#carrison trash

[friskynotebook]

Carrison ❤️

[ccorneliast]

clouds in my coffee: chapter 2 - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie Fisher is a published author who just got out of a toxic, long relatioship. Harrison Ford is a divorced father of two who owns a little coffee shop on 53rd street in New York.What will happen when they meet? Full of coffee, books and cuteness. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). The quotes in the fic are from “Surrender The Pink” by Carrie Fisher, so we don’t claim them. A/N:  here is the second chapter (finally!) that angie ( @soreidy27​ ) and i co-wrote! 

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

Hearing the now familiar sound of the tiny bell as she opened the door, Carrie let her lungs fill with the delicious and warm scent of freshly roasted coffee and pastries. In less than a week, this little, family oriented coffee shop had become a sort of safe place for her. The creative process was always spectacular when she sat on the corner table, her laptop and a mug of coffee on the ready.

Something unexpected began to happen, though. Every day, like clockwork, the  handsome, yet not so talkative, owner of the cafe would catch her eye, unknowingly becoming somewhat of a muse for her work. Who would’ve thought?

“Hiya doll, the usual?” Charlotte greets, in a sweet, southern drawl. Carrie offers her a soft smile as she nods, making her way to the usual table.

Then, out of the blue, an overwhelming need to run back to Paul blindsids her. It feels like… like LA with him. The coffee shop where they used to meet and pass their day, content (as content as she believed herself to be before she realized the truth of that relationship: a one sided, emotionally exhausting ordeal). Stop, don’t open that door.

The brunette chastises herself as she pulls her laptop from her purse and begins writing: the most effective distraction to her dead and buried love life.

“There was a tap at the window. Ingrid nudged Dinah, shifting into Drive, who looked up and saw Rudy Gendler through the fine, twinkling snow. “Do you remember me?” he called through the glass.

Something in Rudy’s face, in his presence, infused Dinah with feelings of longing and a sort of hope. His certainly shone through the snow.”

Carrie looks up from her laptop and takes a long sip of her just-brewed coffee. She just means to take a small break, one or two seconds. However, the shop’s owner catches her attention. No, not catches , that would be an understatement. The masculinity his flannel shirt and disheveled hair give him clashes with the swift, seamless way he runs the place, rushing orders around and brewing that unbelievable pot of coffee, ripping her attention away from her, dragging it on the floor of the coffee shop, all the way until she’s naked, vulnerable, bare.

She fixates on him, almost as though she’s studying him for science class, planning on writing a detailed report on all his mannerisms and facial features, complete with bullet points and a list of sources. A creature of solitude, huh?

“ Maybe no man is an island, but some sure look like them. All safe and dry and looming on her horizon. As she rolled down the window, she thought, if only she could be that certain, that safe, that dry, that apart. He became not, in that instant, so much her ideal mate, as her ideal. She wanted to become this person. If only she might cast her lot in with his and one day find their two lots inextricably confused. Dinah Kaufman is Rudy Gendler.”

“ You planning on taking a break anytime soon?” Carrie hears the gruff voice she hadn't been able to rid her thoughts of. With a subtle smile playing on her lips, she turns her head and feasts her eyes on the broad man before her. Dressing in a simple gray t-shirt and, for the first time since she met him, foregoing the apron, is Harrison Ford.

“How long have you been checking me out for?” Carrie asks, amused, and offers Harrison a sly smile, her brown eyes shining with mirth at the implication of her catching his attention. She still finds herself fascinated by the grumpy coffee shop owner: the way he seems unfazed by the people constantly around him, his aura of authority yet uncaring of what others did. It’s undeniably interesting to observe him, thrilling like watching your favorite movie for the first time. The mere thought that the object of her thorough observations would take a few seconds of his time spent looking at her enough to comment on her behavior is surprisingly flattering.

“What makes you so sure I was checking you out?” She can hear the amusement underlining his air of nonchalance. It almost causes a chuckle to escape out of her pursed lips. Almost .

“I - umm, want a refill?” Harrison asks her, clearly deflecting her question, embarrassed? Carrie gives him a small, secretive smile before turning back to her laptop, reading over the last few words she’s written, deciding that it was indeed time for a break.

“Sure,” she replies, pushing her mug towards her very own barista. He fills it up until he reaches the brim. “You know, coffee is like oxygen to me.” She muses, trying to strike up some twisted version of a conversation. “Without it I’d probably stop talking or walking or doing this thing I do with words, ya know?”

He chuckles lightheartedly at her silly attempt at small talk: “Writing, you mean?”

Seriously, Carrie? “Doing this thing I do with words”? “Yeah, the putting-words-into-sentences thing.” Yes, an extreme improvement.

He stares at her for a brief second, just hovering there in the moment, before he turns around: “I’ll leave you to it, then.” and walks away.

Carrie shakes her head at her sudden lack of wit and takes a big gulp of her black coffee. The refill is rather strong.

“He asked Dinah for her number and she wrote it on an old receipt with an eyebrow pencil of Ingrid’s and passed it to him. The snowflakes were falling slower now, larger. Rudy slipped the number into his pant pocket, nodded to Ingrid and to Dinah, the strolled off through the swirling snow. An explorer in this metropolitan wilderness. It had taken a blizzard to bring Rudy back into Dinah’s life; Lord knew what it would take to pry him out.”

“Hey darlin’, you want a bite to eat?” Charlotte startles Carrie straight out of her writing trance.

“Huh?” she questions, battling a migraine that hours of looking at the screen of her computer earned her.

“Food, dear. It’s eight o’clock.” She explains, pointing at the big, brown, wooden clock on the wall of Dorothy’s.

“Is it really that late?” Carrie asks rhetorically. “I must’ve got distracted with the time.” She smiles apologetically. “Sorry for hogging the table all day long.”

Charlotte smiles back and responds: “Oh dear, it’s fine by me. Good to have some female company here regularly, actually.” Carrie frowns so imperceptibly that the lady doesn’t even notice. “It’s Mr. Ford you should probably apologize to.” She says it in a sing-song voice, obviously a joke. It makes Carrie wonder though. A regular female company? Huh, I really have been coming here every day for the past week.

“I should get home, then.” she smiles, slightly embarrassed.

“Mr. Ford can fix ya a sandwich if you’d like!” Charlotte presses, a little too obviously so.

“No, it’s alright.” Carrie shoves her laptop in her purse and swings it on her shoulder.

Then, out of kitchen emerges Harrison, holding a paper cup of steaming coffee. “Bundle up, it’s cold outside.” he extends the beverage to her with a fleeting smile. Ah, caught it!

She looks at it quizzically though. ”For the drive home.” he explains, turning back around, resuming the closing-up process.

“Walk,” Carrie corrects as she takes a sip of her cup.

“What?” he mumbles, half paying attention.

“I walk home. It’s not far from here, actually.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, not really sure how to keep a conversation going with her.

“Anyway, how much do I owe you?” she asks, reaching for her wallet.

“Nothing,” he states, matter-of-factly. “A thanks for picking us.”

“Okay then.” she replies, pleased with his answer. “Thank you.” she smiles, wrapping her scarf around her exposed neck. Drawing his attention there, Harrison notices a small pendant hanging lonely around her neck. An initial, maybe? Some sort of symbol?

He doesn’t question her about it, though.

As she’s opening the door to leave, a cool breeze slips into the coffee shop. The little bell rings. Harrison turns around, finally, and fixes his gaze on her as she turns to the right and starts walking away.

“You should’ve asked her to stay. You should’ve asked her to eat dinner.” Charlotte says, focused on cleaning up the remaining tables. “It’s cold outside.”

“Come on, Charlotte.” He drags.

“Your momma would’ve liked her, ya know?” she insists.

“Relentless woman.” he laughs, closing up the blinds.

She’ll be alright. It’s not that cold anyway.

[fisherford40]

Carrison Fic To Do List for 2018

Finish Distractions fic I just rediscovered that I haven’t worked on since August 2016 (probably pretty close to being done so you might see this soon? Not promising anything, though)

Re-write the parts of ISAEDAIH that include Debbie because back then I held a different view and I hate myself for the way I wrote their relationship and really need to fix it to how I see their relationship now

Maybe eventually finish ISAEDAIH? Maybe.

Maybe write a Carrison baby fic for @purple-roses-words-and-love because she keeps begging for one, but I need to wait until I can really focus and try to do it justice

Finish the Christmas fic I started last year before… it’s depressing so I couldn’t bring myself to work on it anymore, but I do want to get back to it at some point

Some of the other many prompts that I have stored away in a document that I’ve thought would be fun to write / prompts you guys have asked for here (you can still send me some, I’m open to ideas)

@friskynotebook and @teamleiasolo suggested I write a sequel to Beauty of His Heart so I may do that as well

[that-girl-in-the-shadows]

One day….

….until then, excuse me while I whimper in sadness.

[fisherford40]

Wearing Harrison’s tie while out with Paul. YES. Bless you, Ashley.

Headcannon ask: does Carrie steal Harrison’s clothes? What does she steal? And what does Harrison think?

I am picturing Carrie walking around in Harrison’s shirts. Literally the only thing she had on was Harrison’s shirt. One of his dress shirts that had been discarded the night before. 

Harrison finds it incredible sexy, but also extremely adorable, because she is so small so she swims in his shirt. 

Also, maybe a tie or two. Because if you’ve seen pictures of Carrie with her ex-husband, she wore a tie in one set of pictures. I like to think she took it so that she would have a part of Harrison with her while she was out with… him.

[pittore-di-mente]

I was tagged by @dailysixties ! It’s always a pleasure to share music with you all, thank you honey 🤟💛

Rules: we’re snooping your playlist. Put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first ten songs, then tag ten victims.

1. Blue Cigar - Midnight Sisters

2. Holiday Road - Lindsey Buckingham

3. Magnet and Steel - Walter Egan

4. I Just Called To Say I Love You - Stevie Wonder

5. Sisters Of Mercy - Leonard Cohen

6. Black Is Black - Los Bravos

7. Panic - The Smiths

8. Strawberry Letter 23 - Shuggie Otis

9. 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover - Paul Simon

10. Fancy Man - Devendra Banhart

I’ll tag : @alla-nazimova @karinacupcake @as-per-usual @isabelcostasixties @samisoffthewall @la-catharsis @klasszik @yayplants @lanky-brunettes-with-wicked-jaws @carrison-trash

[actual-leia-organa]

So, I went to see Solo, and I loved it! It had enough legends stuff that warmed my little read-every-legends-book-set-pre-ANH-that-featured-Han heart, with enough new material that I was sucked into the story, wanting to know what happened next. 

And I got home, and thought for the first time in a long time- I want to watch Star Wars. So I did. For the first time since Carrie’s passing, I went and I watched the original trilogy. I remembered why I was in this fandom. I’m not here for the fans who harass the actors and creators, I’m here for the people who love this stupid sci-fi opera, who invest themselves in characters, who write headcanons and fics. I’m here for the paincanon, for @weary-hearted-queen‘s angsty fics, for @mlder and the carrison trash. I’m here for the friends I’ve made through this fandom, and for everything its given me. 

I Love Star Wars, guys. 

[asianamidala]

i mean i’m the biggest anidala trash (TM) but people who ship hayden and natalie creep me out... like what...? same with people who ship ewan and hayden or carrison...

[carzekielqueen]

For some reason I always think he’s extending his arms to approximately the size of Carrie.

I’m Carrison trash, that’s what I am

Harrison Ford in The Making of Star Wars (1977)

[hanorganaas]

I was tagged by @mirrorbrights and behold the ridiculousness of my phone. My lock screen is Carrie Fisher coming down like Mufasa and flipping off Harrison Ford cause of course my level of carrison trash. My home screen is this really hot candid pic of harrison ford ow ow I herby tag @fitzssimmonns , @jemmasimmouns , @ladythor , @titasjournal , @hewouldve @poeedamerons @poetdameron , @ddagent and @friskynotebook Bet you cant out ridic me

[friskynotebook]

I will never get tired of these photos ❤️

[ccorneliast]

the real thing - a carrison fanfiction

Rating: T Summary: Carrie and Harrison dance in France. Set in 1977. Based off of the new carrison pictures. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from our imagination and we’re not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). A/N: this is for @leiasreys​, who asked for something based on those wonderful new pics. also, to the anons who requested it!

On AO3

I hope you like it and don’t forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

“Miss Fisher?” he repeats, louder this time. “Do you?”

The first time Carrie and Harrison were together in France was in 1977. The party was in full swing when they arrived, hand in hand. If Carrie’s memory wasn’t failing, that had been one of the first times (if not the first) where they actually held hands in a public setting. It felt amazing, for a lack of a better word.

“Harrison, Carrie, look to the left!” a man carrying a huge camera shouted. “To the left, big smiles!”

Harrison immediately stiffened and crossed his arms in front of him. Carrie’s hand travelled up to his bicep, lacing her arm through his.

“To the left!” the man insisted.

Harrison obliged, but Carrie didn’t. Her gaze was glued to her date for the night, the impossibly grumpy but oh-so-dashing co-star. He did look insanely attractive in his black suit and white shirt. She’d picked her black dress by chance, not knowing they’d be matching for the whole night, and she couldn’t have been happier that she’d done so. The pictures look incredible.

Sensing him getting tenser by the minute and the ease and carefree mood from a few hours prior dissipating faster than sand in a sandstorm, Carrie tugged on his sleeve and forced his gaze on hers:

“You’re barking up…” she whispers, smiling sweetly.

“The wrong tree!” his mouth metamorphoses into a wide grin.

It’s a sort of game they play. Out of all the games in their repertoire: cat and mouse in between takes, holding their breath the longest while kissing, hide and seek (that their hearts played every day), this was by far the silliest. They didn’t play it often, it was merely a way of alleviating unwanted strain. Yes, they finished each other’s sentences, but not in a cheesy, couple-y way. When they did it, the choice of sayings was never by chance, their voices always a specific tone and in sync. It was a coping mechanism sometimes too. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after all these months.

“Drastic times…” He offers, his arm languidly brushing her torso.

“Ask for drastic measures?”

He laughs and locks his hand in hers. “Call.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” She feigns hurt and defeat, cracking another lazy smile from his lips. “Alright hotshot, my turn.” She scours her mind for a saying she hasn’t used up already as he leads them towards the bar.

“Hit the…” she says, a little too loudly.

“Hold on, baby.” He says. Wait, what did he say?

He turns to the bartender and asks for a glass of scotch. “And the lady?” a thick French accent echoes.

“Oh, I don’t drink.” She replies. Harrison laughs.

“Come on,” his shoulder nudges her, inciting her have a drink. “My treat.”

She blushes at the thought of Harrison Ford buying her a drink. God, I’m hopeless. “Alright, a glass of wine, please.”

Harrison looks pleased enough, turning around to lean back against the bar counter. She takes a tiny tentative step to the right, stepping in front of him. He chuckles at her sudden demure posture and brings a warm hand to her cheek. She smiles, leaning into the warmth. Then, his other hand lands on her waist, gripping it just a little too hard. This gesture forces him closer to her, their faces only inches apart. She closes her eyes, leaning in ever-so-slightly. He leans in too. The room is filled to the brim with noise and chattering and music, but suddenly she loses all notion of English, French and musical notes. He’s the only word she really needs.

“Mister, your drinks.” The bartender declares. Damn.

Harrison clears his throat and pretends like they weren’t about to start making out in public: “Thank you.” He hands her her drink, stepping away from her somewhat.

“Could you please repeat?” He asks, his voice firm.

“Huh?” her look is of pure confusion.

“It’s your turn.” He waves with his hand towards her.

“Oh,” she exhales, taking a sip of her wine. “Hit the…” Carrie repeats.

He pretends to ponder her question for a second before answering: “Hit the hay!”

She furrows her brow and shoots back: “Hit the sack!”

“No one says “Hit the sack”, Carrie!” Harrison teases.

“Well, no one says “Hit the hay” either, Mr. Ford.” She playfully punches his arm and takes another gulp of her wine. She’ll be tipsy in no time.

“Agree to-“ she cuts him off.

“Agree to disagree!” he laughs as he realizes her silliness. She laughs right along with him.

“Come on kid, whatcha say you take this old man for a spin out there on the dance floor?” He sets their drinks down without waiting for her reply and their fingers intertwine. Guess that “baby” was a one-time thing then.

And to the dance floor they go.

She smiles so tenderly as his hands travel the length of her bare arms, locking them on her hips. Like clockwork, her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers dancing in between his brown locks. The song changes to a more upbeat tune thankfully, taking the pressure off of them to slow dance in the middle of all these strangers.

The tempo speeds up and Harrison twirls Carrie around, her little black dress swaying along with her movements. She’s only holding his hand at this point, but he tugs her back into his chest, so close, his hand resting on her back. She holds on to him. His other hand finds hers. He grips it tightly. Their faces regain their previous status of being mere inches apart. Their noses brush, softly.

Then: “A penny for your-“ he whispers, so close to her lips.

“Your thoughts.” Her heart practically jumps out of her body.

“No, not to complete. To answer.” His lips curve into a charming smile just for her. Just for me.

“Oh,” she stiffens in his embrace. I’m in love with you and I want you to take me right here on the dance floor, in a foreign country where we don’t know anyone. Instead, she murmurs: “I’m so happy.”

His hand works its way further around her, their bodies completely glued to each other’s.

“Carrie,” his nose nudges hers, compelling her to look straight into his eyes. Oh, so blue. “Kid, I- I, hum,” he tries.

Then, like a chant inside her mind: What? What, what, what?

“You’re it, kid.” He manages to spit out. “You’re the one I want.”

Wait a second… Does he mean that… He actually likes me?

“Wait, you actually like me?” she shakes her head, her hair cascading down her back. “I’m so confused.”

“Nothin’ to be confused for.” He sets her hand free only to graze his thumb along her bottom lip. “You know me inside out. And even though we’re together most days, I still want one more second with you.”

She shakes her head at the unbelievable words he’s speaking. It’s too much, too perfect, too good to be true.

“Let me get this straight,” her voice is smooth, like honey. “You… love me?” he suppresses a shy laugh, but nods. “You love me?”

“Yes, you.” This time he laughs, a whole, wonderful laugh.

“That’s,” she starts, still disbelieving. “Well, that’s really good.” She laughs along with him. “That’s really really good!” she laughs harder and he does so too. And they stand there, laughing their eyes out, as a flash goes off in their direction. Now, that’s a picture I’ll hang up in the living room.

“This is it, huh?” she giggles.

“You betcha,” his hand cradles the back of her head. “The real thing, the whole shebang.”

His warm fingers press against the smooth skin of her neck, propelling her forward. Her lips travel half the way to his, hovering there for a second. She savors this victory and she already knows how it’ll taste: sweet.

He holds her close to him, his lips pressing against hers softly. It’s an innocent kiss, a loving kiss. He makes sure to thrust every ounce of loving he has stored in him into this one kiss, channeling all the missed opportunities and all the passion he feels for her in this one lock of lips.  

So, when the man asks her again, so many years later: “Do you take this man to be your wedded husband?” Carrie nods. Then, she winks at his groom: “It takes two to tango.”

[fisherford40]

Are you still writing the in sickness and health carrison story

This ask is from three months ago. Wow. The answer is a shaky yes. I really want to continue it, but right now it’s really difficult to sit down and focus on it. I’m still really missing Carrie. One day I will get back to ISAEDAIH, I hope, but it might not be for quite some time. I’m going to be quite busy with stuff for school in the next few months. I would love to maybe write some one shots or something. I am still very much Carrison trash, and I always will be.

[that-girl-in-the-shadows]

"Here’s the truth, the banal, romantic, sweet, awkward truth. The truth that is Carrison." -Princess Diarist *heart breaks*

[friskynotebook]

THANK YOU ASHY

Carrison—children (like raising children, not babies)

Hello @friskynotebook

When the kids are not in school, they travel as a family, whether it be to somewhere either Carrie or Harrison are filming, or just a random place on a map. 

Carrie instills a love of reading into their children from a young age. She is constantly teaching them new words and expanding their vocabularies. 

See Dates for Daddy/Daughter, Mother/Son dates

Harrison builds birdhouses with them, and shows them how to make things with their hands. 

Carrie bakes with them, and it can get messy, but Harrison loves hearing the laughter when he walks in the door. 

Harrison and his kids work on big Lego projects together, and they display them in their rooms. 

The kids love coming up with little plays to put on for their parents, and Carrie and Harrison always want to encourage their creativity, even if they do worry about their children wanting to get into the business someday.

They are very protective of their children and May the Force be with any paparazzi that try to photograph them, because they gonna need it.

They love their children fiercely.

Harrison qualms Carrie’s nerves about her passing down her manic depression to them, because they will handle it if it happens and love and be there for their children no matter if they have it or not.

[abandoned--reality]

All I wanted in life was a Carrison wedding 😭💔