?”

“Yeah...yeah. Six o’clock.” Hopper said distractedly as his secretary Flo poked her head around his office door. “You’re the best, hun. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You know it!”

✧✧✧✧

Hopper stepped closer to get a better look at Mac’s face. “Clearly something happened. Didn’t you tell me you dropped some roses earlier? Did you trip or something?”

“No, I didn’t trip.” she answered shortly. The skin around her left eye was already tinted black and blue and matching bruises were forming in splotches around her throat.

Hopper reached to cup her cheek but she flinched away, “How did this happen? Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Hop! I just want to go home.” she said, trying to step around him.

“No, who did this to you?” Hopper growled and blocked her path to the door.

Standing at his full height, he towered over Mac though she wasn’t very short. She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, “Some dumbass kid when I went to pick up El. I was hoping you’d get home before the bruising set in so I could just take off without you noticing.”

“What kid? And why the hell wouldn’t you want me to find out?” he snapped.

Mac rolled her eyes and held out her hand to his chest which was puffed out in anger and his fists that were balled up at his sides, “For this express reason, Hopper!”

“Come on, Mac. That’s not fair. You’re smarter than that. Tell me what happened.”

✧✧✧✧

Mac was smarter than that. Her day job for the last seven years might’ve been a humble florist, and gosh darn it was she a good one. But she had always aspired to be a biology teacher. She had done her undergraduate degree in botany and had planned to continue on to get a masters and a teaching certification, maybe even a PhD someday. Though not everything works out how it’s planned.

She was raised by her grandparents after her own parents passed away in a tragic car accident when she was a child. Her grandfather owned and ran the little florist in town and Mac had spent many an afternoon in the shop with him. It was what spurred her to study plants in the first place. Her grandparents had always supported her endeavours and encouraged her to expand her mind in whatever ways she could.

Mac had taken a gap year after her bachelors degree to help out in the shop before starting into her masters program. Her grandmother had passed away a few years before and her grandfather was getting a little long in the tooth to be running a shop on his own. But as the old man started getting sicker and sicker, it fell on Mac to keep the family business alive.

She never resented her grandfather for expecting her to take over the florist shop. Not even after he passed away a few years after she graduated, leaving the deed in her name. Being a florist at the very least had something to do with her degree. What she missed some days -- when the money was tight or there were frustrating customers -- were her dreams of teaching. Mac had always wanted to expand young minds. She even ran a small biology tutoring group at the local library.

It was at the local library where she met Hopper for the first time. Mac was an avid reader, so it wasn’t unusual to find her scouring the shelves not only for books to help her students. She also enjoyed reading for pleasure. She liked to boast that her record was four books in one day. Her grandmother had loved to read her stories when she was young. So she supposed she got the botany from her grandfather and the bookishness from her grandmother.

One sunny Friday afternoon in mid-August she was looking for a new stack to keep her occupied over the weekend. She had five books in her arms already, which was the library’s limit, but was still scanning the shelves as she passed in case she spotted something she’d want to read more. Of course, because of this she wasn’t paying attention when she reached the end of the shelf and nearly barreled into Hopper.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Chief. I didn’t see you there!” she cried apologetically.

Hopper took one look at her and smiled, an expression everyone knew he didn’t wear very often, “It’s no trouble Miss...Kinney, right?”

Mac blushed, “Yes, but Mackenna will do just fine.”

“Alright, Mackenna. Well it’s nice to meet you.” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

She juggled her books to take it, his hand almost completely engulfing her own. In the dust speckled light filtering in through the window, she could just see the few grey hairs growing in his beard. She remembered seeing pictures of him in the trophy cases at the high school. He had been on the football team and she guessed that he was probably about six years her senior. But there was something about the way he looked at her...she didn’t mind an older man.

“The boys responded to a call from you recently, I remember. A break in?” he continued.

“Yes, sir. Officers Callahan and Powell came by to check it out for me.” she replied.

“Oh, I see. Were they able to resolve it for you?”

Mac nodded, “Yes, it seemed like some drunk kids broke in expecting to find something good. There were some empty bottles in the alley behind the shop by the broken door. But I store the register tray in the safe every night, just in case, you know? So nothing was taken. Just some crushed flowers.”

“That’s very smart of you. I’m sorry it had to come to that, though.”

“It’s alright. If I’m being honest, I probably crush more flowers in a week just from my own damn clumsiness than what got ruined in that one night.”

Hopper chuckled, “I’m sure it can’t be that many.”

“Believe me, Chief, it really is.” Mac said honestly and Hopper raised a brow.

“You can call me Hopper, you know. You don’t have to call me Chief or sir all the time.”

Mac blushed, dipping her head to look up through her eyelashes shyly, “Oh, sure...Hopper.”

“Well I’ll let you get to your reading. Looks like you have a lot to get through.”

“Hardly. This’ll last me a day or two probably.”

“A day or two? You must be a real fast reader.”

“Yessi-” Mac stopped herself from calling him sir again. “Yes, a fast reader.”

Hopper was grinning madly, a rogue twinkle in his eye, “I never really got into reading myself. But my girl...she wants me to read with her and I never know what to pick out.”

“I could suggest a few books! What kinds of things does your daughter like?”

“Oh, she’s not my daughter.”

“Oh, sorry. I misheard you.” Mac said quickly.

“No, no. Sorry...you were right. She’s just not my biological daughter. It’s uh...kind of a long story.” Hopper explained nervously.

“Okay...well, regardless. Do you have a few minutes? I could help you pick some out right now, if you like.”

Hopper checked his watch, then smiled at her, “I guess I could squeeze in a quick search. Thanks.”

✧✧✧✧

“You don’t need to know. Because you’ll just rush off to find him and cause a scene. Just let it go, Jim.” Mac grumbled.

Hopper growled deep in his chest, “It was that fucking Hargrove kid, wasn’t it? I swear to God, I’m gonna lay that little shit out one of these days...”

“Hopper, shut up.”

Mac passed by Hopper and headed for the door. She got a few steps before Hopper turned and grabbed her arm. “Take your fucking hands off me, Hopper.” she hissed at him, glancing at the shut bedroom door to her left.

Hopper didn’t let go, “No, why won’t you just tell me what happened?”

“Why? Maybe because I don’t owe you anything. Maybe because I’m not your wife! I’m not El’s mother! Maybe because you let me in on all this shit and the next thing I know I’m getting throttled by a fucking teenager!” Mac shouted, yanking her arm free.

Hopper looked nervously at the bedroom door, which was just long enough for Mac to get to the front door. When he looked back she had gotten all the locks undone and was grabbing her purse and jacket from where they were hanging on a hook. She pulled the door open and headed out into the night, but Hopper was right on her heels. As she followed the snow covered path back to where they parked their cars, she jammed her arms into the sleeves of her coat, tugging it on awkwardly, and then fumbled with the zipper.

“Mackenna, please stop. Listen, I’m sorry. Can you please just come back inside and we can talk about this?” Hopper pleaded softly.

“Jim Hopper, don’t you dare try to sweet talk me now.”

“Please, baby...just talk to me.”

Mac sighed and paused, but didn’t make any moves to turn around.

✧✧✧✧

It was long dark by the time Mac closed up shop and headed to pick up El from the Byers house. When she pulled into the driveway, there were already two other cars parked there. A maroon BMW with Indiana plates and a blue Camaro with California plates. She recognized the BMW; she had seen Steve Harrington driving it around town a few times and assumed he was babysitting for Joyce Byers that night. But the Camaro, on the other hand, was new to her.

Mac parked her powder blue VW Beetle behind the BMW and climbed out. She was only a few steps from the front door when she heard the shouting coming from inside. She could distinctly make out the sound of a handful of younger kids and two older kids. When she made it to the door, she began to piece together what everyone was actually yelling about.

“Stop it! You’re gonna kill him!” she heard someone say.

“Shut the fuck up or you’re next, you little shit!” an older voice shouted in reply.

Without hesitation, Mac reached for the knob and pushed through the door. She entered into what clearly was already a losing fight. Steve was on the living room floor on his back, another teenage boy on top of him landing punch after punch into his face and head. In the doorway to the kitchen, El and her friends stood in a nervous huddle, watching in shock as their babysitter got beat to a pulp.

“Hey! What the hell’s going on here? Stop that, right now!” Mac yelled, immediately moving to try to pull the young man off Steve.

“Fuck off, lady!” the young man replied, shrugging her off when she tried to grab his shirt.

“Billy stop! You’re killing him!” one of the children, a redheaded girl, screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, Max!” Billy yelled back.

“Get off him!” Mac said, finally managing to get a good grip on the back of Billy’s shirt.

Suddenly Billy paused his assault on Steve. In half an instant he had wound up and backhanded Mac hard across the left temple. “What the fuck did I just say to you, bitch?” he screamed, standing up and turning to face her.

Mac stumbled backwards blindly, her glasses broken and askew on her face as Billy stalked after her, a hand outstretched. His fingers clamped down hard around her throat and Mac slammed into the wall behind her. She spluttered as the air was knocked from her lungs and when she opened her mouth to suck in a new breath, she found Billy’s grip made it impossible. Eyes popping in fear, she scratched at Billy’s hand and kicked at his legs. But the wild look in Billy’s eyes told her there wasn’t a chance he was going to let up anytime soon.

Black spots started to dance at the edges of her vision as unconsciousness began to creep in. Mac tried to struggle, but the longer she went without oxygen, the harder it became. She was sure this boy was going to kill her when suddenly he was ripped from her and tossed like a sack of potatoes across the room. His body hit the opposite wall and slid to the floor with an awkward and terrible thud. For a moment, the room was completely silent.

✧✧✧✧

The air was bitter cold, but Mac made no moves to follow Hopper back inside. Instead she stood there with her back to him and shivered in her coat. When she heard his slow footsteps coming closer to her, the snow crunching under his boots, she held up a hand. He stopped and waited, the only sounds the rustling of dead tree branches in the wind.

“I’m just...really rattled, Jim. That kid could’ve killed me and then El...I’ve never seen her use her powers like that before.” Mac explained quietly.

“Mackenna!” Hopper shouted exasperatedly. “Would you please just tell me what the hell happened tonight?”

Finally she turned on him, angry again, “Fine, Hopper! You know what happened? I went to pick up your daughter like the good girlfriend that I am. Like the fucking normal girlfriend that I am. Not caught up in your whole twisted life!”

“That’s not fucking fair, Mac.”

“I don’t give a fuck about fair, Hopper! What’s not fair is that I tried to do something nice for you and got caught in the middle of something completely insane.”

“Tell me about it! Would you please? For the love of God, Mackenna. Please just tell me what the hell happened so we can be done with it!”

“You want to know what happened?”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been fucking asking you.”

“Shut up, Hopper! Just let me speak!” she shouted back at him.

He ground his teeth, just as frustrated with her as she was with him.

“I went to pick up your daughter only to find whatshisface...Billy Hargrove beating the everliving crap out of the babysitter. I went to pick up your daughter only to get backhanded by said shithead and then literally choked out within an inch of my life. But then your daughter uses her goddamn mind powers to toss the kid across the room like he weighed no more than a loaf of bread!

“Then not only did I have to make sure Steve Harrington wasn’t dead on Joyce Byers’ living room floor, but I had to make sure your fucking daughter didn’t just murder a teenage boy after he basically tried to murder me! And then I had to drive her back here, because I couldn’t just leave her there after I told you I would get her. Because this is the fucking assbackwards world I live in now!

“So forgive me, Hopper if right now all I want to do is go home to my own apartment, to my own normal life where the only strange thing that happens is someone orders fifty potted marigolds for no apparent reason!”

Hopper stood there, the angry clench to his jaw completely gone. His eyebrows knitted together in concern as Mac’s shoulders heaved in angry breaths. She glanced past him to the front door of the cabin and he heard it quickly snick shut. Both of them knew El had been listening. Both of their hearts broke at the same time. Mac turned away as tears started to prick her eyes. Hopper took a deep breath.

✧✧✧✧

After that day at the library, Hopper started making a point of trying to see Mac whenever he could. At first he would make excuses to visit the library. To do research for a case, to look up an old article, to find new books for El. He would walk past the fiction shelves slowly, glancing out of the corner of his eye not to look like he was actively seeking her out. If he noticed she was there, he would strategically position himself to run into her and strike up a conversation.

When he started to realize bumping into her at the library all the time was getting obvious, he changed tactics. He went to her shop and ordered flowers to give to Flo, or to leave on Barbara Holland’s grave. He would stay for a few moments though just to talk to her, to see the way she smiled at him. Until eventually he mustered up the courage to ask her out for a drink. When she agreed, the shock and anxiousness reminded him of being a teenager asking a girl out for the first time.

Drinks turned into dinner and dinner turned into movie nights and movie nights turned into meeting El and watching TV on the couch. Through it all, Jim was stunned that this young, beautiful woman would ever want a fat, old man like him. But Mac insisted she loved his curves, the salt and pepper in his beard, the crows feet around his eyes. Most of all she loved the way he made her feel safe and secure. When they were alone she teased that they were beauty and the beast.

“So I got us tickets to a show on Friday night. Do you think you can make that happen?” Mac asked him when he called her from work one day.

Hopper aimlessly pushed a pen around on his desk, “A show? What kind of show?”

“A concert, Hop. It’s not a musical or something, so calm down.”

“Alright, alright.” he sighed. “What kind of concert?”

Mac chuckled and Hopper was sure she was rolling her eyes at him, “A rock concert. I was trying to make it kind of a surprise. It’s that Zepplin cover band you’re always telling me about. They’re playing at the Castle Club.”

“You got tickets to Greta Van Fleet?”

“Yes, Jim. I got tickets to Greta Van Fleet. Now can you make it happen or what?”

“Hell yeah I can!”

On Friday night, Hopper pulled into the alley next to the florist shop and parked. He climbed out and went around back, climbing up the stairwell to Mac’s apartment over the shop. He knocked on the door and waited, turning the brim of his hat over in his hands. There was a soft crash, followed by muffled cursing, and then the door was yanked open. Mac grinned at him, pretending like she hadn’t just knocked over the potted plant that was clearly broken across the floor.

“Hey! Hey...come in! I’m almost ready I just...this damn plant, you know? It just jumped right out at me!” she told him, gingerly pushing her hair back from her face with the back of her palm.

Hopper watched her go, biting his lip as he took her in, “I didn’t know we were getting dressed up.” he commented.

She glanced up at him from where she had crouched down to start picking up pieces of the shattered pot, “What?”

“Your outfit, Mac.”

Mac looked down at her clothes, redness coming to her cheeks and ears, nearly matching her hair and lipstick. She was wearing an acid washed denim jacket, a loose fitting white tee shirt, and a tight, black leather mini-skirt. Her legs were covered by slightly torn black tights and she had white high-top sneakers on. Her long red hair was the only thing she had mostly left alone. It appeared to have a little more hairspray than usual, but otherwise was her normal style.

She stood up quickly, “Is it too much? Oh...no, it’s too much, isn’t it? I just thought...I’ve never really been to a concert like this and...I didn’t know...” she stammered.

“Mac...” Hopper said gently as she continued to ramble in her panic. “Mac...Mackenna!”

She stopped mid sentence, “What?”

“You look incredible.”

“What?” she asked again, eyes wide as saucers and a small smudge of potting soil on her cheek.

Hopper stepped forward, careful not to tread on any of the debris and reached to rub the dirt off her cheek with his thumb, “You look fucking hot. I’m not gonna be able to keep the guys off you tonight.”

“Oh!” Mac exclaimed and if it was even possible, turned an even deeper shade of crimson.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Hopper said finally, giving her a chaste kiss on the temple as he passed her to get the broom and dustpan.

Hopper drove Mac’s VW to the club since neither of them wanted to pull up in Hopper’s Blazer. There was a line outside of the club of people waiting to get in. But it didn’t take long before the bouncer started filing people through the door. Mac handed over her tickets to the man at the door, who not-so-subtly gave her a once over. She could feel Hopper bristling as he placed his hand firmly on the small of her back. A moment later, the man handed back their tickets and allowed them inside.

“Are you going to growl like a dog at everyone we see tonight?” Mac mumbled to Hopper as they made their way through the growing crowd to the bar.

“Absolutely,” he replied. Then added, “Maybe I should’a had you change after all.”

Mac stopped and looked up at him, horrified, “See! I knew I should’ve worn something normal!” she said.

But Hopper just laughed, “I’m kidding, Mac. Seriously you look great.” he told her and she seemed to relax.

“Okay...okay. I believe you.”

“I’m just being the big, bad boyfriend, that’s all.”

“Hmm...the big, bad boyfriend, huh?”

“That’s what I am, right?”

Mac quirked an eyebrow at him above the frame of her glasses, “I suppose...”

“You suppose?”

Mac just gave him a coy smile and stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t help but grin as her hand also reached to give his ass a little squeeze. Before he could reciprocate, Mac pulled away, continuing on through the crowd. Chuckling to himself and reaching up to scratch his beard, he dove after her. The opening band had just come on stage and the noise level had risen considerably. This was certainly going to be a fun night, Hopper thought to himself.

They made it to the bar and Hopper leaned in to flag down the bartender, “Two whiskeys, neat, please.” he ordered, putting down a few bills.

Mac leaned casually against the bar, her elbows on the counter so she could watch the stage, “It’s strange, you know? That word.” she yelled over the din.

“What word?” Hopper called back.

“Boyfriend.”

Hopper grinned at her, intrigued, “Why’s that?”

She looked at him finally, a glint in her eye that Hopper hadn’t seen before, “Because we’re not kids, Chief. I feel like there should be some kind of adult equivalent.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, knowing she had called him Chief intentionally. “Like what?”

“I don’t know!”

Hopper moved to stand over her, purposefully pushing his knee between her legs, “What about lovers?”

“Can we really say we’re lovers, Chief?” she replied, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

Hopper could almost see the flutter of Mac’s heartbeat in her throat as she gazed up at him through hooded eyes. Could almost feel the heat rising off her skin. They hadn’t yet slept together, but it wasn’t like the thought never crossed Hopper’s mind. From the moment he saw her in the library, the sun turning her hair to molten copper and catching the silver in her pale blue eyes, he wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of her. But he also felt the fierce need to protect her and respect her in any way he could. So they had kissed and even napped together on the couch. But it had never gone farther than that.

Suddenly the bartender slid two glasses up behind Mac’s elbow and her eyes were pulled away from him, the moment passed. Hopper moved back to stand next to her, so he could also see the stage and passed her a drink. They sipped and watched the opening band play. When it seemed they were almost done, they finished their drinks before making their way towards the stage. Hopper’s size allowed him to easily force his way forwards until eventually there were only a handful of people still in front of them.

The headlining band, Greta Van Fleet came on moments later and immediately launched into their first set. Hopper tried to pay attention to the band, especially since he had actually been looking forward to seeing them live. But he was distracted when Mac started to dance. He had seen her dance before at the cabin with El to some of Hopper’s old records. This dancing though wasn’t like that. It was smoother, more fluid. Like top shelf honey whiskey or a fine cigar. He was entranced by her. More than anything, he was getting very, very turned on.

The band stopped for a brief break, so Hopper and Mac returned to the bar for another drink. Hopper had always been glad that Mac was a whiskey drinker like himself. It made it easy for him to order for her, but it also meant she got drunk faster than if she just wanted a beer or a glass of wine. She did drink wine sometimes, usually when they were at her place and he had to admit that she was no lightweight. But after a couple glasses of whiskey, she was definitely becoming a little more loose.

They stayed at the bar for the second set and Mac ordered a third drink. Hopper resisted, knowing he would have to drive them home later. Mac continued to dance and Hopper continued to watch her. He licked his lips as her hips swayed to the beat of the music. When she turned to face him, a devilish grin across her ruby red lips, he had to hold onto his own hands to keep from jumping her right then and there.

Eventually the band announced they were playing their last song and Hopper decided he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached for Mac, pulling her into him so he could whisper in her ear. His grip was firm and the very feeling of her pressed against him was driving him mad. She looked up at him innocently, like she didn’t know exactly what she’d been doing to him all night. He wondered if this had been her plan all along.

“I need to take you home.” he growled in her ear.

He watched her tongue snake out to trace along her lips, “Now? There’s only one song left.” she replied, clearly toying with him.

“Yes, now.”

“If you insist, Chief.”

He nearly shivered as he steered her towards the door. It was early fall, so the air was brisk when they got outside. Mac huddled against Hopper as they rushed back to the car. Though they definitely weren’t rushing only because of the cold. Hopper had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel as he drove them the half mile back to Mac’s apartment. She kept one hand draped casually on his thigh. When he pulled into her parking spot in the alley, he turned the car off and then dove on her.

Hopper kissed her fiercely, pushing her back into the passenger door. Her mouth tasted like whiskey and he didn’t even care that he was smearing her lipstick. Mac’s hands roamed his body, her fingers finally bunching up the front of his shirt. Their breath came heavy and she writhed against him, gasping for air between kisses. He deserted her lips and trailed kisses down her jaw to her throat, breathing in the floral, clean smell of her hair.

“Hop...we should go inside.” she mumbled finally.

Hopper grunted, taking a moment longer before moving away so they could get out of the car. She held a hand out to him and led him up the stairs to her door, but he couldn’t make it even that far. He pressed her against the door and kissed her again and again. Eventually she twisted around to unlock the door and push it open. They tumbled into the dark apartment.

Once inside, Hopper kicked the door shut and grabbed Mac. He put each of her arms over his shoulders and then lifted her by her thighs to carry her to her bedroom. She giggled and despite the fact that she made him feel like a wild animal, he smiled too. She tossed her head back when she laughed and he kissed the thin skin under her chin which only made her laugh more. He soon found himself laughing with her.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“It tickles! Your beard!” she gasped.

“Oh this? This tickles?” he answered, rubbing his beard against her jaw and neck.

She squealed and squirmed in his arms, “Jim! Stop!”

Hopper grinned, “No way.”

He continued kissing her and the laughter stopped, turning yet again into that slow burning fire. When he made it to her bed, he put her down and looked her over in the glow from the streetlights outside her window. Even in the dim light, she looked otherworldly. He was once again blown away by the fact that she still wanted him, that she wanted him in this way. Mac reached for his belt and he was assured all over again.

In the morning, when the sun started to rise Mac woke to Hopper’s warm breath ruffling her hair. His bare skin was almost too warm against hers under the covers. She rolled over to face him and reached up to run her fingertips along his jaw. She had to admit she thought Hopper might be the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He wasn’t the most physically fit, but he was strong and caring and he seemed willing to do anything for her. He’d even made an effort to try to quit smoking when she admitted it was the one thing she didn’t like about him.

Hopper’s lips pulled into a smile, but he didn’t open his eyes, “Morning, you.” he grumbled.

“Morning...” she mumbled back.

“How long’ve you been up?”

“Not long,”

“Good...” Hopper answered, pulling her into him tighter and snuggling his face down into the crook of her neck. “Can we just stay here all day?”

“We sure could try. Though I think the Wheeler’s might not want another child.”

“Eh...El can take care of herself. She’s got superpowers.”

Mac was quiet for a moment, wondering what Hopper meant by that. There had always been this air of mystery over how El came to be in Hopper’s care. Mac had never asked and had always assumed the girl was just some kind of runaway that Hopper took in out of the goodness of his heart. But she had heard rumors of strange happenings in Hawkins. Being the smart woman that she was, she had to wonder if the two were connected somehow.

“Jim...” she whispered.

Hopper grunted in response.

“Where did El come from?”

She felt Hopper tense slightly before he pulled back to look at her. His rich blue eyes glinted seriously in the morning sunlight, “What do you mean?” he asked her.

“You know...” Mac said, suddenly feeling like she said the wrong thing. “You’ve never told me about how you adopted her...how it all happened.”

“It’s a long story.” he said.

Mac chewed her lip, “Okay...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know...pry. I was just wondering...”

A small reassuring smile played on Hopper’s lips, “Mac, no...honestly I should’ve told you when you met El. But it can be...kind of a lot to take in.” he admitted.

“What does that mean?”

“Come over for dinner tomorrow night, okay? Come over for dinner and I promise El and I will explain everything.”

“Okay, Hop. I’ll come over for dinner.”

✧✧✧✧

“Mackenna...I’m sorry. Please, just come back inside.”

Mac hung her head and whispered, “I don’t think I can be near her.”

For a moment Hopper just breathed. He knew someday this moment would come, he just hadn’t ever expected it to come from Mac. In the scattered moonlight, he watched as Mac’s shoulders started to tremble and heard the soft sob that escaped her lips. Without another thought, he went to her even as she once again protested against him. He stepped around her and pulled her into his chest. She continued to cry.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mac. Alright? You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“I know El would never really try to hurt me...she saved my life tonight for Heaven’s sake! But...all that power. It’s terrifying.”

“You hardly even know.” Hopper mumbled, more to himself than anything. “Please just come back inside.”

✧✧✧✧

Mac arrived at the cabin about fifteen minutes late for dinner. She was coming from the florist shop where a customer had kept her past closing. By the time she managed to close up, run upstairs to grab the apple cobbler she made for dessert, clean up the mess she made when she dropped the carton of double cream for whipped cream, and stopped to pick up another carton she was feeling a bit frazzled. She rushed down the autumn leaf covered path to the cabin and up the few steps to the door.

She had known about the secret knock for a while. From the first time she had ever been to the cabin, Hopper had told her about the knock. He had never really explained why he and El used it, but she assumed it was because he often left her home alone. A regular latchkey kid. Either way as she shuffled the cobbler and carton of cream in her arms to reach up and knock, she knew she’d probably find out the real answer later that night.

Rap rap...rap...rap rap rap.

The locks clattered one by one and then the door was yanked open, El grinning warmly on the other side, “Hello, Mac! You’re late.” she said.

“El, come on. You know that’s not nice.” Hopper grumbled from the kitchen.

El glanced at him, “Right...sorry.” she said sheepishly.

Mac smiled down at her, “It’s okay, sweetheart. May I still come in?”

“Yes!” El said, stepping out of the way. “What is that?”

“This?” Mac asked, holding up the cobbler. El nodded, “It’s an apple cobbler for dessert. And some cream we can whip up to go on top.”

“Cobbler?” El asked curiously, turning the word over in her mouth.

“Uhm...well I guess it’s kind of like apple pie, but with the crust all mixed in.”

“Sounds delicious.” Hopper said, finally coming over to slide a hand around Mac’s waist and kiss her temple.

“I’m just glad I didn’t drop the cobbler.”

Hopper grinned knowingly, “What did you drop instead?” he asked.

“The cream of course. And I’m sure it got under the fridge. My apartment’s going to smell like rotten milk for the rest of time.”

“I’ll come by later this week and help you move it so you can clean it up.”

“Thank you, Jim. I really do appreciate it.”

“Do you have a book for me?” El asked.

Mac smacked the palm of her hand to her forehead, “Oh, shoot! I totally forgot! I’m so sorry, El. I had a book all picked out and I left it on the counter.”

El nodded, but to Mac’s relief didn’t look as disappointed as she thought she would be, “That’s okay.”

“I promise I’ll give it to your dad as soon as I can and he can bring it home to you, okay?”

“Will you read another book tonight?”

“Sure, hun. I can do that.”

El scampered off to her room, Hopper and Mac watching her go. “Does that need to go in the fridge?” Hopper asked suddenly.

Mac looked up at him almost in a daze, “Oh...right, yeah. The cream does, the cobbler can stay on the counter for now.” she said, letting him take it from her.

“You okay? You seem out of sorts.”

“Sorry, I guess I am. It was kind of a long day.”

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight then?”

Hopper was eyeing her, the concern written in the wrinkle of his brow, “Absolutely. I want to know everything, Hop. I mean, you make it sound like you’re going to tell me a bunch of government secrets or something.” Mac joked.

Hopper didn’t laugh, but turned away instead, “You’re not far off...” he mumbled to himself.

“What’s for dinner anyway? I’m starved!”

“Lasagna, I helped!” El replied, returning from her room with three different books in her hands.

“El let’s leave the books on the couch for now. Can you go wash your hands, please?” Hopper asked.

El did as she was told, dumping the books on the couch and then going to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. Mac helped Hopper set the table and then they all sat down to eat. Over dinner they chatted about work and El told Mac about what she was doing with her homeschool tutor. Which reminded Mac that this was another strange thing about them. All of El’s friends went to the local public school, but El had a tutor that came to the cabin four times a week. Mac also recognized that El’s vocabulary was significantly lacking for a girl her age.

When they were done eating dinner, Hopper cleared the table and got to work whipping up the cream while Mac helped El with some of her science homework. Hopper served them each a dish of Mac’s cobbler with the freshly whipped cream and then sat down again. This time Mac could tell things were more serious. It was time to get down to business. It was time Hopper told her everything.

“Before I tell you anything, I need you to understand that everything I tell you tonight, you cannot tell anyone else. Everything I’m about to tell you is secret. I’m only telling you because I trust you. But also because I know you won’t be in as much danger as say...if I told you a year ago.”

“Jeeze, Jim...I didn’t realize it was all so serious.”

“Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Of course, I promise.”

Hopper nodded slowly. Then he launched into the story. He started with Will Byers’ disappearance. He explained that he didn’t just get lost in the woods like everyone thought. He told her about another dimension with a monster that crossed through into their world. El corrected him and called the monster a demogorgon from the Upside Down. For a while, Mac thought they were just messing with her. Telling her a scary story to get her riled up. But then the story kept going.

He explained about what really happened to Barbara Holland. Explained about the government scientists who made a deal with Hopper to keep it all a secret. Then he explained about El’s biological mother, Terry Ives and the illegal government experiments she was part of. He told Mac about how Terry Ives was tricked into thinking she had miscarried her child, but in reality El had been born with the very abilities they hoped to create in her mother.

“El, would you like to show Mackenna what you can do?” Hopper asked the young girl.

One moment everything was normal, they were sitting around the table together eating cobbler and telling stories. Then the next Mac’s whole perception of the world around her was turned, for lack of better words, upside down. The TV across the room suddenly switched on, the channels flipping until it landed on some kind of sappy black and white film. Mac jumped and turned to look at it, only to watch as the books El had put on the couch before dinner started to float up in the air. They crossed the room and landed in a neat pile on the kitchen table. Moments later, the TV switched off again.

Mac gaped at El with wide eyes as El glanced worriedly at Hopper, “You can’t be serious. You’re playing a trick on me. This is just some kind of magic trick.” she said.

Hopper shook his head, “It’s not a trick, Mac.”

“Not a trick.” El parroted.

Mac sat in stunned silence, “So everything I read in the paper...everything I heard on the news. It was all a lie?”

“For the most part, yes. They lied to keep the town safe. To keep the town from going into hysteria.”

“I...I don’t know what to say.”

There was a pause while Mac tried to take it all in. Then El asked quietly, “Are you...afraid...of me?”

Mac looked at the girl, at the concern and fear on her face and quickly shook her head. She reached out to run a hand over El’s curls, smoothing them down the back of her head, “Oh no, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid at all. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. It doesn’t exactly fall into the science and reality I thought I knew.”

El seemed puzzled by what Mac said. “She’s just a little confused. Kind of like how Joyce was, remember? When she found out about your powers.” Hopper explained gently.

“Yes.” El said, nodding. “I remember.”

Mac sat back in her chair, “I certainly see why you two live all the way out here now. And all the rest...”

“I try to give El the most normal life she can have. We were even able to get her a birth certificate. But obviously we still have to be careful. El knows the limits of her powers. She knows what will happen if more people knew about them.”

El nodded gravely at Hopper. “Right of course...” Mac said, touching her fingers to her lips.

There were a million questions Mac wanted to ask, but in that moment she wasn’t sure she could handle any more answers. So instead she checked her watch and then pushed back from the table. She gathered up their empty dishes and brought them to the sink. Hopper and El stayed put, as if waiting with bated breath to see how Mac would react. Mac took a deep breath, bracing herself for a moment on the counter and then looked back at the two of them.

Despite the fact that she saw them in an entirely new light, the man in front of her was still Hopper, still the man she was growing to love. And El, with her beautiful curls and curious eyes was still the same girl who fell asleep on her shoulder watching TV and needed help with her science homework. So she put her confusion, her worries, and her questions aside for right then and gave them a small, tentative smile.

“Alright well if you still want your bedtime story, you better go get ready.” she said.

El’s face lit up and she dashed off, the stack of books following behind her as if carried by a ghost. Mac watched them go, unable to hide the look of befuddlement on her face. Hopper stood slowly from the table and went to Mac. He reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Mac’s ear and she leaned into the warmth of his palm on her cheek. Even this small gesture brought a sense of security to her.

“Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?” Hopper asked quietly so El wouldn’t hear.

Mac nodded and looked up into his eyes, “Every family has secrets. Some more than others, I suppose. If I’m going to be part of this one, I kind of have to be. Don’t I?”

A warm smile grew on Hopper’s lips, “Family?”

“Isn’t that what you two are? A family?”

He shrugged and leaned to kiss her forehead, letting his lips linger there as he said, “I guess I just like hearing you say it.”

“I’m falling in love with you, Jim Hopper.” Mac whispered. “I’ll believe anything you tell me.”

Hopper’s heart pounded, matching the raging rhythm in Mac’s own chest, “I never thought I’d ever say this again, but I’m falling for you, too Mackenna Kinney. From day one...you stole my heart in that library.”

“Well I’m not giving it back.” Mac teased, grinning at Hopper as he leaned in to kiss her lips.

“It’s the price I’ll have to pay.”

“I’m ready!” El shouted suddenly from her bedroom.

Mac winked at Hopper, “I’ve been summoned.”

✧✧✧✧

Mac sat on Hopper’s bed, listening with her heart in her throat as he went to knock softly on El’s door. At first the young girl didn’t answer, but then Hopper pleaded with her and a moment later Mac heard the door click open. She listened as Hopper crossed the room to sit on the edge of El’s bed. She could picture him reaching out, putting one of his massive hands over one of hers. She could picture El curling her tiny fingers into his.

Mac could just hear El when she said, voice trembling, “She is afraid of me.”

Both Hopper and Mac made a strangled noise, “No, El. Mac isn’t afraid of you. She’s just shaken up, that’s all.”

“But she said...” El started.

“I know what she said. But you have to understand, El that sometimes when grownups are upset they say things they don’t really mean. You know that. Like when we had that fight and I yelled at you. But I only said it because I was angry and worried about you.”

“Yes...”

“I think Mac was scared about what happened to her. What Billy did to her. I think Mac is grateful that you were there to help her. That you saved her from the bad man.”

“I should have stopped him before. I could have stopped him before.”

“I know, but it’s okay. It’s over now.”

“He won’t hurt anyone else. I made him promise.”

“I’m sure you did. But I need you to promise me something now, okay?”

“Okay...”

“I need you to promise me, El that you won’t use your powers like that unless it’s absolutely an emergency.”

“Emergency?”

“Like what happened tonight. If you think someone is going to get really hurt, like Mac. I know you know that, but I need you to promise me anyway.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, good.”

“Can I talk to Mac?”

Mac sucked in a breath and Hopper paused, “In the morning, hun. Okay? Let’s just give her a little time. Can you do that?” he said finally.

“Yes,” El replied disappointedly.

“Alright, well lie down now. Get some sleep.”

“Night, dad.”

“Night, kid.”

El’s door clicked shut and Mac heard Hopper’s heavy footsteps as he crossed the living room to his bedroom door. He entered the room and shut the door again behind him. Mac looked at him with watery eyes, her whole body trembling. Gently Hopper scooped her up into his arms before turning to sit on the bed, holding her close to his chest. He let her cry until she was too exhausted to cry anymore. Then he changed her out of her clothes into one of his flannel shirts and tucked her into bed. He climbed in behind her and pulled him against his body, pressing soft kisses behind her ear.

“I’d be a terrible mother to her.” Mac whispered finally.

Hopper shook his head, his nose moving her hair, “No, Mac, you wouldn’t.”

“But look what I said! I didn’t even try to lower my voice. Even if she hadn’t come to the door, she could’ve heard everything I said.”

“Shh...” Hopper said, reaching to turn her head so he could look into her eyes. “Parents fight and they can’t always keep it from their children. It happens. You’ve never done this before and that’s okay. You’ll make mistakes but you’ll learn. That’s the best thing about family, Mac. We’ll always love you, we’ll always forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve you, Jim Hopper.”

Hopper chuckled, “If there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me.”

“Then I guess that makes us quite the pair.”

“I guess so.”

#jim hopper imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #jim hopper #fan fiction #fanfic #eleven #billy hargrove #steve harrington #will byers #joyce byers #max mayfield

85 notes · View notes

fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

Text

My Ex Wasn’t Ready to Commit: Here’s My Theory on Why

http://fashion-trendin.com/my-ex-wasnt-ready-to-commit-heres-my-theory-on-why/

My Ex Wasn’t Ready to Commit: Here’s My Theory on Why

“You don’t need me,” my now-ex said, all casual and matter-of-fact. We’d been talking about the real meaning of commitment and all the reasons he didn’t feel he could truly commit to me. In the pause that followed came this seemingly disconnected statement.

He was right, of course, from a purely practical standpoint. I didn’t need him; if we split, I would be fine. I could pay my own bills and support myself. I was obsessed with my career, which was moving full speed ahead. I had a supportive family, my health was in check, and my life was generally in order. I didn’t “need” him. Or anyone. But I wanted him. Wasn’t that enough? In fact, wasn’t that better?

He didn’t seem to think so. Eventually, he broke up with me. He didn’t know what he wanted in life: maybe grad school or an out-of-state move to start over. He was stubborn about his independence, he told me, though I sensed he resented mine. He said I was a little too settled. “You are so sure of yourself, Jenna,” he claimed. “It’s a good thing. But you are going to scare men.”

He also once said, “There are so many things I want to give you, but I’m not sure where my life is going yet.” I remember him saying this to me with a faraway look, like he was performing an open monologue to himself. What if I’d never asked for those things? I thought. What if I’d never asked you to have those answers? It took me years to understand these were expectations he placed on himself.

Men vs. Women

More women than men are now graduating college, and they are significantly likelier to have a bachelor’s degree by age 29. For the first time in history, more American women have bachelor’s degrees than American men. We are thus flooding the workforce, demanding equal treatment and equal pay, outing injustices that might hold us back. And in relationships, more women are breadwinners than ever before; the number of family units with female primary or sole breadwinners has quadrupled since 1960. This is a big shift for millennials, who are watching these changes happen, aware that times have changed since our mothers’ and grandmothers’ day.

That doesn’t mean old societal expectations have completely fallen by the wayside, however. They still play a role in dating between men and women — subconsciously or consciously. For my book on dating and relationships, I talked in depth with many men who date women, and most told me that they still felt pressure to “establish themselves” and “provide.” The data backs up their feelings: In December, the Pew Research Center polled Americans on gendered expectations. Male and female survey respondents said they felt the two biggest stressors for men were still “supporting their family financially” and “being successful in their job or career.”

As I started to collect my own data on why modern-day relationships worked out or didn’t, “having your life together” was a big deal for men especially. I learned a lot of heterosexual men still want to be a full contributing partner — someone who has the capacity to support a significant other financially and practically if needed, and someone who brings home at least their fair share of the bacon in a dual-earning household.

My female interviewees commonly reported hearing refrains like “I’m not ready” and “You don’t need me” from their male partners. Maybe you’ve heard it, too. In an Instagram poll for Man Repeller readers, 72 percent of participants reported they had been told “I’m not ready” in the context of a relationship. Some 78 percent said they’ve had a relationship or connection thwarted due to “bad timing.” And around 62 percent of those participants said they had dated guys who, they felt, were turned off by their independence, paycheck or career.

But per recent survey data, in almost direct opposition to such anecdotes, straight men claim to want just what these women offer: a partnership with someone smart and self-sufficient. (So did my ex, for that matter, before our commitment conversation.) But if that’s the case, what’s going on here? Well, for one, needs and wants are different things, and timing is a crucial element of modern-day relationship success. I have a few theories.

Needs vs. Wants

For millennials, “I’m not ready” is not a line or excuse, but often a reality of dating and falling in love. And here’s where one of my basic theories on modern relationships comes in. I like to illustrate it using some classic psych, a.k.a. Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the gift from 1943 that just keeps on giving.

As humans, we move all over the hierarchy every day. All the time! But in general (and as the theory goes), all needs must be fulfilled eventually, and when a need is unfulfilled, it’s activated and we’re motivated to work on that need until it’s met. Typically, we work from the bottom up. Physiological and safety needs come first (you’ve gotta survive) before esteem and love (to help you thrive).

Enter modern-day romance and relationships: Hey there, idealism! What they say about our generation is true. Not only do most of us want to explore and expand personally, but we want couple-with-your-best-friend, do-life-together loves, too. Partnership is a beautiful concept, surpassing a mere “relationship” or even “marriage” as a thoroughly modern aspiration. For those of us in pursuit of a relationship, we’re more often than not looking for an equal partner — a “team” dynamic.

If we check the hierarchy, then, for us modern daters, love is not just support and belongingness (level 3), where it might have slotted back when commitment was more about baseline stability than anything else. Today, men and women alike repeatedly told me they wanted a partner who “makes them better.” We are a generation focused on self-actualization: fulfillment, satisfaction, reaching our highest potential (level 5, peak #goals). Fantastically, true modern partnerships (or at least our idea of them) can and should help us self-actualize, elevate us, and help us become our best selves. But we need esteem — level 4, knowing who we are and what we bring to the table, having most of our basic needs checked — to create the type of relationship where we’re able to grow in the same direction.

This can apply to any couple, opposite-sex or same-sex: When one person is lower in the pyramid, there is less headspace for love (level 3), especially of the makes-me-better, self-actualizing variety (level 5) because he or she must first tend to self-esteem (level 4). But while this applies to all relationships, I’d argue it applies quite consistently to modern men forming opposite-sex partnerships — especially those for whom the pressure to “succeed,” “provide” and conform to a gender role was (sometimes subconsciously) impressed from a young age, changing and intensifying the markers by which they measure self-esteem. The resulting landscape, as I see it, is one wherein men are often stuck on the bottom levels of the pyramid a little bit longer.

He’s Just Not at Your Level

Of course, not every man or woman follows the same trajectory, nor do we all measure our pyramids in the same way. Some have stepped far outside the mold that society laid out and figured out what works for them as individuals. Hats off to the men and women who so beautifully juggle career and love, or those who have decided to fully embrace their single status because it brings them more joy or makes them feel like their most actualized selves.

But for those of us who seek companionship, gender norms and socialization can still have quite a dramatic impact on the pursuit of love. Among the people I interviewed, many men described a pressure-filled, hyper-rigid climb toward “success” before they could feel confident enough in themselves and their abilities to enter a relationship. Many women, on the other hand, described feeling more free to define success on their own terms, granting them the flexibility to move through Maslow’s pyramid with more ease and patience, believing they could work on themselves and a great relationship at the same time.

Whether you participate in this particular narrative or not, people have been theorizing for years about why straight men don’t commit or pursue relationships as readily as women. One of my least favorite theories? “He’s just not that into you.” It’s a popular explanation, and it can work as an excuse for literally anything a guy does, from canceling a date to avoiding a text to breaking up with you. But in my view, it doesn’t encompass the very real and nuanced reality of how we build lives and loves. I watched this explanation gaslight some of the coolest, brightest women I knew. It wasn’t that they couldn’t believe a guy wouldn’t be into them; it was that they couldn’t believe they sensed a great connection and could be so wrong about how it would all play out. When connection after connection failed to pan out, they concluded they weren’t enough — and often set out to change themselves in pretty fundamental ways. I hate that.

I’d like them to consider another explanation: Maybe it was him, and maybe it was timing, and maybe he was struggling to deal with the relationship as a result of simple psychology. For example, if he’s working on gaining a steady source of income after a career change (level 2: safety needs) while you’re working on a promotion at work (level 4: esteem), or he wants a casual relationship (level 3: love and belongingness) while you want that modern-day, growth-oriented partnership to hit every continent or start a side hustle together (level 5: self-actualization), maybe the tough truth is he’s just not at your level.

A straight guy friend told me he thinks he subconsciously struggles to date women who are ahead of him. I once tried to set him up with a good friend of mine — smart, pretty, driven, insightful. The full package! I thought it’d be a great match; they even had the same “out there” taste in music. He talked to her for months but couldn’t make solid romantic moves in her direction. “That was a good match,” he admitted to me years later. “But I was intimidated then. I wouldn’t be today.” Ahh, growth. As for her? She moved to D.C. to work in advertising and, by all accounts, has one of those committed, inspiring partnerships I mentioned earlier.

“Someone in the same place in life,” my friend mused. “It’s hard to find.” And so is modern love. The good news is, although fulfilling relationships may seem rare among the oodles of options we have today, they may ultimately prove more powerful tools for personal growth than “ideal” relationships of the past. And in even better news, for women, there’s more opportunity for fulfillment on the road of life than ever before — whether we’ve found a love that lasts or not.

Photos by Louisiana Mei Gelpi; art direction and infographic by Emily Zirimis.

0 notes