#BUT ALSO IM GOING CRAZY I WANT HER TO LITERALLY STALK ME SO BADLY IM GOING TO KILL SOMEONE AND HOPE SHES RECORDING IT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justauthoring · 4 years

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I Don’t Wanna Die Alone [Xavier Plympton]

Request(s): I would like to request a Xavier Plympton x reader kind of angsty. So for plot I would like of Xavier and the reader had a pre-established relationship and it's a healthy relationship. They get along well and genuinely love one another. I would like the reader to get killed or seriously hurt and for Xavier to find them. Xavier desperately trying to help but knowing there is nothing he can do. If the reader is just hurt maybe he can lay with them as they hear jingles walking towards them. Thanks!

can you do one with xavier where the reader hits her head badly trying to run and dies in xavier’s arms at camp redwood. idk if you’ve watched teen wolf or not but maybe like vibes from the scene where allison died. ???

Hi hello I would like to request an Xavier/Reader fic where Xavier witnesses reader’s death, and how that affects him when interacting with reader in the camp as ghosts. Relationship is your choice but my vote is on romantic :)

Requested by: @redama

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

Word Count: 1,974

Notes: ya’ll, as much as i will always love evan, seeing an edit of this dude is what made me wanna watch ahs in the first place and i feel so fucking satisfied to finally be able to write for him lol. i literally just finished 1984 and i cannot help but write right now even tho im sick and have work early in the morning. so appreciate my dedication here :)

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

It felt like your lungs were on fire. Your body was screaming at you to stop, but your mind kept reminding you of why you couldn’t -- because if you did, he’d find you and kill you.

You just had to have a shower; you couldn’t just listen to Margaret and wait until the morning. Or at least, accept Xavier’s offer to join you. That way you wouldn’t be alone right now, running from a crazed murderer. And Jesus, you barely had time to even get dressed. Your hair was a soaking wet mop on top of your head and all you had on was your shorts and bra; the fucking asshole didn’t even give you time to put on your shoes.

All you wanted was Xavier. Part of you, maybe you were going crazy, would be satisfied dying if it meant getting to die with Xavier. Not alone. If you were going to die, which it really felt like you were going to you, you didn’t want to do it alone.

You’d tried screaming, louder then you ever had before. Your throat was raw but it seemed no one could hear you; which sucked ass. You hadn’t thought you were that far from the cabins, but apparently you were farther then you thought because there was no one coming to save you. Absolutely no one. All you could count on was your years of track in High School and pray that got you far enough that you could at least find someone.

Or out run Mr. Jingles. That’d be great to. Find a place to hide, something.

Taking a sharp turn to the right, you hiss lightly at your arm scraping against a branch. It stings and you allow yourself a moment to glance down at the now bleeding scratch on your arm before pushing it to the back of your mind, focusing your attention on your steps and where to take them. The entire forest felt like a damned maze and you were clearly lost without any knowledge on how to get to either the road or back to Camp Redwood.

You were starting to feel like you were going crazy. Insane. Something of the like. Your heart was beating a mile per minute and your skin was clammy with sweat and you just wanted to sleep. You wanted to be in Xavier’s arms, laying comfortably against his chest while he held you close.

A sudden scream pulls you from your thoughts. It causes you to halt, coming to a sudden and sharp stop as you turn your head sharply over your shoulder. You expect to hear footsteps, another screaming, something but for a moment, it’s just silence. Complete and utter silence. All you can hear is your own rapid breath and the sound of the adrenaline pumping in your veins from the absolute terror running through your entire body.

And then, it’s just faint, you hear your name. Someone’s calling out for you.

“Y/N! Y/N! Where are you! Are you okay?”

That’s... That’s Xavier!

Eyes widening with hope, you feel your lips twitching into just the faintest of smiles, thinking that if anyone will be able to save you, it’ll be him. You move to turn, your lips parting to call out for Xavier in return. However, you don’t hear the approaching footsteps or notice the figure that falls to your left. You don’t, at least, until there’s a sharp pain in your left shoulder. Your lips part, a gasp falling past your lips as you start up into the face of none other then Mr. Jingles.

He rips the knife out of your shoulder, and you stumble back in response, your hand shakily raising to fall over the wound. You glance down briefly, watching the blood pool your skin, before turning back to Mr. Jingles.

“Please...” You breathe shakily, “don’t--!”

You never get to finish your stomach before he stabs you again; this time directly in your stomach. Your knees grow weak beneath you and as he mercilessly pulls the knife from you once more, you no longer have the strength to hold yourself up. You hit the ground with a thud, a whimper leaving your lips as your vision blurs.

Mr. Jingles crawls over you, knees on either side of you as he easily pushes your head to the side, revealing your ear to him. With a almost mocking gentleness he brushes your hair back, taking the top of your ear and slicing it right off. Somehow you have the strength to scream; it piercing the silence of the forest as Mr. Jingles simply stands up, with his price, and stalks off.

He just leaves you there.

It feels like hours, but can’t be more than a few moments, you just graveling on the ground, before another figure falls next to you. You assume it to be Mr. Jingles, coming to finish the job quicker then he’d originally intended and you don’t have the strength to fight or scream or even really cry. But then warm arms are pulling you into a lap and you blink, glancing up to meet Xavier’s piercing blue eyes staring back down at you.

Except, his eyes are flooded with welling tears as he gets a good look at you.

“X-Xavier...”

“Y/N... Oh, God... Oh, God, Y/N--!��

Shaking your head, your lips part to speak, but you find yourself choking on your own blood, it pooling around your mouth. Your body jerks in response, Xavier desperately attempting to apply pressure to your wounds but you know it’s useless.

You raise your hand, settling it over his own with a shaky determination. Your action pulls his eyes on you and with your eyes glossing over, you smile up at him. “I... I love you...”

Your body falls limp in his hands then.

“Y/N... Y/N, Y/N, wake up!” Xavier finds the words pouring from his lips, unable to think rationally as he desperately tries to shake you back awake. But, of course, nothing words. And eventually, he ends up just pulling you close, curling you up against him as a sob breaks past his lips.

Montana finds him moments later.

“Xavier, we have-- oh, shit, Y/N! No, no, no!”

Finally pulling his gaze up, Xavier meets Montana’s gaze through a blurred vision. “I was too late,” he whispers, voice a raspy imitation of how he normally sounds. “He got to her before I... I couldn’t save her...”

Montana’s lips part to say something, but she finds herself speechless. Her heart wrenches at the thought of you dead, given that the two of you had always been close, and she’s never quite seen Xavier so... helpless. She wants to say something to comfort him, but doesn’t know what. And seeing you, lifeless in his arms, hurts her just as much.

However, before she can dwell on it much longer, the sound of keys jingling echoes.

“Oh, fuck!” Montana curses, pushing herself up to her feet desperately and latching onto Xavier’s arm. “Come on, Xav. We got to go. We got to go!”

“No, no!” Xavier cries, holding onto your body tighter. “I’m not leaving her here.”

“We have to go!”

“I’m not leaving her here!”

“Look at me, look at me!” Grabbing Xavier tightly by the cheeks, Montana pulls his gaze sharply on her own. “Y/N wouldn’t want you to die like this, okay? She’d want you to live! She’d want you to survive. We both know it!” Breathless, Xavier stays silent, unable to argue with Montana. “So, we have to go!”

One glance down at you and Xavier knows she’s right.

Shakily, he eases his grip on you, setting you gently back on the ground and moving to stand up. However, before he does, he slips his jacket off, placing it over you as to cover you the best he can. “Okay,” he whispers, voice broken. “Let’s go.”

“You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually.”

Xavier stays silent, back turned to you as he stares out blankly in front of him.

Sighing, you shake your head, daring to take another step forward. “We are stuck here for eternity, Xav.” You remind softly, continuing to walk forward more and more. You don’t stop until you’re directly behind Xavier, making sure he can’t run off like he has all times before. You’re desperate for him to finally face you. “You can’t just ignore me.”

“Why do you even want to talk to me in the first place?”

Jerking your head back in surprise -- at both the fact that this is the first time Xavier’s spoke to you since you’d woken up from death and his actual words -- you blink at the back of Xavier’s head. However, soon enough he’s spinning to face you, his eyes finally meeting your own as he shakes his head at you. You find yourself also surprised at the tears in his eyes.

Gathering yourself, you shake your head; “what’re you talking about?”

“You died!” He calls out, causing you to furrow your brows. Huffing, he clarifies himself; “you died because of me.”

Lips parting, you move to respond, but find yourself unable to. Is that what he thinks? That he killed you? He must’ve lost his damn mind because you know for a fact that it was Mr. Jingles who killed you. The fact that he actually blames himself... you feel your heart twist uncomfortably, shaking your head desperately as you reach out for Xavier. He only steps back from your touch causing your arms to fall by your side helplessly.

“Is that what you think?” You whisper, never tearing your gaze off his own. “Xav, you didn’t kill me... Mr. Jingles did.”

“I let you go off on your own! I... wasn’t quick enough!” Inhaling sharply, Xavier wipes at his cheeks desperately, trying to hide the tears that profusely fall down his cheeks. Then, he gathers himself enough to utter one last sentence, a broken whisper. “I didn’t protect you.”

You step forward, reaching out for Xavier. This time he doesn’t pull away, shoulders slumping as your hands move to cup his cheeks, shaking your head repeatedly. “You did protect me,” you whisper, “you always did. And I didn’t die because of you. I died because of some pathetic man. I ran off to have a shower, I didn’t let you come with me... So, please,” letting your thumb stroke his cheek softly, you smile up at him. “Just... kiss me.”

Xavier’s resolve slowly falls with each word. By the end of it, his tears have halted and he finds himself stunned by your forgiveness. He finds his hands reaching out for you, desperate for your touch as his hands fall on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You want me to kiss you?”

“I’ve never wanted you to kiss me more than I have now.”

A smirk crawls onto his lips and slowly but surely, Xavier leans down, pressing his lips against your own. The kiss is short, chaste, but it means everything to you. Able to hold Xavier like this again means everything to you. Your arch into his touch, your hand sliding up the back of his neck as you moan into the kiss, Xavier returning it with just as much ferocity.

It’s been so long since you’ve been able to kiss him like this.

Pulling back, Xavier leans his forehead against your own, breathless. “I’ve missed you...”

“Well,” you smile lightly, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Like I said, we have all of eternity here... You’ll never have to miss me again.”

Xavier’s faint smile turns into a grin.

“I like the sound of that.”

Let me know what you thought?

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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538.

ABOUT HIM

What’s his full name? >> I used to name him on surveys, but I’ve decided to stop doing that. I don’t have a good reason for doing it or not doing it, although I have plenty of theories and stories for why I would want to or not want to. The fact remains -- I just don’t want to anymore. (It’s bad enough I’m even taking this survey at all, but it has less to do with him and more to do with the fact that I do need to sort out some of this shit in my own head and surveys are good for that.) On surveys, I will call him Kris. What’s his birthdate? >> 14 March. How old is he? >> 30. How tall is he? >> Slightly shorter than me, I believe. What colour are his eyes? >> Some kind of hazel-y thing.

What colour is his hair? >> Brown.

Is he skinny, fat, or built? >> Skinny.

Would you say he’s more cute, hot, sexy, or ugly? >> He’s cute, I guess. I don’t know, he technically isn’t even my aesthetic “type” or whatever. It’s not his appearance that I was attracted to, but his appearance was fine. His siblings? >> He has one, but no relationship with them. His personality? >> A very complicated and sometimes entirely unpredictable ball of yarn. He has a disordered personality, so that’s just how it goes. How long did you two date for? >> It’s... complicated. We were together in fits and starts and never for long. I think we tried four different times, a few months at most each time, over the past 10 years. Where did you two meet? >> Xanga. What was you first impression of him? >> I really don’t remember, that was like 2010 or some shit. I think I got a more Ice King impression from him early on because that’s the way he presented himself back then. What was his first impression of you? >> I have no idea.

THE FIRST DATE

How old was he? >> We did not have a “first date”. How old were you? >> --- Who asked out who? >> --- Where did you two go on your date? >> --- Did you have fun? >> --- What did you wear? >> --- What did he wear? >> --- Did you guys kiss? >> --- Have sex? >> ---

THE RELATIONSHIP

What was the nicest thing he did for you? >> I don’t know. I don’t know how to rank that sort of thing, and I certainly have a more difficult time remembering kind things he did than... other things, seeing as there were way more “other things”. What was the nicest thing he said to you? >> ^^^ Did you ever make out? >> Yeah. Did he ever give you a present? >> Yeah. Did you ever give him a present? >> Yeah. Did you tell him you loved him? >> Yeah. Did you mean it? >> I did mean it. Whether my “love” was of any worth or not is a different story, but I definitely wasn’t lying. Did he tell you he loved you? >> Yeah. Did he mean it? >> How am I supposed to know? I believe that he meant it in the same way I did -- he wasn’t lying, but his kind of love did me (and him, it seems) no favours. Or, maybe I’m too optimistic. Like I said, I have no way of knowing. How far into the relationship was your first kiss? >> Early, I’m sure. Where were you guys when you first kissed? >> I have no way of remembering this. Did you feel anything in your stomach? >> *shrug*??? Ever get drunk together? >> Yeah. Did you ever meet his parents? >> Yeah. I lived with him on several occasions, and he lives at home, so. Did they like you? >> I have no idea. I think his father didn’t like me after a while because Kris stopped liking me, so, you know. Sticking up for his son, and what-not. Which would have been fine if... I was the entire problem. I wasn’t. Did you like them? >> I don’t even remember anymore. I do remember being extremely pissed off when he took Kris’ side about everything. It’s a bit crazy-making when you have no one else around to look objectively at your situation and see the real problems, so you’re forced to take the blame for everything that goes wrong and you can’t even tell if you deserve to do so. Did he ever meet your parents? >> No. Did they like him? >> --- Did he like them? >> --- What was your favorite thing to do together? >> Smoke and talk, play Rock Band, go on nature walks, play with the cats, stuff like that, I guess.

How often did you talk on the phone? >> When we weren’t in the same house, we used the internet to communicate. Neither of us are phone people. Did you ever think you’d get married? >> No. Did he treat you right? >> He did not. And I understand why, a bit, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less hurt about it. Did you treat him right? >> I did not. And that’s the thing -- I’m never going to claim that everything I did and said was right and good, just like I’m never going to claim that everything he did and said was bad and mean. But despite what he thinks, I never set out to hurt him on purpose. I just wasn’t good for him, just like he wasn’t good for me. The unfortunate thing is that I didn’t realise that. Stupidity is my sin, not cruelty. (I almost wish cruelty had been my sin. Then I’d at least deserve what I got.) Was he ever abusive to you? >> I think “abusive” is a word I don’t want to use in this case. He has a personality disorder. Personality disorders inherently affect how you treat other people, usually negatively, despite your best interests or intentions -- especially if you are afraid that other person wants to hurt you. And apparently, I was often more of a threat than a comfort to him, so he treated me accordingly. Were you ever abusive to him? >> I don’t think so. I’ve been disrespectful and I’ve been standoffish, but like I said, I had no malicious intent. I was reacting to how I was being treated. Did he cheat on you? >> No. Did you cheat on him? >> No. For some reason, he is convinced that I did and am just a liar, which is... like, whatever. Sure. I might as well be, on top of all the other things. How far did you guys get? >> *shrug*?? Do you think the relationship was serious? >> I don’t know. I guess it never was. I wanted more out of it, but that was literally impossible.

THE BREAKUP

Who broke up with who? >> The last time, I cut it short. My intention was for us to go back to doing the friendship thing, but apparently I am not good enough friend material, either. What was the reason? >> The reason was that I was extremely stressed out. In the span of a month I had completely checked out of my life here at home because I was spending literally all of my energy and time in IMs with Kris, in vain and neverending cycles of arguments and reassurances and just... I don’t even know, anymore. I felt useless and drained and exhausted. I like to compare myself to a black hole, but I actually think he’d be a better example of a human black hole. You keep putting in and putting in and putting in but it’s never filled, never satisfied, never even happy for a moment. It constantly takes and takes and takes. And I was slowly starting to realise that I didn’t have to put up with that. I don’t know a whole lot about love, but I’m pretty sure the definition isn’t “sacrificing your entire self for the sake of someone who isn’t at all satisfied with you as you are”. And then he got mad at me and called me an abuser and trash and all this other shit, which just made horrible sense by that point. Did you cry? >> I don’t remember, now. That whole time period is a bit of a haze, for obvious reasons. But I’m sure I cried at some point, because I was pretty emotionally tapped out. Did he cry? >> How am I supposed to know what he did? He lives in a whole different state. Did you get mad? >> Oh, definitely. Anger is partly what got me out of the whole mess in the first place. Anger was my friend right then. Did he get mad? >> I’m guessing that’s what he was when he trashed me on tumblr. But I don’t actually know. Did you break up in real life/over the phone/ internet/etc? >> Over the internet, because that’s the only way we communicated. Where were you when it happened? >> Home, I think. Was anyone around? >> Maybe Sparrow was home at the time. I don’t remember, because like I said, I was not even fully present at home by then. When was your last kiss? >> That was definitely back in, like, 2012, the last time I actually went out to CO to be with him. When did you know it was over? >> I should have known in 2012, lmao, but like I said: stupidity. This last time, I knew it when I called it over. Do you regret the breakup? >> I sure don’t.

AFTER THE RELATIONSHIP

Did he get a new girlfriend? >> He seems to be single. Did you get a new boyfriend? >> I mean, I was with Sparrow at the time, and I’m still with her. Are you jealous? >> I have nothing to be jealous about. Is he jealous? >> We’re not in contact and I’m reasonably sure he has this blog blocked, so he also has nothing to be jealous about if he’s not paying attention to my life. Are you still friends? >> No. When was the last time you saw him? >> The last time I saw him in person was 2012. Did you talk to each other? >> Well, probably not, by then. Do you miss him? >> No. Does he miss you? >> I assume not. I’m not even sure he was ever invested in me. I think he’s one of those people that just kind of... interprets other people as extensions of himself, or characters on a stage, or NPCs or something. So we’re only “real” when we’re immediately in his life, but even then we’re not real as in “real people with their own internal lives and feelings and needs” -- just real as in “people from whom I can get what I need/want”. And when we inevitably fail at that, because we’re... people... and not characters in his story, then he turns on us and discards us. Obviously, he doesn’t see it this way. He is the protagonist, after all. Do you guys have the same friends? >> No. Do you wish you were still together? >> Hell, no. I’m still mad at myself for even thinking "us” was a possibility. Like, the stupidity, sis... the stupidity... Does he wish you were still together? >> No. What would you do if he asked you out again right now? >> --- Do you sometimes cry over him? >> No. Sometimes I cry because I’m still recovering, and I am grieving the parts of myself that were ravaged so badly that they must be amputated and regrown. But I am crying for myself. Do you stalk him? >> No. Does he stalk you? >> No. I guess that’s the one good thing -- he’s the type of disordered personality that goes cold and burns all bridges, not the type that gets obsessive and stalks and threatens. I consider myself very fortunate. Has he changed at all? >> Sure, I guess. He’s very mercurial. Have you changed at all? >> I definitely have. I am also mercurial. Do you still have items of his? >> No. I still have a couple of things that he sent me, but that’s because they are useful -- like the Book That Takes Its Time, which is a cool book, and the Dark Tower shirt. I don’t attach those items to him, because they were gifts and therefore entirely mine. Do you have pictures of when you were together? >> Yeah, the Photobucket account that I put those photos on still exists. Do you only date guys that are like him? >> I actually have never been with anyone like him, which is partially why I was so stupid about it. The only other person that is even anywhere near similar was Sigma, but Sigma’s problems were a different sort (and not quite as damaging). Last thing I knew, though, Sigma also has the same personality disorder, so, yeah -- similar. My lesson is “BPD folk and me do not mix well and we will hurt each other very badly -- or, at least, I will hurt myself very badly and the other person will remember me as a villain”.

#ex survey #(not going to put this one in the general tags)

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zoemurph · 7 years

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to have a friend, chapter 1: $20

on ao3

hey so if you've ever been told you shouldn't have two multichapter fics going at once you should listen to that advice. i'm just...really impatient. please don't expect consistent updates from me, these are longer chapters and i'm a college student

thank you to my friend family for encouraging this and by that i mean my god stop encouraging me i have a problem!! but also thank you for putting up with me sending fake dating au prompts for like 3 hours.

this first chapter is very much a rewrite of the show from the computer lab scene until the end of the scene in the principal's office. (im sorry but i had to get through this part before anything even mildly original could happen) therefore, it deals with anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, and a suicide attempt. please proceed with caution! i put a summary in the end notes if that's helpful to anyone!!

i hope you enjoy!!

Dear Evan Hansen:

It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because, why would it be?

Oh I know. Because there’s Zoe. And all my hope is pinned on Zoe. Who I don’t even know and who doesn’t know me. But maybe if I did, maybe if I could just talk to her, then maybe…maybe nothing would be different at all.

I wish that everything was different. I wish that I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: would anyone even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?

Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend—

Evan squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

It’s true that at the end of the day, all you’ve got left is yourself, so you should…like yourself. Or something. But calling himself his “best and most dearest friend” is…

Pathetic. It’s pathetic. It’s really sad and even if it is true, the fact still remains that his best friend hates him.

Evan rubs his temples. Thinking about this is just going to send him into a spiral of anxiety that will help exactly no one. Having a breakdown in the computer lab sounds like a horrible, yet fitting, way to finish his first day of senior year.

He signs off the letter with ‘me’, even though it makes his stomach twist, and sends it to the printer.

He just wants to be home and under a blanket and also maybe not existing.

“So…”

Evan freezes, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. His heart is in his throat and he figures that there’s about an eighty percent chance that he dies right now. He risks a glance over his shoulder at Connor.

“What happened to your arm?” Connor asks, vaguely motioning in Evan’s direction.

Evan swallows and looks down at his cast. “Oh, I-I um…fell out of a tree. Actually.”

Connor scoffs. “You fell out of a tree? That is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Oh my god.”

Evan forces a laugh as his stomach churn. It is sad. Really sad. Sadder than anyone will ever know. “I know,” he says weakly.

Connor clears his throat and motions to Evan’s cast again. “No one’s signed your cast yet.”

Evan takes a shallow breath. He hasn’t figured out what to tell his mom about that yet. Maybe he’ll lie and say he lost the Sharpie, even though then she’ll ask if no one else had one. Maybe he can say that they weren’t writing on the cast but then if she tests it— Evan shakes his head. “N-no, I know.”

“I’ll sign it.”

Evan looks up with a start. “Oh! Um…” His mouth goes dry and his hands are definitely getting sweaty and he has no idea what to do with this information. “Y-you don’t have to.”

Connor glares at him and Evan tries not to wilt too much under his gaze. “Do you have a Sharpie?”

Evan stares at him for a second before he fumbles with his bag. It takes him a second to find it, and in that time, he’s pretty sure Connor has successfully taken a year off his life with that glare. He holds the Sharpie out.

Connor clenches his jaw before taking it. He grabs Evan’s arm and pulls it closer, making Evan wince in pain. “Ow,” he hisses. This is exactly what his mom meant when she said he should ask people to sign his cast.

“Oh. Sorry,” Connor mutters. He scrawls his name across Evan’s cast in large, capitalized letters and then lets go of Evan’s arm.

“Oh.” Evan tries not to sound as disappointed as he is about how it looks, but he’s pretty sure he fails miserably. “Great. Thanks.” There’s probably no way of hiding Connor’s name. Jared is going to have a field day.

Connor hands Evan the Sharpie back. Evan moves to put it back in his bag, but frowns when he feels something stuck under the clip the cap. He looks down to see a folded twenty dollar bill tucked under the clip. He frowns and glances over to at Connor. “W-what?”

“Pretend to be my friend.”

Evan blinks. “I— what?”

“Pretend to be my friend,” Connor repeats, more forcefully this time.

Evan pulls the twenty out from under the clip. “Y-you’re—”

“Paying you to be my fucking friend?” Connor interrupts. “Yeah. I am.”

“But…why?”

Connor scowls. “It gets my mom off my back, now will you do it or are you giving my money back?”

“Twenty dollars to-to pretend to be your friend,” Evan says in disbelief, unfolding the bill. “That’s—”

“Per week.”

Evan almost drops the money. “What?!”

“Twenty bucks a week. Just as long as I need you to do this.” Connor crosses his arms. “I am literally offering you money you to pretend to be my friend now will you do it.”

Evan smiles weakly. “That’s…the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Oh my god.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious. What’s your answer.”

Evan swallows. This could go very badly. But money… He knows his mom keeps lying about how they’re doing financially. Medicine and therapy is expensive. College is worse. Evan doesn’t have a job. There isn’t too much of a choice here.

Twenty dollars is a dinner or two when his mom isn’t home.

Pretend to be friends with Connor Murphy, who yells at people and skips class to smoke and pushes people and threw a printer in the second grade, for twenty dollars a week.

Evan closes his hand around the bill and then stuffs it into his pocket.

“I-I’ll do it.”

Connor holds out his hand and for a second, Evan thinks he’s going to take back the money and yell at him for being so pathetic that he’ll fake friendship for a measly twenty dollars, but then Connor says, “Give me the Sharpie.”

Evan hands him the Sharpie and Connor grabs his good arm. As Connor writes on his skin, the first thing Evan thinks is ‘ink poisoning’. Which is really just ridiculous, but he’s on edge.

“There,” Connor says, letting go of Evan’s arm and capping the Sharpie. “You have my number. And if you give it to anyone else, I’ll kill you.” The way he says it is so casual that Evan feels like he should be more scared by the threat than he is.

“G-got it,” Evan stutters. He glances over the numbers, hoping Connor will leave now. He needs time to process.

“Also—”

Life is never what Evan wants it to be.

“—Is this yours? I found it on the printer.” Evan feels his entire body go cold. “‘Dear Evan Hansen.’ That’s your name, right?”

If Evan wasn’t absolutely panicking right now, there might’ve been something funny about the fact that Connor paid someone he didn’t even know the name of to be his friend.

But it’s not funny.

“Oh, t-that’s just a stupid— it’s a paper I had to write for a, um, assignment…” Evan tugs on his shirt, because if he doesn’t do something with his hands, he’s going to try and grab it from Connor and there’s no way that can end except bad.

“‘Because there’s Zoe’,” Connor reads. The world tilts drastically, and everything slides toward destruction. “Is this about my sister?”

“No! Not at all!” Evan says quickly. It’s like he’s desperately trying to fix a fatal wound with Hello Kitty bandages. He’s drowning in his own worst fears and his mind is working against him and he can’t get any more words out to explain this situation because there’s no way to make this any better.

“You wrote this because you knew that I would find it.”

“What?”

“You saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and printed it out, so that I would find that.”

Evan almost starts laughing out of panic and a feeling of ‘oh god that sounds like something I would think’, but he’s so overwhelmed with everything that he can only get out a strangled, “Why—”

“So I would—”

“—would I do that?”

“—read some creepy shit you wrote about my sister, and freak out, right?” Connor snaps. “And then you can tell everyone that I’m crazy, right?” he yells.

“No. Wait— I don’t even, what?”

“Fuck you,” Connor seethes. He stalks out of the room, the door to the computer lab slamming behind him.

He still has the letter.

“But I really, I need that back!” Evan shouts. “Please. Can you just— can you please give it back.” His voice goes quiet. There’s no way he’s getting that back.

He swallows hard as he turns back to his laptop. Looks like he’s printing out another copy, even though his mind is whirling all the ways this one could end in disaster too.

Evan makes his way over to the printer, legs shaking and knees wobbly as he waits for the page to print. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and locks his knees in an attempt to stop shaking and calm down even a fraction of a percent.

His fingers brush against the twenty dollar bill in his pocket.

It burns.

—«·»—

When Evan gets home, he scrubs his arm until his skin is red and irritated and Connor’s number has vanished.

Not that the numbers aren’t branded in his mind.

He writes them down on a sticky note and hides it deep within a book that he shoves to the back of his bookshelf. Doctor Sherman keeps telling him that if something is worrying him before bed, he should write it down so he doesn’t have to think about it as much. This is the first time Evan has tried.

He keeps thinking about Connor.

Connor isn’t in school the next day and Evan feels a strange sort of relief.

He isn’t in school the next day either. Evan tells himself that it’s probably a good thing. Maybe he can reach a point where this is all just a bad memory that he only remembers the vague feeling of.

He can’t convince himself.

Connor’s name is bold on his arm like a brand.

Evan tries to convince himself that it’s nothing when he gets called down to the principal’s office. No emergency of any kind. Maybe it’s something to do with paperwork. Maybe it’s actually a good thing, which seems a little far fetched, but it gets him through the hallways.

When he opens the door, the principal isn’t there. Just two people he doesn’t know, a man who turns to look at him with blank eyes and a woman who looks like she’s about to have a breakdown.

He swallows. “Good morning. Is Mr. Howard…?” he trails off as they give him confused looks. “I-I just— sorry, they said on the loudspeaker for me to go to the principal’s office…”

“Mr. Howard is, uh, he stepped outside,” the man explains.

“Oh.” Well that’s fine, Evan can just go find him then. Leave these two to the breakdown that he can see coming from the woman in almost slow motion because he’s been there before and he doesn’t want to be present—

“We wanted to speak with you in private,” the man says. Evan stares at him. “If you’d like to maybe…” He gestures to a chair.

Evan hesitates before he sits down. He frantically searches his mind, desperate to find some sort of memory of these two, to know if they have any connection to him at all whatsoever, if they’re supposed to be people he knows and remembers.

“We’re, uh…we’re Connor’s parents.”

“Oh.” Evan is back in the computer lab as Connor reads the letter, anxiety building and crushing him into pieces. This can’t be about that, Connor wouldn’t have told his parents about it, his parents wouldn’t come to school and call him out of class because of it, it doesn’t make sense it doesn’t make sense it doesn’t make—

The woman pulls a folded piece of paper out of her purse, holding it carefully.

Evan stares at it. There’s no way…

“Why don’t you go ahead, honey, and…?”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” the woman says, her voice trembling. It sounds like she’s about to burst into tears.

Evan grips the arms of the chair.

“That’s not what I said, is it?” the man asks sharply.

The silence weighs down on Evan like an anchor. Or like his anxiety. Everything feels like anxiety, the air, the silence, the room…

Connor’s mother holds the paper out to Evan. “This is… Connor…he wants you to have this.” Her voice is shaking more now and Evan wants to be anywhere else.

Evan takes the paper. He wants to rip it up into shreds, set it on fire, and flush the ashes down the toilet.

“We didn’t,” the man starts, “we’d never heard your name before, Connor never…but then we saw… ‘Dear Evan Hansen’.”

Evan resists the urge to crumple the letter up in his hands. “He, um, he gave this to you?” he asks carefully. He still doesn’t understand. How could one pathetic letter bring the Murphys here?

“We didn’t know that you two were friends.”

Evan inhales sharply. “F-friends?”

“We didn’t think that Connor had any friends,” the man continues. “And then we see this note and it’s— this seems to suggest pretty clearly that you and Connor are, or at least for Connor, he thinks of you as…” He points to the letter, struggling through his words. “I mean, it’s right there. ‘Dear Evan Hansen’. It’s addressed to you. He wrote it to you.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no. “You think this is— you think that Connor wrote this to me.”

The woman nods. “These are the words he wanted to share with you.”

“He wanted them to be his last words,” the man adds.

Whatever Evan wanted to say vanishes from his mind. “I-I’m sorry. What do you mean, last words?”

Connor’s parents exchange a glance.

Evan doesn’t need them to say it outloud. He already knows.

“Connor, uh, Connor tried to take his own life,” the man says slowly. “He’s in the hospital right now.”

“He…what?” Evan knows. He knows he knows he knows he knows but the words aren’t processing and everything is turning to static.

“This is all we found with him. He had it folded up in his pocket.” Evan scrambles for words, for anything that will stop this. “You can see that he’s… He probably wanted to explain it, why he tried to…” Evan shakes his head, but Connor’s father keeps going and Evan feels sick. “‘I wish that everything was different. I wish that I were part of something. I wish that what I said mattered to anyone.’”

“Please stop it, Larry,” Connor’s mother interrupts.

Evan wipes his palms on his pants. This is bad this is so bad. “But, that’s, this isn’t—” Those are his words. His. Connor never would’ve wanted— ”I’m sorry. Connor, um, Connor d-didn’t write this.”

“What does that mean?” Cynthia asks, voice on the edge of hysterical.

“Connor didn’t— he didn’t write this,” Evan stutters. He doesn’t know how much clearer he can get, but Connor — their son — tried to commit suicide and here he is telling them that what they think isn’t true because really, it would be just like Evan to become the villain in a story he didn’t even realize he was a part of.

“What does he mean?” Cynthia repeats, louder as she grabs her husband’s hand.

“He’s obviously in shock,” Larry says in such a matter-of-fact way that part of Evan almost believes him.

“N-no,” Evan protests. “I just, he didn’t—”

“It’s right here!” Cynthia points at the letter aggressively.

Evan can’t do this. He can’t breathe. “I-I’m sorry, but I should probably just— can I please go now?”

“If this isn’t— if Connor didn’t write this, then—”

“Cynthia,” Larry says sharply. “Please. Calm down.”

Evan grabs for his backpack. “I should go now.”

“But did he say anything to you?” Cynthia asks desperately. “Did you see anything—?”

“I really should go,” Evan interrupts. Because she’s grasping at straws and trying to understand and she can’t and won’t and he doesn’t want to be here for that.

“Cynthia, honey this is not the time.”

“This is all we have!” she wails. “Conor won’t tell us, he’ll never tell us!”

“Honey. Listen to me. Please.” Larry puts a hand over Cynthia’s. She pulls away and buries her face in her hands, sobbing.

Evan needs to leave.

“Cynthia.”

Evan holds out the letter, hand shaking. “You should just— you should take it. Please.” He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he keeps it. He doesn’t want to be near it anymore.

Cynthia looks up at him, cheeks tearstained and eyes overflowing, and gasps. “Larry, look!” She points to Evan’s arm. “His cast.”

Connor’s name.

Evan glances down at his cast. He’d forgotten, somehow, amidst all of this, he had forgotten—

Twenty dollars.

For as long as Connor needed him to be his friend.

“His best and most dearest friend,” Cynthia recites.

The ground opens up and swallows Evan whole.

—«·»—

They try to get him to go to the hospital. Try to get him to visit Connor. He keeps shaking his head and tripping over his words.

He can’t.

He can’t be there and see Connor in a hospital bed and pretend. He can’t keep that up. He can’t keep this up.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

Eventually Larry got it. “He’s processing,” he had said to Cynthia.

Cynthia grabbed Evan’s hand and said, “He should be out in a day or two. But you can visit him whenever you’re ready.” And she’d smiled.

And Evan had smiled back.

Because he’s a liar.

—«·»—

When Evan gets home, he tears apart his bookshelf until he finds the book he hid the sticky note in. He pulls it out of the book and stares at it, the numbers swimming before his eyes. He’s managed not to have a panic attack yet but—

He puts the sticky note on the his laptop and finds the twenty he had stuffed in a drawer.

It’s just a bill. There are millions like it. It’s just a twenty dollar bill.

Evan swallows back bile.

He feels gross. Bad. Anxious (that’s not new). Uncomfortable.

He scratches his cast. If only this were off his arm. If only he hadn’t let Connor sign it. If only he hadn’t fallen out of that tree. If only he had.

If only he’d been higher.

His phone rings loudly from where it’s sitting on his bed and snaps him out of his trance. He doesn’t know how long he just stood there, staring at a bill, but he feels weirdly out of place now that he realizes he hasn’t moved for what was probably a strangely long period of time. Now he’s too aware of himself and his body.

It’s just a text from Jared, asking about something for class. Jared doesn’t text unless it’s related to schoolwork.

Evan puts the money down on his desk.

How the hell does he do this?

Evan doesn’t know what standard protocol for these types of things is, but he doesn’t really know what to do with himself when he sees Connor in the halls eight days later.

His first thought is ‘he’s back?’

His second thought is ‘oh no he’s back.’

Evan has been avoiding Zoe for eight days. He takes alternate routes when he sees her in the hallways, he doesn’t pass her locker if he can help it. They made eye contact once and he felt his insides shrivel up. He doesn’t know if her parents told her about the letter, he doesn’t know if they questioned Connor about it, he doesn’t know anything. He just doesn’t want to be a piece in some game that they’re playing.

It’s a bad day.

He gets through a class and a half before he stumbles into the bathroom, hands shaking and breaths shallow.

Evan doesn’t like confrontation. It makes him feel nauseous and dizzy and there’s no way this can end without confrontation.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to make it through the rest of the day.

—«·»—

Evan makes it through the rest of the day. Barely. The ‘barely’ is important. He didn’t pay much attention and when he did, he didn’t retain much of the information, but he didn’t have a meltdown in class and for now that has to be good enough.

He goes to the computer lab to print his letter for the day because it’s normal and part of his schedule. And because he’s still pretending he can do this assignment. That he can pretend that everything is okay when nothing is okay at all. That he can find some optimism in a world that’s permanently gray.

Connor Murphy is sitting at one of the computers.

He has his feet kicked up on the table and his hood pulled down over his eyes.

Evan decides the best thing to do is leave. He can print the letter tomorrow. Change his schedule to do it before school. Be anywhere other than here.

Connor sits up as soon as he turns to leave.

“Evan, right?” Connor asks, tugging on his hoody.

“Y-yeah.” Evan grips the straps of his backpack. He needs to ground himself. Somehow.

Connor sighs. “Sorry about…” He gestures vaguely with a hand. “My parents. I heard they jumped you.”

“Not ex-exactly,” Evan mumbles. He’s trying to form an exit strategy but his mind isn’t working right.

“Yeah well Larry is a piece of shit and my mom hasn’t really stopped crying in days.” Connor pulls his legs down and stands up from the chair and oh god Evan forgot how tall he was. “Good job getting out of visiting. It was the fucking worst.”

Evan glances at the ground. He sees Connor’s name on his cast out of the corner of his eye. He tightens his grip on his backpack. “W-was it planned?”

Connor shrugs. “This is like the fourth time I’ve tried, why does it fucking matter anymore?”

Evan grits his teeth. “Was it planned?”

Connor scoffs. “Why do you care?”

Evan looks up at him. “B-because you paid me!” He lifts his cast toward Connor. “You signed this cast and made it look like we were—”

“Oh my god,” Connor murmurs.

“What was I supposed to do?!” Because that’s the question. What did Connor want from him?! Why him?

Connor tore at his hair. “Are you fucking serious—”

“What was I supposed to do if you died?” Evan interrupts. “What then? Y-your family already thinks we’re best friends—”

“I can’t believe I tried to kill myself and you—”

“— Was I just supposed to lie?! Lie about being best friends with the dead kid? Was that your plan, Connor?!”

“Oh fuck off!” Connor shouts.

Evan shakes his head. His mind is spinning and there are all these possibilities and he feels like he’s going to fall over. “Because it sure feels like you were using me and I know what it’s like to— I know what it feels like and I’ve been there but I never thought ‘oh man I should drag this other person down with me’, I just jumped out of a fucking tree!”

Evan breathes heavily as Connor stares at him, eyes wide.

“…you what?” Connor asks. There’s no anger in his voice, just—

Evan reruns his last words in his mind.

Oh no.

“N-no no I-I just meant—” Evan holds his hands out in front of him and shakes his head. “I di-didn’t—” He steps backward and stumbles over himself. “I-I need— I have to go.”

He twists around, tripping as he runs out of the computer lab, slamming his shoulder against the door to open it as he flees.

He thinks Connor might call after him.

He doesn’t care.

#dear evan hansen #deh fanfic #connor murphy #evan hansen #my fics #yeah im too lazy for this

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mysteryfanfictheatre3000 · 7 years

Text

Back to the Frollo, Chapter 7

Warning: sappiness.

It was well after seven. I had already showered and dressed, taking great care not to awaken Claude. Poor baby!

HE IS NOT A POOR BABY. HE IS A SOCIOPATH AND A MONSTER.

He usually doesn't sleep long past sun-up; he really needed the rest. There was no need to prepare breakfast until he got up. So I tip-toed downstairs and put on a pot of coffee. Hmmm...Maybe I should start some of the morning meal. I thought again, as I rifled through the fridge. That's it! I'll fix him one of those down-home Saturday morning breakfasts. Country ham, grits, fried apples, hot biscuits...Yummy!

Feeding someone from such a different time such a massive array of modern foods would undoubtedly give them issues. Most of the stuff she’s been mentioning could never be found in the 1400s, and introducing all that to someone who’s never eaten it or even seen it before would probably screw them up. Then again, there’s a time-traveling Chevy here, so maybe I shouldn’t be this nitpicky.

************** The first time I fixed Claude such a breakfast was after that first night...I still reel from the memory. Well...I DID promise him I'd cook for him and when he sat down to that feast he said, "My dear, I usually don't eat this much in the morning. It all looks wonderfully delicious, but...oh well, since you went to all this trouble, I simply CAN'T refuse." "You better not refuse, Claude Frollo. I got up extra early to cook all this food. Besides, you'll need re-fueling after last night...," I playfully scolded him.

Please don’t remind me of “last night.” I don’t want to know.

He just smiled and replied teasingly, "...last night's 'activities'? Yes, all that...er...poetry-reading and...umm...singing so many love songs can be somewhat...draining." With that, Claude and I burst into laughter and shared a hearty meal. It was to be the beginning of a very special relationship.

I know they’re insinuating they had sex, but Im just going to pretend they sang corny songs like My Heart Will Go On for hours on end instead.

***************** My mind was jarred back to the present when I heard Claude come downstairs. Our breakfast was nearly ready as I poured coffee when he entered the kitchen.

I don’t even want to know what introducing large amounts of caffeine to his diet would do.

He was fully dressed, not in his casual medieval attire, but a modern ensemble of tight black jeans, a black and purple silk shirt, and black boots. He looked fantastic!

Draco in Leather Pants, anyone?

Oh yes, I thought, black is definitely his color, really highlights his coloring and form, so tall and slender, graceful and elegant. Claude took me in his arms and kissed me tenderly. "Good Morning, my darling Nisha." "Morning, baby. I thought you'd sleep later. Glad I fixed breakfast early." I returned the kiss and finished preparing our meal. Claude sat at the table, sipped his coffee, and gazed at me. "Actually, I hadn't intended to sleep this late. But if my body needed the extra rest..." He stopped himself as he continued to stare at me. "Oh Danisha...my dear, you look exceedingly becoming this morning. I like the outfit, the way it fits, the colors." He was commenting on my casual attire of purple jeans, black and purple sweater, and black suede shoes. My hair was loosely tied back with a purple ribbon and my ears sported over-sized silver hoops. I hadn't planned on us being near-twins today, but how was I to know we were going to wear the same colors? Pure coincidence...

This is like that song from Frozen where Anna and Hans are like “Wow, we’re soooo in sync!” Except, y’know, Hans turned out to be a murderer.

Claude smiled at me as I set his breakfast before him. "Your hair was longer, full of waves and curls. Not that I don't find your current straight style more attractive. You were wearing a long dress", he began, "a riotous mix of colors. It followed your curves and I do believe there was a slit...mmm...you looked utterly delicious." He began eating as I responded, grinning, "Slit on the side clean past the knee. I saw you trying to get a better look. Too bad we didn't click right away."

Something tells me wearing that in medieval Paris, where I’m assuming this meeting took place, would raise some eyebrows.

Smiling broadly as he buttered a biscuit, Claude said, "Oh Danisha, I fell for you the moment I saw you. Your beauty charmed my eye, my sweetness, but the beast within was a bit hard to take." Immersed in memories, Claude Frollo and I enjoyed our breakfast, and engaged in a lively conversation of how it all began.

************** My initial arrival in Paris was a blast. Literally. My old friend and mentor, Fern, had asked me to accompany her on a 'special' summer trip. I had nothing special planned that summer, and since Fern had hit the lottery and won all that lovely money, I felt, hey, maybe she's taking me some place really classy AND expensive. My bubble almost burst when I found myself riding in a 1959 Chevy Impala, jet black, all fully restored and equipped with a curious device that Fern said was a 'surprise'. So, we're driving down this deserted country road. I thought we were lost, but Fern said she needed the room and, besides, "I don't need no audience." Room? No audience? "What in the...you talking about, Fern?" My questions were soon answered as Fern floored the accelerator and shouted, "Hold on and shield your peepers!" The last thing I remember was a bright, white light and a weird, whirring sound. When I opened my eyes, we were traveling down a narrow dirt road. "Where are we?" I asked, now confused and bewildered. "Welcome to Paris, er, make that medieval Paris", Fern announced proudly, adding, "I'll explain later."

I can explain it right now: you badly ripped off Back to the Future just so you could go seduce a 50-year-old guy you adore for some reason.

***************** I finished clearing away the remains of breakfast as Claude refilled our coffee cups. I continued to reminisce as we moved to the backyard deck. Claude admired my backyard garden with its fall flowers and leaves just beginning to peak. It was a beautiful fall morning, not too warm, but not cold. "You know, Claude", I began, "I really thought I was dreaming. I thought it was all just another crazy heat-induced fantasy. Boy, was I wrong. It was all so REAL!" Claude reached out and held my hand. "My darling, I'm so glad you accepted Fern's invitation. I'm also glad you decided to stay in Paris after that unfortunate incident. Otherwise, I would not be here reveling in your breath-taking beauty." I was so moved by what he said, that I felt like crying. Claude sensed my mood and put his arm around me.

Because he’s just so gentle and caring.

"Help, a demon! Please, help, anyone!" -Esmeralda in the musical, trying to get away from Frollo while he attacks her in a cell

"Fern left just before that episode. Honestly, baby, if I wasn't for Quasi and the kids, I would've been long gone. When that ball went sailing through your window..."

It consistently makes me laugh how the author treats mundane events like they’re the apocalypse or the second coming of Christ, and ignores every important thing that ever happened in the book/movie/show. Old guy gets clothes stolen and idiot breaks a window? Incredibly vital, earth-shattering events! Man murders a mother and tries to drown a baby (depending on the version), becomes obsessed with a young woman, stalks and captures her, attempts to rape her, then attempts to murder her? Unimportant.

Claude Frollo kissed my lips, a nice, long kiss, "I'll never forget your apologies, my love. Nor will I forget...what happened...afterwards." I definitely remembered what happened afterwards. And Claude was right; I almost left Paris for good after the 'incident', as we now call it. ...And come to think of it, it was so petty, so stupid...

Why is breaking a church window more important to you than genocide, rape and murder? Why are your priorities so… messed up?

We sat on a bench beneath a tall old oak. Claude held me close, whispered "I love you" in my ear, and kissed me so tenderly. He's always so patient and sweet with me, well, most of the time. But it sure didn't start out that way.

Really, this disturbing, perverted elderly guy wasn’t perfect at the start? I'm beginning to think Danisha actually is a witch because she obviously has some sort of spell on this guy.

#The Hunchback of Notre Dame #Claude Frollo #danisha #back to the frollo

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