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bostonluxorlimo · 4 years

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Efficient Limousine Car Service from Boston to Sunderland MA with Child Car seat

Call at: (617) 858-7300 or Online Reservation: www.

Bostonluxorlimo

.comAre you looking for car service?

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#airportcarservice

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bostontaxicabs · 4 years

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Boston Taxi Cab Service from Boston to Sunderland MA with Booster seat

Call at: – (617) 987-4003 or Online booking:

www.Bostontaxicab.com

Boston Taxi Cab Service is one of the best providers of Minivan Taxi Cab with Child Car Seat from Boston to Sunderland MA. We offer a taxi service to all the areas of Sunderland MA. Our transportation service is available 24 days a month. All the drivers undergo hard training before they are selected and appoint with all the legal documentation. Your safety and security are our top priority that’s why we are only providing expert drivers at your service. Our transport operates in any atmospheric condition day and night. If you have children with your ride, you don’t need to be taking any kind of pressure. Because we offer a child’s seat along with a low-cost ride.

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#taxicabsunderlandma #airporttaxicabsunderland

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thisisnotacreativeusername · 6 years

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Live

archiveofourown link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868644

***

Connor Murphy couldn’t live for himself.

He knew that’s what everyone said: live for yourself, external things are only temporary, find things about yourself that you like and live for them.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t find anything about himself that he could live for.

~~~

Evan usually didn’t talk much. He was anxious constantly, too afraid of embarrassing himself or messing up to say too much at once. Occasionally, he would ramble, backtracking and apologizing all the while.

That’s why this was such an accomplishment.

Connor didn’t know if Evan had realized it, but he had been talking for over ten minutes. First, it had been something cool he’d seen about giant squid and the fact that the ocean was unfathomably terrifying. Then it had been how the rainforest was also pretty terrifying(“Can you imagine? Plants can choke trees to death. Like a snake. That’s so scary.”) Then it had been Evan’s favorite trees.

Connor didn’t mind. He found it kind of endearing, actually. It was nice to just listen to someone talk about something they were passionate about.

They were in Connor’s room, with Connor lying on his bed and Evan sitting on the floor, facing the wall as he talked.

“Did you know sycamore trees are called buttonball trees sometimes? Because of the shape of their fruit. If I had a dog, I’d probably name it Sycamore. Just because I like the tree so much. Or Bonsai. Oh, and they’re super tall, too! Like, over 100 feet. But redwood trees are taller, they can get to, like, 300 feet,” Evan said. He glanced back at Connor with a grin on his face. He paused, seeming to realize how long he had been talking.

“So, um. Yeah.” Evan trailed off.

Connor frowned. There was silence between them for a couple minutes. Evan tapped his fingers on the floor and Connor pulled out his phone when a thought occurred to him.

“Hey, Hansen,” he started.

Evan looked back up at him, expression questioning.

“What the fuck is the difference between aspen trees and birch trees?”

A small smile spread across Evan’s face.

“Well, birch trees have easily peelable bark-”

~~~

Connor reached for the nearest thing- his honors English required reading- and threw it as hard as he could across the room. It hit the wall with a bang and he could hear the shelves in the hallway rattle.

He grabbed the next thing- a notebook his therapist had told him to write down his anxieties in- and chucked it at the wall. It made a smack instead of a thud. The rattling was quieter, but he could still hear it.

The next thing. A mug, containing all of his pencils. Connor stopped and looked at it for a moment. There was nothing special about it. It was just a plain white mug. But it made him pause.

Suddenly, there were tears in his eyes. He put the mug back down and took a step backward. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Connor hiccupped and wiped his eyes with his fist.

Connor sat down heavily and pushed himself backward until his back was against the wall and he couldn’t see into the hallway through the doorway. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like this, but he had quickly run out of energy to cry and just stared numbly at the edge of the doorway.

Eventually, the silence was broken.

The sound of a gentle knock on the doorframe was sudden and shocking. Connor jolted, blinking out of his trance.

Slowly, hesitantly, Zoe took a step into the room. She was tense. Her arms were stuck to her sides and her fists were clenched around a small object.

Connor didn’t say anything and just looked at her with confusion. Why would she willingly come into his room? Why was she here? Why was she here? Why was she here?

Zoe cleared her throat. “Um. I, uh, heard that you were. Um. Angry? And I thought, um, that maybe we could, uh, we could do something to help, like, um. Get your, uh, get your mind off of it. Or something,” she said. Her eyes were focused just above Connor, refusing to meet his own.

Connor furrowed his brow.

“I. Uh. I brought nail polish?” she said. She loosened her grip on the small object and held it out, revealing a bottle of dark, navy blue polish. “We could watch a movie, too.”

Connor nodded slightly. “Spider-Man 2?” he asked, voice slightly raspy.

Zoe smiled. “Sure thing.”

“Can we move to your room?” Connor said.

Zoe bit her lip and looked back at the hallway. “Yeah, sure.”

Zoe’s room was way different than the last time he had been in here. Then again, Connor didn’t even remember when the last time was. Middle school? Elementary?

The walls were a soft blue, lit up by the sunlight that filtered in through sheer white curtains. A white bookcase was pushed up against the left wall, bursting with YA romance novels, high fantasy books, and sheet music. Zoe’s guitar leaned up against the shelf. A couple posters of old Gershwin musicals and Marvel movies were hanging up at irregular intervals, and there were glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling.

Connor remembered those stars. They both got some when they were little and had stuck them up together. The only thing remaining of the stars in his room were sad stains. He kind of missed them.

Zoe sat down on the bed and grabbed her laptop. She patted the comforter next to her, gesturing for Connor to sit down next to her. He did, albeit a little awkwardly. They watched the first ten minutes of the movie while Connor chipped of the remnants of his nail polish, and then Zoe unscrewed a base coat and carefully painted it on his nails.

“You’re a lot better at this than I am,” he said. Zoe startled and looked up.

“Well, it’s clear, so you can’t really see all of the mistakes I’ve made.”

They lapsed back into silence. Connor looked back at the movie while Zoe moved on to paint the dark blue, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she frowned in concentration.

This was nice. Connor looked back at Zoe, looked at how they were sitting, looked at how… normal this was. How normal it felt.

Zoe finished with a top coat.

“There. Nice and pretty,” she said. Connor examined his nails. They were smooth and shiny, not a single drop on his cuticles. He smiled.

Connor hung out in Zoe’s room a lot more after that.

~~~

Connor did not want to go to the cafeteria today. He had a… run-in with some people earlier, and he didn’t want to have to interact with them again.

He waited off to the side of the cafeteria doors, barely looking inside. Just barely, he could spot the pastel blue of Evan’s shirt towards the back. He didn’t go in.

“Connor?”

Connor spun around, his heart racing. Alana Beck stood in front of him, clutching her books tight to her chest. “Hi,” he said.

Alana shifted her weight. “You aren’t going into the cafeteria,” she noted.

Connor blinked. He nodded.

“If you want, you can sit with me in the library,” Alana said.

Connor was taken aback. Did she really want that? The library was probably a better option than just hanging out by the doors, though.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Alana beamed.

The corner of the library they had chosen was cozy, with those plush stools in between bookshelves and fake trees(the kind that were brown paper stapled to the wall in the shape of a trunk with construction paper leaves spreading over the ceiling).

Alana was copying things from one notebook into a separate notebook. She looked up and caught Connor looking at her. “It helps with memorization,” she said. “Some kind of study was done on it, I think. And my notes are usually kind of messy when I first take them.”

“Hey, at least you take notes,” Connor said with a shrug. He put in his headphones and leaned back against the side of a bookshelf, letting his mind wander.

Eventually, lunch ended and Alana went to class, sending a parting smile in Connor’s direction.

The next day, Connor sat with Alana again.

~~~

Jared cornered Connor at the end of the day.

Connor was walking down the hallway, focusing on how he just had to make it to the door before he could get in his car and just go the fuck home when he felt an arm slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Connor, my buddy, my man!”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

He didn’t remove his arm.

Instead, Jared adjusted his glasses and flicked his jacket with his free hand, no doubt in an attempt to look cool.

“So Evan has confirmed that you two are, in fact, friends,” Jared said, looking straight ahead with a smirk on his face.

Connor rolled his eyes. “If you’re here to say that it’s a miracle that the school freak has a friend or that Evan and me being friends is ridiculous or anything along those lines, you can kindly fuck off, Kleinman.”

Jared laughed. “No, I’m not here for that. Though, that would be funny.”

He guided Connor off to the side, out of the hallway traffic before turning and facing Connor. His smirk fell, and he looked dead serious. “Okay. Look. I’ve known Evan since forever. I know he’s too afraid of upsetting people to tell them when they’re upsetting him. He sure as hell isn’t going to tell you if you’ve done something wrong.”

Connor tilted his head. He hadn’t taken Jared for the protective type. “I- what-”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad Evan has another friend, but if you do something to hurt him, I’m going to find out and I will call you out on it.”

“I- okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Jared rubbed the back of his neck. “And, also? Evan isn’t perfect. He’s gonna mess up. So. Keep that in mind. Hey, can I see your phone?”

Connor frowned. “Why?”

“I’m gonna put my contact in it, dumbass.”

Bewildered, Connor typed in his passcode and handed Jared his phone. Jared put in his number, sent a text to himself, and handed it back.

“Coolio. See you around, my dude,” Jared said, and headed off in the opposite direction. He turned and called over his shoulder, “Oh, and communication is key! Remember that!”

Connor was left alone next to the lockers.

That was… one of the weirder conversations he’d had with Jared. His phone lit up with a notification.

From: ???

whats up my gay

guy*

thats a lie we all gay

thats just how it be on this bitch of an earth

To: ???

I mean, you’re not wrong.

Connor slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and went out to his car. Maybe being friends with Jared would be nice.

He was wrong. Being friends with Jared was a mistake and only led to being bombarded with extremely cursed images at 4 in the morning. Connor began to wonder if Jared was only pretending to be human and was secretly some sort of cryptid.

~~~

There were four people sitting in the living room with Connor.

He was friends with all of them.

It was a strange thing to think about. Connor Murphy, having friends. Who would’ve thought?

The TV was playing Shrek(Jared’s decision. Connor had wanted Spider-Man: Homecoming. Zoe wanted The Emoji Movie. Alana and Evan said they were down for whatever. Well, look what that led to). Two pizza boxes were open on the table, nearly empty. Soda cans were littered around the room. The movie had been forgotten in favor of talking amongst themselves.

“I’ve gotten into listening to podcasts recently,” Alana was saying. “I’ve been doing a lot of projects, and I realized that having something I can focus on while doing them is actually really helpful!”

Jared piped up from where he was sprawled across the couch. “The only podcasts I listen to are McElroy podcasts, I think. Some good quality jokes in there.”

Connor leaned back against the couch, sitting on the floor next to Evan. “You good?” he whispered. Evan looked over at him and nodded, smilingly gently. His face was flushed, and the light from the TV screen highlighted his freckles.

An empty soda can flew across the room and hit Jared in the face. “Ow! Shit!”

“That’s what you get! For that! Terrible! Extremely cursed! Concept!”

Evan chuckled. “What did he say?”

“Carbonated milk,” Alana said. Horror painted her features.

Connor closed his eyes. “I’ll do you one better,” he said. He paused dramatically for effect. “Carpeted kitchen.”

Zoe scoffed. “Ew, what the fuck?”

Connor just hummed in amusement. He could hear Evan laughing next to him, the sound slightly muffled. He imagined Evan was covering his mouth, but not quite enough to hide his smile.

~~~

Maybe Connor couldn’t live for himself.

But maybe Connor could live for somebody else.

fin.

#dear evan hansen #deh #connor murphy #alana beck #evan hansen #zoe murphy #jared kleinman #deh fic #dear evan hansen fic #deh angst #kinda #its real light if it even qualifies as angst #my writing #please reblog #i crave validation

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goalhofer · 9 days

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Buttonball Tree in Sunderland, Massachusetts.

#Massachusetts #Awesome

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aelockhart · 4 years

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For the Favor of the Fae

A new generation has new ideas. But when traditions involve other-worldly alliances, defying them can prove costly.

Maureen stared at the iron monstrosity.

Her son beamed at the gate, “Brendan’s Brews” scrolling in metalwork across the entryway

“New name, new gate. You like?”

“Dear God, Brendan. Your father’s body not yet gone cold …”

“No one wants some old-timey beer with some old-timey name. Change is good.”

“Finbar was a good man, a good brewer, a good father, and a good name. Since when is being named for a king old-timey?”

Brendan rolled his eyes and rolled the gate open.

“But the worst part is the iron, son. Couldn’t you find something else?”

“It’s the finest wrought iron money can buy, Ma.”

“Tell that to the fae, lad. That’s the one metal they won’t abide.”

“No more folklore. I know what’s best for business.”

Maureen headed out back to the houses that edged the Buttonball Forest. This land had been the family home since they came from the old country. Her father had told the story of winning it in a card game, but she always knew it was more than luck. He’d been aided by the fae folk, whose favor the family had enjoyed for generations. Maureen walked into the main house, where Brendan and his wife now lived.

“Come, Molly. Let’s go to the garden and see what’s to be done.”

Molly pulled the first loaf of bread made from the first spent grain from the oven. She’d been expecting this, but the look on Maureen’s face knocked her off balance. She leaned on the counter for support and cradled her swollen stomach in her arms.

In the garden, they laid out the bread. Molly pulled a flagon out of her pocket and poured a thimbleful of new beer.

“Should we leave extra?”

Maureen sighed. “Whatever we leave won’t be enough. Sure.”

At first, things seemed fine. But July turned to August and Molly entered the ninth month of her pregnancy. One Tuesday, she noticed Monday’s offerings lying untouched where she had left them.

“They’re angry, Brendan.”

“Who’s angry?”

“The fae,” Molly whispered, a pain starting in her side.

“Come on, Molly! I’ve been listening to this tripe all my life.”

“No, Brendan. You‘ve been hearing it, but you haven’t been listening.”

By noon, Molly was in bed, strong pains wracking her at regular intervals.

Brendan went to his mother’s cottage, where he found her, bag in hand, waiting for him.

“She’s scared, Ma. Speaking gibberish about the fae.”

“Son, this child will die. You were always a favorite of the fae. But you’ve gone and left them. The fae don’t like to be forgotten.”

“So this is my fault?”

“My father didn’t just win this land, Brendan. Neither was he simply a businessman. Your father understood this. He respected the forces that brought us this bounty.”

“Bounty,” Brendan spat. “A few acres of land at the edge of a forest? We’re not farmers, Ma. We brew. And the way to turn beer into bounty is to sell it. I’m modernizing, expanding our market. It’s called good business. ”

“It’s called biting the hand that fed you. You threw away their name, lad. You polluted their land with iron. If you’d respected their ways—”

A sharp cry sent them running to the house.

Molly lay in a pool of blood. She held a small blue boy, still attached to the umbilical cord.

Maureen rushed over, pulling a stethoscope from her bag. She held it to the baby’s chest, and listened, pleading silently for a faint pulse. Some long moments later, she shook her head.

She stroked the baby’s face and cut the cord, singing an ancient lullaby. Molly joined, her voice faint and halting.

Brendan sobbed. He came to the bed and placed his hand upon his dead son’s head.

“He was to be called Neil—”

Molly found her voice. “He is Niall. He was not ours to name.”

Maureen directed her son to a chair in the corner. She placed Niall in his arms and returned to Molly, delivering her of the unlucky placenta.

All night, Maureen kept vigil while Molly slept and Brendan sat still as stone, the dead baby in his arms.

At dawn they went to the garden. Brendan dug the tiny grave. Maureen held a leather purse containing an ancient coin and the linen-wrapped placenta of her stillborn grandson.

Brendan laid the baby in the ground. The women covered the body with dirt. Maureen arranged a handful of rocks to mark the grave.

Molly spoke. “We return Niall to you. He was not our son, but our hope, stolen in the dark of a faithless night. Forgive us. We forgot not only from whence came Niall, but from whence came we. We recommit to honoring the bond between us and the fae folk, a bond we once held dear and to which we long held true. May we find your favor once more.”

Brendan walked to the brewery. He directed his foreman to remove the iron gate. He grabbed a few items and returned to the grave. He scattered a handful of the first spent grain and placed a thimbleful of the day’s first ale. He took the purse from his mother, and to it he added a handful of new coins, earned from the first brew’s sale. He drew the purse strings tight and placed the offering upon the covered grave.

That night as the moon rose, Brendan sat against a tree at the edge of the Butttonball forest and waited. At dawn, his wife and mother found him.

“They came,” he said. “They took everything and kissed me. Then, without disturbing the ground, they raised him … they raised Niall. And they melted away, singing that lullaby you sang the other day … “

A year later, in the garden behind the renamed Finbar’s Woods Brewery, under a full fall moon, the family presented a daughter, fresh-born and bright, named her Oona, and dedicated her life to the honor of the fae folk.

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