#but what happend *gestures vaguely* here

[mondglocke]

I don't know WHY, but till the end of the episode i totally believed we would see the Gullet (and Jace) go down in the Finale. Even just seeing an arrow fly through the Sky during the battle, a fade to black after seeing Jaces Face, foreshadowing of what WILL happen at the start of S3 would have been enough for me. I thought it would start and end with the death of a Son😭

[queerspeculativefiction]

nothing to see

People keep telling me it’s not jail, but whether it’s better or worse depends on who’s doing the telling. For me, it feels a lot like suspended animation. I’m floundering in my cell, caught in the no-man’s land between suspicion and sentence. There I spend my days staring at the wall and waiting for the next ‘interview’ where I will be staring at the table in front of me doing my best impersonation of a mute doll. I don’t feel particularly cooperative at present, especially not since my publicly appointed lawyer shows more interest in my breasts than helping me get out of here. Surprisingly enough, Lady Argent has dropped by on a few occasions. She is still convinced that I know more than I am telling, and I can’t fault her instincts. She wants the Annihilist, or to be precise, a rematch with him. That woman does not handle loss well, even if the last battle technically ended in a draw. Every time I speak with her I’m secretly pleased that for the moment, it is not me behind that mask, let my impostor deal with her rage. Still, her visits cheer me up, because for a little while I am saved from the hell that is my own thoughts, my own doubts,  my own regrets that I keep regurgitating.

Forgetfulness would be a blessing.

I wouldn’t mind forgetting Ortega. I wouldn’t mind forgetting that embarrassing scene, like being caught with your pants pulled down in grade school. The memory of flushed cheeks and the urge to sink into the ground mixed with the memory of staring at Ortega, knowing what he was about to say, yet hoping that he wouldn’t. That somehow I had not burned all bridges yet.

No hope there, my bridges were smoke and ashes tumbling into the Grand Canyon with every word coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry Yasmin,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve had enough chances.” My jaw is set, I shouldn’t care that he’s judging me but I do. “You will never find the Annihilist without my help,” I sneer. Was I mocking him? Perhaps. “You can’t hold us hostage with information anymore.” His voice sounded as tired as his eyes looked. He’s one to talk about holding someone hostage, what about my heart then? I never wanted to care. “Why not?” I found myself asking, lacking better things to say yet fearing the silence. “Because I can’t trust you to speak the truth anymore.” Honesty always hurts the most. “I’m telling the truth now,” I protested, because what else what I supposed to do?. “Are you really?” he asked after a moment of hesitation. “Have you told us everything?” “Yes,” I lied, badly. He knew it. I knew it. “That’s what I thought,” he said, and ran his hand over his face. “Herald, bring her in, and please, be gentle about it.” I wanted to protest, to beg, to just get another chance but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Pride I suppose. Instead I sat there, frozen in the face of onrushing nightmares as the hand was placed on my shoulder, ready to deliver me into the hands of the law.

“I wish you would begin to cooperate with us, Yasmin,” the smiling policeman asks as the one-sided interview comes to a close once again. He fakes his fatherly concern well, but I don’t care. I’ve seen what’s behind their facade back when I was still a telepath and  the smile does not fool me. I simply shrug as I stand up. “You could at least tell us your real name,” he tries. “You are the detectives, you find out,” I smirk and walk out of the interrogation room. I almost wish they would, maybe it’s my prolonged stay in Yasmin’s body, maybe it’s just idle curiosity, but part of me really wants to know. Wants to know who she was before she slipped into a coma with her mind sinking into static like a disused TV-screen. Who was she before she became my flesh puppet? I had never bothered to find out, a Jane Doe was what I wanted, names were irrelevant. Now things have changed. Have I changed?

Walking back, we pass by the break-room where the television blares colors and noise. On the screen is the Annihilist in full regalia, fighting someone, possibly the SCT or some other government agency, since the camera follows the villain like a shadow. Every menacing flip of the cape is caught, every grand gesture. This is Action News after all, ever in love with the grandiose. I recognize the Hancock building in the background and realizes that he is going on with the plan, my plan. It was not enough for the bastard to steal my life and my body, now he’s stealing my ideas as well. My revenge. My testament. The guard makes a joke at my expense but the look on my face shuts him up and he buzzes us through more quickly than usual.

Back in my cell I break everything that is not nailed down before they come in and flatten me against the floor. Trapped under far too many pounds of annoyed guards I fight until I pass out, and so passes another week. Bruises fade, tempers calm, and things settles back into routine once more. The routine of waiting and fruitless interrogations.

Nothing changes, and then it does.

The next time I’m brought to the interrogation room it is not my lawyer or a cop sitting on the other side of the table, but Ortega. My feet stop of my own accord, but six feet of massive policeman behind me blocks my escape. I’m roughly ushered inside, and deposited on my usual chair. Handcuffed. As if I were a threat to him, This is just rubbing salt in wounds I wish didn’t I have. “You look tired,” he says, once the guard have left us alone. “I’m not sleeping well,” I retort, “What’s your excuse?” My words might sound like a challenge, but it’s an empty one. “Please, Yasmin. Can we not do this right now? I’ve come here to talk to you. Not to fight.” He looks uncomfortably at me where I sit in my prison jumpsuit and faded bruises. I lean back and jingle my handcuffs to rub it in. I’m a prisoner here, and it is his fault. “I’m fine,” I say conversationally, to drive home the point that he hasn’t asked. “Haven’t got beaten up or raped yet, I hear most of that won’t happen until prison proper.” “Dammit Yas,” he snaps, finally losing his patience. “Why do you have to be this self-destructive? Your lawyer tells me that you won’t cooperate at all.” I shrug, because there is no easy way to explain it to him even if I told him the truth. He wouldn’t understand. He sees the face that people put on to play nice, not the horrors lurking underneath the surface. This is how I know there is no loving, all-seeing entity out there, no creature could ever have compassion for the cesspool that humanity has become if it saw what we are all trying to hide. “Please, at least talk to me. You are the only one with any clue to why he is doing this.” “He?” I ask, even though I know the answer. “Cyrus. I know him. He is not an evil man. I can’t understand why he would…” he gestures vaguely and I finish his sentence for him. “Become the bad guy?” “He was my best friend.” “Before heartbreak maybe. After, not so much.” Maybe I sound a little too bitter, because he gives me a pained look and starts to explain. “I should have known something was wrong I met him again at that cafe. Maybe if I had pushed harder for what happend…” he breaks off with a sigh, and I’m left not knowing his regrets. I swallow hard and look away, at the unbroken stillness of the mirror. I wonder if there are people hidden behind the glass, watching Ortega pour his heart out. I wonder if they make jokes about him being a sissy. In my heart I kinda want to kill them for that. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” I finally say, looking at his troubled reflection. “Sometimes you’re left with no choice at all.” “It can’t be that simple,” Ortega frowns. “There must be something else. Someone forcing him to… for chrissake Yasmin, he killed two people when he set off that bomb. He could have killed me. He nearly killed you.” “People change,” I say with a shrug. “Even heroes go bad.” I keep looking at Ortega in the mirror. Reflections are safe, I can remind myself that I am Yasmin. Nobody else. “This is not about statistics, this is about Cyrus. I know him.” Ortega sounds so sure of himself, but his eyes betray him. They always do. “Do you really?” I ask, looking him in the eyes finally. Part of me wonder what I did to deserve such faith. “Yes,” he says, looking back into my eyes. I always forget how frighteningly blue they can be when he’s this intense. “I might not understand him, but I know him. I just wish he would have trusted me enough to ask for help before this happened.” I break eye-contact first, unable to find an answer I can say out loud. Unable to face the man in front of me

[petals42]

I wish you would write a fic where jack comes back from going to kiss bitty at graduation and his parents chirp him SO HARD bc his phone keeps goign off and he's all pleased and bashful about it and doesn't outright admit anything but it's SUPER CLEAR what happend

This is…. not quite what you wanted but it’s set at the same time and its similar. also its what popped into my head as i procrastinate my last paper so…

“Well, that one clearly just got laid,” you say to Ashlyn as the two of you finally get the chance to stand still and lean against the bar. You’re behind it and she’s in the little nook that servers hide in when they don’t want their tables to see them. She swivels her head to see who you are looking at. 

“Which one?”

“Table 4. Dark suit, blue tie, looks just like his dad.”

Ashlyn looks. Then giggles. “You’re fucking right about that. Look at him!”

“So laid,” you agree. “Probably after the ceremony too. And good too. You don’t walk around with a smile like that unless you got right fu–”

“Excuse me?”

Your mouth snaps shut. Hard. Because this place isn’t particularly fancy–but it is the traditional college bar and it is graduation. Which means all the alums and parents are back and you probably should not be talking like this. It’s a classy day. 

And it only gets worse as it turns because this place isn’t classy, but, goodness, this woman is. Reddish-blond hair perfectly styled in that long-bob that’s so in right now, red and white dress, fashionable belt, and blue eyes expertly enhanced by the slightest bit of brown eyeliner. Ugh. After only 4 hours of tending bar on graduation day, you are pretty sure you look like some sort of monster.

Also, she looks vaguely familiar. As if maybe you’ve seen her somewhere. Somewhere important?

Also, she is a paying customer who just overheard you gossiping about how one of the newly graduated college boys probably had sex within the past hour so…

Not a great moment for you, to be honest. 

Ashlyn spins as if she’s going to make a break for it under the guise of helping a table but all her tables are eating peacefully (or just talking) and so she ends up just leaning away, still in the nook, and pretending you weren’t talking to her. 

“Oh, hi!” you say, brightly. “How can I help you?”

“Just wanted to let you know the ladies’ room is almost out of toilet paper,” she says. You begin to nod. You will handle that right away, ma’am; you will– “I already pulled some out from under the sink so you’re good for a little while but there was only one more roll down there so… when you get a second.”

You blink. This woman does not look like the type of woman who would risk opening the disgusting sink and looking underneath. 

“I used to work here back in the day,” she says with a smile. You relax. “So who just got laid?”

You un-relax. And blush. 

“Oh, no one. We were just–”

“Please,” the woman says. “Somehow my husband and son are talking hockey and I’m bored out of my mind. Fill me in on the gossip.”

“Hockey is a big deal here,” Ashlyn pipes up, now that the woman seems friendly enough. “We don’t follow any of it but after games it’s always crazy.”

“Yes, well, I don’t hate it but I’ve heard it before,” she says. “So. Gossip. Also, could I grab a glass of wine. I know it’ll be a bar tab too, don’t worry about it.Are you talking about the boy in the corner? His hair certainly looks like it. ”

You snort a laugh. That’s true. But you are pretty sure that’s ‘I have grown too used to just waking up and stumbling to class’ hair rather than sex hair.

“No, no,” you say, starting to pour her glass. “Though his hair is messy. We’re talking about Blushy McBlusherman over on the right. By the window.”

The woman turns and frowns, eyes scanning.

“Dark suit, light blue tie,” Ashlyn supplies. “Talking to his hot dad right now. They look pretty much the same.”

“Except,” you add, sliding the glass of wine over to her. “Junior just got laid. Kid’s got full on sex eyes.”

The woman must see who you’re talking about because her eyes lock on the target and she sort of freezes and stares and–

“Really?” she says. She sounds a bit delighted. Young for a moment as if you are all only in high school talking about this. Then she sort of composed herself and turns back to you, a doubtful look on her face. “How can you tell?”

“Look at his blush!” you say. “And the sex eyes.”

“It’s a whole vibe,” Ashlyn adds. “He’s got a sex vibe.”

“He could be a little tipsy,” she replies. Not true disagreement, just enough to get the debate going. You lean forward.

“No, no, watch,” you tell her. “He’s got his phone in his hand under the table. He’s letting his dad talk while he texts like every few minutes. And every time he texts, the blush gets worse.”

“Also, the smile,” Ashlyn adds, leaning in too. “Right side of his face. Unless his dad is talking about… I don’t know giving him a million dollars for graduation, that is a ‘I got laid’ smile.”

“I don’t see him texting,” the woman says.

“Watch,” you tell her. “He’s not that great at hiding it.”

“Pretty sure the dad knows,” Ashlyn says. “He’s definitely monologuing but in that ‘I know you aren’t listening way.’“

“Oh good point,” you say. You hadn’t noticed that bit. Watching Junior is more fun. He’s hot. And blushy. It’s cute.

“You really think so?” the woman says. “But… but when? When would he have had time?”

“Not sure,” you say. This is fun, now. You feel like a detective. “But with a smile like that and that much texting I would say it had to be sometime after the ceremony.”

“Or during the ceremony,” Ashlyn says and there’s a crude gesture and you laugh and the woman looks a little taken back by this and a smidge offended but Ashlyn notices and stops quickly and the woman doesn’t actually say anything. Just swivels back and looks again. Smiling a little bit. 

“I wonder who with,” she says, more to herself than anyone. But you are a bartender and it is pretty much your job to answer when people are mostly talking to themselves. 

“Whoever is on the other end of that text chain,” you reply. “Someone he knew though.”

“Oh yeah, no way this is a random hookup,” Ashlyn says. “The blush, the smile, he keeps fiddling with his tie.”

“That’s a ‘I’m in love’ tie fiddle if I’ve ever seen one.”

“In love?” the woman says, sounding even more alarmed. But she’s grinning.

“Oh yeah,” you say. “This was like… years of sexual tension, all coming out at graduation. A goodbye but also a start. This was epic. I feel it.”

“I’m calling it right now,” Ashlyn declares, banging the bar. “He’s gonna marry whoever he just had sex with! I’d bet ten dollars.”

You laugh and Ashlyn makes eye contact with someone at one of her tables and hurries off. “Twenty dollars!” she calls over her shoulder. You laugh and step back as Vinny brings out fresh glasses and watch the woman as she watches the boy once again text someone under the table and blush and smile about it. 

“In love,” she repeats. It’s not quite a question this time. “He’s in love.”

You want to tell the woman that she should probably look away now. They are pretty far back but she has been staring like a creeper and you open your mouth to say, look, that couple clearly hates each other and is only there for their kid who is graduating and–

“Thank you,” she says a bit abruptly but she turns and she means it. You hope her family stops talking about hockey. Clearly this poor woman is bored out of her mind. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you say. “Come back for gossip about strangers in the bar anytime!”

She laughs a little at that and pulls out her wallet and you want to tell her not to bother, that the glass of wine was on the house, but she is moving sort of frantically now (and, fair, she had been away from her family for a good five-ten minutes).

“He is love,” she repeats. “That is… that is just wonderful. I- I have to get back.”

She sort of throws money on the bar and waves a little as she walks away and then she is walking towards Table 4 and what the fuck is she–

She slides in to the empty seat. The dad looks over at her and smiles in that way happily married people do when they see their partner after a short absence and she reaches out to casually touch her son’s shoulder and the conversation doesn’t stop so she’s not interrupting, she belongs there which means that just-got-laid boy is her son. 

Just-got-laid boy is her son. Sex Eyes is her son. What the. 

This is it. This is how you go.

“Oh my god,” Ashlyn says. You hadn’t even noticed she was walking back towards you. “Did we just tell that kid’s mom that he–”

“Yup,” you say. It’s all you can manage. “Yes we did.” 

Ashlyn stares at you. Idly puts whatever order she just got into the machine, then turns to stare at the family. Then back at you. 

Holy shit. You are pretty sure your face is so red you are going to combust at any second. 

“Oh my god,” Ashlyn says again. “Well. She asked! And, at least she paid for her wine.”

That reminds you and you tear your eyes away from the table and look down at the bill she slide over to you and–

Oh.

It’s a stack of bills. 

It’s a stack of twenties. 

It’s… she’s given you… you pick them up to count. 

She’s given you two hundred and forty dollars. 

“Still,” Ashlyn is saying, shaking her head. “She could complain to Tony because I think that’s what I would do if someone told me my son had sex eyes.”

“Ashlyn,” you say even though Ashlyn is on one of her rants now.

“We also called her husband a DILF at one point I think. Or was that just me? In my head? Oh, god, either way this is–”

“Ashlyn.”

“I bet twenty dollars. Twenty dollars on her son’s marriage.”

“Ashlyn,” you finally break through and she looks at you.

You hold up the cash.

“I don’t think she minded.”

[afaims100arrowversefavs]

Submission Time!

So I don’t normally do that, but I want to make a Top 100 Favorite Romantic Moments-List and I want a balanced one, not one with 50 Westallen, 25 Supergirl Moments mainly consisting of Karamel, mixed with some Sanvers and Dansen, and 15 Legends Moment with mainly Avalance and fill up the rest with what comes to mind.

So, I want you to submit your favorite Romantic Moment. This goes especially for “Black Lightning” because it has been a very long time since I saw the first two seasons, so please tell me your favorite moment between Grace and Anissa, Jennifer and Khalil or Jefferson and Lynn (I remember them mostly fightning, but there most have been romantic moments between them somewhere, I can vaguely remember one bed-scene, but there had to be more....).

I also goes out especially to fans of “Arrow”. What was Oliver Queen’s biggest romantic gesture? What was your favorite moment between Thea and Roy and which moment between John and Lyla did you like the most?

Of couse you can also submit for “The Flash”, “Supergirl”, “Legends of Tomorrow” and “Batwoman”. What is your favorite scene with your pet-ship in it? No, it does not have to be a Canon Couple, however if it isn’t, you have to argue why this moment is romantic and if the ship is neither canon nor among my Top 100 Favorite Ships the chances that their moment will turn up on the list are not that high, however I might use the submitted moment for another list later on instead.

I am also planning of making a Top 100 Favorite Family Moments-List, probably before the other so the romantic one is nearer to Valentine’s Day. You can submit your favorite moments for this one too. What was your favorite West(-Allen) Family Moment? What was your favorite Queen-Family, Lance-Family or Pierce-Family Moment? What was your favorite Moment between the Danvers Sisters or the Kane Twins or between Kate and Mary? Family of Choice and Found Family does count as well. The Legends celebrating Christmas, yes, this is a Family Moment. Team Flash dancing, the same.

For all submissions:

Please note:

Don’t reblog or comment here, but send me a Private Message through Chat, Ask, or something along those lines instead.  And please, if you want your submission to work out, tell me the episode the moment is in. If you don’t know the title or number of the episode tell me at least which season it was in and when it happened (beginning, middle, end) or give me some choices if you can’t remember (like: it happend around the end of the season between episode 20-23) or just tell me in certain terms what happened in the episode (like: The episode with the Dollmaker or The episode in which Barry time traveled some years into to the future in Season 3).

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter two: $40

on ao3 1

here we are again. hope everyone had a good october, mine was....something. sorry if the writing style/tone changes a bit throughout, i basically wrote this in two sittings, just two sittings with a month between them

warning: discussions of mental health, mentions of suicide/suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, let me know if other warnings need to be added

enjoy!

Connor is starting to run out of places in town where he can be alone without someone in his family finding him. Zoe is a little too perceptive and his mother has eyes everywhere. It’s kind of creepy and Connor’s sick of it.

Still, they’ve yet to find him at the old elementary school playground so far. Maybe it’s because the playground is hidden behind the school and is surrounded on two sides by tall trees. Or just because it’s in the rundown part of town, abandoned until the town can think of something better to do with a building almost as old as the town itself.

Connor is pretty sure people have broken into the school before. There are definitely serious drug deals that take place under the biggest tree on the edge of the fields. But mostly it’s just empty.

Connor’s been here before to smoke. Yeah, he’s been the creepy teenager smoking on the swingset at three in the morning before. Who the fuck cares, no one comes by here to get him in trouble. But more often then not, he just comes here to think.

He sits on a swing and holds onto the rusting chains and just stares at his knees and thinks. Or dissociates. Or both. He can’t tell anymore.

It’s been a fucking day. He definitely hadn’t planned getting yelled at by Evan Hansen into his schedule.

For one, he didn’t think Evan had it in him. For another… Connor doesn’t actually know what he’d been expecting when he sat down in the computer lab instead of going to last period. Maybe that one thing in his life would be easy. He could apologize to Evan or something and they could maybe slowly make it seem like they were drifting apart or something.

Connor doesn’t know how friends work. It’s been years since he had a real one.

And Evan isn’t even a real one.

He walks the swing in circles, twisting the chains together until he can’t twist anymore, then lifts his feet from the ground. He lets his toes drag along the ground as he spins in slow circles, the chains groaning as they untwist.

He can still hear Evan’s voice in his mind, shouting at him.

I just jumped out of a fucking tree!

He tried to backtrack so quickly. Take back the truth he’d released to the world. But Connor saw it. There had been a moment of clarity.

That was Evan Hansen.

That singular moment of honesty says more about Evan Hansen more than he will ever say about himself. He’s awkward, anxious to a fault, and suicidal. He looks at the world and he doesn’t see a future. He sees in grays and muddled tones and doesn’t see something worth fighting for.

Or maybe that’s just Connor projecting.

The swing dips a little as it stops untwisting, moving back and forth with the remaining momentum. Sometimes, sitting on these swings, he feels like a little kid. Mostly he just feels out of place.

But it’s better than home. Home, where he has no bedroom door. Home, where his mom is desperate for him to get better but doesn’t know how to help. Home, where his father doesn’t want to face the facts or him. Home, where his sister has given up.

Home, which is a building and not much more.

Connor closes his eyes and rests his head against the old chain. Childhood doesn’t feel real anymore. It’s hard to believe he was a little kid. That he was happy. That he constantly didn’t feel like shit.

His entire life has been overshadowed and stained by his present. He wishes he’d been able to wipe it out— that he’d been able to wipe him out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Only twice. A text.

His other only calls. She leaves frantic voicemails and voicemails with forced cheer. Nothing else.

No one else contacts him.

Connor sighs and opens his eyes. The sky is starting to get dark already. As it gets closer to winter, night comes faster and god he can’t wait for the darkness to just swallow him whole.

Dramatic depressing stuff like that.

His phone buzzes in his pocket again. He leans away from the chain to pull his phone from his pocket. He squints at the overly bright screen as his eyes adjust.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im s o soryr I shoulnd t have  yelled a t you or said thos e things      And IM s orry that I ran out and tha t happend a dn

Connor stares at the screen. A few moments later, he gets another text.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Cna  we talk tomorro w      After sc hool computer lba      IMs or y I can ttype righ tnow

Connor hesitates, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of him forgot he gave Evan his number. Part of him thought Evan would never try to contact him ever again.

From: Connor To: (522) 144-8119      its fine      and ok      ill see you there

—«·»—

Connor slams the front door to announce that he’s home. He doesn’t bother actually using his voice, he’s tired and ready to just lay in bed and stop existing for a while.

“Don’t slam the door,” his father says from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper.

Connor rolls his eyes. There are only so many doors he can slam in this house nowadays. He’s going to take advantage of what he can get.

His mom leans out from the kitchen, a smile plastered onto her face. She looks tired, even though she’s trying not to. Connor knows better. As the cause of most of her stress and frustration, he absolutely knows better. “How was your first day back, sweetie?” she asks. And she’s trying to be so excited for him.

Cynthia Murphy is attempting to hold her household together with pure faked optimism alone. She is the only positive force in the family, but it’s wrong and plastic.

Connor shrugs and makes his way toward the stairs.

“Answer your mother,” Larry says. Sort of mutters, sort of uninterested sounding, sort of irritating.

Connor stops on the bottom stair with his hand on the railing and turns to look at his mom. “It was whatever.”

“Is that all?” She twists a dishrag in her hands.

He sighs. She probably deserves more than that. “It was boring. Missed a lot. I’ve got homework. Probably going to fail out of math. Lunch is still shit—”

“Language,” Larry mutters.

“And the guidance counselor only talked to me for seventeen minutes this time.” Connor glances to his mom. “So yeah. It was okay.”

Cynthia smiles again, a little less forced. “I’m glad. I’ll call you for dinner, see what you can get done, okay?”

Connor nods.

He’d rather not deal with dinner.

—«·»—

“How’s Evan?” is this first question Cynthia asks when Connor sits down for dinner and puts half a spoonful of tonight’s vegetable of the day on his plate.

“He’s fine,” Connor mutters. He needs to end this conversation as fast as humanly possible.

“That’s wonderful, he seems like a nice boy.”

Larry hums in agreement and Connor tries not to grimace. Zoe just looks bored.

“He’s…cool.” Maybe vague compliments will work until his mom gets tired of this line of questioning.

“You’ve never told us about Evan,” she muses. “You aren’t even friends on Facebook!”

Connor’s brain goes into panic mode because oh shit. Of course Cynthia checked Facebook, that’s possibly one of the most predictable things she’s ever done. Which— fuck, Connor definitely should’ve seen this coming.

“People don’t use Facebook anymore, Mom,” Zoe says flatly, staring down at her plate.

Connor glances at her and then does a double take, gesturing to her. “That.”

Cynthia purses her lips. “I still use it.”

Zoe flicks her gaze to Connor before looking back to their mom. “You know what I mean.”

“I can ask him if he has one if you want me to,” Connor says, because if this conversation doesn’t end he’s going to come up with some sort of escape plan and he does not have a good track record with those.

Cynthia smiles and, god, does Connor feel guilty. This better be worth it in the long run.

Connor goes to school like he doesn’t have to drag himself out of bed and force himself into the car. He pretends he doesn’t hate Zoe’s music choices or notice that she stops more suddenly than she has to. He just grits his teeth and focuses on the cookie cutter houses they’re passing.

He hates the suburbs.

“I have rehearsal today,” Zoe says when she parks the car. “Figure out how to get home or wait.”

Connor rolls his eyes and slams the door harder than he knows he has to. “I’ll walk,” he grumbles.

The thing about high school is that it’s boringly and horribly constant. It’s also just fucking awful, but it’s mind numbing and dull. Even if Connor actually tried, and he can’t exactly remember the last time he did, he would not be having a good time.

He’s pretty sure the only people who have a good time in high school are the people whose lives will only go downhill from here and the people who are fucking lying to themselves.

The bells are piercing and make him grimace and the awful rotating yet standard schedule is one of the worst things to ever happen to him. He hates seeing the same people in the same space every single day. He can hear Alana Beck talking his ear off about the factory system and how the American education system creates people who follows rules more than anything else as she conformed to the system and followed all the rules back when they were sophomores in a boring, standard english class that left Connor feeling tired and bored.

He stalks down the hallway, glaring whenever anyone gets too close. One of the few perks of being known as the kid who may actually try to kill someone. People leave him the fuck alone.

The last time he really did homework was the end of sophomore year. All he has to do is not fail. And that doesn’t require doing homework.

If Connor tried, he could probably be a half decent student. But Zoe tries hard enough for the both of them and he would rather just get high.

At this point, his biggest problem in school is staying conscious through the whole thing.

He spends lunch in the library, hiding in a back corner where no one ever goes and pulls a random book off the shelves and reads about someone he’s never heard of until the bell rings and he forces himself to go back to a class that makes his eyes glaze over as people discuss readings that he absolutely did not do.

Connor finds himself getting almost anxious as the end of the day nears. He’s not sure why, sure Evan wants to talk, but it can’t be that bad. Evan holds the cards at the moment, but they’re both in this mess together. The worst Connor can think of is Evan bringing Kleinman and Kleinman being…himself.

Connor stalls in his last class for a few minutes while everyone clears out. His teacher ignores him to talk to a student that actually tries and once the hallways have cleared a bit, Connor gets up and takes the long way to the computer lab.

The long way is away from the school entrance, meaning the hallways are almost empty aside from a few laggers. No one wants to spend any more time in this hellhole than necessary. With it’s annoying posters and rows and rows of never ending lockers that no one ever uses. They’re pointless, just there for show and storing things kids aren’t supposed to have on school grounds.

When Connor pushes open the door to the computer lab, Evan Hansen is awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, gripping the straps of his backpack in his hands.

Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “Hey.”

Evan takes a shaky breath. “H-hi.”

“So.” Connor drops his back on the floor and kicks it closer to one of the tables. “You wanted to talk.”

“I-I wanted to apologize,” Evan says quickly, “for yesterday because I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have assumed or, like, implied that you were, I mean, that you wanted to—” He shakes his head. “That you were. Using me? That was— I was…confused by— confused because of, of the timing but that doesn’t mean it was…okay.”

Connor crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, if I kill myself it’s not going to be fucking performance art.”

Evan winces.

“If my family is going to mourn something they’re going to mourn actual me, not the me some stranger makes up because my mom thinks we’re buddies or something even though we aren’t even friends on Facebook.”

Evan frowns. “F-facebook?”

Connor waves a hand. “Never mind. The point is, I was using you. Just not…like that. I am using you. Currently. Present tense. If…you’re still in?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another twenty dollar bill. He holds it out to Evan.

Evan stares at it. “Y-you still want to…to do this?”

“I have three choices,” Connor says. “One: we keep doing this and then slowly break it off. Two: we fake a big fight and never speak to each other ever again. Or three: I tell my parents it was a lie. Haven’t thought that one through yet.”

Evan chews on his bottom lip. “Okay.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “You’re in?”

Evan nods.

“Good.” He walks over to Evan and shoves the money into his hand. He yanks his hand away and shoves it in his pocket before Evan can tell it’s shaking.

“W-why—?”

“It’s been a week,” Connor explains. “There’s your twenty. We agreed to that.”

Evan stares at the bill in the palm of his hand. “Um…right. Right. Do we,” he glances up at Connor, “are there…other rules? Or like? A plan or are we just…?”

“Winging it?” Connor suggests.

Evan makes a face. “Let’s— can we not do that? That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Okay fine. Rule number one, we don’t tell anyone else about this.” Connor gestures between the two of them. “If no one else knows, it’s easier to keep it a secret.”

Evan grimaces. “J-Jared will know.”

“What?”

“He— Jared can always tell when I’m lying, he’s-he’s really good at it. It’s…kind of scary, actually.”

Connor scowls. “Seriously? Are you that bad a liar?”

Evan shakes his head quickly. “We’ve just known each other— it’s been so long he can just…tell.”

Connor sighs. “Okay then. Can we trust Jared?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“We’re fucked.”

“I-I think…” Evan trails off.

“You think what?” Connor prompts.

Evan takes a breath. “I think…if we tell him an-and explain everything, we have a better chance of him keeping it a secret. Because then he— he’s included in it or something? Since he’ll figure it out anyway it might just be best to…to tell him right away.”

If someone has to know, Connor would not have chosen Jared Kleinman to be that person. But if he has to do it…

“Whatever,” Connor decides. “We swear him to secrecy and threaten to hurt him if he tells anyone.”

Evan tugs on his shirt. “Um…yeah th-that— okay.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I won’t actually hurt him.”

“I knew that,” Evan mutters.

“We can come up with other rules on the fly,” Connor offers.

Evan opens his mouth and then closes it quickly.

“What?”

“I…” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Connor groans. “It’s not nothing! Just tell me!”

“I don’t know anything about you!” Evan bursts out. “H-how do we—? We’re supposed to be best friends? How long have we been friends? What do we do when we hang out? What if people ask us questions?!”

Those are good points that Connor hadn’t considered because he’s been doing this on impulse. Obviously, Evan has thought this through a bit more. Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Are you free right now?”

“N-not right now,” Evan stutters. “Later tonight?”

“You still have my phone number?” Connor asks instead.

Evan nods.

“Text me when you’re free, we can figure stuff out then.” Connor moves to leave. “If…you’re cool with that?”

“Fine!” Evan says quickly.

Connor eyes him before shrugging and turning away. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah…s-see you”

—«·»—

Connor walks home from school, because Zoe is at rehearsal for another hour and he’s a.) not hanging around school for that long and b.) not spending more time in the car with her than necessary. It takes a while and his mom is still somehow worried about him crossing a highway, but he doesn’t care. The walk is strangely nice. Kind of calming and gives him some time to think. Mostly about Evan Hansen.

Knowing his mother, they’re going to need a hell of a backstory. She likes to dig until she hits rock bottom. And then she pulls out a pick ax and starts swinging.

“I’m home!” he shouts as he throws open the front door. He closes it and waits for the usual “how was school, honey?” to come from the kitchen before he starts making his way up the stairs.

“It was fine,” he answers. “Doing homework.”

Connor didn’t think either of them believed that, but whatever. He threw his bag onto the floor and kicked off his shoes before flopping onto the bed.

Now he just has to wait for Evan.

—«·»—

Connor wakes up with a jerk when his phone starts buzzing repeatedly. He rolls onto his back and pulls his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen as his heart tries to calm down.

From: (522) 114-8119 To: Connor      Im hom e      Sorry if htis is a bad item for you

Connor changes the contact name from the number to Evan’s name before he responds.

From: Connor To: Evan      its fine im not doing anything      can i come over yours?

Connor glances around his room, eyes settling on the doorframe. They definitely can’t do this here. He hopes Evan is cool with them sitting in an abandoned playground if all else fails.

From: Evan To: Connor      Thats fine!!!      You need my address don t you that would probably be helplfu

He keeps laying in bed until Evan’s sent the address and Connor has found it on Google Maps. He can walk, it’s not too bad.

The world spins a little bit when he stands up from his bed, swaying and darkening as the blood rushes from his head.

Connor stumbles out of his room and down the stairs, figuring he probably doesn’t need to bring anything with him to Evan’s. All they’re going to do is talk.

He glances at the time. Hopefully his mom doesn’t care if he skips dinner tonight.

Connor takes a pit stop in the kitchen and steals an apple from the bowl on the island on his way to the front door.

“Dinner is soon,” Zoe says pointedly from where she’s leaning against the counters.

Connor ignores her. “I’m going over Evan’s,” he says to Cynthia.

She looks up from the frying pan in surprise. “You are?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of the apple. “Yeah we’re going to…” he should’ve thought of an excuse earlier, “play a video game. Or something.”

Cynthia claps her hands together. “That’s great! Have fun and let me know when you get there and when you’re on your way back, okay?” She presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek. “And make sure you eat!”

“I will,” Connor mumbles.

“You don’t even know him,” Zoe mutters.

Fuck. He should’ve known Zoe backing him up last night was an outlier. Connor glares at her and flips her off.

“Zoe, be nice,” Cynthia says firmly. “Text me when you get there, Connor.”

He nods and leaves before Zoe can make any more commentary. He can only hope she doesn’t press it while he isn’t there.

Connor eats his apple as he follows the directions on his phone. Evan’s house isn’t too far, but it’s already starting to get darker and this town is shit, so the streets aren’t exactly well lit.

He stands on a street corner and watches a truck go by with complete disregard for a stop sign before he crosses the street and turns onto Evan’s road.

Connor pauses outside the house that matches the number and description Evan gave. He sends a quick text as he walks up the walkway to the front door.

From: Connor To: Evan      outside what i think is your house      gonna knock

Connor knocks once before the door swings open. He blinks in surprise as Evan stares at him.

Connor clears his throat. “Hey…can I come in?”

Evan steps out of the way. “Y-yeah of course you can— just. Yeah, take off your shoes here that’s… You can do that.”

Connor steps inside and takes off his boots as Evan closes and locks the door. “Parents home?” he asks.

Evan shakes his head. “No my mom’s— she’s working late tonight. Long night.”

“Dad?” Connor asks absentmindedly as he drops his boots by Evan’s shoes.

He looks up when Evan doesn’t answer.

Evan is staring at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, picking at his cast.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s fine,” Evan interrupts. “He’s not here. It’s just— just me and my mom.” Evan gestures down the hallway. “Let’s just— follow me.”

He leads Connor into a kitchen, smaller and older than the one in the Murphy household. There’s a twenty dollar bill sitting on the table and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“I-I don’t have any—” Evan shakes his head. “I have money to order pizza if…you want.”

“Maybe in a bit.” Connor leans against the counter. “I uh…never apologized for taking that letter, did I?”

Evan laughs awkwardly. “N-not real— I mean it’s fine! It’s fine it’s, it’s not a big deal it’s just…”

“What?” Connor asks slowly. “What was it?”

Evan takes a deep breath and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “I-it was an assignment for— for therapy.”   

Connor raises his eyebrows. “You go to therapy?”

“Yeah? I, um, I have… severe anxiety?” Evan gestures to himself. “And depression but that’s kind of— to a lesser extent usually? But yeah. It’s um…the letter— it’s supposed to make me more positive about my day? Uh, dear Evan Hansen, today’s going t-to be a good day and here’s why…” He trails off and glances to the sink.

Connor hesitates before he says his next thought. “My parents… They thought it was a my suicide note.”  

Evan closes his eyes tightly and opens them. “Uh yeah well, I-I mean it’s…it’s supposed to be a positive thing but it’s— it’s almost never a good day? In fact it’s usually a very bad day and the first day of school was a— it wasn’t…There wasn’t much positive in it. And Zoe, I— The letter was— It wasn’t meant for you it was for this assignment. And Zoe is— after you, you know.” Evan gestures to Connor and Connor tries not to grimace.

“Zoe saw me and-and she talked to me and she’s— Ihavethisreallysillycrushonher which is silly because I don’t even know her! The letter says I don’t even know her cause I don’t, she’s just— she’s a girl who’s pretty and nice and she smiles a lot and she doesn’t seem bothered by anything.” Connor raises his eyebrows. “She seems to have herself figured out and that’s— she’s just a girl I see sometimes and I guess that’s—”

Evan ducks his head. “She saw me and she helped me up. That doesn’t happen. Not— not to me.”

Connor looks away. There are a lot of things to process in that and his mind doesn’t want to process any of them. His eyes land on the money on the table.

“What kind of pizza do you like?” Connor asks.

“W-what?”

Connor steps forward and picks up the bill. “Pizza,” he repeats. “What do you want? I’ll make the call.”

Evan blinks a few times. “Uh…cheese is fine?”

“Cool.” He pulls out his phone. “Let’s see how much food we can get for twenty bucks.”

Evan gives him a weak smile. “O-okay.”

Connor paces around the kitchen as he places the order at the pizza place. There are places in town where you can order online, but their sauce isn’t as good and their breadsticks are shitty. Once he’s hung up, he sits down at the table and gestures for Evan to do the same.

“You wanted to figure things out, right?” Connor asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

Evan nods.

“Let’s do this then.”