#everyone pray for me that my finals are not going to be as strenuous as everything else has been up until now

[daincrediblegg]

I am once again wishing to god I could procrastinate going into video editing hell but I cannot

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Roy/Jamie prompt: Due to some freak accident Jamie takes something super heavy right to the chest, like a weight or a medicine ball. The breath his completely knocked out of him, he's literally knocked off his feet and as he lays there gasping in agony his eyes find Roy and with whatever strength he's got he reaches out to him. A horrified Roy rushes to his side, pleading with Jamie to hang on as the younger man passes out. There's a mad rush to the hospital where Jamie pulls through and isn't actually as hurt as everyone thought. It just scared the crap out of them all, especially Roy who goes uber protective mode as he takes over Jamie's care. It's just the jolt these two need to finally realize what they mean to each other.

Oh he gets the wind knocked out of him. Had that happen to a friend when I was like 9. He fell off a high swing and straight onto his chest. We all thought he needed a hospital was absolutely terrifying.

-

Roy is frozen for a second before he leaps forward. Jamie is gasping and shaking. He’s clawing at his chest. Roy slams into the ground next to him.

“Jamie? Can you breathe?”

He gets a broken gasp and a shudder in response. “Okay hospital call a squad.” Jamie’s eyes fill with tears. He reaches a hand out towards Roy. Roy takes the hand without thinking. He links their fingers together. “Come on Jamie. You’ll be okay stay awake.” Jamie shakes his head. He starts crying for real and scratching at his chest.

Roy only prays the squad gets here faster

——

Roy has refused to leave Jamie’s side ever since the hospital said he could be discharged. Roy almost fought the doctor who said he could leave. Jamie’s chest was black and blue. He shook when he took his hoodie off. Roy needless to say forced him into a wheelchair to take him to his car.

“Old man shouldn’t the rolls be reversed?” Roy snorts. He can’t help it. He’s just happy to hear Jamie talking and joking again. “We’re going to my house. Be good not a word about the dog.”

Jamie perks up at the mention of a dog. “Dog! Roy you’ve got a dog?? How long? What’s its name? What kind! Why haven’t I known this?” Roy snorts and buckles Jamie’s seatbelt.

“Two months. Frankie. Chihuahua. Cause I hadn’t told you yet. Phoebe wanted a dog. Ruth said if I got one it’d basically be like hers.” Jamie blinks at all the information. “So you got a dog so your niece would be happy? God I love you.”

Roy nearly chokes on the gun he’s chewing. “You’re drugged.” Jamie shakes his head and rests it on the window. “Always loved you. This made me realize I should say it.”

Roy jerks the car into the closest parking lot. He shoves it in park and stares at Jamie. Who understandably looks a little startled. “You fucking muppet. I was going to say that later.” Jamie’s mouth opens and closes. “No the fuck you were not.” Roy grabs his hand and holds on tight. “I love you. I want to date you.”

Jamie’s mouth drops open. He can’t believe it. “You love me like I love you?” Roy smiles. He brings Jamie’s hand up to kiss it. “Hate that it took this to make me say it but yes. I do.” Jamie let’s out a whoop that makes Roy’s head hurt a little.

“Roy Kent loves me. He fucking loves me!” Roy laughs and shifts to drive again when he’s attacked. “Kiss! Now! Now now now now now now.” Roy cuts him off by obeying. Kissing Jamie is nice feels right.

Roy pulls away with a tap to Jamie’s chest. “No strenuous activity for at least a week. Behave.” Jamie whines but Roy ignores him. “I’ll let you get Frankie outfits with my card if you’re good.” Jamie grabs the hand not on the wheel. “Oh I love you.” Roy snorts.

“I love you too.”

[stilldani24]

Pain, but like, It’s Tolerable

corpse husband x platonic!reader oneshot

words: 1089

request: “corpse x reader where she’s a streamer but she’s very private about her personal life and she randomly goes awol for a week before coming back and steaming among us. during the game the others notice that she’s unusually quiet and she lets it slip that she had surgery and is kind of in pain and that’s why she isn’t talking much and everyone is concerned, specially corpse and then he texts her/facetimes her after they both stop streaming to make sure she’s alright and to scold her (like playfully) for not letting him know about the surgery” from anonymous

Your doctor told you to rest for a while, not to work out, and not do anything too strenuous. You knew exactly what to do during your recovery period, and that was play Among Us until you literally dropped from exhaustion. 

Okay, not really. But pretty close.

You were actually kind of nervous to go back to playing, especially since you had been pretty much AWOL for the entire week. You had suffered from a few health conditions throughout your life, and had numerous surgeries to fix them, or at least attempt to. Whenever you had one surgery, another one followed three or so years later. And after years of trying to get your kidneys to work with you, you had eventually gone into kidney failure and began dialysis while still trying to be a streamer and maintain your friendships with those you met online. It was hard, balancing everything while also being an adult who had to pay rent and shit, but you managed. All you had to do was pray that someone in your life was a match for you so you didn’t have to wait potentially years on the waitlist. 

Your sister was tested and came back as a match, and graciously donated her kidney so you could stop needing dialysis and have a long, happy life. You two now only had one kidney each. Kidney buddies. You should remember to make a shirt like that for Christmas to give to her. 

But the second day back from the hospital, you made your way slowly to your game room. You had an ice pack to your incision, wrapped in a towel of course, and slowly sat down in your chair with a soft grunt. After situating your pillows so you wouldn’t be in too much pain, you messaged your Discord group you were in with Corpse, Sean, Felix, and a few others that you were down to play. They immediately sent the game code and you hopped into the game, followed by joining the call. The lobby consisted of Sean, Felix, Corpse, Dave, PJ, Nogla, and yourself. Sean, Felix, and Nogla were streaming whereas the other four of you would just be vibing along with them. You would get back to your regularly scheduled streams when you healed a bit more, so you could be your normal loud and animated self while not worrying your viewers too much. 

“Y/N!” Sean greeted you enthusiastically, making you smile as your little purple avatar ran around the lobby of the game. “Where the hell have you been, we’ve been worried sick!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Corpse added, and you sensed a little smile behind his voice, but also genuine worry. “Where were you, yeah.”

“Oh, just had some personal business to take care of, don’t worry about me,” you responded casually, adjusting yourself a bit. It caused a little twang of pain, causing you to hiss quietly. “So, uh, what are we playing today?”

“We’re gonna play hide and seek, you down?” Felix asked. 

“Oh, so down. Let’s go, boys,” you replied back with a grin. 

As you played a few rounds of hide and seek, followed by a few rounds of the school game telephone, and finally you guys put the lobby in 3x speed and raced around the map. The boys were all loud as hell as normal, and the race was hella fun, but if you laughed too hard, it hurt like a son of a bitch. Corpse had noticed after a while of your near silence, but didn’t say anything until his worry got the best of him. 

“Hey, Y/N. Are you sure you’re okay, you seem really out of it today,” he mentioned in the lobby between games. 

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “Alright, fine, I’ll spill. I didn’t wanna say anything while a few of you were streaming, but it’s alright. I got surgery a week ago. I had a kidney transplant after my kidneys failed, so yeah. I’m in pain right now, but it’s tolerable so I wanted to play with you guys. Kinda take my mind off of it.”

The boys were kinda silent after that. 

“No cap?” Corpse finally asked, making you laugh. While you were both Gen Z, the lingo sometimes got you when he used it in front of people who definitely were not Gen Z. 

“No cap, Corpse,” you replied, a smile still on your face. “Deadass though, I’m doing alright. I missed playing after not being able to for a week of being in the hospital so let’s get back to it, shall we?”

After a weird game of trivia, where Dave gave PJ the easiest question ever and the rest of you questions you couldn’t even think of answering, the lot of you stopped playing and exited the call to go about the rest of your days. Not even two minutes later though, as you were trying to get the strength to stand up, your phone began ringing with the familiar tone for FaceTime. You slumped back down into your chair before picking up your phone. 

“Hey, Corpse, what’s up? Miss me already?” you teased as you sat back in your chair, grunting a little bit from the movement. You were definitely not FaceTime ready, with dirty hair and sleep deprived eyes, but you were always down to talk to your best friend. You didn’t give a fuck what you looked like to him. Corpse had his camera off. 

“Damn, you look like shit,” he laughed, making you do as well. It was just the kind of friendship you had. “But what the fuck, dude? You were MIA for a week just to come back to say that you had a kidney transplant? The fuck?”

“I’m sorry!” You laughed, holding your arms up slightly in defense. “I didn’t wanna worry you. You already got shit going on in your life, you don’t need my problems tacked on as well.”

Corpse audibly huffed, and you could tell he was just rolling eyes. Playfully, of course. “Hell, if you needed a kidney, you could have fucking asked. I don’t know if I’d even be a match but I’d be willing to get tested.”

“Awe, Corpsie,” you teased playfully. “Genuine friendship? In this economy? Unheard of. But thank you, that actually means a lot. Where were you when I was on dialysis though, huh?”

“Well if you would have fucking told me--”

“Whoops, look at the time! Gotta go!”

[airplanned]

All the Trashy Novels Part 29

It’s a long one, because it’s the smutty climax.

Part 1...Part 28

***

Link pulled his horse to the side of the road as they were riding past the wetlands, right before the fork away from Zora's Domain.  She stopped and waited impatiently as he crouched down in the tall grass and snuck towards the water.  What was he doing?  It was impossible to tell with him.

A minute later, he shouted, "Ha!" and stood up with his hands cupped together.  He came up to her horse, lifted his hands for her to see, and uncupped them.  Inside was a dragonfly.

"Oh!"  She slipped off her horse to bow her head over the cave of his hands and peer inside.  When it launched itself upward, she meeped and jumped back, laughing and pressing a hand to her chest as it darted off.  At some point she had taken hold of Link's wrist.

He smiled at her and shifted, twisting their hands until hers was locked in his, and then pulling her off the road and towards the water.  He caught her another dragonfly, and she caught him a frog, explaining its medicinal properties and how one day she would use it to run experiments on him.

"You're already running experiments on me," he said.

"No.  You are assisting as I run experiments on myself."

"What experiments will you run first?"

"I need more data points.  Duration and intensity of the glowing.  I need a survey of the other factors that may be involved before devising a more strenuous set of experiments."

His mouth quirked, as if he were trying not to laugh at her.

She shoved him into the shallow water.  

A second later, he'd grabbed her around the middle and pulled her down with him, and splashing and spluttering, she'd had to fight her way to sitting.  He grinned at her, and she covered his face with her hand.  He took the opportunity to lick her palm, and she shrieked and ranted about how gross he was all the way to the citadel.

There they stopped for the night: one last night sleeping in a bed in exchange for playing princess as the general gave a guided tour and then hosted them at dinner.  But the tour turned out to be much more interesting than she'd expected.  A team of Sheikah had brought in a handful of guardians with the intention of adding them to the citadel's defenses.  They were a bit behind those from the Royal Tech Lab, and had to be aimed manually, but they still outstripped the cannons.  The general and the Sheikah soaked up every word she said, and soon she was gesturing wildly with her arm half inside a guardian, her face streaked with grease.

"The general's in love with you," Link whispered as he walked her to her room.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Everyone here's in love with you."

"No, they're not.  They're just too far removed from the castle and haven't heard the terrible gossip about me yet."

"Okay, but if you ever need a fake Akkalan boyfriend, I bet he'd volunteer."

"I do not require a fake Akkalan boyfriend."  She paused at her door.  "How is your fake townie girlfriend?"

"We broke up."

"Oh?"

"She didn't like that I was leaving town for so long.  And she didn't like that I was going with you.  She's very jealous of you."

"Well," Zelda said.  "She should be.  Everyone here is in love with me."

He nodded.

"Everyone at the castle will be disappointed."

"They'll get over it."

"What will you do the next time you get a bite mark on your neck?"

He lifted his eyebrows.

She lifted hers back.  Then she closed the doors behind her and went to bed, smirking.

They reached the Spring of Power late the next day.  As Link set up camp, Zelda ducked away to see the Goddess statue.  She didn't change into her prayer dress or step into the water.  She couldn't sort what she wanted into words that might reach the Goddess.  She was out of practice praying.  Instead, she bowed her head and clenched her hands before her, gathered all the worry and hope and pleading that tightened in her chest and mentally projected it into the heavens, hoping the Goddess would hear her.

Link gave her a cautious look as she returned.  She realized that she usually left her prayers feeling lost and worthless and small.  Link must have noticed.  He must be expecting more of the same.  But this time felt different.  It wasn't a gladness that she'd heard others describe, but maybe the hope and determination that had pushed her on for the past few days was bolstered by the Goddess.  Then again, maybe it was the absence of a sense of defeat.  She gave Link as honest of a smile a she could as she accepted the bowl he passed to her.

"I'm alright," she said.  "I'm going to figure this out."

"I know you will."  He said it so easily that it disarmed her. 

Because of the depression in the ground, the sun seemed to set earlier than usual.  They ate in silence, and she pretended the warmth on her face was from the fire. 

She snuck a few looks at him--his posture easy, the planes of his face lit orange in the light.  He was handsome.  She'd never thought about him that way before.

She blinked, handed back her bowl, and retreated to her tent.

She arranged everything to her liking. She had a comfortable bed roll and a number of blankets fit for a princess.  She had a soft glowing lantern and a pocket watch and the Sheikah Slate and a journal with a pencil.  She made sure the pencil was sharpened.  She changed into a shirt with fine embroidery around the collar and a softness that belayed wealth, but it was also far too big for her, fitting a bit like a sack that barely covered her rear.  She didn't wear anything else.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves.  But she took a shaky breath and stuck her head out of her tent.  "I would like to run an experiment.  If--if you have a moment."

He looked up from the fire, his interest piqued, and she ducked back into her tent before he could see how badly she was blushing.  Once in her tent, she put on as much bluster as she could to hide her nerves, ordering him to remove his boots and his sword and his shirt.  She thought about asking him to remove his pants, but that seemed a bit pushy.  Maybe she needed to be pushy?  "And your pants," she said.  "But your undergarments can remain."

She then had him lie on his side on her mat.  "You will observe and take notes," she explained, showing him were the pocket watch and journal were.  She tucked her hair behind her ears, lay down facing him, and hooked her leg over his hip.

He looked mildly surprised, but went along with it.  And that was weird, right?  This was weird.  She was taking advantage of how he couldn't deny her.  She was royalty and possibly the key to saving everything he knew from destruction.  Maybe should should find a way to--

"You're over-thinking it," he whispered.  He'd made himself comfortable, resting his head on his arm and a hand on the small of her back.

She huffed.  Then she closed her eyes and worked her hand down her body.

"Want me to help?"

"I don't want you to be too distracted to record your observations."

"Right.  Good.  Because this isn't distracting at all."

She pinched him with her free hand, and he laughed.  It was soft and low and she could feel his breath against her face.  It did more to arouse her than her own hand, which slid between her legs.

His hand moved to her bare hip, and once he did, she could feel how much she moved against him, how much her hips rocked.  He didn't try to control her rhythm or hold her still, and she found her movements growing even more animated as the pleasure built around her.  She bit her lip and breathed.  

His voice was soft like his laugh when he murmured, "What are you thinking about?"

"What you would say if you were talking to me."

"What would I say?"

"'That's it, Zelda. That's so good.'"

Not missing a beat, he said, "You're so good, Zelda.  The way you move, the way your whole body moves.  You're so emphatic.  In everything you do.  Your whole body moves when you talk.  And now, Goddess look at you, the way your shoulders move and your back arches."

Her shoulders rolled even more, her breath coming quick.

"Call me something sweet," she said.  In her head, he called her darling, and it wasn't quite right.  She always stumbled over it.  She couldn't hear it in his voice.

He leaned in to kiss under her ear, sending a shudder down her spine.  He whispered, "You're my peach."

She gasped, her hand picking up speed, a spike of pleasure rocking through her.    His hands wandered inside her shirt, down her leg.  Dizziness crept in around her edges.

"That's it.  That's it.  Let go.  I've got you."

He had her.  He would catch her when she fell.

"Look at me."

She tried twice to blink open her eyes, and when she finally managed, he was there, a heat in his eyes and adoration on his face.  The rhythm of her hand stuttered, and then his fingers had replaced hers, picking up the rhythm she'd set as he pulled her fingers into his mouth.  It all happened so fast that she thrust her fingers against his tongue a few times before realizing.  His eyes darkened and then rolled as he moaned and sucked greedily at her fingers.  The movements of his hand matched her own, except steady and sure when she faltered, when her body jerked, and her breath caught and caught and caught.  Link would catch her.  She threw her head back and grinned, riding every wave, letting herself fall.  She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss as she burned and burned and burned, still smiling against his mouth.

"Zelda?"

She blinked dreamily up at him, and there was a click as he snapped her picture with the slate.  He turned it around to show it to her. 

She was glowing.  Her whole body surrounded by a halo, her skin golden as if she had become the sun.  The picture smiled dreamily back at her.

"You've been glowing for two minutes and fifteen seconds and counting."

"You timed it?"

"Of course."

She beamed at him, and she could see from her hands on the slate that she was glowing more brightly.  Beams of sunlight radiated off her.  

She reached for Link's cheek and closed her eyes and reveled in the warmth in her chest, the shape of it, the pressure of it.  It was like...happiness?  A warmth of affection that had been there for a while, but had never before tapped into the power of her soul.  She hadn't let it.  She'd held it at bay.  She had pushed it aside to berate herself and turn her insecurities outward.  She'd thought the Goddess was spiteful, but the Goddess was love, and she rewarded those who loved.  To protect her country, she first needed to love it.

"Link?"

"Yeah?" He brushed hair from her face.

"I don't hate you."

"You sure?  That was a little fun."

"Only a little?"

"This is better."

She laughed and dragged him in to kiss her as she glowed.

***

Part 30

[hajimesh]

𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁

⥅ eren jaeger / 1.8k words

warnings. manga spoilers, fluff and angst, gender neutral reader

a/n. my entry for anilysium's collab, don't forget to check the masterlist !! thank u sm temi for the beta ♡ @thefairywalker

hope is what makes someone hold onto a promise. and that hope it's worse than the broken promise itself.

—

845.

an autumn-like breeze cooled down the summer afternoon, and with the sky barren of any clouds, it was easier for the sun rays to land on those familiar blond strands.

"over there!"

eren's small hand—even though it was big enough to cover yours—wrapped around your wrist before it tugged you through the crowd. your rapid breaths were all you could hear while you mentally prayed to make it on time, just a couple more steps and you would be within reach, already staring at armin’s frightened face which caused your heart to jump. but what finally managed to send you in a state of despair was the sight of eren shoving the bigger kid away.

“what do you think you’re doing, yeager?!”

“are you hurt?” tears gathered at the corners of your eyes while you helped armin up on his feet, you didn’t have to turn around to know eren had received a punch, his pained wail making you flinch.

armin took your hand and together faced the scene before your eyes, holding onto each other's hands while tears dampened your cheeks.

“leave him alone!” the tremble in your voice was obvious, even after multiple fights with those kids it always ended up the same way. armin and you crying in fear for eren and mikasa's safety.

only this time mikasa was nowhere to be seen.

“shut up!” 

“don’t talk to them like that!” with a kick on the shin, eren managed to keep the bully out of commission for a few seconds. but that was enough for your saviour to arrive.

“leave before i call the garrison.”

relief began to relax your tense stance, you all knew that it wasn’t the moment to be wasting their time in a kid’s fight, the shortage of food seemed to worsen each day and keeping the people on a tight leash became harder as the days went by.

the kid seemed to finally realize he wouldn't win this time, so with a scoff he took a couple of steps back, "this isn't over," his annoyed gaze traveled from eren to you, "and try not to piss your pants next time."

the three of you watched him run away while the rush of adrenaline began to wear out on your bodies and gave in to the tiredness. had mikasa not intervened, the outcome would've been way worse.

"hey," eren was the first one to break the silence, turning towards you and landing a hand on your shoulder. unfortunately, the softness in his voice was your catalyst and soon you allowed the distress to overcome you, "oh no, don't cry!"

it was useless to try to get your tears to stop, falling one after another as your chest racked with broken sobs, "i-i'm sorry i couldn't be o-of help!"

armin watched in worry as eren tried and failed to get you to calm down. he could tell you were scared when you confronted the bully, your hold on his hand so tight he feared you would end up hurting yourselves. but even so, you had pulled through your fear and stood your ground, something he admired from you.

with a tug on your shirt, mikasa signaled you to start walking, her impassive yet reassuring gaze letting you know she was there for you.

"let's go home."

—

the warm steam that blew onto your blotchy face felt soothing, the taste of mrs. yeager's freshly brewed tea successfully relaxing the tightness in your chest as it ran down your throat.

you could already feel the tiredness hitting you all at once, begging you to lie down and close your eyes so you could rest your mind after the afternoon's occurrences. but with eren's eyes observing you, you knew you weren't off the hook yet.

"better?"

not trusting your voice, you hummed and smiled behind the cup resting on your lips, sniffling slightly when a flashback of eren being punched on the face appeared on your mind.

however, he didn't seem to be done with the topic.

"why did you stand up to him if you were so scared? you were lucky he didn't go for you." 

"'cause i didn't want him to keep punching you."

"i don't need your help," his tone gave you the wrong impression. were you bothering him? a frown pulled your lips in a wobbly pout but he was quick to realize his error, "i mean, we should focus on armin, right? he's the one always in trouble."

you rocked your feet back and forth, watching them dangle from the chair as you mulled over his words. he wasn't lying, it was armin who often ended up as the victim of those bullies. at least when neither of you were around to aid him.

"i have a plan!" eren suddenly perked up, eyes brimming with excitement and pride as he obviously found his plan a good one, "dad always says that it's his duty to protect mom because they're married. so, if we get married, i can protect you and we can protect armin—together!"

you couldn't help but gasp, "married?! but we are too little!"

"not now, dummy. when we grow up!"

"what if i cry again and can't protect armin?" you voiced out your biggest worry as you pushed the cup away and made room on the table for your arm, resting your chin on top of it after yawning.

"i'll protect all of us," he didn't even hesitate, “and we have mikasa too.”

the silly promise made so much sense to your 10-year-old brain, which is why you held onto the hope and safety it gave you and agreed.

carla yeager squealed the news to her husband once eren and you had fallen asleep.

—

850.

there wasn't a day where you didn't regret not going with them.

the lively days soon became dull without eren and armin’s excited voices as they discussed the fire and icy lands in armin’s book, mikasa’s reassuring presence gone as well. but you knew you wouldn’t make it through the strenuous military training—or at least that was what you had told yourself.

truthfully, you wondered how were they not scared of continuing with their suicide mission of joining the legion, all those sacrifices just to see what was outside the walls. why couldn’t they be happy with what you already had? it wasn’t much, but you had each other, which was more than what most people could say.

with shiganshina gone, you became one of the refugees that lurked in the streets of trost. the conditions to live growing harsher, food and shelter becoming escarse and a luxury, but eren’s promise gave you enough strength to go on with your days until you landed a job as a waitress at a pub. 

you missed them, all of them.

their names flew from the mouths of the military police and other higher ups that passed by, making you wonder what they were up to. however, when news spread about eren’s abilities to shift into one of those creatures, that old sense of worry shook you to your very core.

was he hurt? mikasa wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on him, but what if they separated them?

multiple scenarios ran through your head, many of them not so pleasing and only worsening your nerves. but if their names kept coming up in the authorities’ conversations after each and every mission, then it meant they were still alive.

unfortunately, all you could do was pray for their well-being and silently beg them to return.

—

854.

after years of not hearing his voice, it took you several seconds to recognize it.

“where– where are we? why–”

“you’ve changed,” his tone was soft yet hints of curiosity sept through as he marveled at you, “you look older..." prettier, he wanted to say.

having spent so many years without the intensity of his gaze, you realized you had grown unused to it, “you’ve changed too.”

it seemed like everyone had disappeared, except for you and him. dunes of fine sand slithered under your feet and a bright light illuminated the starry sky, converging by the horizon and causing his green eyes to shine in a way you had never seen before.

“eren… what’s all this?”

one moment you were surrounded by chaos, people screaming while an army of colossal titans walked south and eren declared war against the rest of the world; and the next it all had gone quiet, a man—eren—standing next to you while holding your hand.

"they will pay, and then we will be free," his thumb rubbed the skin on the back of your hand gently.

you caught the way his gaze hardened for a second, rage clear in his features but what confused you the most was the amount of hurt swirling in his eyes.

​​what did he mean by 'they'? you were aware of marley's feelings towards the eldians but was it truly that bad? there were so many questions you wanted to ask, but something told you that you didn’t have enough time so you chose to stick to the most important ones. 

“how's mikasa? armin... is it true? he’s the colossal now?”

eren pulled you closer to him by tugging on your hand, cradling the side of your face with his free hand as a smile took over his lips.

"mikasa's busy kicking everyone's asses," he joked and you couldn't help but laugh, relieved at the sudden lightness in his voice. your eyes closed briefly when he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, licking his lips before continuing, "armin... yeah, he's the colossal. looks like i need to find another excuse to marry you, hm?” 

you found it unfair how after almost a decade, he could still hold such a power over your heart, the butterflies in your stomach feeling worse than what you recalled.

“you remember?”

he didn't miss the hope in your tone, his own heart aching at the thought of you assuming he had forgotten about your existence. there wasn't a day where he hadn't wondered about your well-being, were you safe? had a titan stole your life just like they had done with his mom? it was armin and mikasa who consoled him whenever the intrusive thoughts became too much to his already stressed mind.

“i never forgot.”

it was subtle, the way that kids promise evolved into a lifetime vow—but neither of you minded.

“i need you to promise me one more thing," he murmured, his breath fanning over your lips while your own faltered at his proximity.

“you’re leaving again,” it wasn't a question.

“i have to.”

it pained him to no end, but it had to be done. the warmth of his lips touched your forehead, your cheeks, and lips; staying longer on the latter while your hearts synchronized for a moment, sharing years worth of affection.

"stay here, on the island. find somewhere safe to stay until it all ends.”

a mere murmur on your lips, that was all it took to harm your hopeful soul.

"and don't wait for me."

[nugnthopkns]

find somewhere to grow

word count: 23.1k

warnings: fem!oc, platonic relationships (romance is not a central theme but there is some pining!), divergence from original movie plot, cursing, smoking, implied catholicism, strenuous parental relationships

recommended listening: it's a good life if you don't weaken' | the tragically hip

a/n: hi @ya-pucking-nerd!! the secret is out – i'm your partner for the summer fic exchange 🥰 this is an incredibly niche story but as soon as i found out you loved dead poets society i knew i had to do it!! it's half au half retelling with all of my dumbassery included but i hope you enjoy anyways. the biggest of thanks goes out to @antoineroussel for organizing this event, generally being amazing, and providing feedback to make this story the best it could be 💛

The only thing separating Fran from freedom is ten months at Hell-ton.

As soon as May comes she’ll be as far away as possible, hopefully somewhere in Europe, with no plans to ever return. Her parents agreed that she could spend the summer after graduation travelling the world if she maintained her straight A average at the best preparatory school in the country. Welton Academy is located on the edge of a small north-eastern town, with the only other building within walking distance being its sister school. It’s incredibly isolating, but luckily Fran has her friends to keep the loneliness at bay.

As her dad rounds the final corner of the school’s obnoxiously long private road, Fran’s stomach flutters with excitement. It’s been nearly two months since she’s seen anyone – Nate, Cale, and Tyson scattered like dust in the wind to various accounting firms across the country and Charlotte returned to England to spend time with her family. An eight week internship at a law firm kept her busy throughout the break, and Fran’s beyond happy it’s over. She has no interest in being a legal secretary, but her father is adamant. The car engine cuts off and Fran opens the door, running ahead of her parents into the auditorium. If she’s lucky one of her friends will appear and she’ll be able to sneak in a quick hello, hopefully losing her parents for good in the crowd.

“Francesca, that’s enough. Quit gallivanting around and walk beside us,” Fran’s father barks. A stern man overly concerned with appearances, he opens the car door for her mother and watches as the teenager sulk back to them.

Her mother shakes her head and tries to reason with him. “Oh Conrad, give the poor girl a break. She spent the entire summer cooped up at your brother’s firm. She just wants to see her friends.”

“She can reunite with them at the appropriate time. Right now she’s to sit with us at the ceremony. What kind of message does it send if we let her run about willy-nilly?”

The conversation ends right there, and the three of them enter the school in silence. Inside the auditorium the first three rows are reserved for senior students and family, so everyone finds seats in the middle. Fran begins to crane her neck to look behind them for a glimpse of her friends, but a swift elbow from her father has Fran facing forward in a millisecond.

Mr. Pratt’s bagpiping troupe comes bursting through the doors, and the sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Fran pinches her forehead in hopes of dispelling the oncoming headache she feels and prays to god and the saints above that this goes by fast. The countdown to graduation starts now. Headmaster Sakic struts up the aisle, robe swishing from the movement. The other teachers follow dutifully behind and once everyone is seated the address starts.

“Welcome back to another year at Welton, and if you’re new here we are pleased to have you,” the ancient-looking man drawls. Nate always insists that he’s a ghost, and from the angle she’s seated at Fran kind of sees it. Sakic looks about as old as dirt, and the rest of the faculty looks comparable. She sees one new face – younger than the rest with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. Perhaps he’s the new English teacher, Fran thinks.

The speech continues, addressing parents about expectations and rankings within the country, but Fran loses interest rather quickly. It’s been the same thing since she enrolled in the sixth grade, surely they would have come up with a new format or something. Her father seems to be enjoying himself, beaming when the headmaster mentions that over half the graduating class will go on to attend an Ivy League. “That will be you,” he whispers. Fran isn’t quite sure how to tell him she doesn't plan on applying to any of them.

After what feels like a million years the ceremony is over, and she follows her folks out of the room. Headmaster Sakic stops the family on the way out. “Francesca,” he greets. “We’ll be sad to see you leave at the end of the year. Hopefully you’ll finish your time at Welton on a high note.”

She thought a simple nod of her head would suffice, but the glare Fran receives from her father says otherwise. “Yes sir,” she sputters.

The administrator quickly exchanges pleasantries with her parents before moving on to the next family. Thankfully no one speaks of Fran’s ‘disrespect’ as luggage full of her belongings are taken from the trunk and carried to the dormitory, but she imagines her mother will hear an earful on the way home. Fran can’t find the energy in her to care, even though she does feel bad about leaving her mother to deal with the monster that can be her father. Reuniting with her friends is the only thing she can think about, and besides, her father thoroughly enjoys having something to complain about.

Pushing the door of her room open, she sees Charlotte with her back to the door unpacking her clothes. Before Fran can help it, a squeal is falling from her lips and she drops her bags, immediately running into her friend’s arms for a hug.

“Fran!” she shrieks, just as happy to see the auburn haired girl with emerald eyes. “I’m so glad to be back, the weather in England was downright dreadful.” At the sight of Fran’s parents Charlotte backs away, offering them a tight-lipped smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Winters.”

They return the favour, nodding their heads in her direction before giving their daughter a final hug. After making her promise to call once a week, they leave Fran in peace. Charlotte flops on her bed, tie going askew, and Fran is quick to follow.

“Can you believe it’s our last year?” she asks, kicking her feet into the air and letting them bounce off the mattress when they come down.

Fran answers earnestly. “No. It seems like just yesterday we were moving in for the first time.”

Charlotte spills the details about how Tyson secretly came to visit her in the summer, and Fran gushes over their blossoming romance. The rest of the group clued into their feelings years ago, but she’s just happy they finally figured it out themselves and got together. Cale now owes Fran twenty dollars since he lost the bet.

Wanting to go and see her other friends as quickly as possible, Fran shoves clothes into random drawers and haphazardly makes her bed. She doesn’t even bother to set up her typewriter. Charlotte chuckles at the eagerness but she just shrugs. “Ready?”

The walk to the boys’ dormitory is a quick one. Located two floors above their own, the girls are there in no time. Finding their friends is the challenge, as neither Fran nor Charlotte have any idea what rooms they’re in. Fran hears them before she sees them, with Cale shouting as he chases Nate down the hall.

“Get back here you asshole! And give me back my book!”

Nate laughs and speeds up. “Never in a million years. I didn’t even know you could read Calesy.” The broad rascal sees Fran approaching and tosses her the object he’s holding. “Fran, catch!”

Feeling sorry for Cale, she sticks the book out for him to retrieve. “Thanks,” he huffs, slightly out of breath. “You ladies settle in alright?”

“Settle? Do you know our dear Francesca at all? As soon as her parents were back in the car she was practically dragging me here,” Charlotte says matter-of-factly, poking her friend in the ribs to continue the teasing.

Fran doesn't even try to refute the statement or defend herself by saying she let her spill some secrets before itching to get out. “What can I say? I missed my boys.”

It’s then the other young man comes into view. Stepping into the hallway, Tyson quickly jogs to where the rest of the group is chatting. Fran’s swept into a bone crushing hug by the Albertan and her feet lift an inch or two off the ground. A summer of training for the upcoming hockey season has Tyson extra muscular, though she isn’t complaining. He’ll now be able to boost her into the taller trees in order to win the stupid compitions Nate insists on having. Once he lets go, Fran waves hello to his roommate Ryan. He gives a quick hug followed by a pat on the head because he hit a growth spurt in the summer and is now a comfortable couple inches taller than her. The five of them leave Ryan in the hall and head back in the direction of the boys’ rooms, conveniently located beside each other.

One look at Charlotte has Fran realizing she’s itching for a proper reunion with her lover. “Nathan, would you care to join me for another installment of ‘Bed Jumpers’?” she asks, praying he won’t be able to turn the opportunity down. He’s always game for causing a ruckus and it’s one of the things that she loves most about him.

He shoots her a mischievous grin and does his best radio announcer impression. “On this week’s programme we’re taking a deep dive into the bed of Mr. Cale Makar. Will it pass the tests and get the bed jumpers seal of approval? We’re about to find out.” Nate grabs Fran’s hand and starts sprinting, hoping to get to the destination before his much faster friend. Out of nowhere butterflies appear in the girl’s stomach, and she can’t decide whether they’re present because she missed Nate or if they’re lingering from the former crush she had on the boy.

“Why does it have to be my bed?” Cale groans, following dejectedly. Only Tyson and Charlotte hesitate to follow, and Fran shoots them a quick wink over her shoulder as a ‘you’re welcome’ gesture.

The other two don’t notice their absence, and truthfully Fran doesn’t feel it for long. It’s so nice to share space again with the ones she cares about most. She tries not to focus on the fact that this is the last time she’ll be able to do this, insteading honing in on Nate’s laughter as he does a ridiculous dance with the sole intention of messing up Cale’s sheets. Eventually he stops reprimanding the two of them and climbs up – Fran offers her hand and Cale eagerly accepts. They’re still jumping when Charlotte and Tyson return, singing horribly off key to the Buddy Holly song that’s been atop the charts recently.

“I really thought you guys would have been over this by now,” Charlotte sighs, rolling her eyes. Her boyfriend just shrugs, not knowing exactly what to say.

She’s the first to stop jumping, plopping down in the middle of the bed. Everyone else quickly follows suit, and though it’s a tight squeeze, they all sit side-by-side. The twin bed frame groans in protest but no one pays it any mind. It’s as though everyone knows each moment together is precious, and they’re running out of time together. Nate and Tyson are set to become Wall Street investors, Charlotte will be going into nursing, and Cale is staying at Welton to assume a junior teaching position. It seems that only Fran’s future is uncertain – parents urging her to go into the legal field but she wants to do nothing more than write. Creatively, journalistically, it doesn’t matter to her. Fran finds the act of writing to be freeing, but her father has made it clear it will not be a fulfilling career. As if being cooped up in an office staring at court reports is any better.

“It’s too nice a day to waste inside,” Nate groans, “Let’s go to the lake.”

The lake in question is a glorified pond, but it provides a picturesque backdrop for Welton’s recruitment brochures. Located behind the main building, it houses a small dock where several row boats are stored. Crew rowing is quite a popular sport, and Welton has one of the best rowing teams along the Eastern Seaboard, second in prestige only to the school’s hockey program. The group isn’t the only one with the bright idea to soak up the sun’s rays on the last truly calm day, and the lawn is packed with students. The area they’ve inhabited for as long as Fran can remember is free, and the five of them race to claim it. An ancient weeping willow provides shade and cover from nosy teachers, but there’s also good access to the water to dip their feet in. Swimming is strictly prohibited, however most teachers would look the other way if the sun was being particularly cruel. Hours pass like seconds in the safe haven of the willow, and before Fran knows it all the students are being summoned for dinner.

“Hope they’ve got at least one good meal in them this year,” Cale grumbles. The rosy-cheeked boy has a point — Welton’s kitchen staff are notorious for providing lackluster nutrition. Everyone seems to be in agreement, and chats idly about potential food choices all the way to the dining hall.

The chefs must have decided to ease into the grim selection of overcooked meat and vegetables this year, because tonight they’re serving roast beef. Plate in hand, Fran waves goodbye to the boys and follows Charlotte to the table. For reasons unbeknownst to her, the dining situation is separated. It doesn’t make sense to anyone since classes are all integrated, but she supposes it’s the administration’s feeble attempt to maintain order. Too much contact with the opposite sex could detract from studies – Fran imagines the rule is in place for the benefit of the boys.

From dinner everyone is sequestered directly to their rooms. Charlotte quickly sneaks a final kiss from Tyson’s lips before the rest of the friend group continues to climb the staircase. Fran teases her relentlessly once inside the confines of their shared room. “God, you’re like a lovesick puppy!” The comment earns her a swat to the head with a pair of stockings.

“Shut up. You’d be the exact same way.”

She supposes Charlotte’s right. Perhaps she would be as loopy with love if there was someone to share it with. However, she has no intention of getting a boyfriend, even though sometimes she lays awake at night thinking about what it would be like, and several times Nate has been the object of those daydreams. Nothing is going to get in the way of making every last memory possible with her friends.

Sleep comes easy. She’s exhausted from the hustle and bustle of moving, but also from the content she feels being back at school. Though it isn’t always easy, Welton has become more of a home to her than the house she grew up in. This is largely in part to her friends but she wouldn’t change it for the world. That night she dreams of a life where the five of them are never separated.

Morning comes much too quickly for Fran’s liking. If it were up to her, classes wouldn’t start until at least ten. The ringing of Charlotte’s alarm clock jolts her awake, and she squints through the darkness to see it reads 6:45. There’s exactly half an hour before she has to be downstairs for breakfast.

“Ugh, why must we get up so early,” Fran groans, looking over to see that Charlotte is pulling on her sweater, already dressed for the day.

She laughs at her roommate’s sluggishness. “I’ve been up for ages. Suppose my body still isn’t used to the time change.”

“You think by now it would be.”

Charlotte just shrugs, not having an answer. She may be a science student, but even that knowledge evades her. The two of them finish getting dressed and rush to the bathroom. If they don’t get there before everyone else, the line to brush their teeth becomes unbearable. A few other girls are moving around, but the floor is mostly quiet. Fran doubts the boys’ floor is the same – they’re always jumping around and giving the Head Boy more grief than he deserves. The bell rings, signaling the dining hall is ready for students. Fran and Charlotte head for the stairs, and meet up with Cale.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes and Fran knows he’s already had to deal with a handful. “It seems they’re a little slow this morning,” he sighs. “Oh, before I forget, we’ve got a table booked tonight for a study group. Eight sharp, don’t be late.”

After getting a verbal confirmation that both girls will be in attendance, Cale splits from them to sit with the other senior boys. Breakfast today is simple: eggs and toast, but it will keep them going until lunch. Charlotte chats excitedly about the new biology curriculum and Fran half listens. The only reason she’s still in science is because it’s mandatory. If she had the choice her timetable would be filled with English courses, but alas, Welton only offers standard English as opposed to additional creative writing courses. It’s not as though her father would let her take them anyways. Instead, Fran’s day is spent in a bunch of courses she could care less about.

Biology, Chemistry, and Latin pass without incident. Every class has the same spiel: students are to do well in order to get into Ivy Leagues and to keep Welton in the top spot of all preparatory academies in the country. The teaching staff don’t care if they learn anything — everything is all about keeping up appearances. Homework is piled on to maintain the rigorous academic schedule supported by the administration, and by the time lunch rolls around Fran’s collected a solid three hours of work. It’s all due the next day because doesn’t believe in easing students back into the swing of things.

“This is all so mindless,” she complains to her friends during the noon break.

Cale immediately comes to the defense of his future colleagues. “It isn’t them,” he explains. “The system is deeply flawed and needs an overhaul.”

“Shut up Calesy, you’re literally less than a year away from becoming one of them,” Nate pipes in. “I agree with Fran. Everything about this place sucks.”

“Except for us,” Tyson chimes.

Nate shoots his friend a toothy grin. “Right you are Tys.”

The five of them joke around until the bell rings, signalling the end of break and the start of the second half of the day. Trigonometry, Geography, and History are the same as every other class. The constant reminder of what they have to achieve is becoming unbearable, and by the time English starts Fran is so sick of hearing the same three sentences. It’s bad enough she’ll be letting down her parents with her decision to attend a publicly funded college, but now she’ll be letting her school down as well.

Fran shuffles into her seat behind Tyson and waits for the teacher to arrive. “I heard he’s new, fresh out of a post-doctorate program from Oxford,” he whispers.

“Maybe he’ll teach us something interesting,” she huffs. Tyson laughs, but knows she’s serious. The lack of originality in the English department has been a thorn in Fran’s side since ninth grade.

Without warning the overhead lights cut out, leaving everyone in the dark. Murmurs of what could have happened erupt but they’re turned back on just as quickly. Searching for the culprit, Fran turns in her seat to see the doorway and comes face to face with an exuberant man. He winks when they lock eyes, like the two of them are sharing a secret. “Follow me,” he cheers, and exits just as fast as he appeared.

The students look hesitantly between each other. No one knows what to do – teachers at Welton aren’t like this. They don’t spontaneously host lessons someplace else and certainly don’t get their pupils’ attention by rattling a lightswitch.

“Something about this doesn’t sit quite right,” Charlotte whispers, and others nod in agreement. Everyone stays firmly planted in their seats. Fran thought that Nate might follow, since he typically does things in reckless abandon, but even he looks uneasy. A knot in her stomach says that the man, whoever he was, is the teacher and everyone is putting themselves in a risky position by not following his orders.

Before she can commit to leaving the room he comes back. “Don’t you want today’s lesson? You’ll be awfully behind otherwise.”

It’s settled. With a bit more coaxing, everyone picks up their books and files out of the room. The whispers only increase as the students follow the teacher, wondering where he could be taking them. “This is how we die,” Cale mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets in frustration.

“We aren’t going to die Cale,” Tyson reasons. “Perhaps the lesson is better suited for outside.”

The rosy-cheeked boy isn’t convinced. “He’s taking us to a secondary location, Tys! That’s standard procedure for murders.”

“No one is dying,” Fran sighs, grabbing them both by the elbows in an effort to keep up to the rest of the class. “I think we’re just heading to the library. Makes sense for an English class, don’t you think?”

Sure enough, the group of teenagers grinds to a halt outside the library’s double doors. It’s silent as they wait for new instructions. Nothing comes – instead everyone is ushered into the room. Winding through the aisles and statue replicas, the front of the group stops at a section of study tables. The library is deserted so the class chatters freely, unable to disturb anyone. The still unidentified man clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “My sincerest apologies for the kerfuffle. I just wanted us to talk in a bit more of a natural setting. I’m Mr. Bednar, though I also respond to ‘O Captain, my Captain’. We’ll be spending the year together. This is my first teaching position in a few years, but I’m very excited to learn together. Who wants to introduce themselves first?”

It’s silent. Despite all the curveballs Mr. Bednar has thrown today, it’s clear no one was expecting this. The other teachers don’t make attempts to know their students – all interactions are sterile and removed. Eventually the silence becomes too much and Nate speaks up. “Hello, I’m Nathan MacKinnon, but please call me Nate,” he says. Fran is glad he’s fearless because there was no way she was speaking first.

“Thank you for taking the first leap Mr. MacKinnon,” the teacher laughs. “Anyone else?”

One by one, each student rhymed off their name. Fran falls somewhere in the middle, not wanting to seem too eager but also not wanting to be seen as a slacker. English is the subject she enjoys the most, and she wants to develop a good relationship with the teacher. “Francesca Winters,” she sputters nervously, and Cale tries to cover up a laugh with a cough. Fran jabs him in the ribs in retaliation, and swears she sees the teacher’s eyes crinkle, hinting at a smile.

“Pleasure to have you, Miss Winters. I heard from some of the other teachers that you have quite the knack for writing.”

Fran blushes profusely and her friends snicker beside her. Charlotte whispers something in her ear, but Fran doesn’t hear, too focussed on trying not to curl into a ball from embarrassment. The last thing she wants is for someone to have high expectations of her and not be able to live up to them. Mr. Bednar talks for a bit about the structure of the course and it seems entertaining. Classes are to be discussions, not lectures, and she’s excited because it’s like no other course at Welton. The typical pressure of scoring high on tests is gone, allowing Fran and the others to focus on enjoying the content. Mr. Bednar makes it very clear that his sole purpose is to help them learn to think for themselves and expand their literary horizons. When the bell rings, signalling the end of day, Fran can’t help but be a little upset. At least there will be one class she won’t dread.

☼☼☼☼

By the time Fran and Charlotte get to the fourth floor common room, the boys look like they’ve already given up on work. Nate is deeply invested in building a transistor radio from scratch, Tyson is aimlessly looking at the ceiling, and Cale is pinching his brow in frustration. At the arrival of his girlfriend Tyson seems to gain more life, sitting up straight and offering her a bright smile. “Study group, eh?” Fran smirks as she sets her books down, shoving Cale’s shoulder slightly. He offers her a tense smile that looks more like a grimace and returns to his book.

“Calesy’s just upset that he’s the only one who doesn’t understand the trig problem,” Nate sing-songs. A death glare is sent his way by the other boy, and a snarky comment rolls off Cale’s tongue.

“At least I give enough fucks to try and figure it out instead of copying Tyson’s answer like you did,” he huffs. “Some of us actually care about getting an education.”

A scuffle breaks out amongst the two of them when Nate lunges at Cale, forgetting it’s no longer a fair fight. Though in good shape, Cale’s athleticism pales in comparison to his friend’s. Too tired to break up the fight, Fran opens her chemistry textbook and begins working on the problem set. Dr. Sakic, in charge of patrolling the floor tonight, hears the racket the boys are causing and rushes into the room.

“Mr. MacKinnon and Mr. Makar,” he booms, voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The horse play ends immediately, and both of them sink into their seats. “I expected better from you both.”

“Sorry Sir,” they apologize in tandem, too afraid to meet the man’s gaze.

The headmaster gives them a sharp nod. “Any more nonsense this week and I’ll keep you here for the break. You’ll have a wonderful time cleaning the chalk brushes.” Without another word, he turns on his heel to exit the room, but spins around when a sound comes from the speaker that had hastily been shoved into Tyson’s lap to protect it during the scuffle. “That better not be a radio in your hands Mr. Jost,” Dr. Sakic says pointedly. “You know they’re forbidden at Welton.”

“Of course it’s not Sir,” Tyson stammers. “It’s a science project. A radar. Just want to get an early start.”

The old man nods in approval and leaves the room, but not before giving it another sweep with his hawk-like eyes.

Silence overtakes the table out of fear, and by the grace of god Fran doesn’t struggle with the problem set. Nate gets her to help explain the one question he doesn’t understand, and once the work is done they all relax for the last half hour before curfew. No one really talks, enjoying the silence that rarely overtakes the group. Tyson and Charlotte cuddle into the large armchair in the corner and talk in hushed tones, leaving the rest of them to their own devices.

Fran tries her hardest to commit every detail to memory. Sounds, sights, smells – anything to help her remember the joy and contentment she feels. Come this time next year things will be vastly different and she wants to have a bank of memories to escape to when things get tough.

☼☼☼☼

Routine paints Fran’s life a dull shade of grey. There isn’t much she can do to combat it – Welton prides itself on a rigorous schedule that leaves no room for imagination. All extracurriculars besides the annual yearbook club are professional and promote the school’s code of conduct. The school newspaper was to be her magnum opus, her lasting impression upon Welton, but she was forced to resign as editor-in-chief by her father. The phone call had been filled with tears as Fran tried to argue with him, to make him see reason. It was no use because he was convinced the paper was a waste of time and wouldn’t make her college applications stand out. Fran’s mother said nothing, choosing not to insert herself into the matter. There was nothing she could do except sign the resignation paper and clear out her desk.

September passes by in a blur. Homework keeps Fran busy and her friends do the best they can to keep the sadness of losing the editorial position at bay. Charlotte is at her side nearly around the clock, always with a smile and a shoulder to confide in. Cale keeps her mind active by giving book recommendations once a week, and the other two help in any way they know how, whether that’s stealing snacks from the kitchen or letting Fran borrow sweaters when she gets cold. The year would be much more challenging and lonely if she didn’t have them.

The only place she truly feels joy is Mr. Bednar’s English class. Unlike the other teachers at Welton, he allows her to think for herself and express different viewpoints. Classes are spent reciting passages from novels and dancing around the classroom. It’s a Friday before a long weekend and Fran’s expecting to be assigned a lot of homework. She grumbles with Nate as they step into the room, and to her surprise the desks are all pushed to the side.

“Place your stuff on a desk and then huddle around,” Mr. Bednar shouts gleefully, sitting on his own. Eager to see what he has in store, she and the other students follow his directions. Nearly a month with the unconventional teacher has them used to these random class setups, and Fran imagines there will be a useful lesson at the end.

“Today’s class is all about realizing what you want in life,” he explains. “Each of you has ten minutes to envision what you hope your life looks like in ten years. Then you’ll act it out to your peers.”

“Sir, what does this have to do with English?” Tyson asks.

“Ah Mr. Jost, always asking the important questions,” the teacher chuckles. “You’ll have to write me a paper about your realizations of course. Just a small one, one page will suffice. The purpose of this exercise is to help you think outside the academic lens. None of you will be in school forever, and I think it will be beneficial for you to start to think about your futures outside an academic context.”

Mr. Bendar whistles loudly, and the brainstorming time begins. Shrugging her shoulders in compliance to her friends’ anxious stares, Fran screws her eyes shut and lets her mind wander. Almost immediately something comes to mind: she hopes to be at a book signing for her latest bestseller with her friends in the audience. Her parents couldn’t make it, but that’s okay – she doesn’t talk to them often anymore. After the event she brings everyone back to her apartment on the top floor of a swanky building and they enjoy each other’s company until the early hours of the morning. Fran feels warm and content and wants to stay in the daydream forever, but another whistle jostles her free and reality makes its unfortunate return.

“Any volunteers to go first?” Mr. Bednar asks with a smile on his face. A boy who looks far too small to be in twelfth grade timidly sticks up his hand. Fran recognizes him to be one of the few transfer students the school accepted this year, and gives him a thumbs up in encouragement. He introduces himself as Nico and depicts a fantasy where he’s the youngest senator in the country’s history and has everyone betting he’ll be president once he reaches the age requirement. It seems like an awful lot of work to her, but at least he has a dream his parents approve of. Other students follow, but Fran zones out. It dawns on her that Welton sends monthly reports home and if her father finds out she’s propecizing about being an author he’ll pull her out of school without a second thought. She begins to brainstorm an acceptable answer, something about being a legal secretary.

Eventually everyone has gone but Fran. “Miss Winters, would you do the honours of closing out the exercise?”

A lump forms in the back of her throat, and it’s all she can do to push it down. “Of course Captain,” she stumbled over the words. Charlotte squeezes Fran’s hand to ground her, and she sends her friend a thankful glance. Her legs tremble slightly as she moves to the center of the room – she really has to sell this. “When I look ten years into the future,” she began, “I see myself balancing a successful career in law and having a family. Of course I’ll only be working part time, as the kids will come first. I’ll live in a quaint little house in my hometown and spend a lot of time helping my aging parents. It will be a wonderful life.” Fran picks her brain quickly for any other aspirations her father might have, but can’t think of any, so she begins to return to her spot on the floor.

“Why are you lying to us?”

Fran’s shocked – she thought she had done a good job at selling the fantasy she detests more than anything in the world. “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Bednar gestures for her to return to the spotlight, and she dejectedly shuffles backwards. “Franecsca, I asked you to share your hopes and dreams, not those of your parents. Do you really think Nico’s dad wants him to become a crooked politician? Of course not, they want him to become a doctor! We all have our own desires, so what are yours?”

A quick glance at her friends lets her know they’re cheering her on, and Fran recounts everything she saw when she first closed her eyes. The signing, the party, the unbridled joy she felt – nothing is held back. At some point Mr. Bednar encourages her to share what the book will be about, and before Fran can stop herself she’s reciting lines from a novel that hasn’t even been written. It’s exhilarating to picture a life that’s completely her own, and she doesn't know if she’ll be able to stop. Once she’s exhausted every possible plot line and characterization, Fran sinks to the floor in a proud exhaustion. Her teacher sends a charming wink her way before speaking. “Well, that just about does it for today. I have nothing else planned. Want to go play a game of soccer?”

On the way to the field, Fran’s friends shower her with compliments and praise. “That was fantastic darling,” Charlotte gushes. Tyson agrees with her, applauding Fran’s bravery for being true to herself.

Nate chimes in. “You have to write that book! I won’t stop hounding you until it’s done.”

“I don’t know Nate,” she sighs. “It was just a dream. We all have a life planned out for us in the real world.”

“But that could be your real world, Fran!” Tyson argues. “You sound so in love with the idea, and you’re the only one I know who could pull it off.”

Fran’s cheeks blush rose at her friend’s words. Only Cale is yet to say anything, so she shoots him a quizzical look. “What do you think Calesy?”

“I think,” he states, a broad smile across his features, “That you’ve already sold five copies of that novel of yours.”

☼☼☼☼

A few weeks later, Tyson knocks ferociously on the girls’ dorm room door after the annual club meeting. He’s junior supervisor, second in command only to Mr. Arthur, the Latin teacher. It’s a Thursday night, and their room is the designated spot for unwinding because the matron, Nancy, is kind and lets the boys stay a few minutes after curfew, telling their supervisor they were assisting her. “Look what I found!” he says excitedly, flipping an old book open to a specific page that doesn’t make sense to anyone but him. Tyson softens once he sees Charlotte, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Hello dear,” he whispers tenderly.

His girlfriend giggles before pointing to the annual. “Tell us what this is about!”

“Ah yes,” Tyson says, finally getting on track. “This is the annual from 1943. Guess who was in the graduating class?”

The rest of the group studies the pictures and all shout the answer at the same time. “Mr. Bednar!”

“Yep. And look right under his name, which I didn’t peg him to be a Adam, there’s a club I’ve never seen before. The Society For Banned and Burned Books, what is that?”

No one has an answer. “We should ask him tomorrow,” Nate suggests. “Find him outside during the afternoon break. I’m sure he’d tell us what it’s about.”

A knock rings out for the second time that night. Nancy peeks her head in and waves the boys to hurry up. “I’ve kept you out later than normal,” she says kindly, “but it’s time you return to your own dormitories.” Goodbyes are said and a makeshift plan is hatched. Sleep doesn’t come easy as Fran is too excited to find out about the club that is no longer offered at Welton.

The Society for Banned and Burned Books is all Fran can think of. The name is so vague – it could mean a million different things. How is she to know the truth? She’s distracted the entire morning, losing focus as her mind wanders through the different possibilities. In chemistry she almost ruins the experiment because she isn’t paying attention, and the titration would have been ruined if Tyson hadn’t caught it in time. Judging by the absent stares that Fran occasionally catches, the rest of the group isn’t doing much better. The question is eating everyone alive.

After what feels like three years, the bell that signals the start of break chimes. Fran’s out of her seat in an instant, and the others are close on her heels. Once outside, she notices no one is there yet, and they all take refuge under the willow tree by the lake. Slowly students and staff trickle into the yard but Mr. Bednar still doesn’t appear. Cale has the genius idea that he might be supervising a different part of the grounds, and the five of them make the trek up the hill. The man in question is sitting on a bench near the edge of the property, watching a group of elementary kids play in the sandpit.

“Mr. Bednar,” Nate shouts, even though the group is still a hundred and fifty yards away from him, “We have a question!”

There’s no response. The older man doesn’t give them the time of day, instead focusing on a particular patch of flowers that seem to be dwindling in health. Tyson tries this time to get his attention. “O Captain, my Captain!”

The English teacher waves them over enthusiastically, chuckling to himself as he watches the boys race each other to see who gets there first. Charlotte and Fran are hot on their heels, not wanting to miss any information that might be vital.

“What’s going on?” The older man asks, looking for a reason to explain the sudden outburst of five students approaching him on the break.

Tyson pulls the annual out from his jacket and flips it to the page he marked with a piece of Fran’s stationary kit. “What’s the Society for Banned and Burned Books? None of us have ever seen the club offered at Welton?”

Suddenly, everyone is being pulled closer and Mr. Bednar is speaking in hushed tones. “Don’t you dare mention it to anyone,” he says, and the look in his eyes tells Fran he means business. “That little club nearly got me expelled, and if the administration catches whiff of it again my goose will be cooked. What fun it was, though, to sneak out under the cover of darkness and read things that actually expanded our minds.” When he realizes none of the children in front of him understand what he’s going on about, Mr. Bednar clarifies. “The name implies what we were all about. We’d read books that had been banned by the school board or things European regimes set ablaze. It was thrilling. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be the scholar I am today if it hadn't been for the Society.”

The bell rings again, signalling the return of classes. Everyone thanks the teacher for his honesty, and with a heavy sigh begins the trek back to the school building. When the group is almost within earshot of other staff they hear Mr. Bednar shout, “It met twice a month!”

Later in the evening, at dinner, a folded up piece of paper makes its way to the table where the girls were eating dinner. Charlotte opens it quickly, knowing it’s from the boys, and Fran presses against her side to read it. We’re resurrecting the Society tonight. You guys in? it says in Nate’s chicken scratch. Fran looks up to see them staring at her, waiting for an answer. Charlotte looks at her friend in silent deliberation, and a second later they’ve both made up their minds. Three nods, the group’s secret code for yes, is thrown in the boys’ direction, and she catches Tyson fist pumping out of the corner of her eye.

“How are we doing this?” Fran asks Cale as everyone exits the dining hall. “We barely know what it’s even about.”

He just shrugs. “There was a package on Tys’s desk when he got back from class. It had a bunch of books and a note signed J.B. We all just assumed it was from Mr. Bednar.”

It seems to be the only explanation Fran’s going to get. Honestly, the idea of breaking the rules for once in her life is incredibly enticing, so there’s no way she’s letting the boys carry on without her. There’s no doubt that Charlotte is already planning the escape route to the small cave just off Welton’s property, so it seems her fate is decided. As Fran climbs the stairs she discusses logistics with Cale and learns that Tyson has it all figured out – after all the staff have gone to sleep, everyone will sneak out of bed and meet in the dormitory’s west stairwell before running across the yard to avoid being caught. It will be easy enough and Fran isn't worried. As long as she brings a treat to distract Spot, Dr. Sakic’s dog, things should go off without a hitch. At the landing for her floor she says her goodbyes to Cale before skipping down the hallway.

Fran spends the next few hours pacing the length of her bed. Charlotte tries to calm her nerves, but it’s no use. She’s just as excited and keyed-up as Fran, so together they pass the time by making up silly songs. It takes them to lights out in the blink of an eye, and when Nancy comes in to give a final warning there’s a full blown concert in the works, complete with hairbrush microphones.

“Good night girls,” she says, a knowing smile on her face. She definitely notices the electric excitement running through the room, bouncing rapidly between the two girls, but doesn’t say anything.

Charlotte says good night for the both of them as Fran slips into the hall to use the bathroom. When she returns, her roommate is perched on the windowsill, book in hand. The pair of them have to find quiet ways to distract from the slow passage of time, not wanting to risk staff members staying up to check on them if they’re too loud. Sighing gently as she flops onto her bed, Fran begins to daydream about what it would be like to live the life she truly dreams of, the one prophesied in Mr. Bednar’s exercise. Apparently she spends longer than anticipated in the fantasy because Charlotte is trying desperately to get her attention.

“It’s been hours, everyone has to be asleep,” she whispers. “The boys are probably waiting for us. Come on.”

A quick peek out the door confirms Charlotte’s suspicions – slumber has overtaken the residents of Welton Academy. The pair of them slip on school issued coats and boots, and do their best to silence the door’s creaking hinges. Luckily they were given a room at the end of the corridor and they leave with little issue. Cale and Tyson are waiting in the stairwell as planned, but Nate is nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Nate?” Charlotte asks, pecking Tyson on the cheek in greeting.

“He went ahead to do reconnaissance,” Cale explains.

That makes sense, especially for Nate, and without another moment’s hesitation the group departs. They grab Nate on the ground floor and scurry through the darkness. No one speaks until the school grounds are well behind them, too anxious the plan would fail if even a peep was uttered. The woods offer a sound barrier and the friends chat freely, fretting about upcoming midterm examinations and the looming Ivy League application deadline. Fran’s insides twist slightly when Cale brings it up, worried about how her father will respond to her lack of applications, but the thought is thrown to the back of her mind when everyone screeches to a halt outside the final destination.

The cave they decided to sneak to is more of a large rock pile, but it will do the trick. It’s quite spacious – the five of them will fit without any issue. Nate’s the first one in, followed by Tyson. Charlotte and Fran scuttle in soon after, and Cale brings up the rear, rolling a small boulder over the ‘door’ to hopefully keep out animals interested in intruding. Once the dust settles and the group is comfortable to the best of their abilities, Tyson pulls the package left for him from his jacket and clears his throat.

“Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the reinvisioned Society for Banned and Burned Books.”

The words send shivers down Fran’s spine. It’s thrilling to be here with her friends, doing something frowned upon by mainstream society. They’ll all be dead if anyone at Welton ever figures out what is going on, but she’d gladly sink all of her life prospects if it meant spending time with her friends. She can’t wait to see what the adventure brings.

Nate snickers from beside Fran. “You don’t have to be so dramatic about it, Tys, just get on with it. We don’t have all night.”

The comment earns him a death glare, but Tyson continues with less performative lustre. “We were given this package, presumably by Mr. Bednar, to expand our minds and create memories that will last long after we leave Welton.” Sad smiles are shared, none of them wanting to think about the end of an era that’s drawing closer. There’s a slight voice crack as he speaks again, and it echoes off the stone walls. “Is everyone willing to take the oath so we can begin?”

“Jesus Christ, are we joining a cult?” Charlotte quips, but the smile on her face gives away the giddiness she’s feeling. Head nods come from the rest of the group, and the unofficial officiant gets started.

“It says to put up your right hand,” Tyson says, “And repeat after me. I solemnly swear to protect the secrecy of the Society. I swear to come in with an open mind, and let my potential flourish. I will use the Society to make lasting memories and to become a multi-dimensional person who thinks for themselves. The world is mine.”

Everyone repeats the words, voices mixing together until they’re indistinguishable from one another. With the first order of business out of the way, Tyson sits down and takes a deeper look at what was dropped on his desk – a worn paper explaining how the club works, a reading list, and a few books to get them started. Titles include The Grapes of Wrath, The Catcher in the Rye, Ulysses, and Animal Farm. Fran notices that all the books have been banned or burned in at least two countries: it seems the name of The Society is very literal. It also seems that Mr. Bednar hoped they would stay true to form as the club moulds to fit their needs and desires.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cale insists. “We have to be back before everyone starts waking up. Sakic is an early riser.”

They spend the next couple of hours reading aloud and laughing together. After a quick vote it is decided the inaugural book will be The Catcher in the Rye since it seemed interesting, and then they will work their way through the others. Whenever it’s Nate’s turn to read he speaks in different voices and overextends his hand motions; it keeps everyone in stitches.

Before Fran can register how long it’s truly been, Cale checks his watch and alerts the group that it’s nearing three. If they want to get at least a few hours of sleep they need to return to Welton now. Reluctantly, everyone packs up. The trip back to school is silent, exhaustion seeping into their bones and making it hard to think about anything else besides sleep. By the time Fran climbs the stairs to her dormitory floor she can barely keep her eyes open. Charlotte says goodbye to the boys on her behalf, and Fran’s asleep before the other girl slips into their shared room.

A sluggishness encapsulates the group for the entirety of the next day. It seems that no one slept well, all tired eyes and slow movements. Strange looks are given by other students but they’re fairly easy to ignore – Fran is just desperately trying to get through the day so she can crash again. The years of strict, regimented routine at Welton have her circadian rhythm working in a particular way, and staying up late certainly did a number on her. Charlotte is faring better than everyone else– her body used to sleep deprivation on account of time change. It’s all Fran can do to stay awake during English, her final class of the day. If Mr. Bednar notices her wavering consciousness, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, Fran thinks she catches him winking at Tyson, as though he knows just what they were up to last night. Today’s lesson flies right over her head, and as soon as the bell rings she’s scrambling to pick up her books.

“Feeling a little bit under the weather today, Miss Winters?” he asks, closing his lesson plan.

Fran searches his face for any sign that he might snitch on her for being unresponsive in class but finds nothing. “Just a bit tired, Captain,” she quips. “Was up terribly late trying to get comfortable. My mattress has been giving me issues.”

“I’ll be sure to alert Nancy of your troubles. She’ll hate to know you’ve been uncomfortable.”

She knows damn well he won’t say anything, and that he truly knows the reason for her fatigue. However, she appreciates the game he’s playing. That way, if things don’t go to plan and the group gets busted by the administration, his hands will be clean. Fran would hate to see his teaching career blown apart by a group of raucous teens like her own dear friends.

As soon as she’s back in her room Fran crashes onto the bed with a thud. Muttering a jumbled package of words to Charlotte that resemble a request to wake her up for dinner, she climbs under the covers and falls asleep for the second time of the day.

☼☼☼☼

Fran’s body adjusts to the deficit in rest after the second meeting. It’s shorter, with Cale keeping a much closer eye on the time, but still fun. They’re nearly halfway through the novel, and votes are already being cast for what to read next. It’s getting easier for Fran to balance school and the club. The term has picked up, but despite the homework mounting on her desk she’s happy. Her grades are flawless, more than adequate for admission to an Ivy League, but she could care less. No one besides her friends know of her decision to only apply to other institutions, so Fran’s academic success gives her father enough false hope to let her live a mostly uninterrupted life at Welton. Things are good, and she often forgets that in a matter of months everything she knows will be completely turned on its head.

When Fran gets to Mr. Bednar’s classroom one afternoon, she’s surprised to find it empty. There’s no sign he’s been there for hours and worry fills her brain. What if someone saw the group sneaking out last night and is planting the blame on Mr. Bednar because he’s unconventional? Fran isn’t sure what she’d do if that happens, as he’s one of the only reasons she still shows an interest in school.

“Where’s Captain?” Charlotte asks the group, but no one has an answer for him. Tyson and Cale shrug indifferently, and Nate is too busy trying to catch the attention of a girl he’s been crushing on to pay any attention to the blonde. Fran rolls her eyes in disgust, upset Nate doesn’t seem to care about their missing teaching, and tries not to focus on the sting of him paying attention to someone that isn’t her

“I hope he’s alright,” she frets quietly.

As if Cale can sense how much worry is in her words, he places a hand on Fran’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “He’s fine, Fran. Probably just late returning from the bathroom.”

On cue, the eccentric English teacher peeks his head through the open door. “Well, come on! It’s one of the last nice days out,” Mr. Bednar chirps happily. “We’re outside today. No need to bring your books.”

No one even bats an eye at the instruction. Lessons like this occur at least twice a week, and Fran and all the other students look forward to them. It’s an invigorating and refreshing way to use their brains. The teacher leads everyone to the small courtyard that’s adjacent to the humanities wing, and stops in the middle. On instinct, the class huddles around him.

“I need three students to help demonstrate,” Mr. Bednar begins. “Mr. Makar, Mr. Jost, and Miss Tennant, care to do the honours?”

The three of them erupt into a chorus of yeses, eager to please their favourite instructor, though Charlotte shies away at the use of her last name.

“Well then, that settles it. Everyone else, please move to the sides,” he says, waiting patiently for any stragglers to follow instruction. “Now, you three, I want you to walk around the courtyard until I tell you to stop.”

On his signal, Fran’s friends set off, and she watches in confusion. At first, all three are walking in sync: turning corners at the same time and taking equal paces. Tyson is the first to break the pattern, widening his gait and letting his arms swing. Charlotte takes note of his divergence and begins to do her own thing. She twirls and skips about, giggling the entire time. Only Cale stays on the original route, looking every so often towards Mr. Bednar in hopes of positive feedback.

“That’s quite enough,” the older man says. “Thank you. Now can anyone tell me what happened?” It’s silent, his voice echoing off the stone walls and arches. “No one? Alright. What happened was an experiment on conformity. Our subjects started off the same, but soon after Mr. Jost got a little bored and became more relaxed. He walked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Ms. Tennant threw caution to the wind completely, dancing around. One could hardly call it walking. Only Mr. Makar stayed within what he thought were the parameters of the assignment. He was timid, searching for approval.”

The lesson continues, and Mr. Bednar makes a point of explaining that conformity makes things extremely boring, both in literature and life. Fran understands immediately and takes the message to heart. It would be so much better to live life on her terms, and from this moment forward she’s determined to put her happiness first. Near the end of class, everyone is unleashed to do their own walking. The class walks at varying paces, and Fran joins her roommate in skipping around in a circle. Only Nate refuses to walk, and when asked about it he shrugs.

“Exercising my right not to walk, Captain,” he says, which earns an eye roll and a smirk from the teacher.

“You’re certainly illustrating the point, Mr. MacKinnon.”

Later that night at the meeting, over pages of The Grapes of Wrath, Fran gushes about how Mr. Bednar’s lessons make her truly feel alive. Her friends agree, all particularly inspired by the passionate teacher. However, they share looks amongst themselves – proud Fran finally feels secure enough in what she wants to think about sticking up to her father. Although almost double in length than the previous novel, the group is making solid progress and is on track to finish the book before the holiday break.

Tonight Nate brought a saxophone, and after reading some of his own prose he breaks into song. The tune isn’t distinguishable because he isn’t much of a musician, but it still makes Fran laugh hysterically. Tyson joins in, crooning some words over the melody. Soon an impromptu jam session is in full effect: Cale works out a beat on a steel drum found just outside of their secret hideaway, and Charlotte and Fran provide handclaps and harmonies. The number ends in a fit of giggles tumbling from everyone’s lips, and Fran has trouble stifling them once she reaches Welton's property again. Sleep comes easy once back in her room, and Fran dreams of creating a lifetime of adventures with her friends.

☼☼☼☼

It’s a bright Tuesday when Fran spots the flyer on the bulletin board in the lobby. There, handwritten in large scrawling script, are the words Writing Seminar for Young Authors. She’s intrigued and reads all the information available on the sheet of paper. It seems to be taking place at Henley Hall, Welton’s sister school, and will run for nearly the rest of the year. Fran copies the contact information into her pocketbook and heads upstairs to compose a piece of literature worthy of admission.

Charlotte finds her there, several hours later, surrounded in a large pile of crumpled paper.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Fran slams her pen down on her notebook a smidge too aggressively, causing the other girl to flinch slightly. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m just trying to get this submission perfect before I drop it off in the morning.”

“Oh!” Charlotte chirps excitedly. “Your dad is letting you write articles in the school paper again?”

A silence covers the room like a thick blanket. “Uh, not exactly,” Fran murmurs. “Henley is doing a writing seminar and I’m going to apply. My father doesn’t know.”

Her roommate and closest friend of nearly ten years shoots Fran a nervous glance. “What are you going to do when he finds out?”

Frustrated, Fan pushes the desk chair out and tug at the roots of her hair. “Goddamnit, Lottie, can’t you just be excited for me? I’m finally doing something I want to do and not caring about what anyone else thinks. Who’s side are you even on? You gonna call up my folks, let them know my plans, and have me shipped off to a refining school? Huh?”

“Calm down, Fran. It was just a question,” she sighs. “I’d never fink. Just thought you should consider what would happen. What are you writing?”

She gestures to the scraps littering the ground, and allows Charlotte to read one of her many drafts. She studies the words intently before darting out of the room, most likely to read it to a crowd of students and embarrass Fran. She likes to keep her writing a secret.

“Charlotte Tennant! Get back here!” Fran screeches, tearing after her.

The blonde’s giggles echo off the walls. “Help! I’m being chased by Agatha Christie!”

Cale narrowly avoids a collision with Charlotte as he rounds the corner, and Tyson can’t get out of the way fast enough. She runs right into her boyfriend’s chest, knocking them both over. After explaining why she was running and urging the rest of her friends to read the piece, everyone returns to Fran and Charlotte’s room for a study group. They insist Fran has to submit the very version Charlotte read, saying it was the best one. Fran lets them flatter her, and decides to drop it off in the morning. After all, Henley Hall is just down the road. The rest of the night is spent collaborating on Latin and laughing at Nate’s antics. When Nancy comes in to remind them of lights out, she finds all five teenagers huddled at the small window, looking out at the small flakes of snow that are falling.

“Look Nancy, it’s the first snowfall,” Charlotte says as she beckons her over.

The older woman smiles fondly at the group before nodding her head. “Beautiful isn’t it?” she muses. “Now, the boys better scurry out of here before they get caught.”

With a chorus of jovial goodbyes and plans to make a snowman tomorrow at break, they leave to avoid getting in trouble from their floor monitor. Fran and Charlotte tidy up before turning the light out, and both fall asleep feeling hopeful for what’s to come.

The next morning before classes start, Fran runs to Mr. Bednar’s office to get permission to visit Henley Hall at lunch. Welton requires staff permission for students to leave campus, but it doesn’t have to be from the headmaster. There’s no doubt in her mind that if she goes to Dr. Sakic he’ll alert her parents of Fran’s newfound extracurricular activity and it will be kiboshed before she can even begin. The beloved English teacher is enthusiastic in his approval, and kindly demands that Fran keeps him updated. She sits the rest of the morning with a mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling in her stomach.

As soon as the bell signifying lunch rings, Fran’s throat goes dry. What if her writing is terrible and the coordinator laughs in her face? She’s not sure she could handle the rejection.

“Don’t worry about it, Franny,” Tyson comforts. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

“You’re the best writer I’ve ever seen,” Cale chimes in.

Nate turns around and ruffles her hair. “Who’s F. Scott Fitzgerald? I only know Francesca Winters.”

The praise boosts her confidence, and by the time Fran waves them farewell at the gates she’s walking with her head up. As long as she gives it her best shot, Fran decides she’ll be happy with the results. The short walk is idyllic – freshly fallen snow coats the trees, and it doesn’t look as though anyone has driven down the road. Even Henley Hall looks nice. It’s smaller than Welton, and in Fran’s opinion uglier, but also has high academic standards for its students. From what she’s heard though, the staff members are kinder. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible place to receive an education.

Once inside, Fran looks around aimlessly, trying to find a clue that would lead her in the direction of where she needs to go. A middle-aged woman, far younger than most of her teachers, approaches Fran with a kind smile. “Are you lost dear?” she asks, waiting patiently for a response.

“I’m afraid so,” Fran says, “Could you point me in the direction of Ms. Robertson’s office? I have a submission for her seminar to drop off.”

The woman laughs heartily, and it echoes slightly in the emptiness of the entryway. “You must be from Welton.” When Fran nods your head, she wraps an arm around the girl’s shoulder and begins walking. “I’m Ms. Robertson, and I’m pleased to say you’re the first from Welton to show any interest.”

Fran isn’t surprised by this. Headmaster Sakic assigns all extracurriculars, and she lets the teacher know this as she follows her. Ms. Robertson nods in understanding, but her lips are pursed in disapproval. It’s only then that Fran realizes Welton’s practices might not be as common as she once assumed.

The teacher’s office is tucked in behind her empty classroom, and Fran pauses to examine how she chose to decorate the space. Pictures of Walt Whitman line the walls, along with other notable poets. “I primarily teach poetry,” Ms. Robertson explains. Fran can’t help but think that she’s the Mr. Bednar of Henley, even though she hardly knows her. The teacher just exudes the same kind of energy.

Once inside, Fran tentatively hands her the paper – even though she seems friendly Fran is still nervous. She’s the first adult to read any of her creative writing.

“This is good. Really good,” Ms. Robertson praises. “You’re in.”

Fran is dumbfounded. Sure, there was a good chance she would have gotten in anyways because she isn't the world’s worst author, but to have someone other than her friends say she’s good at writing is affirming. “Th-thank you,” she stutters.

“No, thank you for bringing this to me. I can’t wait to see what else you’re capable of. The first meeting is on Monday, and when you come I need to see letters from your parents and Dr. Sakic saying you’re allowed to participate.”

Fuck. It slipped her mind that they might need permission from guardians. Fran will just have to figure something out, some way of getting around it. If her father ever found out she is doing something expressly against his orders he’d disown her. Oh well – now that she’s had a taste of success Fran is determined to see this through.

She explains that it won’t be a problem, and that she’s excited to be a part of this. After getting instructions on how to find the exit Fran leaves with a pep in her step. Once outside, she skips the entire way back to Welton.

☼☼☼☼

Somehow Fran manages to make it through nearly the entire weekend without someone bursting her bubble. It’s Sunday afternoon, and she’s planning how to forge the letter of permission from her father. She can’t risk sounding too youthful, but also doesn't want to appear too formal. Getting to work, Fran loads the typewriter and begins writing. Imitating her father is easier than she thought, and when Cale pokes his head through the open door she’s almost done.

“You coming to today’s meeting?” he asks, entering the room to sit at the foot of Fran’s bed.

She continues to clack at the keys of the machine. “Of course,” Fran replies. “Just need to finish this up.”

The pair of them sit in silence as she works, and a few minutes later Fran is placing the letter in an envelope. “Do you mind if we stop at Dr. Sakic’s office? I have to get a letter of permission from him.”

“Sure. How’d you get your father to say yes? He practically kicked you off the paper.” Cale’s question is legitimate, but surely he had to know Fran didn’t ask her father. That would have been an automatic rejection.

“I didn’t,” she sighs. “I wrote the letter myself. Sakic won’t call to double check with him. Besides, my parents live just too far away to want to make the trip here unless they have to.

Fran doesn’t miss the pointed look her friend gives. Cale’s a stickler for the rules, sure, but Fran knows he’s worried for her. If her father finds out she disrespected him like this, on top of not applying to any Ivy Leagues, she’ll be in a lot of trouble. Cale stays quiet while Fran chats with the headmaster, only offering a polite farewell. As the two of them walk to the cave to meet the others, he speaks.

“You better not get caught.”

The five words send chills down her spine. He’s right and Fran knows it. If she doesn't play her cards right it could end badly. Fran begins to regret her decision, but then she remembers how Mr. Bednar constantly encourages her classmates to be their people and do what they want. Whatever happens, she’ll never go back to living anything other than the life she wants to lead.

Conversation pivots when Fran doesn't respond, and the pair discuss what Tyson will bring to this week’s meeting. He’s tonight’s moderator and is known for picking obscure short stories to read after everyone has gotten through the assigned chapters. Cale bets nothing will be in English, and Fran can’t help but agree, because Tyson likes to expand everyone’s perceptions while being a little ridiculous. It’s good though – without him Fran would have a much harder time being exposed to new things. Between him and Mr. Bednar she’s doing a pretty good job learning about the world outside the traditional American viewpoint.

The meeting lasts a few hours, long enough for the sun to have disappeared and the moon to peak up from the shadows. The five of them have a grand time laughing and reading. Welton has a relatively relaxed weekend schedule, so Fran isn’t worried about being caught off school grounds. In fact, most of the staff members travel home if they can, leaving only essential personnel. Society meetings never fail to put Fran in a better mood, and she leaves feeling hopeful about the week to come. Besides, tomorrow she starts learning how to make her dreams a reality with the start of the writing seminar. When she bids everyone but Charlotte goodnight, pep returns to her step. The Brit sees it but chooses not to comment, secretly excited to see Fran unlock her potential.

☼☼☼☼

With the addition of Henley Hall’s writing seminar into Fran’s schedule, things change slightly. She manages to stay up-to-date on coursework, still excelling in all of her classes. What free time she has is now split between working on the rough draft of her novel and attending Society meetings with friends. It’s challenging at times, but there’s no other way she’d rather spend her last year of secondary school.

Mr. Bednar continues to provide thoughtful lessons that inspire. He is, by far, Fran’s favourite teacher at Welton, and she’s a tad upset she won’t get another year with him. It doesn’t matter much though, because Fran is positive he’ll stick with her for the rest of her life.

☼☼☼☼

December is approaching fast, and it’s now pitch black when Fran returns from Henley Hall. Other students are returning from their extracurricular endeavors or using the evening free time to play in the snow so at least she isn’t alone in the dark. As she approaches Welton’s dormitory wing Fran pushes her hands deeper into her pockets. It’s chilly – much colder than any other night this year. Just as she reaches to open the door, Fran hears sniffles from just around the corner. The culprit is a curly-haired brunette she could recognize from a mile away.

“Tys?”

He looks up, eyes brimmed with tears. Fran racks her mind to remember why he would be out so late, and she recalls Tyson saying there was an extra practice tonight before the tournament on the weekend. Despite how her joints seize from the cold, Fran drops to sit beside her friend. Tyson leans closer, resting his head on her shoulder. “What’s the matter?” she asks, pulling his much larger body closer to wrap in a tight hug.

“My parents don’t even care about me enough to send me an original birthday gift,” he chokes out. “The got me the same fucking desk set as last year.”

Her heart breaks for her friend. The Jost’s have always been detached, but this is an entirely new phenomenon for them. How could they not remember what they got their only son for his birthday last year? This is a whole new level of not caring. Fran had celebrated his special day at lunch with the rest of the group, and had plans to give Gwilym his gift after she got back from the seminar.

Hoping to find something to improve her friend’s mood, Fran stands and pulls him to his feet. “Well you know,” she says, tapping her fingers on her chin in faux thought. “This deskset looks extremely aerodynamic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, it looks like it was destined to fly.”

Tyson looks at her like she has three heads. “Go on,” Fran urges, “I present to you, Tyson Jost, the world’s first unmanned flying desk set.”

With a scream that verges on primal, Tyson throws the package over the edge of the walkway with fervor. The two of them watch as its contents spill onto the ground, both shocked he actually completed the task. A sideways glance at the boy standing beside her lets Fran know he feels better. They both head inside then, laughing once she remembers how Nate nearly singed his eyebrows off in chemistry earlier in the day. The rest of the night is surprisingly relaxed, with Fran making sure to properly celebrate her friend and catching up on the study hall she missed while at Henley. Nate is still working on that godforsaken radio, and his obsession with it is becoming concerning. He chimes in when something gets particularly interesting, but otherwise doesn’t say much, too concerned with rerouting the contraption’s cabinet wires.

The next morning, at the daily assembly, Dr. Sakic lets it be known that the first round of Ivy League acceptances have been released. A majority of Fran’s classmates have their names called, some of them multiple times, and her stomach sinks slightly. She isn’t upset that she didn’t apply. No, she’s upset because it means she’s going to have to start dodging the topic around her parents. None of Fran’s friends are mentioned, but that’s because they all have jobs lined up for after graduation.

As she shuffles out of the chapel, Mr. Pratt, the spry music teacher, pulls Fran aside. “There’s a call for you,” he explains. “It’s your parents. They’re on line three, so you can tell that to Sylvia.”

Fran’s hands shake and she climbs the stairs to the main office as slowly as possible. What could they possibly want? After repeating the information Mr. MacInnis told her, Fran is given a phone receiver with instructions to keep it under ten minutes.

“Hello?”

The deep boom of her father greets Fran’s ears. “Francesca,” he says, not nearly as cheery as she hoped he would sound. “I was speaking to some friends of mine and they informed me the first round of Ivy acceptance notices were released. Did you hear anything?”

She sucks in a breath, letting it burn her lungs. “I didn’t,” Fran admits. It isn’t technically a lie, but it also isn’t the whole truth. “Not many people did though. I’m sure they just haven’t gotten to my application yet.”

Her father lets out a noise that’s a mixture between a hum and a rumble. “With your grades I’m sure you’ll hear soon. Which did you apply to again? I’m not sure you ever told your mother and I.”

All the moisture leaves Fran’s throat. “All of them sir,” she croaks, praying he doesn’t catch her in the lie.

“That’s my girl. Bet you’ve got your eyes set on Harvard.”

“Of course sir.”

The phone call ends a few moments later when Fran hears the bell signalling the start of class. She’ll get a slip from the secretary to excuse her tardiness, but Fran doesn't want to listen to her father gloat about how she’ll be the first child in the family to attend a prestigious university for another second. After saying goodbye Fran is left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Eventually he’s going to find out, and she isn't sure what will happen then.

By the time the weekend rolls around Fran is exhausted. Though she’s handling everything well, sleep is pretty far down the list of priorities and she definitely isn't getting enough of it. She sleeps well into the morning, only being woken up when Charlotte whacks her with a pillow.

“Get up you lame duck, we have to be at the cave in fifteen minutes.”

Fran groans, a strangled sound that bounces off the furniture. “Can I just skip this one meeting?” she asks. “I’ll attend the next six in a row.”

Charlotte sees right through the ruse. “Fran, we attend every meeting,” she sighs. “Besides, you’re the moderator today. What kind of meeting will it be if you don’t show up?”

Begrudgingly, Fran shuffles out of bed. With help from Charlotte, who tidies her space while she gets ready, the pair are only a few minutes late. Had she been by herself it would have been well over thirty minutes before Fran made an appearance.

Everyone else is already there, smoking the pipes Nate smuggled from his father’s collection the last time he visited home. “Look who finally decided to show up,” Tyson quips, coughing as he exhales.

“Shut the fuck up, Jost,” Fran huffs, stepping over the boy to sit in her regular seat, only to find it occupied.

A girl she’s never seen before is sitting beside Nate, gripping his arm excitedly and hanging on every word he says. The sight makes her stomach twist into an intricate knot, and looking at the two of them cuddled against one another makes Fran realize her feelings towards Nate might not be strictly platonic for the second time in their relationship. She shoots a questioning glance at Tyson, who just shrugs. On the other side of him, Cale’s got a girl with strawberry blonde hair perched on his lap. Neither of them look like they attend Welton or Henley, as they’re dressed very casually, in clothing that would never pass inspection at the boarding schools.

“Oh! Am I sitting in your seat?” Nate’s girl asks. “Nathan said it was alright.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fran grits, turning her attention to the tall boy who strives to make her life as difficult as possible. “Want to tell me what this is about MacKinnon? You’ve got a lot of gall co-opting my meeting.”

Nate stands dramatically, tossing his scarf over his shoulder and getting giggles from the newcomers. “This,” he begins, “is my attempt at breaking down the barriers between public and private schools. Marjorie and Annabelle are from Ridgeway High, and Cale and I thought they might like to see what life at Hell-ton was really like.”

“Plus,” the one Fran assumes is Annabelle says, “We might be joining The Society.”

The comment causes quite the upheaval among the group. Tyson stands up immediately, furious with both Nate and Cale. “You didn’t think to let us know?” He seethes, arms failing as he speaks, and Fran feels a little smug that he’s defending her meeting with such fervor.

Charlotte stands gingerly beside him, guiding him to sit back down. “Tys is right, boys,” she says gently, ever the peacekeeper. “You should have brought this up beforehand. We can’t have anyone really knowing of this little club we have going on.”

The other one, Cale’s current object of affection, goes to speak but Fran cuts her off. “Please don’t say you won’t tell,” she sighs, “Because there are a million other ways it could get out. And I for one don’t want my father to pull me out of Welton and ship me off to refinery school because he found out I was reading unauthorized books.”

Everyone agrees with her. It’s agreed upon that the girls will leave after the meeting and never return. They’re to pretend as though they have never met a single member of the Society, regardless of how friendly they’ve become with Cale and Nate. The boys look sad, but Fran can’t find it in her to be sorry for them. Adding members was never discussed, and the two boys most certainly shouldn’t have been so reckless. Word travels fast in the real world.

After the sudden housekeeping issue Fran leads one of the funnest society meetings yet. Ignoring the framework the group had originally set, no chapters of a published book are read. Instead, each member takes turns coming up with bits of prose on the fly. Eventually the girls get tired of the group’s antics and leave, once again swearing they won’t tell anyone. The five original members continue on for a while longer, making sure to head back to campus early. Tonight the kitchen staff are serving spaghetti and meatballs, and Fran will be damned if she misses out.

Fran awakes the next morning to find that all students are to report to the auditorium for an emergency meeting. A throng of tired teenagers follow the much more alert group of young kids. She shuffles into a row of seats with Charlotte and tries to search for the boys. Due to the suddenness of everything, the roommates couldn’t meet up with them, and find the spots they would usually sit quickly occupied. It doesn’t matter much though because if any of them were caught talking there would be serious repercussions.

“Good morning everyone,” Headmaster Sakic addresses the crowd. “It was brought to my attention yesterday evening that there is an unauthorized club of sorts here at Welton. Known as the Society for Banned and Burned Books, its sole purpose is to disobey the rules and curriculum. Anyone who knows about it or is associated with it is to report to my office immediately and turn themselves in. A thorough investigation will be conducted, so it is advised you heed this warning carefully.”

“Those fucking bitches,” Fran seethes. “I’m going to murder Nate.”

Though just as pissed off as her friend, Charlotte handles her emotions with much more grace. “Relax Fran, and don’t go doing anything stupid. We just have to think about what we’re going to do next.”

Fran knows exactly what she’s going to do. The next time she sees Nathan MacKinnon and Cale Makar she’s going to punch them in the teeth. Somehow Charlotte talks her down, but she’s still irate. How dare they be so careless? Fran spends the rest of the day ignoring them. No one goes to turn themselves in to Dr. Sakic, but she almost does it out of spite so she can implicate Cale and Nate. Fran decides against it of course, knowing it would only hurt her, but she’s definitely going to spend the next few days thinking of how to get them back.

It turns out she doesn’t have to find a way to make them feel bad about their actions. Mr. Bednar comes and finds them in the afternoon and expresses his disappointment in them. After a short lecture on how they put their friends, and themselves, at risk, the teacher leaves them to reflect on how to apologize. They show up on the girl’s dormitory floor later in the evening with a plate of cookies.

“The chef supervised us in the kitchen,” Cale explains. “We’re really sorry. It was dumb of us to invite those girls. Will you be able to forgive us?”

Nate nods, tacking his own statement on to the end of his friend’s. “We never wanted to put you guys in danger, especially you Fran. I don’t want anything to get in the way of those fancy author dreams of yours.”

Fran blushes at the comment, but lets them come inside. Their apology is sincere, and all is forgiven with laughs over milk and chocolate cookies. Nothing comes of Dr. Sakic’s threat in the coming days, so clearly the investigation was not thorough. Perhaps the girls were better at keeping their mouths shut than Fran previously thought. Wanting to still play it safe, the group decides to not host any more meetings until after the holiday break.

☼☼☼☼

It’s a lonely break for Fran, spent mostly alone in her bedroom. At every opportunity her father is boasting about her academic achievements to anyone who will listen through the various holiday parties he corrals the rest of the family to. The whole town seems quite impressed that Fran is poised to attend an Ivy League, though it’s a ruse. No one knows that of course, and they all except she’ll be making an announcement on which school she’ll attend shortly. The holidays pass slowly, and Fran eats more than her fair share of mashed potatoes and gravy. Since her father must still work throughout her time at home, Fran is left to her own devices throughout the day. Though her mother loves Fran she’s docile, and often doesn’t talk to Fran unless she has to.

Fran spends an enormous amount of time writing. When she returns to school there’s only three weeks before she has to turn in the first draft of her novel. Hours are spent crafting scenes in painstaking detail – writing and rewriting until she’s happy with the quality of her work. At night Fran plays board games with her family, and makes up lies for her father’s questions. He’s becoming more creative, asking ones that demand specific answers. However she’s able to manage, mostly thanks to Cale’s insane wealth of knowledge on countless educational institutions. Without him she’d be lost at sea.

She’s extremely happy to be back at Welton, so much so she rushes ahead of her parents, not heeding her father’s warnings. Once sequestered into the auditorium, Fran tries to get permission to sit with Charlotte, but is immediately rejected.

“Sir, why can’t I? Other students are sitting together,” she states, and the glare you receive from her father could pierce a soul.

“After the stunt you just pulled?” he grits. “You’re lucky I don’t wheel you out of here and take you home. You will sit beside us. That’s final.”

The call of his name has him put his focus elsewhere, and Fran’s mother gives her a sympathetic smile. “He means well, dear,” she says. “After all, your father is right. We have certain appearances we must keep up since we aren’t of such high status.”

Before Fran can try and make a rebuttal, the procession enters the auditorium. Headed by her three male best friends and Tyson’s roommate Ryan, who have been tasked with carrying the banners, the teaching and administrative staff shuffle into the room. It’s silent – everyone not-so-patiently waiting for this assembly to be over. Undoubtedly Fran’s least favourite part of attending Welton, the term's opening assemblies are extremely dull and have made her consider leaving on multiple occasions.

“Welcome back to another term at Welton,” Dr. Sakic preaches. “We’ll be sure to have an excellent time. Now students, I must ask you the most pertinent of questions, one that’s asked at the start of every academic season. What are the four pillars?”

The voices of hundreds of children mingle together. “Tradition, honour, discipline, excellence,” Fran mumbles, slouching slightly. A swift nudge to the ribs from her father has her standing straighter than a board. She cannot wait to be rid of him.

After what feels like two hours of listening to Dr. Sakic and other distinguished staff members speak, everyone is finally allowed to leave. Bidding her parents a quick farewell, Fran clambers up the stairs to reach her room before Charlotte. Though she loves her dearly and the blonde never fails to lift your spirits, Fran needs alone time to quickly cry. It seems no matter what she does she’ll always be a disappointment to her father. The only thing he attributes to her is receiving acceptance to a prestigious school, and she refuses to give him that.

The reunion between the group of friends is much more relaxed this time around. Everyone had only been separated for a few weeks, not months. There’s still a small level of dramatics of course. When Nate sees Fran in the hallway he tackles her to the ground in a hug.

“Nathan, get off of me!” she squeaks, words punctuated by giggles. No one seems to notice, too caught up in their own reunions and settling in for another term, but Fran catches the way his eyes soften when he looks at her and it causes heat to rise to the top of her skin. She thought the weeks spent apart would help her silly crush go away, but it’s reared its head in full force and Fran doesn’t know what to do about it.

“Never,” he shouts, dragging Fran to her feet and sequestering her up the stairs. When they arrive in his dorm room, the rest of the group is already there. Details of holidays are shared, as are hopes for the school semester. It’s their final one at Welton, and Fran wants to make it count.

In just over five months she’ll graduate, leaving behind every comfort she’s known for the past six years. “Hell-ton has been our home for so long,” Fran sighs as she rests her head on Tyson’s shoulder. “What are we going to do once we’re gone?”

“Do whatever the fuck we want without teachers breathing down our necks.”

He has a point. For so long they’ve all been forced to act in a certain way that it will be nice to do as one pleases.

Charlotte hums in agreement, standing to stretch her legs. “Come on Fran, we should get back to our room. You’ve got to finish writing that one scene.”

Begrudgingly she untangles herself from Nate’s covers. She’s right, but Fran would rather not think about it. “Char, it’s killing me,” she whines. “Can I just not think about it for a while?”

She carefully reminds her of your deadline, and it’s enough to have Fran bounding down the flight of stairs. She really does need to get to work. The rest of the night has her stooping over her typewriter, clicking at the keys incessantly. By the time she falls asleep Fran has finished the scene and written at least three more, pushing her even closer to the finish line.

She finishes her draft a few days early, and hands it to Ms. Robertson after the workshop one night. She’s thoroughly impressed and is sure to let Fran know. The girl preens under her compliments, sure to downplay how happy she truly is. When she lets Mr. Bednar read the corrected version, he too showers Fran in praise.

“This is phenomenal, Miss Winters.”

Once again Fran is blushing, cheeks feeling much too warm for the cold winter afternoon. “Thank you Captain. It isn’t much though,” she says softly.

“Nonsense. It’s a masterpiece. Do you think I could commission you to bind me my own copy once it’s finished? I’d love to have it on my shelves.”

Fran is dumbfounded. “You want a copy of my book? But you read the greats like Twain and Fitzgerald!”

“You’re destined to be one of them, and I want to commemorate it.”

It’s then that she invites him to the final workshop in a few months' time. All participants will have their finished published works, and will take turns reading excerpts and answering questions. It’s supposed to be a mock book signing, and Fran is beyond excited. There’s nothing she wants more than for him to be there.

☼☼☼☼

Life begins to pick up speed, and Fran feels as though she’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Between academics, licensed extracurriculars, and society meetings she barely has enough time to sleep. It’s exhausting, but Fran feels completely satisfied. Not everyone gets the same experiences she’s been afforded, and she’s determined to make the most of it.

Mr. Bednar’s classes are still her favourite. This term the class is focussing on poetry, since the prose units were completed before the break, and every day Fran craves more. She finally learns the origin of the nickname ‘Captain’ with the reading of a particular poem, and everyone in the class increases their use of the term exponentially. Classes are spent reciting giants like Whitman and Frost, but also so-called ‘beat poets’ like Ginsberg and Kerouac. It’s easy to lose the stresses of life in their fantasies, and Fran always feels lighter when she leaves the room.

Some of her favourite lessons of the year have happened recently – namely the one on perspective. Ever the revolutionary, Mr. Bednar had everyone take turns standing on his desk, surveying the room before jumping down. A handful of students didn’t understand, but Fran found it incredibly eye-opening. Suddenly she understands why writing is so powerful – it can mean a million different things to a thousand people.

The Society for Banned and Burned Books starts to become less structured, and truthfully Fran doesn't mind. Most of the time everyone sits in the cave and discusses the ideas Mr. Bednar plants in their heads. Not many books are being read, but she’s glad. They were beginning to become a bit dull and the group was running out of titles – authors are being much more careful these days so as not to offend governing bodies. No matter what lens the club has taken, Fran is glad it exists. She’s spent countless hours fooling around with her dearest friends while enriching their minds. What more could she ask for?

Her novel is coming along swell. It passed the first and second revisions with flying colours and is now off at the printers. When Fran asks if she can print two copies, and that she doesn't mind paying the extra, Ms. Robertson is shocked.

“There’s no way you’re footing that bill! Especially because you’re giving it to someone,” she says, putting a cork in the matter. “Mr. Bednar will be delighted.”

The young mentor knows of Fran’s beloved English teacher, and is touched that she wants to do something so special for him. No one else in the group is as excited as Fran. Most of them are involved simply to pass the time or stand out on college applications, but not her. Fran is in the seminar because her soul yearns to write and she’d be a fool to deny its wishes. Writing is what she wants to do for the rest of her life, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t seriously pursue it.

☼☼☼☼

The day Fran gets her book back from the publishing house, the final round of Ivy League admissions is sent out. Her name is, of course, not on it. However, Ms. Robertson got in touch with a friend who teaches at Bryn Mawr college, and they’ve extended an offer into their creative writing program. Fran is delighted, and accepts almost immediately. The school is prestigious enough that hopefully her father can overlook the fact it’s not an Ivy.

Life goes as usual, with the day passing slowly. Tonight is the first time she’ll get to see her finished work, and will prepare for the showcase tomorrow night. She’s ecstatic, practically bouncing off the walls the entire day.

“Slow down,” Cale huffs, trying desperately to keep up with the jovial pace Fran has set.

She turns around to flash him the biggest smile she’s ever mustered. “I simply cannot, my dearest Cale, because I’m now a published author. My joy knows no limits.”

“You better not get a big head and a terrible ego,” Nate pipes in, joining the both of them in walking to the willow by the lake. He ruffles Fran’s hair and she swats his arm away.

“Shut up!”

The three of them join the other members of the group, who were able to weave through the crowds faster to claim the best spot on the grounds. Everyone spends the break joking around and chattering about tomorrow night. They’ll all be in attendance, along with Mr. Bednar. Somehow Fran has managed to keep her admittance to the seminar a secret to anyone outside of Welton and she’s quite proud of herself.

At Henley Hall, she feels electric. Seeing words that she wrote on a page, bound in leather, puts butterflies in her stomach. For possibly the first time in her life Fran feels like she’s on the right path. Reading a piece of the story out loud is exhilarating, and she can’t wait to see how the crowd responds. The question and answer section allows her to really delve into the creative process, immersing audience members in the story even more. It’s an evening spent having the time of her life, but something feels the tiniest bit off. Fran’s brain tells her something is going to go wrong when she returns to Welton.

How right she was. When she finally reaches her dormitory floor after swimming against the current of hungry teenagers, Charlotte is standing anxiously at the end of the hall.

“Your father is inside our room, and he looks absolutely peeved,” she whispers, hugging Fran tightly before running to join the others downstairs. If she’s caught loitering, detention will be her home for the next few weeks.

Taking a deep breath, Fran does her best to mask her anxiety before stepping into the room. He’s sitting at her desk, tapping his foot impatiently, and sporting a grimace that makes Fran’s stomach contract.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

It’s a dumb question – she knows exactly why he’s here. Her father doesn’t buy the weak question and chooses to ignore it completely.

“How dare you,” he broods, “Defy me and then lie about it?”

There’s no beating around the bush tonight, and Fran wishes she could be anywhere but here. “Sir, I can explain –”

“There’s nothing to explain! You made me look like a fool, telling everyone in town that my daughter, my Francesca, was going to attend an Ivy and study to become the best legal secretary in the goddamn county. That she had the pick of litter and would choose whichever offered her the biggest scholarship. Do you know how I stupid I look?”

Tears prick at the corner of Fran’s eyes, but she will them away. “Father, please,” she whispers, trying to stay strong but her voice betrays how she truly feels.

He doesn’t let up, continuing the rather one-sided argument. “And then I hear from old Mrs. Perkins that her granddaughter is coaching you in a writing seminar at Henley Hall? I told her she must have confused you with someone else because writing is a waste of time. She was incessant, and showed me the letter her granddaughter had mailed her, detailing how wonderful your novel was and she was so excited to get you a spot in a creative program at a women’s college. I was appalled.”

Now is the one chance Fran has to defend herself. “I never wanted to attend an Ivy, Sir,” she tries to explain as calmly as possible. “That’s what you wanted for me. Bryn Mawr is just as prestigious, one of the Seven Sisters. I’ll be happier there, doing what I love. I want to be a writer, Father.”

“Nonsense, Francesca. You’re seventeen, you don’t know what the hell you want.”

It goes like that, back and forth, for a while as she tries to make her father see reason. He isn’t having any of it.

“Did that new teacher, Mr. Bednar, put you up to this?”

Where her father got that notion Fran isn’t sure. “Of course not, Sir,” she exclaims, “I’m simply doing what’s best for myself.”

“What is best for yourself, huh?” he seethes. “You don’t know what’s best for you, but I’ll tell you. You’re going to drop out of the little writing program and tell Bryn Mawr you’re reneging your acceptance. Next fall you can apply for Harvard.”

Fran tries to explain to him that she can’t do what he’s ordering, that the signing is tomorrow night and they’re counting on her to be there. Her father simply does not care and after screaming at Fran some more leaves her dorm room in a flurry of anger, slamming the door behind him.

As if she is Atlas and the weight of the world has crushed Fran, she curls into a ball on her bed and sobs in pain. She’s absolutely heartbroken. Why can’t he just let her do what she wants? Too tired to eat, Fran stays in her room and eventually cries herself into a fitful sleep.

Fran is in the same position hours later when her friends peek through the door to check in. Without a word, the four of them surround her in a group hug. Nate’s hands find a way to her back and rub soothing circles in an attempt to calm Fran down. It helps slightly, and she eventually gets the sniffles to stop. No one speaks, but it’s comforting for Fran to not be alone. She knows that when she does want to talk about what happened they’ll be there with open ears.

At the urging of Tyson and Charlotte, Fran travels to the teachers’ quarters and knocks timidly at Mr. Bednar’s door. “Come in,” he says breezily, and she carefully steps around the pile of worn novels on the floor.

“Captain, I’m really sorry to bother you,” she says earnestly, “But I really could use some advice.”

He ushers her to sit down, and pours a cup of tea that he sets gently in Fran’s hands. She explains the entire situation, sparing no detail. Any memory that vaguely relates to her terse parental relations is also brought into the mix – if this man is going to know anything, he’s going to know everything. The conversation then moves into how much Fran loves writing, and how she feels as though she’s nothing without it. Mr. Bednar sits quietly and nods as she talks, not speaking until Fran winds herself.

“Can you tell him what you just told me?” he asks, leaning over to refill her cup and pass the sugar.

Fran scoffs, though the tears threatening to spill after sharing her heart show that she isn’t as aloof as she hopes to be. “Absolutely not. I can’t talk to him like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t see me as a person! To him I’m just a canvas he can project his dreams onto. There’s nothing I could say to make him see that he doesn’t always know what’s best for me.”

The room goes quiet. It isn’t uncomfortable, but Fran is waiting for the older man to speak again. Mr. Bednar stands and walks to the small window beside his desk. “I think you should try,” he theorizes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says confidently. “If you tell him everything you just told me, your father will see the passion you have for writing, and will let you stay enrolled in both the workshop and Bryn Mawr.”

She stays with the teacher a little while longer, discussing poetry and prose. It’s nice to talk to someone without them having preconceived notions of how she’s meant to behave and who she’s supposed to become. When Fran walks back to her dormitory she still doesn't feel as light as she hoped. There’s absolutely no way she can try and convince her father to let you stick with writing. Fran’s only hope is to disobey his direct orders. If memory serves her correctly, Fran’s father will be leaving for a three day business trip to Chicago in the morning. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

The rest of the night is spent with her friends doing everything in their power to keep Fran’s mind off the situation. At the suggestion of Cale, everyone dresses in their robes and sneaks to the cave, having an impromptu Society meeting. It’s nothing serious or official, just the group telling ghost stories and poking fun at each other.

After an hour or so of enjoying each others’ company, Nate abruptly stands. “I think everyone knows what time it is,” he grins.

Everyone else looks at him as if he has three heads, but then Tyson suddenly remembers something and joins the taller boy in towering over the group. He then turns around to pick up a small bundle of mangled wires and boxes and passes it to Nate. “I present to you all our now fully functional backyard radio!”

“Holy shit, you fucking did it,” Cale exclaims, profusely shocked. Charlotte just lets her jaw drop open in astonishment. Fran is speechless too, unable to believe her friends were actually able to pull their crazy invention scheme off.

No one speaks for a few beats, astounded, but Charlotte breaks the silence. “Well, are you going to turn it on you tossers?”

After a speedy setup that doesn’t look particularly safe, Nate sticks the antenna out the hole in the cave’s roof while Tyson fiddles with the dials. It takes a second, but soon enough music flits through the speaker. The voice of Elvis Presley meets everyone’s ears and Fran’s foot involuntarily taps along to the beat. Laughter and shouts of encouragement echo off the stones until it’s so loud she can no longer hear the music. No one seems to care, and Cale doesn’t refuse when Fran grabs his hand and invites him to dance. At some point Nate sweeps her into his arms to do a ridiculous step pattern, and Fran giggles loudly at the gesture. Despite everything that happened earlier in the evening, she ends the night feeling genuinely happy.

☼☼☼☼

There’s about ten minutes until Fran has to leave for Henley Hall. Charlotte has her practically tied to the desk chair and is in the process of taking the rollers out of Fran’s hair. Honestly, Fran doesn't care too much about her appearance since the event is nothing official, but her best friend insists she look the part of a glamorous novelist.

“Stop moving your bloody head,” the blonde grumbles.

“Sorry Lottie,” she apologizes sincerely. “Just a little antsy.”

It isn’t a lie. Fran has been a jittery mess all day. Not one of the lessons given stuck in her brain, and her left knee has been constantly bouncing.

Charlotte places her hand comfortingly on your shoulder. “I know darling.”

She gets back to work setting the curls, and Fran takes a second to look at herself in her small desk mirror. Charlotte has completed the seemingly impossible task of making her look elegant – painting her lips a beautiful cherry red and ironing the prettiest dress in their combined closets so there wouldn’t be any misplaced creases. A few spritzes of hairspray and she’s done, letting Fran stand up to see the finished product for the first time.

She looks herself up and down, trying to recognize the person staring back at her. It isn’t that she looks like a completely different person. In fact, Fran looks like a more sophisticated, well travelled version of a seventeen year old. She can picture herself employing Charlotte to help her get ready before any other major event she might have in the future – perhaps she’d prefer styling to nursing.

Before Fran can say anything a low whistle comes from the doorway. “You sure clean up nice, Francesca,” Nate grins, using the girl’s full name in an attempt to make her squirm.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, MacKinnon,” she says, walking breezily over to him and straightening out his bowtie. Everyone in the group is travelling to Henley in Mr. Bednar’s car. The audience doesn’t need to be there for nearly forty-five minutes after the call time, but Fran’s entourage wants to get good seats.

The other boys round the corner then, and compliment her profusely. It makes Fran blush, if only because they’re being uncharacteristically sincere. No comedic jabs follow, and she feels incredibly loved. The four of them sit patiently while Charlotte finishes her makeup, chatting amongst themselves. As soon as she’s done the door is shut quietly and the group tomps down the stairs to meet their teacher in the lobby.

“Looking sharp, kids,” Mr. Bednar exclaims jovially. “Like proper literature enthusiasts. Shall we go?”

Henley Hall isn’t a far walk, perhaps ten minutes, but riding in the back of her teacher’s car makes Fran feel important. He makes pleasant small talk with Charlotte and shares crude jokes with the boys, but asks Fran an earnest question.

“Did you tell your father what you told me Fran?”

She gulps. Of course she hadn’t called her father, not wanting to make matters worse. “I did, this morning,” she stutters. “He won’t be able to attend though, left for Chicago as I called. I think he’s going to let me stick with it.”

In the rearview mirror Mr. Bednar smiles brightly. “Glad to hear it.”

After parking the car out front of the building, the group walks into the theatre together, and Fran leaves them to slip backstage. No one else is, unsurprisingly, in the audience, but they’re more than content talking amongst themselves.

Ms. Robertson quickly goes over the speaking order and answers everyone’s questions before allowing time to practice answering questions one last time. It’s fun for Fran to chat with her fellow writers, who over the past few months have become friends, and hang out with them one last time. No one else from Welton ever joined, making her the lone outsider, but they took her in with open arms. It will be sad to leave them, though once she leaves for Bryn Mawr – if her father allows her to stay enrolled – some of the girls will be joining you.

A quick glance at the clock lets Fran know it’s go time. At the cue of the stage manager, she and the other participants file onto the stage. The one nice thing is that she isn’t out there alone and can lean on the support of her fellow creatives if need be.

“Hello everyone, and welcome to our annual Writer’s Showcase,” Ms. Robertson announces. Applause and cheers erupt from the crowd, with Fran’s little group making the most noise. She waves shyly and sits down, awaiting the prompt to begin speaking. When it’s finally her turn it takes a second for Fran to gain her voice, so petrified that something will go wrong, she mumbles the first few words of her introduction. After a second she’s fine, and continues speaking with ease and zeal.

Presenting her work to everyone important to her is the best moment of Fran’s entire life. The entire audience is on the edge of their seat, hanging off her every word. It’s empowering – for the first time in her life Fran feels special. She reads a short passage to much acclaim, ending with a deafening roar of applause. A broad smile finds its way onto her features and it seems as though it will be permanent.

The rest of the students finish their readings and the group move on to the question and answer section. This exercise is open, but each participant gets the same number of questions so as not to upstage anyone. However, it’s clear that Fran is the one most people are interested in. She ponders the questions and gives thoughtful answers. After a particularly tricky one, she hears Cale shout encouragement in her direction.

“That’s it Fran!” he yells through cupped hands, adding a whistle for extra effect. Her other friends join in, and soon so has the entire auditorium. Fran stands up and awkwardly bows before allowing another person to answer a question.

Everything is going well until she watches her father slip through the doors. He’s wearing a wicked scowl and has his brows knitted together. Whatever is about to happen won’t be pretty. Instead of causing a scene, he perches against the back wall and folds his arms over his chest. Fran gulps. Jeremy, the last boy to answer a question, finishes up. Everyone stands and bows, but she’s in such a daze that she has to be pulled up by those on either side of her. The noise is overwhelming and Fran is beginning to find it hard to breathe. As soon as it’s possible, she darts off the stage and out of view.

“Fran? What’s wrong?” Ms. Robertson asks, concern lacing her voice.

“Nothing,” she lies through her teeth. “Just a little overwhelmed by it all.”

She smiles and wraps her arms around Fran’s shoulder in a hug. “I know. Come on, let’s go celebrate.” Much to her chagrin, Fran is pulled into the crowd of people waiting to see their loved ones in the lobby. Sifting through the mass, she tries her hardest to find her friends before her father finds where she is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

“Francesca,” he shouts, reaching through the crowd to grab Fran by the wrist. “We’re going home right this minute.”

“But I have to return to Welton, Sir,” she protests.

Fran’s father sends her a look that could turn Medusa to stone. “Car. Now.”

It’s a hassle to keep up with his blistering pace, but Fran knows things will be worse if she keeps him waiting. The walls seem to cave in around her and tears flow without regard to who could see. Fran is legitimately terrified.

She hears her name being called as she reaches the door. Charlotte spots her and ducks under a man’s arm to catch up. Fran shoots her a warning look but she either doesn’t see it or pays it no mind. The rest of the group follows her. Too scared to look at them, Fran remains mute as they call out to her.

“That was simply wonderful, Miss Winters,” Mr. Bednar exclaims. “You’ve got a real talent for writing.” Fran blushes at his words, and hopes it conveys how much they mean to her.

Knowing this is probably going to be her only chance, Fran shoves the copy of her novel into the teacher’s chest. It’s got his initials embossed on the front cover and includes a handwritten dedication explaining how much his encouragement means to her. “Take this,” Fran mumbles, unable to look him or her friends in the eye.

Her father doesn’t miss the interaction. “Get in the car,” he orders. Fran follows the directions and presses your face against the glass, worried for her teacher. When he wants to, her father can unleash his wicked temper with unyielding cruelty.

“Stay away from my daughter, Bednar,” he seethes, grabbing the other man by the collar of his sweater. “You’re the one that put her up to all this nonsense.”

“He didn’t!” Nate protests, preparing to give Fran’s father a piece of his mind but Mr. Bednar stops him.

“That’s enough, Nathan, we don’t need to make it worse.”

With nothing else to say, Fran’s father storms to his side of the vehicle and slams the door. Turning the engine on rather aggressively he zips out the parking lot, leaving Fran to stare out the back window and watch her friends shrink and disappear. It’s so tense the air between the two of them could be cut with a dull kitchen knife. The silence is deafening and Fran wishes he’d just start screaming now to get it over with. Instead, he doesn’t speak or look at her, focussing on the road ahead of him. Though she doesn't live terribly far from Welton and Henley, the ride is long enough to spike Fran’s anxiety.

Fran’s mother is standing on the porch when the car pulls into the driveway. She pushes off the column to meet her family at the car, but stops in her tracks when her husband breezes past her. Fran hasn't even had time to open the passenger door.

“Conrad,” her mother sighs, following him into the house and trying to calm him down.

“No, Barbra, she’s gone too far this time.”

If driving away wouldn’t make it worse, Fran would be halfway to Welton by now. Her father had taught her to drive in the evenings during the summer, and it’s late enough that no police would be patrolling. Besides, if she told them the truth they might let her off the hook.

Instead, she rises out of the car with shaking knees. The front door is still open, so Fran slinks through and shuts it quietly. In the office beside the entryway her parents are arguing, though it’s mostly her father doing the talking. He often overpowers her mom and she’s too fragile to speak up for herself. That door is open too, which Fran finds strange. Normally their arguments happen in private.

“Come in,” her father says gruffly.

Fran enters cautiously, not knowing what to expect. Considering he almost assaulted her English teacher it probably won’t be very good. The chair directly across from her father is open, and she sinks into it, refusing to meet his gaze. Across the room her mother is perched delicately on the edge of the desk, chain smoking cigarettes and twirling the pearls of her necklace around her thumb.

“We’re trying very hard to understand why you insist on defying us, defying me.” His voice is eerily calm, and truthfully that upsets Fran more than if he were to scream at her. “And though I suspect that no good, idyllic teacher is behind it, we aren’t going to let you ruin your life. You’ll no longer be attending Welton. Starting first thing in the morning you’ll be enrolled at Balthasar’s Refining Academy, where you’ll finish the year and study to become a legal secretary.”

“But Father, that’s a lifetime of unhappiness,” Fran protests. “I don’t want to be a secretary.”

“Well that’s too fucking bad!” he screeches. “Because that’s what you’re going to be. It’s not a death sentence.”

Her mother says nothing, just sits and stares blankly. Fran can tell she’s afraid of him, her father, but won’t ever leave. That’s simply not the way things work.

“You don’t understand, Francesca” he continues, “You have opportunities your mother and I could never have even dreamt of. I can’t let you waste them.” With a sharp turn on his heel he faces the window, his back to Fran signaling the conversation is finished.

Adrenaline courses through her veins, and Fran seizes the only opportunity shemight ever get to tell her father how she truly feels. “I need you to know what I feel!”

Not appreciating the young girl’s challenge to his authority, Fran’s father turns on her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “What is it that you feel?” he snarls. “What is it!”

Facing him diminishes her newfound confidence. There’s no doubt he’ll pick the argument apart, berate her for having aspirations based on passion instead of security. It’s a fight Fran won’t win, so she backs down entirely.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s nothing,” she whispers.

A triumphant smirk appears on her father’s face. “That settles it then,” he exclaims, and promptly strides out of the room to get ready for bed.

Fran falls back in the armchair feeling incredibly defeated. Tears begin to fall, and soon sobs are wracking her body. In an effort to be of some comfort her mother places a hand on her shoulder, but it doesn’t help. She’s just as much to blame for Fran’s sorrow as he is.

“I was really good out there. I truly felt happy for the first time.” Fran’s voice breaks as she speaks, unable to continue for fear of breaking down completely.

Her mother stands and finishes the rest of her cigarette in a single drag. “It’s been a long night, let’s get some sleep.”

There’s no way Fran will be able to sleep. The events of the past few hours replay in her head on a loop, and she tries to find things she could have done that would have made the outcome different. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her friends or Mr. Bednar, and that’s what stings the most.

She stares at the ceiling for a few hours, and when that doesn’t settle anything Fran gets out of bed to stare out the window. The night looks peaceful and quiet, unlike the sea of sadness swimming in her soul. In an attempt to find a solution to the swirling of her mind, she opens the window and allows the air to flow in. It’s warm, a tad bit sticky for April, but it calms her down for a split second. There’s a moment when Fran feels free, when the moonlight hits her skin just right and she’s glistening like Selene herself, before the weight of everything settles on her shoulders again. Fran is unhappy, and she will be unhappy for the rest of her life.

There’s only one thing left for her to do.

She slips into actual clothes and grabs a jacket from the small wardrobe in the corner of her room. Propping open the window with a piece of wood she found on the floor – her parents are in the middle of remodelling the house – and slipping on shoes, Fran looks around the room for a final time. If she plays her cards right, this will be the last time she’s ever in the building.

Carefully, Fran slips out the window and perches on the large branch. It’s strong enough to hold her weight if she wanted to close the window, but she doesn’t bother to hide the escape from her parents. They’ll know as soon as they wake up anyways. She quickly scurries down to ground level and takes off without a look over her shoulder. Sprinting as fast as she can, Fran makes it down the road and into the nearby village rather fast. The darkness of the night covers her tracks, and besides, no one is out at this time anyways.

There’s a payphone on the corner across from the post office, and Fran steps into the booth as soon as she possibly can. Her hands shake as she picks up the receiver. Thankfully the telephone operators won’t be able to tell who she is and alert her parents, since Fran’s calling from a public line.

“Operator,” the woman says flatly.

“Hello,” Fran rushes the introduction, skipping over a few formalities. “I need to speak to Mr. Jared Bednar of Welton Academy.”

With an unamused grunt the operator switches the phone over to his line. The dial tone begins to ring, and Fran feels anxiety settle into her bones. What if he decides not to help?

“Who is calling at such an ungodly hour?” he yawns, and she feels bad for waking him.

“Mr. Bednar, I ran away from home,” Fran cries, finally allowing tears to escape and too upset to use the nickname she often calls him by. “Can you come pick me up?”

His response is immediate. “Of course, child. Where are you?”

She explains to him where she is and, after promising not to move, hangs up. There’s a bench beside the phone booth, so Fran sits patiently and waits for the teacher to arrive. The wind no longer feels warm, and she curls the light jacket she brought tighter around her shoulders. Thankfully, no one approaches her while she sits alone. Fran is in a very precarious situation, and doesn't know how she would survive a kidnapping attempt.

Mr. Bednar’s car pulls up alongside the curb and he jumps up before the gearshift settles into park. His arms are around Fran in a nanosecond, comforting her and leading her to the warmth of the vehicle. Once out of the elements Fran feels slightly better, but is still exhausted from the roller coaster that has been the past few hours.

“Let’s get you back home,” he says, and she begins to panic. “To Hell-ton.”

Her heart rate steadies, and Fran finds enough energy to half-heartedly laugh at the use of Welton’s absurd nickname. This drive is also silent, but extremely comfortable. Eventually Mr. Bednar reaches over and turns the radio on, and she falls asleep to the voice of Sam Cooke.

When Fran arrives at Welton, she doesn’t go back to her dorm. Instead, Mr. Bednar sequesters her into the teachers’ quarters. “Your father will be here in the morning to try and find you and it will be the first place they look,” he explains. “You’re safe up here.” At Fran’s request he grabs Charlotte, and she collapses into the blonde’s arms when she steps in the room.

“Shh Fran, it’s alright,” she soothes. “You’re okay. And you’re safe.”

The two girls sleep curled together on the small couch in Mr. Bednar’s living room while he paces back and forth trying to figure out what to do. He should report the incident to the administration, but he knows that Dr. Sakic will allow Fran to go back into a dangerous situation without care for her safety. There’s nothing he would want less in the world, he decides, and doesn’t care if his credibility is ruined while trying to protect her. He doesn’t sleep a wink, keeping an eye on the door in case someone saw him bring Fran in – Welton’s staff is full of greedy opportunists who will do anything to get ahead.

He was right. The next morning Fran’s father is at Welton, demanding she return home with him. She’s nowhere to be found of course, tucked safely away in Mr. Bednar’s room, but Fran watches him stomp around the grounds from the window. It’s terrifying, knowing he could find her at any second. Never has she been more scared in her life.

Fran’s friends come to see her whenever they can spare a moment, though never all together. Cale comes the most frequently, but that’s because he’s positioned to be a staff member in a few months and the old men don’t mind him being in their quarters. He brings with him sweets and stories of other students misbehaving in class – most of the time it’s Nate. Since she’s technically a fugitive and can’t attend lessons, her friends take turns breaking down the material so Fran doesn’t get too far behind. When the anxiety of getting found out gets to be too much, Charlotte comes to braid Fran’s hair and shares fantastical tales of her European adventures. Nate stops by as often as he can, letting Fran know he’s there for her in every sense of the word, and she feels herself yearning for him once again.

After three days her father stops coming to Welton. Fran assumes he’s moved on to looking in other places, and becomes a bit freer in her movements. Late at night she sneaks out to join her friends at the regularly scheduled Society meetings. Mr. Bednar doesn’t say anything, sometimes helping Fran escape by distracting those who might see her in the hallways. This works for a week, but eventually she’s found out.

Fellow student Nico Sturm finds Fran sneaking back into Mr. Bednar’s quarters one evening. Nico is in that section of the school for chemistry tutoring, and sees her pass by in a flash. Immediately after realizing it was the missing girl teachers have encouraged students to look for, he travels to Dr. Sakic’s office, where the old man works until well into the night. The young man takes the opportunity to also reveal the names of the other students involved in the Society for Banned and Burned Books. Apparently he’s been watching the group for quite some time, waiting until the time was right to present the information. He’ll make a great politician indeed.

Three raps at the door are followed by Sakic’s booming voice. “Jared, open this door or so help me god.”

Fran looks at her teacher with an absolutely petrified gaze. “What do we do?” she asks, voice small.

“Whatever we can to minimize the damage,” he replies grimly.

Dr. Sakic stands in the doorway, broad shoulders making it so much of the space isn’t empty. He invites himself in, peering around the room for Fran. When he spots her he speaks. “Christ Jared, you can’t kidnap children.”

The English teacher calmly explains that he had not kidnapped Fran, but that she had called him for help after running away from home. Apparently that wasn’t the answer Sakic was looking for. The older man explains that Fran’s parents are on their way to the school and that the three of them should make the journey to his office.

The entire time Fran waits for her parents to arrive she’s a nervous wreck. Her teacher does his best to comfort her from a distance – it was made very clear that the two of them were to be separated. Both men let Fran cry freely, which she appreciates, because once her father enters the room she’ll be forced to show no emotion.

He’s a force to be reckoned with when he arrives, arms flying and tongue lashing. It’s all Fran’s mother and Dr. Sakic can do to stop him from tearing Mr. Bednar’s throat out. “You no good son of a bitch,” he screams. “You kidnapped my daughter!”

“Lower your voice, Conrad,” Dr. Sakic advises. “It’s better if we solve this matter privately. We don’t want a scandal.”

Her father huffs gruffly before agreeing. Fran doesn't dare look him in the eye and he pays her no mind. Though her mother does come over to quietly ask if Fran was safe, she’s quickly called to her husband’s side.

The adults deliberate for hours, never once stopping to bring Fran into the conversation. Mr. Bednar gives her a look that says he would if possible, but she knows he can’t ask for her input on the matter at hand. His career is already on the brink. Fran’s father is adamant on having Mr. Bednar fired and pulling her out of Welton.

“It’s clearly not safe for her here,” he argues. “So it’s best we put her someplace else.”

Dr. Sakic disagrees completely. “You’ll never be able to find a school to take her for a month. Plus she’s graduating. Let her remain here, and then send her wherever you’d like.”

Fran’s parents deliberate for a short time. It’s mostly her father arguing that she must leave and your mother agreeing with the headmaster. “He’s right dear, it would be detrimental to her education if we send her someplace else,” she says quietly. He mulls it over for a minute before conceding.

“Fine. But Bednar is gone.”

Fran can’t help her face from falling into a frown. It isn’t fair he gets punished for trying to help her. “Father –” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“I advise you not to speak unless called upon, Francesca,” he says cooly. “When asked, you will verbally confirm that Mr. Bednar kidnapped you and held you hostage. You’ll also sign a paper saying that he encouraged you to enter into unauthorized extra curriculars.”

The tone of his voice tells Fran those orders are final and she’d be a fool to try and defy them. Left with no other option she agrees, though Fran hopes the fingers you have crossed behind her back will help to lessen the guilt. “I don’t see that I have any other choice,” she sighs. “So I have one request.”

“You’re not in a place to be asking for anything,” her father spits.

Dr. Sakic stops him from continuing. “Mr. Winters, we try to keep this school as democratic as possible. Let her speak.”

The floor is hers and Fran’s throat goes drier than a desert. “I don’t want Mr. Bednar in the room when I say these things,” she stammers, heart pounding in her ears. She’d rather not say them at all, but her hand is being forced.

The request is granted, and Fran’s beloved English teacher nods his head once before slipping out of the room. Tears stain her cheeks and blouse as she repeats the words she’s prompted to. Her voice is barely above a whisper and riddled with hiccups, but they don’t let Fran stop. Eventually the excruciating process is done, and it feels like her soul has been crushed. In a way it has – Mr. Bednar gave Fran the tools to feel like her life had purpose and now he’s gone.

Without acknowledging her parents, Fran turns on her heel to return to the dormitory wing. They’ll stay for a while longer, discussing with the headmaster on how they want to proceed legally. At the last second she decides to turn around, speaking to them for what will hopefully be the last time.

“I never want to see either of you ever again.”

Charlotte is waiting for her with open arms. She lets Fran cry herself to sleep, and even then she doesn’t dare move a muscle. The other girl needs her to provide love and stability, even in an unconscious state, and she understands. Sleep doesn’t come easy, or for long, but Charlotte’s there with Fran every step of the way.

☼☼☼☼

Fran is empty. Everything feels like it’s underwater, and she spends most of the morning distant from almost everything. Her friends are there, cracking small jokes and offering comforting touches. It’s much appreciated and Fran hopes they know this, because she’s too exhausted to tell them herself. The events of last night, and the weeks and months before, play on loop in her head. She feels personally responsible for the destruction of Mr. Bednar’s career, and though she knows he doesn’t blame you, Fran can’t help but blame herself.

No one pushes her much, which Fran appreciates. The other teachers know what happened last night, and don’t call on her for answers. Other students whisper but she does her best to ignore them, and when they get a little too rowdy Nate quiets them down with a quick-witted insult. Fran never liked most of them anyways. Nico is nowhere to be found, but she’d be the last person to get your hands on him. Nate, Tyson, and Cale have already said fighting him is worth the risk of getting expelled.

Luckily none of Fran’s friends get punished for The Society. The school administration places all the blame on Mr. Bednar, though that isn’t much of a conciliation. Everyone feels terrible, but the others are keeping their spirits up as much as possible for Fran.

“Look at this origami swan,” Tyson says, dropping it into Fran’s hands. “I figured out how to do it in trigonometry.”

It’s obvious he’s trying to distract her from the fact the pair of them are entering the English classroom. For the first time all year Mr. Bednar won’t be waiting, encouraging everyone to go after their dreams while talking about literature. Fran is grateful for the effort Tyson’s putting in, especially because today has been difficult for him too.

When she slides into her seat behind him, she notices that Dr. Sakic is writing on the blackboard. Once everyone is in their seats and the bell rings he addresses everyone. “I’ll be teaching you for the rest of the year, and we’ll hire a replacement in the summer,” he says. “Though, I suspect the only person in here who will care is Mr. Makar. Perhaps the position will be yours, young man.”

“Possibly Sir,” Cale says shyly, blush creeping onto his cheeks.

The lesson the headmaster turned substitute teacher gives is boring. Apparently very little Mr. Bednar taught was in the curriculum, so he plays catch up as quickly as possible. Fran barely pays attention, wondering what her old teacher is doing at the very moment. Could he already be out of the state, driven out by shame? A knock at the door pulls her from the daydream.

“I left some personal belongings in my office. Should I collect them after class?”

The voice of Mr. Bednar rings out through the room, and Fran whips around in her seat. There he is, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink, but still here and present. He lets the class have a small smile, informing them all he would be okay without having to say anything.

Dr. Sakic doesn’t look thrilled. “It’s fine Bednar, grab them now,” he sighs, corralling the class’s attention back to him.

Too afraid to meet his gaze, Fran stares at her textbook while he passes by. There’s some rustling in the small room behind the main classroom, and then her former teacher emerges. Knowing it’s the last time she’ll ever see the man, and that the guilt will eat her alive if she doesn’t, Fran speaks.

“Mr. Bednar, they made me sign those papers. Made all of us sign them,” she explains, words so rushed they jumble together.

He smiles kindly. “I know.”

“Miss Winters, that’s enough,” Dr. Sakic shouts before narrowing his eyes at the other man. “Your time has expired Mr. Bednar. It’s time for you to leave.”

Mr. Bednar heads for the door. No one else looks at him, too afraid of getting reprimanded by their new teacher. The lesson continues around her but Fran isn't paying attention. Suddenly there’s more rustling, and Tyson is standing on top of his desk.

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” he yells, completely disrupting the studious atmosphere.

The phrase stops Mr. Bednar in his tracks, and he turns around.

“Mr. Jost, get down this instant,” Sakic screeches.

Nate follows his friend’s lead, popping up and repeating the words. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” he says, adding a small salute for flair.

The courage of her friends nestles inside Fran’s stomach and pushes her to act. She rises in solidarity with them, and Charlotte and Cale follow suit. Dr. Sakic yells at the group repeatedly, threatening disciplinary measures that won’t be fun, but Fran could care less. All that matters to her in the moment is letting Mr. Bednar know that she’ll never stop caring about him or forget everything he did for her.

“Thank you kids,” he whispers, a single tear rolling down his left cheek.

Only the five of them stand in sendoff, but it feels like the entire world is on their side. Fran realizes that this is her world – her friends, her idol, and the wealth of memories and possibilities made possible because of them. That will always be enough.

[nagitolovebug]

Oh no what happened when bebi and kamukoma got separated by ff? Also it would be amazing to read about the whole bebiverse if you ever did want to write a whole fic on it!!!

>:3 Izuru knew it was coming. How could he not? In the days approaching Bebi's first birthday, he has a decision to make- take his family and run, or let the FF take them and see what happens. Ultimately, he decides letting the FF take them would be the path of least resistance, less strenuous for everyone. So he does nothing. He watches his husband plan for Bebi's birthday party, pile of horrible, handmade plushes and blankets waiting for them. The day they turn one, their parents take them to the beach. Izuru didn't want agents rooting around and destroying their home. They watch Bebi toddle on the beach, smiling silently. They were always a quiet baby. They hadn't even cried when they were born. He sees the FF agents approaching on the horizon, far earlier than he had anticipated. He thought he'd have more time with them. He kisses Nagito like he's never gonna see him again, holds him close to feel his heartbeat. "Nagito. Whatever happens next, do not doubt that I love you." "Izuru..?" And then he holds Bebi's face and it hurts him looking at their eyes and how they stare at him like they know. "My precious child. You have irrevocably changed my life for the better. You are the most important thing in my life, and I love and cherish you deeply. If you remember anything of your father, remember these words, my dear Bebi. I love you, and always will." Izuru had been under the impression the agents coming for them were peaceful, not putting up a fight as they were surrounded. Nagito had no idea this was going to happen at all. "IZURU, TAKE BEBI AND RUN!" It's the first time Nagito has ever been in any way authoritative with Izuru, but Izuru knows this is the safest for everyone so he doesn't. Especially because he doesn't wanna separate his family. And Nagito's heart breaks when Izuru lets himself get shackled. Nagito is backing away desperately, holding Bebi bundled up so tight in his arms, pressed against his chest "Don't touch my baby- don't TOUCH MY BABY- STAY AWAY FROM ME! PLEASE, YOU CAN'T DO THIS! LET GO, LET GO- IZURU! IZURU, PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP SOMEBODY HELP ME, THEY'RE TAKING THEM, PLEASE DONT TAKE AWAY MY BABY, PLEASE-" Izuru twitches, hearing the screams, clenching his fists and his jaws, eyes stinging at hearing someone he loves beg so desperately and not being able to do anything about it. A god for the very first time feeling helpless. He's never felt more human. He wishes being human didn't mean being disgusting and ashamed and useless. Nagito manages to slip the ring he had received from Izuru around his neck onto his baby's neck (a keepsake in case they're never reunited) before his is tased in the back by an agent, crumpling to the ground immediately as someone grabs his baby, thrashing and kicking and screaming himself hoarse demanding the give his baby back, don't touch his baby, give them back. When Bebi is ripped from their father's arms, they begin to wail, horribly- sounds they had never made before wrenched out of them in fear and confusion. Izuru hadn't expected they'd use force. Watching his husband crumple to the ground makes him see red, incapacitating one of the agents detaining him and ready to kill the other. Until Makoto Naegi approaches him holding Bebi. There's blood on his jaw and he could kill Naegi faster than he could blink, but he wouldn't try anything- not when his baby was in danger. "Don't hurt my child. Don't touch my child. ....please. They haven't done anything." "My sins are mine alone. Free Nagito and Bebi. I'll comply without struggle." "I'm sorry, Izuru-kun, we can't do that." Izuru flinches. Nobody except Nagito called him that. Junko did once and he tore a clump of her ugly pigtail off her head. "Don't call me that. Free my husband and my child at once-" "We won't hurt you. I promise. The baby will be safe while you all receive treatment. I'm here to help you, not to punish you." "You tased Nagito-" He sighs. "I made them promise not to use force. Byak- Togami’s men are...not used to such delicate situations. I really am sorry. Komaeda-kun has been

through a lot, right? I dont wanna make his rehabilitation any harder by worsening his health." "If any harm comes to either of them-" "I will not let anything happen to Komaeda-kun or the child-" "Bebi." "Bebi, Kamukura-san. I swear on my life." "What is your pathetic life to the safety of my family? Pray that your life is all you lose if you break your promise. If there is a single scratch on either of them, I will make sure you and your loved ones suffer before I crush you under my heels. I swear on my life. And that's a promise that holds weight." He turns away. "Put us in the same room. I wish not to be separated." "....of course." The moment they're left alone together, Nagito slaps his husband across the face. He's incensed. He's grieving. He doesn't understand why his husband didn't save their baby. "Don't speak to me. Don't look at me. You let them take Bebi away. We're done." He isolates himself in a lone corner on the ship, back turned to Izuru, curling in on himself and sobbing. Izuru eventually goes over, wraps himself around Nagito, allows Nagito to thrash and weakly try to hit him before he turns around and bawls into Izuru's chest, Izuru rubbing his back and pressing a single kiss to the crown of his head. "...I'm sorry. I didn't want to put Bebi in danger. I'll get us out of here soon." By the time they are ready to be put under, Nagito has finally grown compliant and is entirely in a daze, Izuru coercing him to calmness with constant promises of their escape. On their way to the pods, he hears the softest, "Papa?" and goes berserk. “Bebi, please give me back my Bebi, I need to hold them.” He headbutts the person escorting him and they pass out (how lucky!) and dodges agents jumping for him and runs to Bebi. They're all reaching for their guns thinking he's gonna hurt the kid but he falls to his knees and just holds them, and he can't even do it properly bc his hands are shackled, but he touches them all he can to make sure they're alright and the sobbing is haunting. "Please don't take them again, I'll do anything you want, please don't take my baby, my baby, they're all I have- please, just an hour, fifteen minutes, just- just let me see they're ok, I need to see for myself that they're ok-!" And it's...the notorious, fearsome Servant....begging. It's incredible to see him reduced to that. Bebi's just got their chubby little arms around Nagito's neck and they're resting on his shoulder and it's the quietest and calmest they've seen Bebi since they were taken- they cry incessantly for the longest time, only stopping when they pass out. Nagito rocks them and pets their hair and frantically checks their ribs, their heart, making sure there’s no bruises. Izuru never got to say goodbye. He chooses not to go see Bebi when Nagito lashes out. Makoto turns to him but he just holds a shackled hand up. "It'll only make it harder." And he doesn't say for whom. Nagito kisses Bebi's face and their head and pets them and whispers, "I love you so much, more than anything in the world, please stay safe until I come back for you. Bebi, my darling baby, I will come back for you. I won't leave you. I'm so sorry." And then asks Makoto to jab him with the tranquilizer so he doesn't have to watch his baby get taken from him again. The last time Bebi sees their papa outside the pod is when his arms go limp around them and he's dragged away.

This impacts them all for years to come. The entire family gets a certain anxiety around Bebi's birthday, so much so that Bebi never wants to celebrate. Bebi (and Hajime, for that matter) has nightmares of their Papa screaming and terrible separation anxiety, latching onto the items they had with them during the program (Nagito's jacket and Nagito's ring)- if at any point they do not have those 2 items with them, it's likely they'll panic. Bebi didn't have their own room for the longest time because Nagito would wake in a panic and have to check and make sure they were still in the house, or insist they slept on the bed in between him and Hajime. Later on, if Nagito or Hajime are away on missions, or they are apart from the twins, they'll spiral into panics insisting that their being apart will result in someone's death. The trauma from being separated from their parents is hugely influential to how they interact with their family and their motivation for reviving the NWP...and starting another killing game.

[discojupiters]

Another Lonely Night in New York

Casually uploading Bee Gees fanfic as if I haven't had this account for almost five years and I'm just now using it to post stuff because I am upset at the lack of Bee Gees fanfic that exists and I need to change that also cuz I haven't posted on any form of social media in literal ages and I just really want an excuse to post classic rock shitposts and whatnot. :D

Ao3 link to the fanfic if you'd prefer to read it there

Another Lonely Night in New York

Robin/Fluff

The rain had been predominantly worse at night than it had been in the morning. Dense raindrops splattered onto Robin's hotel room window as he sat near the window, flinching every now and then at the speed at which the pellets of rain struck the window. The weather had been like this for almost the entirety of Robin's stay in Manhattan, which made it difficult for him to see many of sights that he originally intended to see. He stayed for nearly 4 days straight cooped up in his hotel room and if he forced himself to stay in there a minute longer, he was about to go mentally insane; he had to get out and go outside for a stroll. Despite the brutal showers and the absence of an umbrella, he put on his coat and made his way down to the lobby and out the door. He knew not where his first stop would be nor how long he'd be out, all he knew was that he needed fresh air, whether the air was battling fierce weather or not. Robin trekked out east in hopes to find something worthy of his time.

Robin had originally desired to head to New York in order to find inspiration for new music for his solo album that he was working on. After the Bee Gees decided to take a break for a bit following the release of Living Eyes, Robin found himself in a great opportunity to release more solo albums and expand his talent as a songwriter. His intentions were unfortunately tampered with as the climate in New York at this time was not the best. Little to no inspiration had crossed through his mind for the entirety of his trip and he only had one more day before he needed to be back in London to begin recording sessions.

Robin's mind was as blank as a fresh piece of paper as he strolled through the streets of midtown Manhattan. Bright and colorful lights guided him to Times Square in what felt like no time. Robin had only prayed that something in those lively, radiant billboards and lights would make a light bulb go off in his head and give him enough material to write a perfect song.

The rain showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and it wasn't until now that Robin realized how foolish he looked sopping wet with his hair sticking to his face and neck while everyone else were as dry as bones under their umbrellas. Robin reached for the hood of his coat to hide his drenched hair only to notice he brought the coat without a hood instead of the other one he had in his room that did have a hood. He thought for a moment about heading back to the hotel to spare the rest of his embarrassment but he kept walking, tenacious to find even the smallest bit of inspiration for a new song.

The stop at a crosswalk was the first break Robin had given his legs in God knows how long the amount of time he had been walking for. They ached almost enough for Robin's knees to buckle and give out on him. He could feel people staring at him, businessmen coming home late from their office jobs, young fools in love heading to various restaurants and clubs downtown, rebellious teens on their way to their secret hideouts. All these people nice and dry under their umbrellas while they stared at the lonely freak in New York who couldn't have even bothered to bring the correct coat in order to save his head from the rainfall.

'Another lonely night in New York'

Eagerly waiting for the crosswalk light to flash white, at this point he couldn't wait until it was time to go back home to London. This trip had been nothing but disappointing to him. No benefits to his song writing or even his own well being what so ever. The only thing he'd catch from this trip now would be a cold from the rainwater coating his entire body, making his pants stick to his legs, seeping into his sneakers and making his socks damp, that he'd have to deal with once he got back home. On the bright side if he did catch a cold then he would be able to delay the recording sessions until his voice got better which would give him more time to write some more material for the album.

'The city of dreams just keeps on getting me down'

In the midst of all the dismay washing over him, he almost didn't notice that the rain had suddenly begun to repel him. He could still see the rain in front of him, yet none of it was touching him anymore. Puzzled, he looked above his head to see what had happened, but all he spotted was a black, dome shaped piece of nylon; the canopy of an umbrella above his head. The misty scent of perfume filled his nostrils. He glanced over to the right of him to find a woman holding the umbrella over his head for him. Her resting face was nonchalant as she peered across the street, also waiting for the crosswalk light to turn white, but she gave a coy smile to Robin when she noticed him staring at her.

Robin wanted to speak up, wanted to thank the winsome young lady for sharing her umbrella with him, but the words wouldn't come to him. As the crosswalk light finally changed, everyone made their way across the street. New Yorkers were fast walkers, it was strenuous to keep up with the woman. Her strut was self-assured, even in the six inch stilettos that she wore; it was like she injected confidence into her veins every morning. Robin was mesmerized by her. He was still thinking about the smile she gave him when they were on the other side of the crosswalk, trying his best to hide a cheeky, daydreaming smile.

As the walk with the woman continued, Robin couldn't help but wonder: Was he going to be following this woman around until she reached her destination? Did they both have the same destination? Robin didn't even know where he would end up, he wracked his brain wondering if this woman was gonna lead him somewhere or if she was just doing a quick favor and wanted him to leave now. The woman hadn't spoke the whole time. Her nonchalant expression turned into a gentle smile yet she refused to look at Robin anymore than that one glance she shot at him when he noticed her.

Robin and the woman were now exiting Times Square, the high-spirited lights merely staining the background now as the woman continued to head for the subway. Robin knew right then and there that it was time for him to head back, as much as he adored this woman, he couldn't take a chance. He didn't know her and God forbid he let himself get killed tonight all because he had love fogging up his brain just for a woman who did a single kind deed for him. Again, Robin's mouth couldn't open to say a goodbye. It was like his throat was frozen every time he was near this woman. After an extensive fight to make the words come out, he gave up and instead stayed put in his spot on the sidewalk, waiting for the woman to notice and hopefully say goodbye first. After the woman reached a few paces noticing Robin had left her side, she worriedly glanced around, holding onto her hair to make sure the rain didn't touch it. She glimpsed behind her to find Robin slowly sauntering backwards in order to give her the indication that he was leaving. She relaxed her arms as her gloved hands waved goodbye to Robin, granting him the same kittenish smile she had given him earlier that night. Robin waved back and finally turned around to make his way back to the hotel.

Robin tried hard not to glance back every few seconds to get one last look at the woman, but failed miserably; he couldn't help it. After fully losing sight of the woman, he ran back to his hotel. He was grateful that she helped him, yet suddenly glum now that he was aware that he may never see that woman again. He didn't know anything about her, not her name, not her voice, not her story, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels for her. He knew that feeling wouldn't last long, it would probably be gone by the time he'd step foot on the plane back to London, but it was a nice thought to occupy his mind with for the time being. It fascinated him at times that he could be so in love with a woman that he knew absolutely nothing about all because she noticed him and did something good for him.

'Cause my baby's no longer around and my feelings can never be found'

Robin made it back to the hotel, tracking puddles of the water all the way up to his room. The first thing he did upon entering his room was remove all of his drenched clothes and head for the shower. Once he dried himself off, he frantically searched the room for a pencil and paper, heading to his window when he finally had one. Before he could even write down a single lyric, he found her. The woman who had helped him. She was making her way down the street of the hotel as if she had been walking in circles this entire time. Was she actually trying to reach a certain destination? Or was she just out and about looking for men to swoon over her through her acts of kindness? It didn't matter to Robin, because at least he got to take one last look at her that night. That was all he needed for inspiration. If that woman was enough to give a songwriter with writer's block inspiration for a new song, than in Robin's book that woman was enough to make the world go 'round. Robin wrote down lyrics as swiftly as they came to him.

'Another lonely night in New York, and my sorry eyes are looking out on the world'

[ayyyez]

Its nearly 1 am and im binging Neji fics cus I adore him and your headcanons and scenarios are the best I've come across. I crave more content so could I please, please, please get a Neji scenario where he has a crush on a girl who works in her family's tea shop and he always visits to have a cup of the special blend of the day when he can. Bury me in mutual pining and fluff, thank you.

a/n: the best you’ve come across!? WOOOOW I AM HONOURED YOU THINK SO! Thanks for your kind words and I hoped you enjoyed the binge. This is such a sweet idea, I love it it! Warnings: none just some good ol fluff

It was no secret that Neji loved tea but what he wouldn’t admit was the reason he frequented the same tea shop in the village was to see you. 

The first time he saw you was when he had entered the shop looking for a certain herbal blend. You had greeted him with a smile and directed him to the counter. His eyes couldn’t help but follow as you went to a table with a hot pot of tea and began serving customers. 

He was in awe to say the least. 

When he came back a few days later he decided to sit down and order. There was just something about you that made him want to spend more time there. And he had to admit, your family shop sold good tea. 

Watching a few servers walk around the store he prayed he had picked your section. A few moments went by when you came walking over to him wearing a radiant smile. He almost gasped at the sight of you, his cheeks warming when you recognised him and welcomed him back. 

‘The blend the man recommended me last time was delicious, I wanted to try more.’ Neji admitted. 

‘My father is the tea connoisseur he knows everything.’ You replied before adding. ‘Well, he knows a lot about tea but I have better taste.’ You winked at him. 

Neji chuckled, feeling a little more at ease in your presence. 

‘What kind of tea were you going for today...oh what was your name?’ 

‘Neji.’

You replied with your name before adding, ‘Pleasure to meet you. Now what sort of tea were you wanting today? Green or perhaps white? Fruit tisane? Herbal or even something floral?’ 

Neji was a little overwhelmed, suddenly forgetting every tea he had ever known in your presence. ‘What do you recommend?’ 

You thought to yourself. ‘It’s hot out so how about one of the days iced tea specials? My favourite is a peach one! It’s got peach loose leaf tisane with added fresh fruit like papaya, apple to compliment it!’ 

‘That sounds fine.’ Honestly, Neji barely absorbed anything you had said, he was so caught up with the way your face had lit up while explaining. He wanted it because you enjoyed it and he wanted a little piece of you. 

‘Alright! I’ll bring you a jug and a little sample box to take home of the tisane!’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

Neji continued to watch you scurry around with your vibrant smile, taking other peoples orders and making small talk. It was as though everyone, by the end of the conversation, had become your friend. You truly lit up the place and in turn made him feel warm inside. 

The tea you had recommended was truly delicious and the second the flavour hit his tongue he decided he would come back often. And that’s exactly what he did. 

Neji frequented the tea shop every opportunity he had. Even after a long mission away the first thing he wanted to do when back in the village was see your face. 

You continued to give him the warmest smiles and recommend the most delicious teas. Every time without fail he would ask for your recommendations and you would give them gladly. And every time he drank a new blend he would fall deeper in love with you. 

Every time he was in the shop Neji felt content, like everything was right in the world. 

Then there was one particularly strenuous mission that had taken his toll on Neji. At the end he dragged himself to the tea shop with a cloud hanging over him. He didn’t even look up when you approached. 

‘Is everything alright, Neji?’ You asked, your face full of concern, your smile nowhere to be seen. 

‘I just had...a long mission.’ He didn’t know how else to say it. 

‘I see.’ You paused for a long moment. ‘I’m supposed to finish up now so how about I get you some tea and I can sit here with you for awhile.’ 

‘You don’t have-’

‘I insist!’ 

Before he could protest again you were gone. It didn’t take long for you to grab a pot of tea and to cups and return, now free of your work apron. Without saying anything you poured two cups of tea and the smell of jasmine overcame Neji’s senses. 

The two of you sipped your tea in silence until finally you broke it. 

‘Did you want to talk about it?’ You began. ‘I may not understand the whole shinobi life but I’m still happy to listen.’ 

Neji looked up at you and oh wow you were a bright light in his darkness. You were like a shooting star in the night sky that he wanted to wish upon over and over again. Ironic considering his only wish was you. 

‘Things just didn’t go as planned and we didn’t get to complete the objective and I feel responsible.’ 

You reached out and put your hand on his. 

‘I’m sorry that happened and that you have to feel that way.’

Neji looked down and felt his cheeks heat up at the realisation. Your hand was cool and soothing but at the same time warmed him. He wanted you to touch him more, to have your whole body wrapped around him. He closed his eyes at such a selfish thought.  

‘Can we just stay like this for awhile?’ He asked. ‘If you don’t mind.’ 

‘We can stay like this as long as you like.’ You gave him that warm smile.

But he wanted to stay like that forever. 

[soft-hard-peaches]

Reaction: Taking Care of Drunk SO

~fluff~ ~crack~

Kim Seokjin

After eating dinner alone for the 4th time this week, you've become accustomed to eating in front of the television watching dramas to fill the lonely air. Because a comeback is nearing, the boys spend all their time prepping and finely tuning the choreography and music to make sure everything is more than perfect and you are more than understanding of his career. But none of the less, you still feel a bit lonely without your partner. When Jin comes home, it's usually after you've cleaned up and gone to sleep. Plus when you wake up his already gone or walking out the door. Tonight the solitude gets to you. Sitting like a pretzel on your shared loveseat, you have your dinner in your lap and a glass of wine in hand.

"His is sooo dumb! Who would he stay with her!?" You slurred at the show you're binge watching. "I'm over this!", you say as you watch the next episode. As the show buffers, you hear the door unlock and out comes your beloved bf. Tired and worn out from his schedule but mostly shocked that you're still up.

"Y/n? Why are you still awake?" he questions you with a low and groggy voice. As he heads to the couch next to you, he grabs your glass and puts it down, then leans down to give you a peck. With a exaggerated puff, he asks how much wine have you drunk. You pout saying just a few. He gets up from the couch just to drape his body on you and the loveseat. You lazily reach your hand down to stroke his soft black hair, causing him to hum softly. Your fingers slow down as you close your eyes.

"I miss you Jinnie" in a hush without realizing you said it out loud. Jin looks up at you to see a slight gloomy expression that paints your face. He lays still for a couple of minutes after your fingers stop, signaling you've fell asleep. He slowly gets up, praying you don't wake up. He softly places your dishes in the sink and turns off the tv. He goes to the bedroom to get the bed ready and goes back to softly pick you up. You mutter something but the only thing on Jin's mind is taking care of you. He knows how much you love him and how patient you are, especially during heavy scheduling. He loves you just as much as his career.

He tucks you in bed and strokes your cheek, marveling at you beauty and soft sighs. Once he's done with his shower, he comes back to bed and lays under the covers beside you. When you feel the sunken pressure of the bed, you scoot you body and lays head on his shoulder. Jin shuts his eyes tight trying not to laugh at his cute S.O.. "Goodnight love" he whispers to you as he wraps one of the arms around his torso. "'night looove" you sigh in a sing-song manner.

He smiles.

Kim Namjoon

"One shot! Two shots!!" Taehyung and Jungkook chants at you and Jimin as you two toss back shots of soju. The rest of the boys cheer you two on as the once chill dinner party turns into an all out turn up before anyone even realized it. It likely happened after your bf Namjoon said he was shock at first at how much you can hold your own at a bar causing Jimin to get competitive and the rest of the maknaes instigating. But Joon didn't mind. He was sitting across the room with Hoseok enjoying he show.

"Wooow! Y/n is awesome" taehyung said in disbelief. "She practically and of us" Yoongi yells from god-knows where. "Ahhhh that shot was spicy" you complain sticking your tongue out trying to cool your mouth as Jimin falls down laughing. You feel a large hand on you shoulder causing you to look up. It's Joon with a glass of water ready for you like he was waiting to rescue you. And you react as if he was your superman.

"MY HERO!" You clasp the glass with both hands as you look up adoringly at your tall and beautiful bf. The sweet but glassy look in your eyes flustered him. Causing everyone to taunt you both like a bunch of middle schoolers, especially Jin and Hoseok. Joon pulls out your chair so you can rest and hydrate then pulls out the next chair for himself.

As the night goes on everyone is playing a board game. The game goes on too long for everyone's liking and decides to let you be the tie breaker between Hoseok and Joon. Tipsy you say they should do aegyo with ot5 agreeing with too loudly that Namseok couldn't protest. First Hoseok did his signature cute noises and faces but everyone groaned except you laughing. Next is Joon, who hesitated but made a smirk face, displaying his dimples and sultry smize. Without hesitation you lean in and kiss him on the lips causing everyone to groan again.

"Did I win?" Namjoon asks excitedly.

"No, Hobi wins" you say matter of factly.

Everyone cheers but you and Joon. "Why didn't I win?" He ask sadly. Grabbing his shoulders to pull in closer to you. "I said cute not sexy" you wink at him. Causing him to get flustered again.

Min Yoongi

After coming home to your shared apartment after a nice dinner with all the boys, Yoongi drives you both home to the hum of the soft radio. Eyes closed, you try to listen to the radio but your head is spinning. Because of the silence, Yoongi thinks you are asleep but in reality you are festering. And you stay like that till you feel the car pull up to the drive away. Shocked that you are awake enough to hop out the car by yourself. He follow you to place his hand on the small of your back to keep you balanced but you don't react.

The silence was left unnoticed by your boyfriend because your both pretty quiet at this hour but he definitely felt a bit a tension. You head in opposite directions as he goes to the kitchen for water and you start undressing on the way to the master bedroom. He makes his way to the bedroom, placing a glass of water on your bedside dresser, and search for comfortable pajamas. You finally walk out of the bathroom wearing a tank top and pyjama pants. Yoongi watches you as you sit on the bed like a pretzel while you fiddle with you nails.

"What?" Yoongi ask frankly.

"What." You respond.

Your boyfriend finishes knotting the drawstring of his pants then walks up to you.

"Did you enjoy the dinner?" He tries to get you to talk.

"Yes... Did you?" You don't look at him.

Ready to give and go to bed, he responds. "Yeah, the steak was good and the guys were cheery as usual." He sits on the bed gearing to lay down. " I bet you have fun. Knowing Kookie was there..." You say under your breath. Yoongi sat up, looking at you puzzled, "what are you-". You cut him off, finally looking at him with red eyes. "You like him better than me Yoong, I already know! Jungkook told me"

He sits there even more confused. "You let him get away with bothering you but when I do it, I'm a brat!"

"You are a brat" he chuckles at you making you huff and pout. He sees that you're still tipsy so he's finding your scene cute and he tells you so. "You're cute y'kno that right?" He grabs your hand and gently pulls you on him. Still pouting, he reaches up to caress you cheek as you hold onto his hand, "I'm cuter than Jungkook, right?" you as him. The position you're in and the look on your face causes Yoongi to blush.

"You're way cuter than him now. But when when he was younger-" you stop him with a kiss. "I'm kidding *kiss* You're *kiss* the cutest *kiss*." You giggle and carry on you night together.

Jung Hoseok

After a strenuous comeback season, you finally get to spend quality time with you boyfriend and you both were excited about it. Your relationship was fairly young still. Introduced by neutral friends, you both hit it off almost instantly. After you two were paired to sing a duet together during karaoke night with friends, you both quietly agreed to sing as loud and as off-key and possible and put on a show for everyone. The end of that night, he asked if you wanted to go out again and 5 months later you two are cuddling on the couch enjoying your time.

With a table full of half drunking booze and discarded snacks, you two layed there in pyjamas and comfy clothes, surfing Hulu for a good show to no prevail. "Y/n-" he tries to ask you something but you already have an answer, "there's nothing on Hobi". He puts the remote down in defeat. You reach out to grab your beer, waiting for some type of activity to be proposed.

"Alexa, my Hot Mix" you hear the chime go on and off

"Playing your Hot Mix playlist" it responds

Suddenly you hear your boyfriend's energizer music play as he gets up. You watch as he starts dancing in front of you. Smiling ear to ear, he looks like he's having the time of his life. "Get up and dance." He calls you up to join but you sit there watching him for a bit. "You said you were bored so come dance with me baby." He grabs your hands and leads you up with him. You slowly dance with him unconfidently. Hoseok notices your stiffness and changes the playlist.

"Alexa, play Extra Hot Mix" it chimes on and off.

"Playing Extra Hot Mix playlist."

The music changes to from high energy to slow and sexy. Hoseok puts your arms around his neck loosely then his places his hands on your hips. He guide you to dance to the slow pace of the song as you both look into each other's eyes.

"Better?", he ask with a smile.

"Much better" you respond happily.

Park Jimin

The atmosphere of the club is just as intoxicating as the drinks they served. Your friends egging you on with shots sounded like a good idea till half pass 12, when you were clinging onto your designated drived/boyfriend: Park Jimin.

He didn't like you drinking but he's just glad to be there to watch over you but promised he wouldn't overbearing. He sat at your booth and watched as your friends and you danced and drink for a few hours. He made sure no perv would bother any of you. That was his promise to some of your girl's boyfriends, and he took that job very seriously. He was always nervous when you'd leave to your favorite club with your friends, for obvious reasons, so he wasn't going to give up this chance tonight.

"JIMIN..", he finally hears you over the booming bass and spots you signaling over to him. He maneuvers through the crowed to get to your group. As soon as he's close enough to you, you snatch his hands to put them on your hips. Before he can process it, you are backed up on him, gyrating on him in a circular motion, sloppy. He rapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your warm perfume. Suddenly, he's carrying your weight as you've reach your drunken capacity.

"Baby are you okay?" There was a pause after his question. With a sluggish giggle you responded, "...of course, love.." But he know you were done.

You close your eyes and when you opened them you were in the front seat of Jimin's car. You could hear you friends laugh and chatter but you're too tired to look back to them. As you adjust your self on the seat, you looked at your boyfriend. He was stone faced, eyebrows sticked seriousness. You closed your eyes.

You grumbled as your feet is lifted from the ground but you're still in and out. You come back after feeling a soft surface underneath you causing you to moan softly. You try to open your eyes but the room is too bright. You feel a familiar hand cup your cheek, you practically purred, head still spinning.

"Are you ok?", you hear his soft song-bird voice question you and you respond with a nod and giggle.

"Do you want me to clean you up?"

"Yes please", you opened your eyes to smiled at him.

He leaves your side for a few moments then you feel weight on the bed again. You feel a slight tug at both of your eyelids as he took off your lashes first. Then you feel a cold, damp cloth on your left side then right side, then lips. Finally you smell your cocao butter lotion making you giggle again. Expecting it to be cold but it wasn't. His warm hands gently rubbed the moisturizer on your face and neck. "Thank you Chimmie" you said sweetly causing him to smile and kiss your lips.

Kim Taehyung

Small-hand in large-hand as you both walk down the street surrounded by night life. Friday night was always so crowed but the congested streets caused you to cling to your boyfriend of 3 months. But neither of you complained about the skinship. Sheepish smiles painted both your faces. You stumbled awkwardly on your wedges. You try to walk upright without him noticing your tipsy fumble. "Y/n? Are you ok?", he stops and pulls you to the side to look into your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. I- I must still be a bit tipsy."

You start trudging without him, trying to walking off the embarrassment but he easily catches up with you. Dating is still new to you both so you are easily flustered. Walking side by side but no longer holding hands, you two walk about half a block till something catches his attention. "Oh!", he exclaimed causing you to look up at him. He takes your hand cooing at you with a boxy smile, "let's stop by the mini market." You follow him without protest to the florescent, quiet market with calming muzak. You both nod at the welcoming workers but he let's go of your hand again and walks off.

Left alone, you walk around looking at the different brands of bubble gum on one part of the rack and oddly placed constipation pills on the other half. This makes you chuckle goofily till you hear Taehyung's low voice call you. "What kind of snacks do you want?", he waits for your response.

"Umm, bbq chips.", you say still cheesing.

"Any other snacks?", you hear his voice in the aisle behind you.

"Surprise me..", you walk down to see him but when you hit the corner, his gone. You stop at your tracks wondering where he went. Suddenly you hear the him say "just this" followed by beeps and the cashier asking cash or card. You proceed to walk down the aisle and hearing the cashier as if he needed a bag to his response, he ask for one. Finally you're through and you see him. Bag of snacks in hand, smiling thank you at the worker. Then he looks to you. When you two make eye contact, he walks over to you, one hand out asking for yours and you obliged. Smiling sheepishly.

"I bought us snack.", he grins cutely.

You brought up his hand to place it on your lips and plant a sweet kiss "Thank you."

Jeon Jungkook

"Kookie Kookie Junggukkie" you call him to the living room.

Walking out of bathroom, he wondered what you needed from him so urgently, "Y E S, my drunken sailor. What can I do ya for?" He slaps his cheeks, trying to sober himself up. Once he steps through the hallway, he see what shenanigans are in store.

"Where and when did you get THOSE?", he is puzzled to see you with green and red lightsaber in both hands. He walks closer to his zany girlfriend but you stop him by pointing your plastic sword at him. "While you were in the bathroom, I was studying the blade." It takes him time to process everything then responds with a laugh, "that's not a satisfying answer babe." No less, you hand him a sword, steps away, then challenge him. He takes a dramatic pose and you match his drama. "Fine, but I won't go easy on you cuz I like you."

You both lunge at each other. Shouting and making your own special effect noises. No score keeping, no rules, just dumb laughs and good times. "You think you can win against me?", he laughs at you. He taps you on the side first, then the leg on one side then the other. You're unstable from the drinks and the horseplay. You fall to the ground theatrically after the last blow. Still holding on to your sword, you lowered your head whilst Jungkook laughs in a cocky manner. "I warned you, Sailor. I wouldn't go easy", he brushes his hair off his sweaty forehead, closing his eyes.

You respond softly, "yea... well I won't either.." You slice the plastic sword against his right thigh, making him fall. Then you take out his sword wielding arm. He cries in anguish. Now your above him and he's looking up at you. You put the cold fake sword to his shoulder, "I started and finished this fight". You've defeated him.

He looks up at you adoringly as you look down in triumph.

"You complete me."

[glitterquadricorn]

Injured - Joe Cruz

Summary: Cruz has feelings the youngest Severide, but Kelly told everyone that she’s off limits. But during a call, y/n gets injured severely. This causes Joe to reveal his feelings to her, but will she feel the same? Pairing: Joe Cruz x Severide!Reader Word Count: 1,159 Warning(s): house fire, mentions injuries, medical stuff that may or may not be accurate (I tried my best and that’s what matters), one curse word, angst?, fluff, etc.

Requested by: @firebenderwolf

Request: Could you please do something where the reader, a firefighter and Severide's sister, gets injured in a house fire badly where she can't get out and Cruz runs in with Severide to get her. Please and thank you!

=============================================================

“You’re doing it again,”

“Huh?” She snapped out of her thoughts. Otis sat down in a chair next to her and pointed in Cruz’s direction. 

“You’re staring at Cruz... again,”

“What are you talking about? I’m not staring at him,” She denied, looking elsewhere in the room. Her doing this only proved Otis’ point. 

“All I’m saying is shoot your shot. With a job like this, you’ll never know how long you have,”

“But wouldn’t it be weird?”

Before Otis could reply, they received a call. She, along with the others, sprung out of their seats and into action. Arriving at the scene, the fire looked horrendous. Glass from the windows coated the grass around the house. The siding and pieces of wood were falling off. You could even feel the heat from the fire from the street.

“She doesn’t look very stable, Chief,” She stated. Looking up at the burning house, she had a bad feeling.

“It isn’t, so we have to make it quick. When I call for you to evacuate, you get evacuate,” Boden shouted towards the firefighters, and they nodded their heads. 

Casey turned his attention towards his crew. “Mouch and Otis you two will search through the first floor. Kidd, Severide and myself will go through the second floor. Go! We don’t have long,”

She and Stella nodded and made their way into the house. Trailing behind Stella and Matt, she went up to the second floor of the burning home. Coming across a door, she pounded her fist on it. “Fire department call out!” When she heard a faint cry for help, she busted down the door and scanned the room. She scanned the room, “Fire department call out!”

“Under the bed!”

Y/n sunk down to her knees and saw two little girls under the bed.“Casey! Kidd! I have two little girls in here!” She yelled. “I know you two are scared, but you’ve got to come out from underneath the bed.” From over her shoulder, she saw Matt and Stella come into the room. “My friends here will take you both outside to be checked out, okay? You’ll be safe out there.”

The two children hurriedly crawled out from under the bed and into the arms of her co-workers. Standing up, the house started to shake.

“Y/n, you need to evacuate!”

“On it,” she replied, walking out of the bedroom. She was going to exit the house the same way she came in, but the stairs have collapsed. “The stairs have collapsed.”

“Is there a way you can get out?” Boden asked. 

“There’s a window in the bedroom I just walked out of. It’s in the back of the house,” She could hear Boden shout orders to squad 3. As soon as y/n re-entered the room, she fell through the weakened floor. 

Cruz’s POV:

An all too familiar beeping sound sent shivers down his spine. He started to panic. The woman he loved was down and most likely severely injured. Without even thinking about the consequences, he ran into the house to save y/n. 

Going towards the beeping sound, he found her lying on the tiled floor of the kitchen. The plastic on her mask was cracked, letting smoke from the fire seep in. His eyes traveled down her body and he noticed her left leg was bent abnormally. 

“Have the ambo ready! I’m coming out with y/n,” Cruz was careful picking y/n up. 

Coming out of the house, Brett and Foster rolled the stretcher over and began working on y/n. He stood there, feeling helpless and watched as they intubated her and loaded up into the ambo.

Cruz turned to look at Boden, “Go,”

He got into the ambo behind Foster. The whole ride to Chicago Med he was on the edge of his seat. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself praying to god that she’d be okay. 

Arriving, a flurry of people maneuvered around y/n, attempting to treat her injuries. All he wanted was to be by her side, but he kept getting in the way. Brett and Foster had to eventually drag him to the waiting room. 

“I know you’re worried about her, but you need to let them work,”

“But-”

“No buts, Cruz. Let them do their job,”

He slumped back in the hard plastic chair, staring at the ceiling. Soon, Kelly frantically came through the doors of the emergency department.

“How is she?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you something,” Cruz frowned, as Kelly sat in the seat next to him.

Hours went by, and at this point, his ass had gone completely numb. They’ve seen several people come and go. Surely they should’ve heard something by now, right?

“Severide?” The two men looked up and saw Ethan walking towards them. “When y/n fell through the floor, she fractured her tibia, causing the broken pieces to not be aligned with each other. She did have to have surgery to have metal screws and plates placed in to keep the bone in the right place. She also suffered a mild concussion. I suggest that when she leaves here that she stays with someone so they can watch over her and make sure she doesn’t do any strenuous activity and gets the appropriate amount of rest,”

 “So she’s going to be okay?” Kelly asked. 

“She’ll be fine,”

“Can we see her?” 

“Of course!” Ethan smiled. “She’s right over there.”

After Ethan walked away, the two men faced each other. “I’m going to go update the others on y/n’s condition. Are you okay with being here by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Cruz replied. He quietly walked into her room, and sat in the chair next to the bed. He realized after today’s events, that he had to tell her how he felt about her and soon. “Hearing that beeping sound and seeing you on the floor really scared me. I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you how I felt about you. You’re intelligent, compassionate, courageous and always willing to lay your life down to save others. To be honest, you’re way out of my league. Why would you want to be with an idiot like me?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in and letting it out slowly. When opened his eyes, he saw y/n’s were open. “That’s really sweet,”

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to know you like me,” Y/n grabbed Cruz’s hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Just know that I like you to.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just thought since Kelly told everyone that you were off limits, you wouldn’t be interested,”

“I date whoever I want and Kelly can’t stop me,” 

“Would you like to go out on a date sometime? You know for when you get out of here and recover?”

“I’d like that,”

--

it’s finally done! thank god!

Tagging(permanent):

@buckys-sweetheart @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @maliasbubble @sergeantjbuckybarnes @patzammit @yagirlmexic @beckieandhertardis @tinycyberhacker @streetghostfighter07 @sugaglory @independentgirl @darkunderworldqueen @alisoncdariel @delicately-important-trash

[s-horne]

12. “How did you get in here?” (Steve/Tony)

“How did you get in here?”

Tony paused in crossing the hospital room to give Steve a funny look as if the man had lost his mind. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the insult; he’d only been in a small explosion, thank you very much. His brain was very much intact – it was just the rest of his body that needed some rest and relaxation. And maybe a bandage or two.

“The door,” Tony said slowly.

“Let me rephrase that,” Steve said, dryness flooding his tone. Typical Tony Stark, bringing out the sarcasm in everyone. “What did you say to them them to let you in? They told me I wasn’t allowed visitors yet.”

“Oh.” Tony flushed almost scarlet and Steve’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. He’d never seen Tony look embarrassed before. He was used to seeing Tony bright and in control at all times, not shying away from meeting Steve’s gaze. “There may have been some yelling.”

“Yelling?” Steve questioned. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t what the lovely nurses had meant by him ‘keeping calm’ and doing ‘nothing strenuous’. Whenever Tony was involved, things tended to get strenuous. And not even in the fun way. Unfortunately.

“Mhm.” Tony nodded and ran his tongue over his teeth sheepishly. “It might also be possible that the nurses think you’re my husband. Apparently only family is allowed in in these sorts of situations. So I may have embellished the truth.”

“What?” Steve coughed and spluttered when the wound in his side protested to the force of his yell. “You’re my what? And what truth is there to embellish?”

“Shush!” Tony hissed. “Pretty sure you’re not meant to yell at your beloved – the nurse will kick me right out.”

Steve blinked. “My what now?” Maybe he had hit his head, actually. Because there was no way any of this was happening right now.

“Alright, alright.” Tony sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat, his eyes betraying his hurt even as his words came out light and easy. “I just wanted to check for myself that you were okay, but if it’s such a hardship for you to pretend for all of five minutes that–”

“It’s not a hardship.”

Tony’s mouth snapped shut in surprise and his eyes widened. Steve kept their gazes locked despite the feeling of being over-exposed and vulnerable. It was a weird sensation, but Steve was enjoying the sight before him far too much to look away. Though he hadn’t seen Tony speechless before, he was beginning to think that he could very quickly get used to it. It was definitely strange, but there was also something dangerously cute about the flush creeping up Tony’s cheeks.

“It’s not,” Steve continued, deciding to be honest to his heart for the first time in years, “not really. I think I’d like to be going steady before becoming your husband,” – he carefully ignored the way that Tony mouthed ‘going steady’ with a dumfounded expression and carried on before he lost his nerve, – “but it’s not a hardship to pretend.”

“Huh.” Tony was strangely quiet for a long time, stood frozen in the middle of the room.

With each passing moment, Steve felt the urge to flood his system with his pain meds and fall back into a blissful sleep. Although it was hard to stay awake, he managed to push the aches to the back of his mind and keep his eyes open. He had been brave and confessed to a secret that had been pulling him down for a long time; he needed to hear the answer now.

And if it wasn’t the one he had been hoping and praying for, then he would pass it off as a medication-induced moment of weakness that he couldn’t remember. Well, no one ever said he was good at dealing with his problems.

Finally Tony took a step forward and then another and another until he reached the uncomfortable-looking chair by Steve’s bed and sank down.

“So,” Tony started eventually, the word obviously hesitant. He took a deep breath and reached out slowly, Steve watching with baited breath and a hastily-beating heart. “If I did this it would be okay?”

Steve’s eyes fell to where Tony’s hand was slowly stretching along the bed until it very carefully curled around Steve’s. The touch was cold, but oh so welcome.

Their dance had finally reached its crescendo, Steve realised as he settled back against his pillows and let himself relax. They had finally come together and it was time to start the new movement.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, squeezing his fingers as much as his bruises would let him. “That would be okay.”

[claydoeee]

Damaged.

Sitting on my flight with a brutal black eye and some hours to spare on New Years Eve, the bittersweet feeling of another year passing sits with me and I couldn’t be more thankful. 2019 was arguably the worst year of my life and I failed myself in more than one way. People always asked me why’d I stay after the first time? Why did I let someone hurt me countless times and continue to do so? I don’t have an answer, I loved this man with my entire heart and I prayed on my knees every night that he loved me enough to change, but he never did. As far as 2019 went, I had many accomplishments this year but nothing can compare to the heartache I caused myself and the relationships I lost because I chose someone who never chose me.

Here’s to you,

I never been in love before until I met you. I was so in love with you, I could never deny that. I felt a way I never felt before in my life with you and nobody could have told me otherwise. You were my other half, the large piece of my heart, my person. You swore you were in love with me but had a really funny way of showing it. Do you remember that? The night I met you and we were inseparable ever since? All the laughs, the memories, and the platonic relationship we created, that I wish we didn’t. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was so blinded by all your “I love yous.” Or maybe just the idea of you. Or just the idea of love. I honestly don’t know anymore. I had a void in my heart that you filled for a long time...until you didn’t. My mind is so cloudy when I look back on that strenuous period of you in my life. Turning a blind eye to all the red flags and believing every lie you filled my head with was the foundation we were built on. Everything was great and I truly believed I met my match made in heaven (or hell I should really say). It wasn’t until I was living a day-to-day nightmare in fear, sadness, and feeling absolutely worthless. You filled my head with negative thoughts that I actually began to believe and hate myself. The happy go-lucky girl you first met was gone. My happiness, my dignity, my self esteem, and my mental health, all gone. I won’t blame you for that, I had a choice. I had a choice to leave and so did you, but we never did.

I seem insane, don’t I? That’s what you told me and everyone, anyway. For the longest time, you would call me insane, a cunt, unstable, and your favorite, “psycho.” I began to think you forgot my actual name. But I was only these names when I wasn’t beneficial to you at the moment or you “snapped.” Of course you always came back with your meaningless apologies and empty promises, until it happened again.

All of those terrifying nights when your alcohol consumption got in the way of your logic and judgement, and somehow, I ALWAYS deserved it. (Same man who made fun of me being raped after I shared that with him in 100% confidence) to give you a better perspective. In your demonic eyes, you truly believed that I deserved every hit, every punch, and every bruise you left on my body. The body I shared my insecurities with you about, the body you kissed up and down every day and night, and the same body that begged you to stop mutilating it. After the fact, it was always “you made me this way, you made me hurt you.” The night before thanksgiving, you gave me a contusion on my head from repeatedly hitting me over and over and over again. I went to the doctor to get my head checked out instead of redneck breakfast and you said I’m “dramatic.” I didn’t enjoy my thanksgiving because I was in so much pain and had a migraine but you carried on with yours.

You called me crazy to the girls you betrayed me with. The ones you reached out to when you missed my warm body beside yours. The ones when your nights were filled with loneliness instead of my laughter, and when your texts to me went unanswered. Staying at random places with girls who could never compare to me, just to tell me about it days or months later to hurt me. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? To call me insane or mentally unstable as justification for everything you chose to do. I get it though, It’s easier to place the blame on someone else than take personality responsibility which you specialize in.

So before I finally say all of the things I’ve wanted to say to you and to everyone you lied on my name to, I need to admit: I wasn’t perfect either. I’m not perfect and I never will be. I lied and hid certain things (that you ended up “exposing” on social media) and I paid for my mistakes. I told you want you wanted to hear instead of what I truly felt to avoid arguments or fear you would harm me again. I didn’t trust you like you didn’t trust me, and from the start I knew that it wouldn’t work for obvious reasons. But I still loved the idea of it. I loved the idea of you. Or the idea of everything you could potentially be to me.

So I ignored the panic in my heart, I ignored the bruises you left on my body, I ignored the way my friends’ voices filled with hatred whenever they’d say your name, and I ignored the pit in my stomach and all the anxiety attacks I suffered as a result of your abuse. I ignored every red flag you waved infront of me and gave you the power to control my emotions and dictate so much in my life.

The way you got jealous, the way you kept so much a secret, the way you always did things out of spite, and the way your eyes would glaze over when you drank too much. The way you would look at me, through me, when the drinking took control. Or how about the way you would embarrass me in public with your animalistic behavior? How you never claimed me? Or how I would be scared to come home with you and what you did to me behind closed doors. A ticking time bomb is what you were. You were angry that everyone found out you were beating me and felt embarrassed instead of feeling remorseful for beating a woman.

You brought up my past on a daily basis and you would say unimaginably horrible things to me, and mock me as I cried infront of you repeating “you don’t like that do you.” And then the way you would half ass apologize hours later just so you could start the cycle over. The way you promised and swore on your children that you would change and would NEVER physically hurt me again (which you did, 5 times after that “promise” was made). I met your kids the day we all went to lunch together, and I remember smiling and holding your 5 month old thinking how could you physically abuse me when you have two daughters? You wouldn’t want that to happen to them. So why was it always so easy for you to do to me? It’s mind boggling. But, I forgave you. Every. Single. Time.

However, I stopped forgiving. I stopped giving in. You almost had to blind me to make me finally leave. Pathetic right? I should’ve left after the first time you physically harmed me in April. But that didn’t stop you. Did it? You still tried to contact me to the point of using several different false phone numbers, social media, and emails. When you were alone you’d text me saying you missed me, you still loved me, and you wanted me back and anything else along those lines. And at night when you’re out at the bar with your so-called “friends”? The other TRUE side of you came out saying hurtful and cruel words filled with anger from all the alcohol and steroids in your system. Not to mention you’d end up going home with someone, lying to me about it, and then kissing my ass begging for my forgiveness. It’s sickening.

From the bottom of my heart, I hope you find someone who makes you happy because I am happy now. Happy that you left me alone, and happy that maybe, you would stop hurting other people, including yourself. But unfortunately, we’re all replaceable to you. The girl before me, the one after, and the one after that. We’re all the same to you. Insane and cunts when you’re drunk at night, and “amazing women who were the best I ever had” in the sober reality of the following morning. But the thing is, you didn’t hate any of us. How could you? The hell you made us live, the deceit, the lies, and the scars you created. You hated yourself, that was the problem all along and I only wish I would have realized that sooner.

I hate looking back on the time we spent together. Trust me, I don’t do it often anymore. But when I do, it’s almost like it happened to someone else. How could I have been so weak? So easily manipulated by you? How dare someone say the things you said to me or be told to go slit my wrists and do everyone a favor and kill myself? I let those demeaning phrases take hold of me. I let them convince me that I was everything you told me I was. But you still reminded me how much you loved me.

Getting away from you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I finally needed to say it all. To say everything you did to me. Everything you changed in me. Everything you made me realize. Thanks to you, I learned what a true man is and it’s everything you’re NOT. A true man would never call me names, he would never make me feel bad about my past, And he would never hurt me, when his job is to protect me. I hope you get the help you need. Because no matter how very much I despise you, no one deserves to feel that much pain and anger inside of them. No one should be miserable enough that their goal in a partnership is making the other person feel bad about themselves. But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? That was your goal. Thank you for making me a stronger person. For making me realize what should be valued in a life and a relationship. As you lose relationship after relationship, I hope you decide to change. I always stood in your corner and was your biggest fan in every situation, even when you were wrong, I still stood behind you. You were my best friend. But I stopped letting you run and ruin my life. Of all the things I’ve done in my time on Earth, that’s one that I’m most proud of. That I got out. That I got away, and that you’ll never have the chance to hurt me again.

[dramaqueeenamby]

4AM (4)

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MASTERLIST

4AM

She woke up to the feeling of his lips on her back, his hands moving down to palm her ass, kneading it as he whispered into her ear.

“It is time to get up,” she groaned. “My Queen.”

She frowned and turned on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Am I still her?”

He chuckled. “Until you join the ancestors.”

“Perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible.” She muttered dryly, fingers going to his coils as he lowered his head to kiss on her chest. “Or maybe not.”

“Would my Queen leave me?”

“Is that not the reason you disturbed me from my slumber?”

He smiled against her skin. “Alas, I am forced to share you with the rest of the Wakanda.”

She grabbed his head and held his cheeks. “How unfortunate.” She quickly kissed his lips before kicking the blankets and throwing her legs over the side of the bed.

Amari watched as his lover stood up, fully nude, her flawless brown skin illuminated by the partially open window which allowed a beam of sunlight to invade his bedroom.

“My love.”

She laughed, pulling on her underwear. “Do not call me such things, Amari.”

He frowned. “Does it displease you?”

She turned around, having just put on her bra. “Of course not.” Bashira eyed the handsome General of the Wakandan Air Force who also happened to her lover for the past six months. “It is just that it implies something other than what this is.”

He sat up against the headboard, one leg dangling off the bed as she continued to reclothe herself. “And what exactly is this, Bashira?”

She rolled her eyes. Although Amari made a great lover, he could be clingy at times, sneaking in terms of endearment, alluding to possible futures with her, trying to convince her to stay the night.

It was more than she wanted in a fuck buddy, and that was all she wanted and needed from him- sex.

She wasn’t looking for a damn relationship when she was already married. Albeit a loveless marriage, in the eyes of the law and Bast, she was a taken woman.

“I am a woman who has needs that must be met from time, and you fulfill those needs.” She sat on the bed and allowed her hand to sneak under the cover to stroke his dick. She rolled her eyes when she realized that he was already hard for her. “That’s what this is.”

Bashira did not give him time to respond as she sauntered into his bathroom to freshen up.

Sometimes she questioned whether she made the right choice to accept Amari as her lover. They’d known each other since they were children and everyone always said that he fancied her, but she never saw it and made it a point to stress that she valued their friendship.

However, she’d cried to her longtime friend one too many times over how miserable she was being married to T’Challa and his verbal comfort somehow turned into him kissing her, immediately apologizing afterward, expecting her to terminate their friendship right then and there.

Except she didn’t. One kiss turned into a night of passion which transcended into Bashira returning to her ‘friend’ on a regular basis whenever she needed more “comfort.”

Occasionally, he would try to suggest that their sexual trysts were more than just him scratching her back, but she always made sure to tell him otherwise.

She never wanted him to think that their hookups could or would lead to more.

“Tell me. How is the king adjusting to his new role?” Amari voiced from the bed, causing Bashira to roll her eyes.

“Who?”

It’d been a little over a month since T’Challa was officially crowned king and since the night that they had sex.

She gave into him. Beguiled by both his hurting and her inebriation. And while even she could not deny that she enjoyed it—the man knew exactly what he was doing—nothing had changed between them. That very next morning she woke up hungover and alone, bed-ridden for the entire day.

Again, exactly what he was doing.

However, she knew better than to expect him to act any different towards her. It wasn’t as if she wanted or expected him to anyway. They fucked. That was it. On her part, it was a momentary lapse of judgment and for him, she was sure, an act sprung from desperation and proximity.

“Surely, he cannot be that miserable.”

“No, I am the one who is miserable.” She corrected, walking out having made herself look like she didn’t just leave a man who wasn’t her husband for an afternoon hookup. “He is just the cause.” Bashira went to walk near the bed when a brief bout of lightheadedness overcame her.  

“Are you alright?” He stood up and quickly moved over to her. “Perhaps you should st-”

“No.” Bashira blinked a few times and held onto the door. “I am fine. Probably still trying to wake up.” He looked unconvinced. “Even if I wanted to, I could not.” Her nose turned up in disgust as she shook her head in frustration. “The king awaits for his queen.”

¥ ¥ ¥

Bashira hated meeting T’Challa in his office. She hated meeting him period, but that room especially. 

It was the haven for broken marriage vows.

It was the place where she first walked in on her husband fucking her sister on his desk.

She never could look at the desk the same way after that.

“My king,” Bashira greeted with as much ‘love’ in her voice as she could muster after being escorted into the notorious room.

“Bashira,” he eyed her over the rim of his glasses, a small and smug smirk on his handsome face. She could hate the man and still acknowledge how physically attractive her way. “I take it your afternoon...stroll went well.”

She returned his smirk and tilted her head. “Wonderful.”

“Hmm,” he leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. “And yet you are still on your feet.” Her smirk dropped as his deepened. “I would think after what should be a...strenuous task, you would be quite exhausted.”

Her hands balled into fists at the side of her dress. This was why she hated talking to him and really regretted ever sleeping with him. The bastard would throw it in her face from time to time, reveling in the frustration that such a topic brought her.

“Yes, well, stamina is a wonderful thing, your highness.” She smiled kindly, ignoring the return of the lightheadedness from earlier. “Especially for those of us who do not have the benefit of the heart-shaped herb.”

“Surely you do not speak of yourself,” again he mirrored her face, his arrogant grin and pearly white teeth on full display. “For I recall your stamina from our own stroll leaving little to be desired.”

“Then do, pray tell, is that why his majesty seeks solace between the legs of other women?” She countered, raising her eyebrow and pushing away the desire to sit down. She’d rather not touch anything in that room. “Because of my stamina?”

His reply was cold. “We both know the answer to that.”

Indeed, she did.

“Make no mistake, Bashira, I could never and will never love nor care about you. You are a forced necessity. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

His words from six years ago, when the final part of the prophecy was relayed by Zuri, when it was confirmed that she was the one chosen by Bast and not Nakia, echoed in her head. She closed her eyes and opened them to see him standing, his back toward her as he shuffled through folders on his shelf. “I summoned you here because I am putting you in charge of—Bashira?”

His voice was muffled as her vision went cloudy, one hand going to hold her stomach as the other reached out for something, anything else to hold onto. Her legs were weak, her knees threatening to give out on her at any second.

“Okoye!” T’Challa’s voice was suddenly clearer as she realized he was standing in front of her, his hands on her hips, keeping her upright as he searched her body for any sign of injury. “What is wrong wi-” He stopped talking when his eyes landed on her stomach, squinting in confusion before another emotion took over.

Anger.

“What have you done?” Was the last thing she heard before she succumbed to the darkness.  

¥ ¥ ¥

A couple of blinks, a sideways head roll, and the blinding lights above her head.

Bashira awoke with a feeling of exhaustion but immediately went to sit up on her elbows as she scanned her surroundings.

She was in the medical room located in the palace, laid out on a bed as the light beeping from machines that monitored her vitals filled her ears.

How did she end up there? Bashira thought back as far as she could, recalling her talk with T’Challa.

“How could you be so fucking careless?”

She jumped and almost fell off the bed at the aggravated voice of the king of Wakanda.

Holding onto her chest, she wondered how she hadn’t seen him with her first probe of the room.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed, blinking again. She felt a headache coming on. “And what are you-”

“I told you that I did not care who you choose to lay with as long as you are safe.” He continued, the queen suddenly wondering where the guards, doctors, or anyone else was. He was truly irate, an outburst just boiling under his quiet but incensed tone. “I gave you one rule and you could not even follow that.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always safe.” She scowled, suddenly wishing that she’d slept longer. “I would never sleep with another man without the safety net of protection.” It was true. To leave herself vulnerable to all the risks that accompanied unprotected sex with someone who was not her husband was a recipe for scandal and disaster. “You are the only one who I’ve ever slept with that I was not safe with. A mistake that will never happen again, I can assure you of that.”

And if Wakanda didn’t have some of their nonsensical traditions, such as forbidding the use of birth control before an heir was produced, she’d be on that too.

T’Challa froze, his vexation crumbling before her very eyes as his shoulders dropped. “So it is mine?”

“What is ‘it’?” Bashira threw her hands up. “What is wrong with-” She stopped as he waved his hands across the air, activating a screen filled with charts, data, and photographs. “-you.” It came out with a low breath, her eyes widening as she focused on one photograph in particular.

A sonogram.

Her heart started to race, her palms sweating, her throat dry. “Is...is that…”

“A baby?” He supplied, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t decipher even if she tried both because of the walls he constantly had up with her and her pending breakdown. “Yes.” She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. “You are with child, Bashira.”

A/N: So, most of you guessed it, and I already shared that she would end up pregnant when you guys were trying to convince me to do this story in the first place.

Thank you, btw. It’s really fun to write. 

T’Challa is such a dick. Ugh. A little of their backstory was shared here. More clarification will be given in the next chapter. 

Pack ya stuff folks! This is going to be a bumpy (no pun intended) ass ride!

[osmw1]

Poison-Wielding Fugitive   Chapter 72

what would you like to read next? suggest titles for me to translate!

“What? Veno? Never mind that! Hurry and escape, Cohgray!”

Celes looked confused when she saw Virage and I exchange glances. Oh, she probably can’t hear Veno.

‘‘tis quite strenuous make myself heard by elves, but I have so much to say to him.’ “Hah, hahahahahahaha! I did not expect to guess correctly. You look so differently than back then; I could not recognize you.”

Veno’s enemy from a time long past stood there staring and arrogantly laughing.

‘I could but say the same myself. I expected not to see thee alive. We have both aged so much that we could not recognize each other.’

Veno speaks calmly, just barely holding back his murderous intent.

“Still… I did not foresee his phantom appear holding the same sword as he did years ago…” ‘Perhaps it would be best for thee to give up. Thine secret weapon would easily be slaughtered by the sacred sword. ‘tis unmistakable the sword glows for it is ready to punish thee for thine sins!’

So, what? Was I supposed to smack them with the sword? Not that it’s unwieldy or anything, but I wasn’t confident with the Karma Blaze since I’ve never used it before. The Bio Corpse Hydra approached us to attack with his miasma breath, but I zipped off to avoid getting hit by it. I felt super quick on my feet, almost as if I had wings.

“D-Did he just teleport?!”

The dragonslayers shouted out in astonishment. However, not only was the hydra able to, even Virage kept up with me.

“Hmpf. You think you can turn this around simply with a hero’s sword? My monster is strong enough to even defeat the monster general of yore. You are sorely mistaken to think you could be victorious with that sword.”

Virage, blinded by his greed and grudge, raised his hand.

“This is all his fault! Despite the world tree originally belonging to us elves, this only happened because he blabbered on about sharing the tree’s graces! If only he didn’t get in my way, none of this would have happened! The man who wielded that sword is all to blame!” ‘Spoken truly like a sore loser who lost all his might. Thou art truly petty, always shifting the blame onto others.’ “You dare ridicule me?!” ‘Ridicule thee? I merely speak of the truth. But for trampling over our dreams… do not think thou shall die a good death!’ “Haha… you talk big for someone trapped in the body of a frail human being. Now, hurry and die already!” With a smile on his face, Virage was filled with a sense of false confidence as he ordered the monster to attack us. However, right as he did so, Karma Blaze began to shine again… so did I as I floated up into the air. What in the hell…?

“Ah…” “Muu.”

Arleaf and Muu clasped their hands together as if they were praying to me. Finally, Karma Blaze left my hand and just as soon as I thought it would fly around…— A great flash of light burst out from my chest, disorienting me for a moment.

—Veno Yveval… slaughter the culprit who committed this unforgivable sin.

A rageful voice—neither the voice of Veno, me, nor the man who dreamt of reclamation—resonated with a command. The next thing I knew… my body had disappeared. I was viewing the world through Veno’s eyes. Veno was not the blackish, purplish dragon I knew, but rather a divine white dragon clad in light.

“Aye… this is… longevity?” ‘What the hell is happening? Am I just spectating?’

I was able to move my body, but Veno’s didn’t move at all. And if I was watching from Veno’s point of view, where did I go? Veno stretched open his wings, clenched and unclenched his claws, and gave his body a quick check-over.

‘Aye… thou art now in the space where I had been trapped.’

Hey, don’t just speak to me with telepathy. I almost thought I went by to my world in this state.

‘Hmm… if thou were to suddenly leave, I would be panicking too. In any case, I shall do what I am supposed to do. It seems like Karma Blaze has a lot of both Mana and frustration pent up inside it.’

Veno speaks to me as he looks on over to Virage.

“What thinkest thou, Virage? Thine magics seems to be working against thee.” “Impossible!” “However, ‘tis quite humorous. To have the sword activate like this… means that thou art as evil as the monster general. But perhaps that is why thou hadst engaged in petty tricks to prevent more heroes? Is that why thou hadst also worn such an odd headdress?”

Sounds about right. Virage most likely changed his name, shirked all responsibility, and lived as a fugitive as well.

“This sacred sword that contains the hopes of the people is granting me—a monster—its power. It spells ill omens for thee. But I shall let the sword and the dragonslayers pass their judgement.”

Celes’ jaw dropped.

“C-Cohgray, you really are a dragon… but this changes nothing. I have already made up my mind.” “If you think about it, that dragon is only defending itself… it hasn’t even killed any innocents. You could say it was even being nice…”

The dragonslayer muttered out as he looked down at his fallen brethren.

“… we’d best hurry and save the townsfolk. Don’t want any more casualties than this…” ‘I had been so restricted with my energy that I was not able to chant many of the spells I had wanted to try. With so much Mana, I could cast any magic I want now.’

Hey. What, did you think I was going to ignore what you just said?

‘Oh, whatever! I only have this one chance! What great timing too! I have been chosen by the sacred sword… I am the world’s only dragon hero!’

Will you stop acting like a child, Veno?! What the hell is a dragon hero anyway?!

“Activate Holy Magic… Ancient Language Interpretation.”

Never have I been bombarded with more visual information… ugh. Just looking at the geometric models and formulas that popped up made my head hurt.

“Your attention please, everyone… I cast the mass curing and purifying defensive barrier… Yggdrasil!”

As Veno activates his spell, our surroundings were smothered by a green light. A giant tree rose from the ground by magic and then its roots spread over the whole town of Lif’el. The roots passed through walls and buildings, guarding the whole town. Except for Virage and his Bio Corpse Hydra of course. The hydra began to claw at the roots that extended from Veno’s magic tree, but the tree didn’t budge one bit.

“Whoa… I feel… so much better. The miasma is getting purified!” “Ugh…”

The fallen dragonslayers began to rise from the ground.

“Even the seriously wounded are recovering… with this much range, maybe even the dead will be…” “Oh, that miraculous magic here… is the exact one from the legends…!”

The dragonslayers clasped their hands together in prayer. Lif’el was just plagued with miasma, but through Veno, the town was being purified right before my eyes. Lif’el could even be called holy ground.

“Hmm… let me sustain that healing barrier… and cast another spell.” ‘Oh, I wanted to try this one out too!’

Aw, geez. I can hear exactly how he feels. But to think that Veno was also able to hear me so clearly…

‘Oh, keep quiet. I cannot hold myself back any longer.’ “And for the target…” “Wha—”

Veno carved a cross into Virage. Not only was it visible to me, but everyone else could too, judging by their shocked expression.

“Now… face thine punishment for ruining the man’s dream and for causing the families of countless dragonslayers to suffer. I have avoided killing people to the best of my ability… however, you shall receive no such mercy.”

Veno started casting again. The geometrical patterns of many magic circles surrounded them and began to form a powerful spell.

“Five minutes. I shall grant ye all five minutes’ time to escape. After that, anyone left in a 20-meter radius of the marked man, Virage, shall be punished along with him!”

How thoughtful of you.

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contents: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /ch025/ /ch026/ /ch027/ /ch028/ /ch029/ /ch030/ /ch031/ /ch032/ /ch033/ /ch034/ /ch035/ /ch036/ /ch037/ /ch038/ /ch039/ /ch040/ /ch041/ /ch042/ /ch043/ /ch044/ /ch045/ /ch046/ /ch047/ /ch048/ /ch049/ /ch050/ /ch051/ /ch052/ /ch053/ /ch054/ /ch055/ /ch056/ /ch057/ /ch058/ /ch059/ /ch060/ /ch061/ /ch062/ /ch063/ /ch064/ /ch065/ /ch066/ /ch067/ /ch068/ /ch069/ /ch070/ /ch071/ /ch072/ /next/

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[whillsofstars]

Chapter 13

REY------------------------------------------------------

“Rey!” Finn called, dipping his head under the belly of a star fighter, trying his best to get a better view of her as she screwed in the last set of bolts needed to secure the main computer hatch. “Hey, Rey? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” she called turning her head away from her work, giving Finn her full attention. “What’s up?”

It had been a long day outfitting the new fighters with tracking devices, cannons, special shields, and there was still plenty more work to get done before nightfall. Rey was hoping Finn’s interruption wouldn’t take long. She wanted to finish early, leaving plenty of time to practice lightsaber stances and techniques after grabbing a quick bite to eat.

She hadn’t practiced her swordsmanship in ages and she was itching to get back at it. Her recovery had taken longer than expected, particularly the recovery from the toxin. It had weakened her quite a bit. Often, she would tire quickly and needed to rest even when performing the most basic repair work. Both Poe and Finn made sure she received the smallest projects until she was ready to handle the longer hours and more strenuous tasks.

So when Finn now slid himself closer to Rey under the y-wing she assumed that he had simply come to check on her again.

She soon learned that this was not the case.

A last minute meeting had been called by General Organa and that it would convene in the next twenty minutes. All leading commanders and a few others, including Rey, were mandated to attend.

Together, they shimmied their way out from under the star fighter and made their way across the bustling landing pad to the makeshift command center.

The room was already buzzing with anticipation before they arrived, everyone trying to see if anyone else knew something they didn’t.

No one had any intel, of course, or if they happened to know, they were waiting for the Leia to share the news instead.

Finn and Rey found Poe across the room and he ushered them over to take a seat next to him. Moments later, Rose walked in and Rey shifted over one seat to let her sit beside Finn, who beamed, clearly grateful for the gesture.

Everyone continued contributing to the chatter until Leia’s commanding presence filled the space. Silence immediately fell upon all those present, both out of respect and curiosity, as they quickly stood to acknowledge her rank.

“At ease,” she said, dismissing the small crowd with a wave of her hand. The look on her face was stone cold, perhaps to hide her true feelings.

“I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here so suddenly and without an explanation,” she said, surveying each face in the crowd. She paused momentarily on Rey before continuing.

“I’ll make this brief and get right to it,” Leia stated matter-of-factly. “We received news this morning that the First Order has issued a warrant and bounty on Kylo Ren.” Officer Connix flicked a switch and brought up a projection of Kylo Ren’s - Ben Solo’s - unmasked face along with the terms for reward should anyone bring him in. “It seems as though the First Order has denounced him as their Supreme Leader and he is currently on the run with no leads to his whereabouts.”

“Maybe the First Order got tired of fixing all the damage he does to their own ships. That one’s got a temper on him,” Finn quipped causing the room to break into quiet snickers, all except Leia and Rey. Kylo Ren’s rage was known across the galaxy, but the other side of him was missed entirely.

Leia continued to stand in silence until those present took notice and quiet returned once more.

“Funny Finn, but not exactly,” she said stiffly.

Finn shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Leia continued on. “It appears as though Kylo Ren has been charged with treason to the First Order, the crime being the murder of the late Supreme Leader Snoke.”

“I thought Jedi Rey bested old Snoke. What’s this about Kylo Ren taking him out?” said the officer who oversaw the Resistance communications technology.

Uh-oh. Now it was Rey’s turn to speak. Throughout the Resistance, everyone believed that it was she who killed him. That is, everyone but Leia and Finn believed that she has been the one to finish the job. Rey wanted her closest confidants to know the truth, but they insisted that she keep the details of what really occurred quiet. For starters, it gave her credibility with the small remnants of Resistance personnel. They all believed her to be more skilled than what she really was. It also helped that no one ever asked her to retell the story. Since she escaped the Supremacy and it was Kylo Ren who led the attack at Crait, everyone assumed Ren was out for blood following the demise of their leader’s death. In reality, Kylo had just been angry that she refused his offer.

So now, it seemed, that the time has come to set the record straight. She drew a deep breath and tried to summon what confidence she had. Rey knew the truth needed to come out, but she hoped that there would have been a chance to prove herself first.

Here goes nothing, she thought as she moved to standing to face the officer.

“I’m aware that some of you believe that Snoke died at my own hand, but I’m afraid that it is untrue,” she said as hushed murmurs began filling the silence. “Before I joined the Resistance at Crait,” she continued, “I had gone to the Supremacy trying to convince Kylo Ren to join our side - a move that would have turned the tide in this war.”

More whispers echoed throughout the room.

“But it didn’t go as planned. I was taken before Snoke and tortured. Snoke tried to get into my mind. He wanted to know where Master Skywalker was hiding.” A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of how intrusive it was to have Snoke penetrate her mind.

“When Snoke was finished, he urged Kylo Ren to kill me - to complete his training. But he didn’t. I thought he would, but he didn’t. Instead, he used a trick and put an end to Snoke instead. After that, the Raddus sped into the Supremacy, and that’s when I took my opportunity to leave.”

Now people were talking louder and more openly amongst one another. Rey could only guess what this news would mean to the people in this room. One thing was certain though: it seemed her news insighted far more questions.

Another officer, one Rey hadn’t personally met before, but had recognized as one of Leia’s top ranking officers, stood up to face Rey, “So it was just another one of those ancient ways - of the Sith, that is - where the apprentice surpasses the master to gain power?”

Being unfamiliar with Jedi tradition, let alone those of the Sith, Rey had no idea. Her lack of knowledge in this area only served to remind Rey of her shortcomings as a Jedi. “I don’t know ma’am,” she responded quietly, shifting in her stance. “I’m not familiar with the practices of the Sith. Or the Jedi.”

More murmurs. Rey wondered what they must think of her own admission of how she was not the Jedi they believed her to be. But despite how terrified she felt admitting her own shortcomings, all that mattered to Rey in this moment was the fact that Kylo was finally out of the First Order. Could this be the moment she was waiting for? Could she finally convince him to join the Resistance? She hoped so because she had an idea.

“General Organa?” she asked over the now buzzing room. When Leia nodded, granting her permission to continue, the room quieted down once more. “I think we should find him. With your permission, I would like to go to Kylo Ren and convince him to join us.”

For a long while, her proposal was met with dead silence. Silence that somehow felt so loud, that it made her chest tighten with anxiety. It didn’t help that Finn’s mouth fell agape in shock of what Rey suggested. Leia’s eyebrows shot straight up in surprise. Poe looked disgusted. She couldn’t blame him though. Poe had recounted, in detail, what it felt like to be interrogated by Kylo Ren. It was not an experience he was likely to forget or quick to forgive. Many of the others in attendance either mirrored Finn’s expression or just looked confused.

To further her point, Rey continued, “Look, I still think there is a chance that he could turn. He just got kicked out of the First Order. There’s nowhere for him to go and I’m sure he has a few scores to settle. But I know there’s still conflict in him. This could be our chance.”

As Leia gave Rey a questioning look, she was reminded that Leia never knew about the bond, and quite honestly, Rey didn’t want to share that with anyone, let alone Leia. She’d likely be seen as a liability that could compromise the Resistance’s position.

“At least he was when I went to him on the Supremacy,” she added quickly, hoping this small backtracking wouldn’t incite further questions.

Leia didn’t follow up, but it didn’t seem like she was entirely convinced either. Rey prayed that she wouldn’t pry later. After a few moments, Leia released a heavy sigh, “Your request is denied.”

While it wasn’t said, Rey had a hunch that Leia was still grieving over the loss of Han and bitter that her own son was the one to take his life. She could empathize with Leia if she wasn’t ready to face her son, but Rey also had deeper insights into Kylo’s thoughts. Killing his father hadn’t given him the power that he desired and, instead only deepened the cavern inside his soul between what he thought he desired and who he was. Who Ben Solo is.

Rey wasn’t ready to back down.

“But General, he could have inside information on the First Order that we could use. Not to mention his Force abilities,” she pressed.

She took a second to glance around the room hoping to see at least a few people who supported her, but instead every single face still wore an expression between shock and confusion.

Leia gave Rey a hard look, mirroring that of a parent too tired to continue arguing with their child. A moment later, Leia spoke, her voice adopting the tone of a true commander, and it expressed the finality of her decision. “My answer is still ‘no.’ Now is that understood, Jedi Rey?” It wasn’t a question so much as a command.

She cast her eyes down acknowledging her defeat. “Yes, General,” she muttered begrudgingly. How could Leia just leave him - her son - alone in the galaxy? Why didn’t anyone support her request?

“Good.” It was the last word Leia gave before moving their meeting ahead to other matters of importance, like the training program of new recruits.

When they were finally dismissed, Rey dashed out the door without so much as a goodbye to Poe, Finn, and Rose. She didn’t have anything to say and she just wanted to be left alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t just ignore the fact that Kylo Ren had left the First Order. He was truly alone now. This could be her best chance to find the man Ben Solo...or at least try. There was still light in him. She could sense it when they stood together in Snoke’s throne room, and she could sense it still.

It didn’t take long before her mind was made up. If she were honest with herself, it was decided the minute the news of Kylo Ren’s treason reached her ears. She knew what she had to do.

She picked up her pace until she reached her quarters. Once inside, Rey proceeded to fill her satchel with various necessities among a few more important items, being sure to take the Jedi texts, a few tools, and her lightsaber. It was likely that she wouldn’t be returning for a while, and she wanted these few items kept close. They were all she had of her time with Luke.

Before leaving, she paused and took one final scan of her space, ensuring that she hadn’t forgotten anything important. Having her concerns lifted, she made her way outside and proceeded down the corridor to where the Millennium Falcon lay waiting.

She was careful not to let anyone see her on the way to the Falcon. With a packed bag slung across her shoulder, it would raise anyone’s suspicions as to what she was up to: desertion being one of them, but more importantly, ignoring strict orders from leadership. If she could just get to The Falcon and silently make all the preparations necessary for the trip, it’s likely people would only realize what was happening when the engines kicked in for take off.

Checking the time, it appeared as though luck was on her side. Currently, the last meal of the day was being served in the mess hall, which meant the landing pad was quite vacant and that allowed Rey to reach The Falcon without any delay.

She immediately got to work once she reached the entrance ramp and deposited her small collection of belongings safely into the co-pilot’s chair.

After doing a few routine checks to the Falcon’s power converter and cooling system, Rey decided to look over the hyperdrive, remembering that it had likely not had a thorough examination in years. Everything seemed to be in working order, or at least usable order. Rey deemed the ship ready for takeoff.

She made her way through the small corridor that lead to the ship’s cockpit trying to shake the feeling that she had forgotten something when suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath caught momentarily in her throat and words escaped her as she locked eyes with the man before her.

There, filling the space in the captain’s chair, waited Finn. On his face was an expression of disappointment, concern, and confusion. Of the three, disappointment was the most prominent. After her ill-received proposal this morning, Rey was certain that he knew where she was headed.

They took each other in for a few moments, the gravity of the situation settling in before Finn broke their silence. “Rey, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his deep voice even.

Kriff. She didn’t want to have this conversation with him. Not with one of the very few people she could trust. It was clear that Finn held no faith in Kylo Ren joining their forces - she’s sure no one did. But she couldn’t give up on the idea. Not yet.

“Finn, I know what you’re thinking, but I have to-”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said cutting her off. “Rey, he’s had several chances to do the right thing and every time he still chose the First Order. The darkside. His chances have run out.”

Growing more and more frustrated with each passing second, Rey rebutted, “You don’t know that. I saw-”

“I saw first hand what he’s capable of and what kind of person he is. I was in the First Order with him longer than you have known him. Kylo Ren is vicious and will not hesitate to remove anything or anyone that stands in his way. Some people cannot be changed, Rey, no matter how badly you want them to.”

Rey could hear the pain in his voice. She knew Finn spoke from experience. She know that he was only looking out for her. She could feel his concern, his plea. She could feel the pain of his experiences, experiences he had chosen to shield from the rest of the world. She wished that he had not come. Disappointing Finn was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, she needed to go. She needed to try for herself so that her conscious would be settled.

She had to level with him. “That may be true, but I need to try Finn.”

“Rey, what is this about?” he questioned, still in disbelief that she was actually considering finding Kylo Ren. “Why do you want to find him so badly? Nothing good can come of this.”

“It might,” she said stiffly.

“Rey, what’s this about? I noticed you took the Jedi texts,” he said motioning to the satchel filling the co-pilot’s seat. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Rey didn’t say anything. She didn’t exactly want to tell Finn of the bond she and Kylo shared. She feared he wouldn’t understand.

Finn stood up and approached her. “Rey. You’re my best friend,” he coaxed. “We’ve seen each other through so much since you hit me over the head with your staff on Jakku.”

Rey couldn’t help by chuckle at the memory. Finn always had a knack for lightening the mood.

“Whatever it is you’re going through, you can tell me,” he insisted.

She shifted her gaze outside as she considered his words. More and more, the base was coming back to life, which meant that the evening meal was wrapping up and she was running out of time.

Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice or the reminder of what they’ve been through, but she sensed that Finn would keep her secrets. Well, here goes nothing, she thought.

“Fine,” she said, caving in, “but I’m going to make this quick. I don’t have much time.”

“Fine,” he said echoing her response. ” What’s going on?”

“I had a vision that he would turn. That he would stand with us when the time came,” she confessed as the words began to spill out of her. “It was as solid and clear as you and I talking now. I believed he would turn when I went to him on the Supremacy.” She paused to study the bewildered expression on his face. His mouth was full lips were slightly agape and his eyes only saw Rey. Truly, he was hanging on every word she spoke. “But I know now that it was too soon so I waited. Why else would I have this vision if it wouldn’t come true?” It was more a question for herself than it was for Finn. Rey was still, in part, trying to determine if visions were absolutes or if they could be changed.

Finn shifted his stance and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to compose himself. Rey could sense that he was trying to choose his words carefully. “And you believe that the time is now?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, though once the word had escaped her lips, the confidence of her decision solidified.

Now it was Finn’s turn to sigh. He turned to stare at the landing platform, putting a hand over his mouth as he processed what she had just revealed. With a final heave of his shoulders, he turned back to face her. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” And she was.

He nodded his head accepting her affirmation.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“No! Finn, this is something I have to do on my own,” she said, surprised at his offer.

“I’m not letting you go near that monster alone,” he countered. “Ren is too dangerous.”

“Finn, I’ll be fine,” she encouraged. “Besides, I’m a Jedi after all.” Her words felt like a lie.

Finn wasn’t entirely convinced either. “You’re still in training, Rey,” he said pointedly.

Ouch. That hurt, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Finn, you can’t come with me. This is something I have to do on my own.”

He seemed to take the hint. With one final look outside to the platform, he shook his head and threw up his hands in defeat. “Okay, fine,” he said. “But I’m giving you five days to get back here before we come looking for you, and before you object,” he said hurriedly seeing Rey beginning to refuse his terms, “it’s to make sure you do come back. I’m not going to lose you.”

“Fine.” Rey could agree with that. How could she argue with her friend who really was concerned for her safety? Noticing even more people filtering onto the platform, she knew her opportunity was nearly gone. “I have to get going.”

Finn looked back over his shoulder and nodded in agreement. “I know,” he said softly, taking a few steps forward while reaching into his coat pocket. Then, he reached for her hand and gently placed a small device into her palm. It was the same tracker Rey was given when she went to train with Luke.

“Just take this with you,” he said as his large hands encouraged her fingers to fold over the device.

“Thank you, Finn.”

“Just come back to us,” he said pulling her into one of his great hugs. She couldn’t help but smile. Finn was a good man and an even better friend.

“I will,” she promised, and she meant it.

He gave one final squeeze for good measure before letting go and slowly made his way out of the Falcon. Before he left for good, he turned around and gave Rey a hard look, “Rey, be careful. Watch yourself.”

“I will.”

He nodded, and without a word he left.

As soon as Finn moved a safe distance away, Rey began charging the engines. They roared to life as if begging to make the jump to lightspeed. When they were finally ready, she left Kashyyyk, taking off as fast as she could until finally reaching the black, vastness of space.

Now the hard part came. She didn’t know the first place to look for Kylo. No information of his whereabouts was shared in their meeting early today. She had nothing to go on.

She pulled up the holopad and scrolled the newscasts praying that at least one person had spotted him. Nothing.

Well, this is off to a great start, she thought, becoming more discouraged with each passing minute.

Okay, if I were Kylo Ren, where would I go? She knew that she was grasping at thin air. Rey really had no idea and the minutes continued to tick by with every quess she tried to make.

She was wasting valuable time.

“Your presence in the Force is strong. Others like us could find you given enough time to meditate,” a distant memory echoed.

“The Force!” Rey said out loud. That’s right! If Kylo could find her through the Force, like he did on Kashyyyk, maybe she could do the same. Why didn’t she think of this sooner?

She immediately shut her eyes and exhaled the air from her lungs, making sure the inhale was slower like Luke had instructed. She let go of any thoughts swirling in her mind, letting her mind go blank.

While it took some time (it was more difficult without the plant life on Ahch-To), she eventually found a connection to the Force. Letting it flow through her, she enjoyed the oddly familiar sensation it brought, until she was finally ready to begin looking for his presence.

If what Kylo had said about her Force signature appearing as a bright light was true, maybe his was also. After all, Kylo Ren was the only strong Force-user in the galaxy that she knew of. Concentrating as hard as she could, Rey projected her conscience out and began looking for his light.

“Please let me see him,” she whispered almost inaudibly, like a prayer leaving her lips. “Let me find him.”

She waited a few moments hoping something would happen. Then, slowly, a light started to grow. She began to focus all of her mental energy on that one small speck of light and within a few moments, her mind’s eye was filled with light before a flash of a craggy island surrounded by a restless sea flooded her vision. She could feel the wind rip across her face and the smell of the salt in the waves. And just as quickly as it had come, the island vanished.

“Ahch-to,” she breathed opening her eyes, once again, to meet the dark expanse of space. “He’s on Ahch-to!”

It worked! She chuckled to herself in disbelief. She found him. She had called upon the Force and she found him. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she was cut out to be a Jedi after all.

Pushing all thoughts aside, Rey wasted no time and punched in the coordinates. the Falcon responded immediately and with another flash of light, Rey made the jump to lightspeed.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 14