#willie has been a ghost for god knows how long so he got the opportunity to actually learn healthy coping mechanisms

[narcissusbrokenmirror]

I guess Willie was right, screaming at the top of your lungs can really help the world makes sense and your vision stops being blurry. Ty Willie, our mental health king

[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.

[creativeashproductions]

Elysium // Luke Patterson

Summary: The boys of Julie and the Phantoms need a hail Mary to dethrone Downslide from opening for Panic! At the Disco. While Willie is done to help his blue eyed crush and his friends there’s one issue: Willie can’t drive the bus. Moving a bench is one thing but driving an entire tour bus?  There’s only one person who can and Willie’s not sure where she is after year of no communication

Warnings: Swearing, angst, talk of death (it’s a ghost show, why is this a warning??), mention of assault, violence, and fluff.

Words: 11.5k

A/N: This is why I haven’t posted much in the last week. I’ve been writing this massive fic that I refused to turn into a series. My god, 11k words. I don’t think I’ll be doing this again. Enjoy and comment if you figured out who Rudy is!

Masterlist

There wasn’t much in the afterlife that you enjoyed after time spent in the limbo between the living and dead. Listening to songs before they were released lost its appeal just as much as dancing on stage with the ballet companies around the world, of being an unseen extra in shows and films being filmed.

Then you found a purpose a couple, well it could be more than a couple, years ago when you found a lost soul. William Young, Willie to his friends, had been sitting on the curb staring at the pavement entirely still as he had for two days.

The time from the last breath you took to walking the streets of Los Angeles was a blur in all honesty. The years bled together as you stayed stationary in a world that kept on spinning and changing, growing up. You had watched your friends hit new milestones you could only daydream about. Friends that graduated college and built new lives on the ashes of memories that included you.

Today’s walk was an attempt to escape your friends’ greying versions standing in front of a once vibrant sculpture. It happened every single year, but this one hurt the most. Listening to your friends recall stories of all the adventures you did together.

From being drunken idiots jumping off cliffs into that one lake the summer of freshman year. Or making a bonfire on the school’s roof with all the entryways blocked, rather stupid with the exits being blocked as well. Sneaking into concerts and stealing that one car that came close to sending you to boarding school.

The rebellion that still lived in you had mellowed in the five individuals with the adult responsibilities of family and work. Martha had removed all piercings but her lobes while Chase quit dying his hair colour. Jordan now had three children and a bought house.

Seeing the group no longer young had made your feet swiftly move from the memorial for a walk. The only thing that stopped you in your tracks was tripping over something in front of you.

“Ouch.” You hissed rolling onto your back with a moan of pain that faded with the sniffles.

Curled into his knees, sitting on the curb was a teenage boy about your age. Long hair curtaining his profile you found your eyes grasping the cracked helmet that spoke for itself abandoned by his side.

“Your kinda a hazard there.” You simply spoke sitting down next to the distraught teenager, “Heads up, I suck at comforting people.”

At his silence, you spoke once more, “I’m digging the tie-dye. Did you do it yourself?”

“This is some kind of stupid coma dream right?” The boy’s voice was husky from crying and disuse, “I’m probably in some kind of hospital with a tube down my throat.”

“I’d say yes, but it would be a blatant lie.” You spoke twirling a loose thread on your jeans while the stranger gazed at a spot on the street.

His dark brown eyes bloodshot as he remembered the car honking mere seconds before he heard the sound of a thud. He recalled struggling to breathe with his broken ribs and his screams being illustrated with bloodstains.

He remembered thinking how he had just bought that board a week ago with his allowance.

“Am I really dead?”

“Yes. We’re are a couple ghosts in a lively city.” You informed him with one handheld in the space between your ethereal forms. The teen hesitantly placed his hand in yours with a firm shake.

“William but call me Willie.” He softly told you, catching sight of the patch on your jean jacket—one of many from both when your grandma owned it and then when you did.

“I’m Y/N. Let’s blow this disappointment. I’m gonna teach you everything you need to know.” Brushing off the invisible dust on your jeans, you held your hand out to him, “We’re about to make the afterlife our bitch.”

A stark contrast to his former hesitance he immediately grasped your hand to tug himself off the curb. The forlorn skater didn’t question the board in your hand or how he could possibly even touch his own board. He didn’t wonder how it wasn’t in pieces like it had been when he first got hit.

That rebellion that ended your life flared again in the presence of your best friend with crashing Justin Bieber’s house. Of rearranging items in classrooms to freak teachers out and sitting in the cars turning the radio on and off. Haunting the living until the friendship fractured under the influence of a powerful ghost.

Caleb Covington had bewitched the skater with promises and extravagant gifts until Willie had taken the offer.

“He’s not like you said he was! I think you should give him a chance!” Willie cried following you around the place you had taken to be home.

“Willie he’s a bad guy! He butters you up until you give him what you want! That’s when you see his true colours. All he wants is your soul to power his magic and spread his reach!”

“I got to talk to my sister!”

“Your sister is five years old! It’s not Covington that gave you the opportunity. She won’t remember the experience as anything other than an invisible friend!”

“There are so many people at the Club that we can talk to. Aren’t you tired of the same routine and people we see?”

Willie’s pleading brought your full attention to the skater avoiding your gaze, “William Young…you took his offer.”

Willie tore his gaze from the art on the wall to find yours blatantly glaring at him with a bucket of random colour in your hand.

“The Club is going to France to tour around the country for a while. I’m dead, so I might as well make the best of it. Besides who gets to skate through the Louvre!” Willie beamed, watching as a small smile, found its way on your face at his excitement, “I’m sure Caleb would let you come to the Club tonight!”

“Willie, you are my best friend, but I’ve already seen the Club. It’s not my style, and I want nothing to do with it.”

That interaction was one of the very few speckled through the years when Caleb discovered who you were. No matter his offers, you never took the deal and when he saw how close you and Willie where he kept the skater busy. The Club didn’t appear in Los Angeles for a long time until Willie’s distance seemed too great to bridge.

“So, you need a way for the slot to be empty?” Willie asked the trio of ghosts all spread around the area.

Unfortunately for Luke, the only person they could get help from was from the very guy that placed them in a predicament. While Alex was the one spearheading the conversation with the long-haired skater Luke was glowering in his direction.

“The Orpheum was the thing we never got to do. We spent hours practising and performing with one goal-“

“Play the Orpheum and get distance from our parents. Well, at the time that streetdog and becoming legendary was my main focus.” Reggie recounted the feeling of suffocating in a house filled with fighting. A home he wished still stood, now dead all he wanted was to see his parents.

“We almost did it too.” Luke pouted relaxing his glare at the skater who openly sent apologetic gazes at Alex’s bandmates.

“So, we need to get rid of the opening band.” Willie nodded to himself, thinking about ways before he caught sight of the abject horror on the band. The skater’s eyebrows raised, “I know I deeply fractured the trust, but I’m not suggesting murder.”

“Okay. Good.” Reggie whistled relaxing his tense posture while Luke grumbled under his breath an insult that in turn got Alex’s arm into the guitarist’s ribs.

“Your best bet would be getting the bus out of LA. The band will probably celebrate the upcoming gig.”

“Could you make the bus disappear?” Alex hesitantly questioned shifting in his now vintage sneakers. The blonde-haired drummer flushed slightly under the endearing smile from the skater. The feelings create a confliction within Alex under Willie’s issue, leading them straight into a madman’s hands.

“I can move a bench, turn sirens on, but a bus is outside my paygrade.” Willie openly admitted showing his hands deep in his pockets, “The only person other than Caleb that has enough power-“

“-is he just as evil?” Luke demanded crossing his arms to glare at the male that had unfortunately caught the interest of Alex.

However, Luke couldn’t blame Alex for falling for this guy because well, Luke saw the teenage ghost’s appeal. Willie was attractive, but he wasn’t the type of person Luke would fall for. Plus he had initially made Alex incredibly happy, and Luke would never blame Alex for that.

“She is as different from Caleb as one can be. She uh…she taught me everything about being a ghost. Actually, found me where I died.” Willie cleared his throat as the guilt and sadness reared its head from deep within him. The guilt of leaving his little sister to grow up without him and the sorrow of not growing up with the girl.

It wasn’t often Willie allowed himself to remember the little girl, barely five when he died, who was always dancing. His little sister adored the colour purple and anything shiny and more than once Willie had let her dress him up. Willie’s greatest regret is that he’d never have that interaction with her. God, she’d be around his age now and in high school.

“Okay, so where is she?” Reggie clapped his hands, bringing the skater out of his thoughts and back into the present.

Luke saw the hesitation in Willie, “There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

“Kinda?” Willie trailed off bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I haven’t seen her in years now. Last time I saw her we fought about the whole joining Caleb thing? I’m not even sure if she’s still in LA.”

“Of fucking course,” Luke grunted shoving both hands in his hair taking a few steps away from the other ghosts.

First, he dies, then he gets caught up in some bullshit revenge plot, then makes a deal with the devil without realizing it, and now their one chance is going up in flames. Luke Patterson was livid with the universe and the shitty hand he had been dealt, but at least he had his friends with him.

“It can’t hurt to look for her?” Reggie innocently offered with a shake of his shoulders, “It’s not like we have any other option.”

“Did we ever even have options?” Luke hissed, causing Willie and Alex each to flinch with the different guilt they carried.

Alex was guilty of going to Willie for help when getting back at Bobby was the biggest thing. Willie was guilty of ignoring his instincts on keeping Alex as far from Caleb as he could be he just wanted to impress the drummer. It’s not like Willie had many options for dating, and well, Alex was the first to get his entire focus.

“Dude. Stop. No one saw it coming.” Reggie bumped his hip against the annoyed guitarist, “Let’s find this ghost and get our shot at playing.”

The quartet of dead guys didn’t have high hopes of finding the girl in question, but it seemed the universe took pity on Luke Patterson. Just two hours into their search on the edges of the city limits an individual was walking.

The person’s stature leaned against a smashed concrete wall of the skeleton of where a building once was. The only thing the group could make out was a faded jean jacket with splotches of colour. Her ankles crossed as her back leaned against the cement, oozed laid back confidence. Coming closer, Luke noticed the sunglasses perched on top of her head and the lips painted dark.

“What do you need Willie? I heard you were looking for me.” The husky voice drew Luke in the most. The lead guitarist of Julie and the Phantoms enamoured with the girl.

“How’d-“Willie’s question was cut off as you simply tapped your right index finger against your temple.

“How do you think you managed to get here?” You inquired pushing off the cement to stride over to the group. To Willie’s surprise, he was tugged into your embrace before swiftly pushed away, “Come on. We should head in before someone catches us.”

In the dark as much as the other three ghosts, Willie dutifully followed you past the pieces of cement littered around the area. Gasps of surprise sounded as the once empty space became filled with buildings. It was not as extravagant as the hotel the Club worked out of, but it was hidden from the living and dead eyes.

“Where did this come from?” Reggie gasped astounded by the people once hidden from his view, moving around the area. 

“This is Elysium. Don’t judge the name I lost the right in a poker game with Susie and Rudy. I’m Y/N.” You informed the group leading them to the gate where two people stood stoically guarding it, “Rudy was hellbent on calling it Valhalla.”

“This is Luke, Reggie and Alex.” Willie gestured to the awed trio of musicians only lingering on the blonde. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the attraction between the skater and the blonde; finding a date in the afterlife was a lot harder than the living.

Nodding a greeting to the two ghosts, you lead the group to a building painted a pretty turquoise blue colour. The sign above the double doors a stark white with calligraphy writing simply stating Elysium Management. It was a building set up like an administrative office of three stories, and you led the group right up to the top floor.

“Just a heads up…Rudy is a little suspicious of people.” You admitted standing outside a door with a nameplate the only descriptor, “He’ll come off a little gruff and rude, but when you get passed that he doesn’t shut up.”

“I can hear you through the door dumbass.” The words were called out from the office door opening.

The man standing in the entry wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His honey-brown eyes lit up with a teasing look before it shuttered at the sight of four strangers behind you. Rudy had valid reasons to not fully trust people after the shitshow in his hometown when he was alive.

“And you’ve brought strangers.” Rudy deadpanned with a sigh concluding his sentence as he stepped back into the office. It appeared like the world repositioned itself on the young man’s shoulders once more.

“I should be done within the hour. We can go over everything.” You informed your business partner and friend. Receiving only a nod from Rudy, you closed the door to his office, cutting off the view from your guests.

“He’s..uh.”

“Standoffish? Rudy keeps his past to himself, all he’s ever revealed is that he’s from a town a few hours away.” You spoke, opening the door to your own office decorated differently from Rudy’s more sterile black and white aesthetic.

Your office had splashes of colour with vintage posters of both music and film framed on the walls—a plush couch in the corner with a basket of blankets next to it. Instead of sitting behind the dark desk, you chose the couch instead. As you settled in the corner, you flicked one finger bringing an extra seat over.

The motion shocking the three boys accompanying Willie who had seen the abilities himself.

“Okay so why did you want to search for me?” You questioned the skater leaning back in the seat.

“When did this all happen?” Willie countered gesturing to the office in a building settled in the middle of a ghost town. A literal ghost town.

“There’s an empty lot in LA that used to house an abandoned apartment building that Rudy and I both called home. Of course, it was torn down, and we kinda knew that there’s wasn’t a place that didn’t have the threat of being annihilated at some point.” The memories of those unknown days trickled into your mind among the more positive ones, “We wanted a home. A place to call our own.”

“A week or so later a skittish pixie of a brunette crashed into us full speed. Susie had a certain ability that Caleb desired to have under his thumb. There are so many ghosts he had manipulated into selling him their soul. Rudy and I both wanted to stop Caleb from having that chance for everyone.” You continued, “Can I show you?”

The moon shone through the light clouds as a duo wandered LA’s streets in different mental states. The only home you had known had been unceremoniously ripped down with no future plans in place. Your entire life had been in that apartment in a building you had once thought only you inhabited. You had been unaware that on a separate floor, Rudy had been dwelling.

The two teens in starkly different clothing grew close with each other through the whole being the dead thing they shared. The mission was to find another place too, use but the feeling of home being ripped away tore at their hearts. The apartment was a place Caleb Covington hadn’t been aware of.

Your thoughts threatened to turn darker as a force knocked you onto your bac—aA short brunette groaning in pain to the left of you. The girl was Gwen, who would become very important to both Rudy and you.

I’ve always been a little different than most people. I can move things short distances, but I developed a specific talent. I can get inside people’s minds to plant, remove or alter memories or simply talk and read their thoughts.

The sound of your voice in their heads freaked them out more than they would like to admit. The intrusive tickle of something in their brains unsettling as you made a more present entry so they could feel it.

“What?”

“This is why I can’t be anywhere near Caleb. The whole reason he gives people stamps and takes their souls is because of me.” You fully admitted clasping your fingers in your lap, “He couldn’t cope with the fear of another ghost leaving so added a stipulation to joining his Club.”

“How did you come to create Elysium?” Alex inquired leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees. Luke and Reggie followed his posture as the anticipation built.

“Everyone deserves a safe place. A place as far away from Caleb as possible and we do so for free. No fee is required, and ghosts are free to come and go as they please. They are welcome as long as their unfinished business keeps them in this plane.”

It sounded like a sweet deal to the group of teens, but they had other commitments, “You can tell us more, but we need your help.”

The pleading in the messy-haired brunette tore at your heartstrings like the one time Willie brought you to his house. It had been shortly before your friendship fractured, a few years ago. He had brought you to a suburb for low-income families and straight to the backyard where a twelve-year-old year danced.

The dead skater boy and the rebel sat in the patio chair on the tiny porch nestled in the postmark sized backyard. A quintet of pre-pubescent girls danced on the lawn to some bubblegum pop song. The Young girl was submissive to a more confident girl even when the venue was the Young girl’s home.

“The girl to the left is my little sister Kayla. She’s twelve now, it’s been seven years since I died.” Willie’s brown eyes saddened at the dancer who had a spark of maturity in her eyes, “I check in every once in a while. These are Kayla’s friends. The bossy girl is Carrie, and while the band is a group, she is the unofficial leader of the band Carrie’s Constellations.”

 “She looks happy.”

“Kayla’s always been bubbly in personality, but she had questionable friends.” Willie outright admitted keeping his eyes pinned to the girl that had grown up in a blink of an eye. Her dark hair concealed by the gaudy purple wig; the colour assigned to the teenager.

“It’s nice that she still enjoys dance.” Willie finished reaching out to grab your hand in his and just like that Willie transitioned back into carefree, “I found this really cool skatepark I think you’d like.”

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Alex winced as the three musicians flinched as a sudden purple spark of colour lit up their midsections.

Like a tentacle, your mind reached into the quiet raven-haired boy with the leather jacket. Beyond the imagery of docile golden retrievers and steaming plates of food, you found the regret and fear in the boy. Stepping into a recent memory, you watched their experience at the Hollywood Ghost Club.

“You’ve met Caleb.” You sighed roughly pushing your index finger between your brows feeling the familiar ache.

“It was a stupid decision,” Luke spoke up, tearing his focus from the mysterious girl that ultimately had the power in her hands. The entire plan was weighing on the decision you would give, “Either we join his house band, or we don’t exist.”

“Hm.” You spoke as the kaleidoscope of colours in Luke’s eyes glittered under the sterile lights of the room. It was difficult to look away from the enthralling teenage ghost, but the emotion wafting off Willie was concerning.

“They died before they could perform at the Orpheum. We’re banking that getting the opening slot with giving them the push into crossing over.” The long-haired skater leaned closer, “I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I can’t do much.”

“So, you want to pull ’09 incident again?” You completely ignored the trio on the couch staring directly at the sheepish skater with raised eyebrows, “Only this time without the train?”

“Train?” Alex whispered, looking between the two long-time friends with interest and then next thing he knew Alex was in the backseat of a van crushed between Reggie and Luke equally confused.

Chicago, Illinois 2009

William Young and Y/N Y/L/N were complete hellions in the ghost world, creating havoc that fascinated the living population. The recent event being the highjacking of a van filled with drunk teenage boys. These boys had been the sole reason a young girl was recovering in a hospital with life-threatening injuries. The scene changed to a hospital room with Willie and Y/N watching a girl with massive bruising laid.

It had hit both Willie and Y/N hard catching the tail end of the new report, Willie thinking of how that could have been his sister. Even if Kayla was only five years old, having a sister set things more in perspective. For you it was a flashback to when you were alive and thus led you to the ICU room for the girl.

Slipping into her unconscious mind was easy but while the injured teen appeared peaceful to the hospital staff, she was anything but. The poor girl’s mind replayed the traumatic incident over and over like a movie; keeping in the shadows, you gently repainted the portrait with lighter and brighter images. 

For Willie, he watched as you wavered on your ghostly feet and smoothed out the features of the girl. The heart monitor subtly changing as the injured girl relaxed, and suddenly your interference heightened her chances of survival.

“I got it.” You spoke to Willie with a heated glare on your features and when the ghostly musician trio blinked they were back in the van.

Your hands gripped the van’s steering wheel with Willie turned in the passenger seat to watch a group of living boys scream. To the living eyes in the van, no one was in the front seats but whispered words spoke into their minds.

You’re going to go straight to the police and tell them what you did. You’ll hand over the photographic evidence and demand the worst punishment. You’ll leave the girl alone, or we’ll come back to finish our job. You will pay for the hospital bills if the family agrees. 

The boys trembled with the putrid scent of urine permeating the enclosed vehicle. The distant sound of a train echoed in the distance as the van stopped on the tracks. No matter how much the living boys moved the doors refused to open, and the windows remained unbreakable.

“WE promise!” The ringleader cried, slamming his shoulder against the door with the train’s bright lights illuminating the van.

“Let us go!” The other screamed, slamming his bruising hands on the window.

Alex was flinching at each slam of fists on the glass, leaving smears of blood. Knuckles broke from the window. At the very last second, your foot slammed the gas pedal taking the van millimetres from the train screeching on the tracks.

You and Willie stared at the stationary train lit up from the van’s headlights with the rhythmic flashes of the red and blue police lights. The van’s seat arrangement was different with the ringleader in the driver’s seat. 

The three ghost musicians standing unseen behind the duo but in the real world out of the dreamlike memory you knew.

Elysium, Present Day

“Holy fucking shit.” Alex cussed out of breath, leaning back on the couch with shaking limbs and fear in his bloodless veins.

Luke’s eyes blinked owlishly at the boy that he had once thought could never do something as terrifying and torturous. He was afraid to even ask the outcome of the life-threatening incident you did on the assailants.

“That is the reason for the train.” You barely glanced at the shaken trio to stare at who had once been your partner in crime, “Willie, I have responsibilities here. We just opened a new division for the children we house here.”

“It would take a few hours.” Willie pleaded, positioning his hands into a pleading position turning on his charm. The puppy eyes you had always struggled to say no to as if you weren’t the type of person easily capable of staying strong.

“We’ll do anything.” Luke pleaded just as much recalling the countless times he had charmed himself out of situations, “Please help us.”

“I’ll have to make arrangements with Rudy and Susie, but I might be able to pull some strings. I’m really sorry Willie, but I’m gonna need to erase your knowledge of this place. There are too many people depending on this setup.”

Outside the Orpheum

Outside the legendary venue, three out of four band members for Julie and the Phantoms walked up to the marquee. Hopefully, the letters for Downslide would be changed into their band name just under the main act. Everything was riding on Willie and Y/N’s capabilities. Trusting the skater was challenging to do and more so someone they didn’t fully know.

“Look, don’t worry, guys. Willie said he’d get us on that marquee.” Alex soothed his friends on each side of him. All three wearing concerned expressions at the place that hopefully was their last stop before crossing over.

“This is gonna work, right?” Reggie questioned with his hand confidently sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. The relaxed posture a juxtaposition to the anxiety and nerves on his flushed face.

“It has to.” Luke’s lips pursed into a pout with his words tinged with a dialect different from his best friends. The faint souvenir from the place he spent a few years growing up before moving to LA.

Luke’s words were highlighted by the groans of pain as that flash of purple courtesy of Caleb’s death stamp appeared. All three hunched over clutched their chests breathing through the pain; Luke was the first to unfurl his form.

“Whoa!” You gasped flashing underneath the marquee beside Willie. Rushing to give Luke support without even a second thought.

When the aftershock faded, the guitarist stood straight up with a thankful smile that boarded on adoration.

“Are you guys, okay?” Willie asked, keeping back with the swell of guilt that happened, seeing the familiar symptoms of post-shock. He had felt them a time or two in the time he had sold his soul to his unfortunate boss.

“Yeah, it’s nothing we haven’t felt before,” Alex replied, rubbing his hand over the baby blue shirt he had chosen today. His blue eyes doing their best to avoid looking into the puppy-like ones of the skater, “How’d it go?”

“Well, when that opening band wakes up, they’re gonna find their bus 200 miles outside of Vegas.” Willie proudly announcing turning on his heel to show off the Downslide jacket he took from the lead singer. His fist extending to bump yours instinctively before he did so with Luke.

“With no chance of getting back in time.” You snickered in response living on the adrenaline and nostalgia of the rebellion. With Elysium, you had turned around your life, “Meaning-“

“-there’s probably a promoter upstairs right about now freakin’ out.”

 “Nah. This is Hollywood, man.” Willie scoffed with a wave of his hand matching the one you supplied, “I’m sure he’s being very professional.”

As Willie finished his sentence up in the promotor’s office out of earshot of the ghosts stood a very pissed adult. His finger-wagging his finger with teeth clenched, his flushed skin a juxtaposition to the cheery blue Hawaiian style shirt. Frank Wolfe couldn’t believe how stupid his once opening band was.

“What do you mean the bus drove itself into the middle of the desert?” Frank questioned progressively growing more and more frustrated. His assistant Tasha casting concerned looks to her typically collected boss, “BUSES DON’T DRIVE THEMSELVES!”

Tasha flinched at the sudden loud growl of the sentence but more so as Wolfe starting slamming the phone into the cradle. Her fingers halting on her keyboard, going over the list of frequent acts. Unfortunately, the five acts had other commitments causing Tasha to fear tonight. The blonde lady was worried Wolfe could have a breakdown once more.

While Willie snickered to his own words, your eyes, not your mind, could read that Alex wanted to talk to the skater. With only a teasing jab of your elbow in Willie’s ribs you shuffled around the drummer to join Reggie and Luke away from the ‘will they won’t they’ couple.

“So, can you do me a favour?” Luke hesitantly questioned you with his inquisitive eyes a greener colour in the sunlight. His attractive eyes took your full attention with a simple tilt of your head, “Julie’s family means a lot to us, and could you keep an eye on them?”

“And Carlos,” Reggie interjected rocking on his polished pleather boots he had spent ages on finding for his rocker aesthetic back in the ’90s.

“-Julie’s little brother.” Luke supplied at the confusion painted clearly on your pretty features. His green eyes scoured your face as he always did that flushed both his and your faces red.

“Yeah, of course, I can.” You firmly told the two dead boys each standing tense in front of you.

You could easily see the love they held for the living family that had come to mean so much in such a short amount of time. Since first meeting them you had always gotten the feeling that their living years weren’t the best. For Alex, it was living in the ’90s as a young gay teenager during a terrifying time for the LGBTQ+ community. Reggie flinched at the raised voices, and Luke had longingly stared after the happy families milling around the Elysium.

“Did you ever find out what your unfinished business was?” Reggie inquired fixing a strand of his dark hair that had fallen onto his blemish-free skin. Your smile faltered at his question; nonetheless, you answered.

“I did.” The two words carried a sense of pain with them. Your eyes unfocused recalling the euphoric feeling of seeing the breathtaking white light of the peace exuding from the beyond and the agony of denying crossing over.

“How-“

“Hey! Y/N!” Willie called out to the young denim wearing ghost with his beaming grin, “Don’t go stealing buses without me!”

Luke swore he could see your laughter in the air, just as endearing as the smoky quality your voice carried.

“Don’t go glitter bombing criminals.” You returned as your best friend dropped his board to skate off to wherever he was needed. It was bittersweet to reconnect with him knowing that it could be the last time.

When Caleb found out, not an if but a when Willie had a hand in helping his desired band it was high chance Willie would be gone. Caleb was all too powerful, and when he was betrayed, it never ended well.

“I need to get back to Elysium. Susie’s arrival is tonight. Good luck with tonight.” Your words were accompanied by a hug for each of the boys. The one with Luke lingering the most, “I wish you could play for the kids.”

“Yeah. Me too.” The brunette, messy-haired boy’s words carried a hidden desire simply to be in your space more. The teenage ghost helps those in limbo while wearing a jean jacket with patches from many decades. The jacket creating an unknown time you had lived.

“Goodbye, boys.” You told the trio before you poofed away from the busy streets of Hollywood where the band had come full circle in death.

“Are you guys, okay?” Reggie inquired his best friends, forgoing his casual personality for the layers underneath. His blue-green eyes filled with only concern.

Alex and Luke shared a lingering look, “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The dining hall was filled with long tables and chairs populated by the ghostly forms of everyone currently living at Elysium. It was reminiscent of a British book turned film series of youth with magic abilities. The series had been a favourite of a former resident.

“Incredible.” Susie breathed staring at the joyful people having a place to call home. Making the limbo between life and death more bearable.

“We’ve done well. You smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist, “It’s so nice to have you back.”

Elysium was so much more than you could ever hope for. It kept growing and growing with more ghosts. Since the founding of the haven, new developments continuously happened with one resident’s unique ability.

Harvey had joined the haven a year into the founding bringing the ability to gift the residents with the capacity to eat. During his life, Harvey had been a renowned chef and the dream to make food it carried into his death. As long as Harvey cooked the food with his volunteer staff ghosts were able to eat it.

“Harvey has outdone himself again,” Rudy announced his arrival at your side with his arms crossed, displaying his corded muscles. The constellation of moles on his face standing on his pale creamy skin.

“Rudy!” Susie squealed, throwing herself into his arms with the same glee that came each time. Susie and Rudy since their first meeting had a special bond as chosen siblings who bonded over heartache.

Rudy had died, leaving his best friend and his strawberry blonde girlfriend in the living world back in their dark hometown. It was just one tidbit he had revealed throughout your friendship. The only physical connection to his living friends was the three picture on his desk of a group of people.

The first picture had a lean version of Rudy with his arms thrown over a Hispanic boy with a crooked jaw and glimmering brown eyes. The Hispanic boy had his arm around a pretty brunette girl with deep dimples and wavy brown hair. The two boys wore a sports uniform of some kind holding lacrosse sticks.

The second picture had Rudy and the Hispanic teen again but with a beautiful petite strawberry blonde. Along with them was a brunette with blunt chin-length hair and hardened features besides a shorter blonde male with blue eyes.

The last picture was of Rudy with the same Hispanic boy wearing graduation caps and gowns with two beaming adults. The male adult wore a tan shirt adorned with a star on his left pec and dark brown pants. He had to be Rudy’s father with similar features. The woman was of Hispanic descent with laugh lines, and thick dark curly hair pulled into a half do; obviously the Hispanic teen’s mother.

The pain in Rudy’s face each time he saw the pictures closed off a desire to ask him about the people.

“Hello, Susie.” Rudy chuckled, wrapping his arms around her small stature, “How was Europe?”

“Why don’t you ask the five newcomers I found before Caleb?” Susie teased gesturing to the ragtag of new ghosts immersed in conversations.

“Family?”

“A boarding school had a fire. Those five were in the fire when it happened and the only victims out of seven that didn’t cross over.” Susie’s tone faded into a melancholy tone with her small arms wrapping around her middle. Faded brown eyes staring at the younger of the five seeing herself in them.

“That’s terrible.” You whispered, staring at the table with one finger picking the patch of a band from the ’70s, “I can’t imagine how scary that could have been.”

“Yeah.” Susie softly spoke, pushing a strand of her hair off her temple just as equally sad for the way that death had no qualms of how it took.

The youngest ghost in Elysium had been a three-year-old toddler who passed over quickly when he was found by the deceased mother. The two had been separated at death and luckily shared the same unfinished business of finding each other.

“Miss Reynold’s has twelve spirits that finished their business.” Rudy softly informed his two partners. Soft smiles formed on their faces at the happy news of Elysium’s goal being accomplished again.

“May they find everlasting peace and serenity.” Your words intertwined with Susie in perfect sync of the motto coined after the first crossover, “I suppose the Serenity will begin planning?”

“Have the Serenity ever not performed their duty?” Rudy raised one dark eyebrow with a rhetorical question. E/c and faded brown met recalling the countless times Elysium had hosted a celebration for those who found their unfinished business.

“That is-whoa.” You gasped stumbling at the scream echoing in your mind accessorized with the vintage sound of a band.

Calloused hands grasped your shaking form from collapsing onto the ground from a proverbial psionic shove. Agony slammed your brain flickering into an old fashioned club filled with people in both colour or black and white attire. You caught sight of baby pink, deep royal blue and bright red suits. The pained screams of a skater in a dark room overtaking the music in the Club.

“No.” You whispered clenching your hands on your head, feeling the dread building in the pit of your stomach.

The joyful voices in the hall muted while your body flickered with the deep instinct to leave the haven for the one place that utterly terrified you. It was the familiar touch of Susie and Rudy that kept you from finding the one person that meant the world. Willie’s soul was on the cutting board, and Caleb obsession with performing was the only reason Willie still existed.

“Willie.” You whimpered tears rolling down your flushed cheeks, feeling the panic in the skater’s mind.

“Susie help me.” Rudy stonily spoke ushering the distraught girl from the busy hall into an empty room.

Your shaking body finding purchase on the plush sofa with Susie holding one hand in hers and Rudy brushing the sweaty hair from your forehead. It wasn’t often your psionic abilities left you in such a state, but the distance proved difficult.

“Shit.” Rudy grumbled frowning, “This is bad. Y/N, we need to get you to Willie. You’re flickering, and the distance isn’t helping.”

“You want to take one of Elysium’s strongest ghosts straight into Caleb’s domain? You know how much he wants her in his Club.” Susie hissed to the co-founder of the haven they had to take extraordinary measures to protect, “It won’t work! You’re throwing her to the dogs!”

“Susanne I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, we always have a plan.” Rudy retorted narrowing his whiskey eyes at the younger girl, “I’ll take her to get Willie, but you need to stay here to make sure everything runs smooth.”

“Are you sure you can-“Susie cut herself off with a nod as Rudy displayed the reason he could do it, “Okay, yep, you can do it.”

Rudy came back into her vision in his signature position with one eyebrow raised, and his arms crossed. The reason why Elysium worked so well was Rudy’s ability to erase an object from the view of anyone. He could make himself invisible to anyone and in practice, developed it to hide items and location. With his ability, Elysium was permanently hidden to anyone outside of his power. Illusions were his unique ability.

“You aren’t the first person to doubt my capability.” Rudy informed the other ghost reaching one hand out. With his fingers caressing your temple, he snapped his fingers, transporting you and him away from Elysium.

The empty room of Elysium’s dining hall was exchanged for the business streets of Los Angeles, bringing an improvement in your body. Pushing away from Rudy, your eyes frantically scoured the unfamiliar area for any hint of Willie.

“He’s close.” You exclaimed closing your e/c eyes to focus solely on your sixth sense kicking in. Rudy’s gasp snapped your eyes open to see his eyes pinned on your feet where a glowing neon purple smoke wisped.

“What is that?” Rudy demanded crouching to touch it, but it was like nothing was there. His whiskey brown eyes meeting your confused gaze.

“I have no clue, but I feel like I have to follow it.” Robotically your feet started walking following the smoke through the streets.

Rudy was silent as you came upon a park swallowed by the darkness of the night with the moon barely showing through the clouds. The odd purple smoke the only offering of light so far from the path with street lights.

“Of course we have to go through a park.” Rudy grumbled, “Nothing good ever happens in wooded areas at night.”

Lifting your eyes from the smoke, you looked at a deeply unsettled Rudy lost in the past only he knew. His mind recalling traipsing through the forest with his asthmatic best friend in the middle of the night. The last night before the unknown took over his life. Oddly enough dying and returning as a ghost was the most normal with everything that happened with his friends alive.

“You can go ba-“

“We’re not splitting up,” Rudy growled plainly scowling at your hesitant features. Rudy’s slammed the door closed on his past life.

Sensing unease Rudy’s calloused hand reached over to slide into yours in platonic support. You continued your mission, unaware that three certain ghosts in breathtaking suits were searching for you. 

Alex, Reggie, and Luke, affected by the purple jolts, failed to find the one place where their plan B could work. What Julie hadn’t known was that the guys had a plan just in case the Orpheum wasn’t their unfinished business. The three would go to Elysium to accept their fate and ensure Julie believed they crossed over.

With no Elysium in sight, the boys returned to the Molina garage hoping that one thing would go their way: Julie would go straight to bed.

The glow purple smoke trailed through the city park into an older part of Los Angeles before it stopped. Where the smoke stopped was a vast empty space surrounded by trees.

“Well, that’s a little anticlimactic.” You grumbled crossing your arms, “Willie’s somewhere here. Do you think Caleb has an underground lair?”

Rudy cast an unamused expression at you, “From past experience. No, that’s not likely. He probably has an apartment downtown. An underground network of caves in the woods is more shapeshifter style but still not true.”

“One: You’re rambling. Two: What the hell kind of life did you have?” You questioned furrowing your eyebrows at his rather odd piece of information.

“An old one.” Rudy spoke, staring ahead, “Besides, I think we should check out whatever building is hidden from our sight.”

“Hid-“Your mouth halted when Rudy roughly gripped your shoulders to twist you to face the empty space.

“Close your eyes. Trust your senses.” Rudy spoke softly, “Or pay attention to the slab of concrete in the middle of an empty space with well-kempt grass.”

Your palm slammed your forehead with a resounding thump in the night with distance lights from surrounding buildings. Rudy squeezed your shoulders as he stepped to the side once more in turn, closing his eyes.

“Walk in my mind.” Rudy stated for the first time in your friendship, allowing you to look in his mind. Your hesitance was met with another squeeze of comfort in his calloused grip.

Your tired eyes closed as your mind timidly stepped into the rather breathtaking mind of Rudy, who felt guilt the most. While Susie’s mind was like a summer day spent at a lake with brightness and gorgeous field of flowers, Rudy’s mind was different.

It was dark in Rudy’s mind but not as if evil, but as if he had been touched by the darkness and painted permanently. There’s was the odd whisper of childlike laughter intermingled with the full adult laugh of a woman; the laughter overshadowed with the sound of funeral music. You felt the lose near that memory. Rudy’s mind was painful to be in and drowning in the feelings he had.

Your breath caught seeing a door you assumed was of his childhood room with a name you couldn’t pronounce for the life of you.

“My parents named me after my mom’s dad.” Rudy spoke through his mind with a soft smile on his face, “I couldn’t say it, so I called myself Mischief. I stopped using it when my mom died, and I went by a shortened version of my last name.”

Your eyes watched as the door disappeared, and the reason you were in his mind came back to the forefront. Your eyes watched the image forming of a vintage hotel rippling in the air before it solidified. The size reminded you of a castle, and it felt like you were storming it.

Without any more mental interaction, you stepped out of Rudy’s mind back into the real world. The very same hotel in plain sight to both Rudy and your surprised elation.

 “Honestly didn’t think that would work.” Rudy breathlessly laughed, staring at the hotel once hidden to them. A dark comparison to Elysium.

“How do we play this, Rudy?” You inquired looking over at him, “This is very different from stealing cars and scaring teens.”

“Easy. We blend in.” Rudy responded, holding one hand out to grasp yours in which you noticed your attire had changed, “Perks of illusion? I can alter our own perception of ourselves.”

“Oh, wow. That looks expensive.” You replied, staring at the diamond bracelet on your wrist matching the necklace you wore.

Rudy’s attire had changed from his normal button-up with the sleeves rolled to be layered under a charcoal grey vest and jacket. Sleek matching pants to his coat and the dark black-tie matching the elegant black dress you wore. He had taken pity on your footwear to fit your ability to walk and for the fancy place.

He even had diamond cufflinks that matched you, but the wedding rings on your fingers took you aback. Your widened eyes staring at him.

“Tonight we’re Mr and Mrs Martin,” Rudy spoke choking on the last name he gave as it was the upscale name toppled from his lips.

“Okay. This is a test of our abilities.”

“This is if our plan A of being invisible doesn’t work. The one thing we know for sure is that Caleb has never seen either one of us.” Rudy soothed your nerves with a half-smile,” Let’s get Willie out.”

Your arm slipped into the crook of his to walk to the front door, “I feel like a spy. I feel like that Naomi Roma-“

“It’s Natasha Romanoff. Have you ever seen one of the marvel movies?” Rudy demanded walking up the entrance with a pained smile, “You’re like my best friend and when he wouldn’t watch Star Wars! Never caught one of my references!”

“Okay! Sorry, we can watch the movies when this over.” You grumbled as your heels clicked in the foyer of the hotel. The inside made you feel like you were sent back in time to the roaring ’20s.

“Oh damn, this is nice,” Rudy whispered, staring at the chandelier in the extravagant lobby of the last place you wanted to be.

While on the outside the two ghosts appeared cool, calm and collected they were anything but. Both a wreck inside from the perilous errand they had done that could very well be the ending of Elysium. Rudy nudged you to begin finding Willie with your mind, but you didn’t need to.

That same glowing mist was on the ground pulling you in the direction of a dark hall away from the route to the Club. Rudy kept his eye out, a characteristic carried into the afterlife from his time with the FBI, as you followed the mist. The hall continued to get more and more dark as the walk continued.

 Finally at the end was a blood-red door.

 “I swear to god if he kills his Club members, I’ll lose it.” You hissed to your arm candy, “What if he’s really H. H. Holmes disguised as a former magician? His door is blood red!”

“Have you been using your serial killer colouring book again?” Rudy demanded stuttering his steps to place his whiskey brown eyes on you. The sheepish expression on your face was enough of a response to gain the look of disbelief could have sent you into hysterics had the time not been too serious.

With a grin belying the situation, you twisted your wrist to open the door to hopefully where Willie was being held.

“What a cliché. He’s keeping Willie in the basement?”

“Will you shut up!” Rudy hissed right back with a clenched jaw entering the somewhat unfinished basement. It was cold even to your dead standards where the cold didn’t bother that much.

At the bottom in front of a desk with only a small lamp as illumination sat a vacant-eyed Willie painstakingly detailing a fabric. The lush purple velvet fabric was bougie, to say the least, and rather outlandish for the skater.

“Willie.” You softly coaxed the teen to glance up from the fabric you found to be something Caleb would wear. Willie’s brown eyes barely met yours before they returned to the sewing needle in his hand and the tiny beads in the bowl.

“Caleb is actually forcing him to be his personal seamstress?” Rudy scoffed,d stepping right up by your side to look at the work.

Both trying unsuccessfully to coaxed Willie out of the stupor he was engaged in the sudden poofing wasn’t heard.

“Mrs. Young taught both Willie and Kayla how to sew. She’s quite the seamstress, reminds me of my old one.” Caleb wistfully responded with a smarmy smile on his face, “Well if it isn’t little Y/N and whoever she brought. Nice threads.”

“Let him go.”

Caleb’s index finger caressed the corner of his mouth so gently to ensure the stage makeup didn’t budge. His clear ocean blue eyes turning thunderstorm navy as his lips parted in such a bone-chilling sinister grin.

“Let him go? He tried to take my new house band from me. He thinks that those boys not crossing over is his punishment. I think that adorable but so very wrong.” Caleb shrugged, dragging his finger down the bicep of his puppet.

“What can we do to- “

“You see after he’s done fixing the tuxedo jacket I’m going to tie him up on the table and slowly strip away his soul piece by piece. No, Willie won’t get the quick and easy zap erasing him. I’ll personally see it’s the most painful thing he experiences and I’ll do so happily.”

“Willie! Wake up!” Rudy shouted, shaking the skater’s shoulder frantically with his focus never entirely leaving the mad man. The whiskey brown eyes panicking at the odd displaced feeling of reliving his living life.

“That won’t work.” Caleb chuckled crossing his arms, “It’s rather amusing you think you can beat me. I’m Caleb Covington! I’m persuasive enough for hundred of memberships to financially benefit the Club.”

“And I’m Y/N Y/L/N bitch.” You snarled viciously throwing your mind into the nefarious narcissistic mind of the washed-up magician. 

Caleb Convington had started to bore his audience with the same tricks at every previous show. The lack of interest depleting the attendance numbers and severely hurting the financials. So Caleb decided to broaden his talent by copying the likes of Harry Houdini.

He had a knack for both the dramatics and swindling his audience to be tricked by the illusions he created. The heightened popularity increased Caleb’s thirst for status and fame, so he overestimated himself.

Surrounded by adoring fans and journalists, Caleb had his assistant lock him in a safe with no key, to the audience’s knowledge, and push the safe into the river. Unfortunately from the infamous magician and escape artist the safe warped due to the material it as made out of. Caleb Covington died drowning in a safe at the bottom of the river.

You flinched feeling the emotion at the time Caleb had died and the feeling of disappointment at not leaving a legacy. Your continued your trek in the struggling mind of a man who viewed himself as invincible. You caught glimpses of a young Caleb with his family and the moments of tragedy that shaped him.

You saw his first taste of power in death and the content since the first time he erased a ghost from existence. It sickened you more as you reached the point where Willie came into Caleb’s path.

I’m unique, Caleb. Unlike you with the illusions and empty promises, I have real power that you could only dream of. Hearing your thoughts and planting my own words is just the tip of the iceberg.

Caleb screamed in response holding his aching head as you cruelly ripped every memory of Willie from his mind. The screams echoed not only in the basement but through the hotel the Club worked out of.

“Stop!” Caleb pleaded, shaking his head back and forth. The anguish was un-fazing to both the lucid people in the room. Rudy too busy trying to wake your best friend from the trance he had been placed in.

“I can alter memories. Remove them and even plant memories of my own design. You may take from people, but I give to people. I refused to give you anything.” You circled the man seeing double from outside and inside his mind.

I’m everything you wish you could be.

Your last action in his mind was searing a burn that flashed across his entire body from a nerve stroked. With the heat equivalent to magma in his veins, you burrowed to where Caleb controlled the souls. With a smear of your fingers, Willie’s soul was released from Caleb clutches.

“C’mon. Get Willie.” You told Rudy sending Caleb into an empty trance as if he was no more than a wax figure. Rudy eased the skater up from the desk while you exchanged Caleb to sit on the chair holding the needle, “We need to leave. I’ll get rid of any speck of Willie in memories.”

“I didn’t even get to punch the guy.” Rudy pouted, dragging his feet up the stairs away from the magician.

“That’s a good thing. I’m sure Caleb would be more pissed about his nose being damaged than losing Willie.” You scoffed helping the man urge Willie to walk up the stairs and then down the hallway to the entrance.

As you walked you brushed the minds of every individual in the building, all members in attendance, you gently removed all traces of Willie. By the time you reached the edge of the park, you had relaxed.

“We should get him to Alex, they didn’t crossover. I can still feel their imprint.”

“He’d be safer at Elysium to lay low.” Rudy replied, keeping on eye on the skater and on anyone he could see.

With only a nod, you ushered the ghost to teleport both the skater and himself back to the safe walls of Elysium. As he did so, you reached out with your mind to the blonde-haired sweet male in adoration with your best friend.

Clicking his place was easy enough for your draining power after the taxing bond with Willie’s absent presence. Instead of walking as you would generally choose you poofed on the cement pad in the backyard of a home. The surrounding skirt of the backyard encased with plants and flowers.

“Hello?” You called out in the darkness. The soft, mumbled words had your feet moving in the direction.

Standing in a circle mesmerized at the purple tattoos lifting off their skin was the boys of Julie and the Phantoms. The teenage beautiful Puerto Rican girl stood across from Luke with Reggie and Alex on each side.

“Alex?” You called out to the boy wearing a baby pink vintage tuxedo that complimented his skin and hair exquisitely. The outfit definitely screamed that Caleb had something to do with it, especially with the missing fanny pack.

“Y/N?” Luke gasped turning to see you in incredibly fancy attire matching his gorgeous blue suit modified to having no sleeves. The anticipation of eating at you to find Reggie rocking a red suit with butterflies on the fabric.

“I’m sorry you didn’t crossover.” Your words soothed the sad teenagers that had accepted their fate only to have no control again. An introduction was brought between you and Julie when the living girl elbowed Alex.

“Not that we mind but what are you doing here? How did you get here, and why are you dressed up?” Luke inquired, pushing his hands into his suit pockets, engrossed with your gorgeous appearance.

“Well when you crash a fancy Club with a narcissistic founder…any means to blend in is necessary.” You responded, “As for your second question.”

Your finger tapped your temple before continuing to speak, “I’m here because Alex deserves to know. You all do.”

The boy in baby pink frantically stepped forward, “What happened?”

“Maybe it’s best, I just show you?” Your brows furrowed to your own question accompanied by your lower lip being bitten by your teeth. The red lipstick not budging as it was an illusion as well.

“Hu-“Reggie grunted as he spiralled with his two dead bandmates into the scene that had sent you on your determined mission.

The rough action of being drawn into your memories as jarring as the first time and just as scary. The maniacal magician pacing the dark basement simply to heighten his dramatic speech. Alex’s heart clenched at the vacant look in the skater’s eyes with the faintest tinge of purple in the gorgeous brown.

“I feel like I got carsick.” Reggie moaned leaning over to clutch his midsection once you released the ghostly trio. Reggie would often gain a look of disbelief and horror from the blonde drummer, but his entire brain was centred on Willie.

“Rudy took Willie back to Elysium where he’ll be safe. If you want, you can join us.” The words were offered to both the dead and living currently in the room.

Opting out, Julie retired to her bedroom to calm down from the rush of performing at the Orpheum of all places. Besides she felt like going to Elysium was best for the three boys, and maybe they would move there. Julie would miss them, but she knew they’d always come back.

Susie was quick to hug you tightly as you stepped through the gates with the dead members of Julie’s band. The boys changed out of the tuxedos they had dropped off at a donation centre, Reggie had wanted to burn them. After living on the streets for a short while, Luke understood the need for clothing, so the clothing was taken to shelters.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Rudy told me you overexerted yourself again.” Susie spoke with a deeply furrowed brow oblivious to the puppy dog look from the bassist in red flannel.

“If I didn’t, Willie would be gone.”

“You’re pale yet flushed cheeks. I can see you have a fever. You need to rest.”

“I need to soothe Willie out of the trance that psychotic prick put him in.” You scoffed shaking Susie’s hand off your shoulder to sidestep her, “I’ll rest when he’s fine.”

“I-“

“At least gab something from the cafeteria for energy.” Susie’s brown eyes dimmed at your typical brush off. The same routine of overusing your powers and not recharging correctly, “He’s in Cottage A!”

The boys were on your heels as you power-walked through the streets of the ghost city with one location in mind. The living streets with homes of all style and colours appeared passed the bakery, the school and the clothing stores.

“You can eat?” Reggie whispered as a little ghost girl licked an ice cream cone walked by.

“Harvey adored cooking for people when he living, so he continued in death. Harvey can make food for ghosts, and so can his staff if they work in his kitchen. His pastry chef provides baked goods to Flora’s Bakery and makes the best ice cream.”

 “Oh my god.” Reggie practically squealed wholly flabbergasted by the almost perfect place you created, “How do you pay for things?”

“We don’t. What Harvey doesn’t grow in his garden, he can make ingredients out of thin air. We all have some kind of job we do. Everyone has a role in fulfilling to keep Elysium running.” You simply spoke keeping your eyes on the cottage with the robin’s egg blue door.

As if he knew Rudy flung the door open elated to see you standing there. Both of you still wearing the illusioned attire. IN milliseconds he wiped the illusion away, returning you back into your street clothes.

“How is he?”

“No change.” Rudy replied, following your steps in the living room. The skater was staring blankly at the wall.

“Willie!” Alex cried, rushing over to kneel beside the boy that had so swiftly stolen his heart without him realizing. The emotion in his word didn’t get a microscopic flinch from the formerly so-called enemy.

“Everyone be quiet.” You demanded forcibly staring each person in the room down for a mere second. With the desired silence continued, you ignored the headache forming in your head to step into the skater’s mind.

William Young was screaming to be released by the prison of his own mind Caleb had forced him into. He had felt the restriction on his soul lifted and the mist of purple leaving his brain, but he was still stuck.

He could barely breathe with the weight on his chest. Willie didn’t like feeling stuck in one place as he was a wanderer at heart. It was a reason why he had joined the Hollywood Ghost Club with the promise of travel.

Willie come back

In his mind, the sound of your voice firstly grounded the young man as a mirage of your form flickered. Your eyes screamed worry while the smile was one of relief.

Caleb can’t hurt you anymore. Come home.

The spectators watching see your flinching wavering expression and the tensing of Willie’s facial muscles. Everyone sat on the edge of their seat as the two pairs eyes opened in synch of the yells of hurt.

What they didn’t expect was your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and you to collapse onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Willie cried, stumbling off the couch onto the cold floor where your body lay prone, “Wake up!”

It seemed everyone forgot the little detail of being dead.

 “She’s fine.” Rudy remarked, shaking your arm with such gentle care matching the four guys’ care in the room.

Your eyelids fluttered open under the bright lights of the unused cottage still waiting for an owner.

“Susie was right.” You grumbled allowing Willie to help you sit up against the blue velvet couch. Your mussed hair adorable in the eyes of the guitarist utterly enamoured with everything about you.

“She usually is.” Rudy mused, thinking of the many times she had proven everyone wrong, “She punched me for not bringing you home.”

“Gotta love her.” You snorted turning to face the four ghosts awkwardly gazing around the room. It was barren of personality with the lack of inhabitants. The yearning quickly found in the boys’ eyes, “You know this isn’t the only cottage in need of people.”

“What do-“

“You’re welcome to live here. I know you three live in that studio, but here you can have a real bed. You can eat and having your own place. You can come and go as you please.” You offered without looking, Rudy.

“I don’-“

“If you don’t want to live here, it’s okay, but the option is always there. Willie, we make plans for a skatepark-“

“Oh, you had me from the start.” Willie beamed tugging you into his arms, “I missed this. I missed you.”

 “Me too.” You murmured into his warm embrace equally relaxed at knowing he was safe again. Your eyes clashing with the soft blue had Ideas songwriting already filled with lyrics of a pretty girl wearing a jean jacket with patches.

The lyrics turned into songs both in the studio and the cottage that Luke, Reggie and Alex accepted in Elysium. It had been a spirited discussion with Julie on moving to Elysium, but the boys were always there when she wasn’t in school. Often Elysium hosted a concert for the residents with the visitation of Julie.

Your reciprocated attraction with the messy-haired hazel-eyed guitarist flourished into a serious relationship. Luke took on the role of teaching how to play the guitar and songwriting. Alex took of mediation while Reggie worked with Harvey.

Willie quickly took on designing the skatepark he taught at while also taking a position at the ghost school.

“Morning.” The soft whisper roused your sleep into the golden glow of the morning light and chirping birds.

The growling aspect of his voice coming from only just waking up. The sight of Luke’s bleary eyes was heartwarming.

 A year into moving into Elysium, Luke had asked if you’d like to move in as he was the only one in the original house. Alex had moved into the little cottage with Willie three months into the relationship while Reggie was going back and forth between Susie’s room and his own place.

“Morning.” You hummed leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“You know I thought my life ended when I died. That I could never find someone and have a family. That I couldn’t share my music with the world. I was wrong.” Luke murmured as he cupped your cheek in his hand, “The band is growing more and more each day. I found the love of my life, and we have a family with everyone. I haven’t felt like I had had home for so long, but I get it now. You’re my home. I love you.”

Your cheeks warmed up at the adoration Luke displayed in his expressive hazel green gaze just as it had since day one. The awe fell from his lips before you pressed a kiss to his lips, only one of the many in the eons to come.

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[missorgana]

and they were roommates

pairing: alex/willie, background julie/luke

fandom: julie and the phantoms

rating: general

word count: 2383

warning: swearing

summary: Luke and Reggie make a bet about who can set up their dumbass, pining friends, Alex and Willie, first. What could possibly go wrong? (everyone lives au, matchmaking friends)

(my 12 days of fanfiction event is back with another willex fic for the gays! thank you to my babe @georgiawarrs for the prompt, really hope you enjoy this 💖 uwuuu. and don’t forget, you can still send me prompts if you haven’t already!)

read on ao3

“So it’s a deal, then.”

“Bring it on, dude. I’m so gonna win.”

“Not in a million years, Reg!”

…

In short, Luke and Reggie’s bet is about who can set up their shy, stubborn best friend Alex with his roommate, who he’s been crushing on for God knows how long, first.

Not as simple as it sounds.

Before you ask, no, this is not something they usually do. Or they’ve ever done before.

But honestly, Luke’s had quite enough of the blonde dancing around Willie, previously mentioned roommate, when he’s voiced his feelings for the other boy to his friends multiple times.

Their friend’s only argument when they bring it up is, “No way he’d ever date me. I’m way out of his league.”

And best friends just can’t let each other talk like that about themselves, can they?

Also, having met Willie a handful of times, it’s clear to Luke, Reggie and their moms, probably, that he’s head over heels about Alex.

Even the time Luke met him alone in the cafeteria, all he talked about was Alex. It’s honestly adorable. 

And annoyingly stupid.

So, the mission’s clear: get the two dumbasses on a date, ASAP. And since Reggie insisted he could do it more effectively than Luke, they decided a bet didn’t hurt, not when they were helping their friend out.

What could possibly go wrong?

…

Reggie’s first move happened to be during the boys’ usual lunch plans, and obviously, Luke ain’t gonna miss it.

Sometimes Julie and Flynn join them, but she texted him they were late for band practice, sadly so. He totally didn’t mope about it. But Reg’s right he’ll see her after class, anyway.

Just, that’s a long time, you know? Flynn’s told them they’re too codependent on each other, but he just thinks she’s joking, truth be told.

Anyway, the boys are currently seated on the grass, giving them a perfect view of the football practice, not that they were into that sort of thing. They had to discuss the next Sunset Curve gig, which is fucking huge, and Luke can’t wait.

Julie’s written another perfect song. All her songs are perfect. Just trust him, okay?

But just as Alex’s phone pings with a text, “Hold on, it’s Willie.”, he casually throws the statement out, and Reggie looks at Luke with a spark in his eyes.

Perfect opportunity, he gotta give him that.

“Y’know, Alex,” he starts, trying painfully hard to not be suspicious, “Why aren’t you having lunch with Willie?”

The blonde discards the phone in his hoodie and blinks at his friends.

“We always have lunch together.” he answers, varily, oh God, Alex almost looks disappointed.

Thankfully, Reggie picks it up just as quick as himself, shaking his head, “I know! I know, just… uh, I mean, you’re roommates. Would be weird if you never spent time with him.”

Then he nods. Winks in Luke’s direction. That boy is the least smooth person he’s ever met.

And Alex frowns, “We did homework together last night.”

Oh, yes, the study dates. Emphasis on study, not dates.

The blonde always seems perpetually nervous when he’s brought them up in the past, which was another reason why Luke was sick of him not making a move. Although, he hasn’t talked about them for a while, surprisingly.

He steps in, Reggie should be thankful, “I just think, Reg too, you could invite him to lunch tomorrow.”

“Really?” Alex asks, looking a mixture of shocked and excited. 

“Yeah, man. Julie eats with us all the time, why not?”

Reggie’s quick to add, “And Flynn!” and Luke nods eagerly in agreement.

And although their friend seems convinced, shyly smiling, picking up the phone again, he still continues the questioning, “Well, they’re in the band.”

Ugh, he’s impossible.

“But they’re also our friends, and-”

“Hey, and my girlfriend!”

“Yes, yes, dude, we know.” Reggie draws out the last syllable and pats his shoulder, “And Luke’s girlfriend. But your friends are our friends, Alex.”

Subtle argument, he likes it. Well, it’s a start.

And the blonde finally shrugs, so he thinks they’ve won him over, “Alright. Thanks guys.”

Good thing he’s texting again, not catching the two boys’ smug eye contact.

Luke knows this is Reggie’s victory, but hey, same end goal, right?

…

Two days later, Luke’s prepared to start his own plan.

In case you’re wondering, Willie was supposed to have lunch with the gang on Tuesday, however, Alex let them know he had to help out his dad and cover a waiter’s shift at the café. The blonde’s disappointment about the situation was obvious.

So it’s Thursday, and when Luke spots Willie on the way to campus, on his skateboard, alone, most importantly, he decided to act quickly.

“Willie!”, it’s hard to yell when he’s running, because, damn, he really should do something to better his shape, at least so he’s not dying after a few minutes of jogging. Luckily, the other boy hears him and slows down.

He chuckles and pats his back, not funny, “Hey, man. You okay there?”

Luke’s totally fine, of course. Just hopes he’s not totally red in the face, is all. If that’s the case, Willie’s got heart enough to not mention it.

“Definitely. Ya mind if I walk with you?”

The shorter boy looks surprised. Fair enough, he supposes, Luke always picks up Julie on the way here normally, but she’s got early classes today, so. A bit rude of the school planning, or whatever, honestly.

Maybe he misses her, which doesn’t make him cheesy, okay? It’s only been two days, but like, even when he has a bad day, when he plays wrong, or his parents argue with him, she smiles at him like it’s all gonna be okay.

Luke can’t think about her without getting sappy, so he’s gotta focus on the mission, for now, and Willie’s nodded in response, casually rolling down the sidewalk so he’ll catch up.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he tries as casually as possible, keep it cool Luke, don’t give away your true motive, “You like Alex, right?”

The other boy jumps down from the rail he used as a ramp, landing with the same surprised face as before. He also does this thing where kicks the skateboard up and catches it under his arm.

It possibly confuses the hell out of Luke, to be honest, then again, one might feel the same about him playing the guitar, or, you know, any skill you don’t have. Too much thinking.

“Of course I do.” the skater tells him simply, and confidently so.

In his mind, he can easily picture himself winning this. Huge applause, cake, the lot.

“Good! I know, but you know, you should totally invite him to one of your skating…” he pauses, because Luke’s honestly sure where he’s going with the sentence, regardless, when nothing else works, freestyle, “Gigs?”

Willie looks at him with a weird expression, then laughs heartily, turning his eyes to the ground. He hopes that’s a good sign.

“Competitions?” the shorter boy helps, to which Luke nods, but the other keeps going, “He’s come by in the park sometimes, but you might have a point with that. You think he’ll like it?”

“Uh, duh.” he says with a click of his tongue, “Not that he’ll admit it, but trust me.”

And although it sounds settled and set in stone, the skater gives him another weird look. Luke brushes it off, because really, getting dating advice from your crushes’ friend is a bit ridiculous. What’s he supposed to do when they’re so stupidly stubborn, though?

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

…

Guess what? Luke’s earned himself a point ahead of Reggie, due to the brilliant idea he voiced to Willie last week. Yes, brilliant, obviously!

“We’re in a tie, you know that right?” Reg tells him, which isn’t true at all, because his lunch proposal only half worked, and that’s exactly what he tells his friend.

The boy rolls his eyes. “Not fair”, his ass!

Anyway, Alex was excited going to his crush’s skating show on Friday, and they both consider that a win regardless. The blonde’s raving about it over band practice, well, less the show, more how pretty Willie looked when he tied his hair up in a bun.

Needless to say, they both find their friend adorable, almost can’t contain some self-satisfied smiles. So far, so good.

Their nosy attempts at figuring out if Alex then got himself together and made a move crashed devastatingly, however.

“Couldn’t talk long after, curfew.” he told them, and damn, he looked like a puppy kicked to the curb. 

So goddamn annoying, but alright, this time around it was out of their power.

Luckily, it’s Sunset Curve’s next gig in two days, and Reggie’s got the perfect countermove, Luke’s gonna give it to him. This move being inviting Willie to previously mentioned concert, and since it’s the first round of Battle of the Bands, tension’s high.

Their best friend pales when they announce the exciting news.

“This is a good thing, dude! He’ll love seeing you play!”

“And us- Ow!”

“You deserve it.” Luke simply tells Reggie, crossing his arms.

“Guys!” the blonde interrupts, fiddling with the drumsticks and looking like he just saw a ghost, “I can’t just play knowing Willie’s there! What if I fuck up?”

And so Luke has to shake his head at his dear, overthinking boy. Not that Luke’s haven’t had that consideration before, hell, his mom and dad hearing their tape terrified the shit out of him, but that fear’s getting in the way of the matchmaking.

Besides, those two are meant to be. Seriously, he knows they’re barely halfway in their young lives, all of them, but they’re perfect!

Smiling at each other all the time like idiots. Luke’s got a feeling he does that with Julie, too.

“You won’t,” Reggie interrupts his own train of thought, “You never do, Alex.”

“Besides, he looked thrilled, man! We’ll leave you alone after the show.”

“Promise!” Reg chimes in, and they wink in semi-unison, just to get the point across. It’s almost worrying when Alex sighs, but he shrugs nonetheless.

“If you say so.”

…

So although the gig went fantastic, and Alex and Willie were annoyingly cute but even more so awkward as hell around each other after, Luke’s maybe going a bit crazy.

Okay, alright, it’s only the third week, but neither of the boys seem to be giving clues that they’re finally realising how stupid they are.

Maybe Luke doesn’t know, explicitly, if Willie crushes on Alex too, but it’s obvious! 99.9 percent!

It’s ridiculous how much their best friend’s pining leads up to nothing, and both of them start to understand some of those slow burn fanfictions out there. Which Reggie made him read, by the way. If anyone asks Reg, he’ll blame it on Julie, probably.

Thankfully, an opportunity presents itself on a silver platter, when Carrie Wilson throws her over the top birthday party.

To be honest, Luke’s not sure how to feel about her, given the past long feud, even though Julie’s assured him she’s changed. He’d trust her with anything, so it’s fine. And seriously, he swears he overheard Flynn asking Carrie on a date, but their friend denied it straight up to his face.

Regardless, since guests (meaning, the entire school) are usually allowed a plus one, Reggie and himself figured it was their job to arrange Alex bringing Willie along.

One weird detail to it all, before they could even bring it up, Alex chimed in, during what feels like their 500th Star Wars marathon night, “You guys… you- uh, you think I should invite Willie to Carrie’s party?”

Did the universe just thank them for their service, or something?

Of course, both boys eagerly nodded, practically jumping in their bean bags, while simultaneously making a little of a deal of it as possible.

Literally proof that soulmates exist, Luke thinks. Yes, that is melodramatic, but he doesn’t give a shit, frankly.

Only problem?

They’re at the very party, the center of the mission now, and Alex and Willie are acting just as shy as usual. The blonde’s even fiddling anxiously, like he always does around his crush, and given that they haven’t lost sight of either of them yet, Reggie voices another sigh to him.

Maybe this is a sign from the universe to not intervene, then, he supposes.

They’re at the ping pong table, the two boys, who apparently are determined to remain clueless for eternity, left for the kitchen to get more snacks.

Seems like Julie’s noticed his own beated demeanor, cause she appears at his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. He can’t not smile, just a little bit.

“What’s got you two losers down?” Flynn asks, suddenly in front of them, and Reg will probably mopily deny he jumped.

“Ugh,” is all Luke says.

“Alex and Willie are impossible.” Reggie adds, nodding in agreement, and instead of the expected understanding, Julie frowns up at him.

“What do you mean?”

Maybe Luke’s sort of embarrassed admitting the plan to her, sensing she’ll find it silly, but really, he can’t hide anything from her, and they’ve given up by now, anyway, “We’ve been trying to get them to admit their feelings for each other.”

Flynn’s frowning now, too.

“We actually had a bet-”

“Yeah, but! Like we love Alex, and he’s so lost on him. But we’ve tried everything.”

“They’re too annoying.” adds Reggie for good measure.

And all of a sudden, Julie’s giggling. Her best friend too, and judging by the look Reg’s giving him, he’s just as confused as himself. She’s so cute when she’s laughing, though, despite this boggling his mind.

“How do you guys not know this?!” Flynn’s saying, and when they’re only scratching their heads, because how do they expect them to understand that, Julie smiles her sunshine smile and pokes Luke’s chin, “They’re roommates, you know.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Whatsoever.

Not until Alex and Willie return with a bucket of popcorn, the skater hanging on to their friend’s hoodie sleeve. Of course, he makes his leave for the bathroom, kissing the blonde’s nose on the way.

Reggie looks at Luke. Oh my god, they’re roommates.

[thetheatregang]

The First Date Incident

Synopsis: When Julie goes on her first date, the boys just can’t help themselves. They have to spy on her. No self control. Nope. Not even a little bit. 

This is my first fic for JATP, and my first real fic since the beginning of quarantine so PLEASE go easy on me and PLEASE leave e some feedback! It goes kinda quick because I’m still trying to get back into the groove of writing but I hope you all love it!

Shout out to @easthighdrama and @itsjuliemolina for reading it and giving me some tips!

Monday. Julie Molina usually loathes Monday’s. This particular Monday, however, would not be a day like any other day at Los Feliz High School. 

Ever since her band played at the legendary venue The Orpheum, a few weeks prior, she has been riding the popularity train. People Julie has never talked to in her life are talking to her in the halls like they’re her best friend. Some of the popular senior girls even asked if she wanted to come to their party, to which she had to politely decline, as Ray would surely kill her if he found out. 

But to top it all off, the guy she’s had a crush on since grade school, Nick, has been talking to her more than ever!

“H- hey, Jules! How’s it going?” Nick calls out, approaching her locker. He pulls out from behind his back a bottle of apple juice from the cafeteria.

“Oh! Apple juice? How did you know?” She beams nervously. He knows because she tweeted about how bad she wanted apple juice last night, but the carton in the fridge was all out. It was a lame tweet, she knew that, but she can’t help but blush at the fact that Nick totally reads her tweets.

She’s liked Nick for so long, it’s hard to not get flustered around him. His cute smile and perfect hair just give her butterflies, she can’t help it. Even though when Nick asked her out before, and she rejected him, those feelings haven’t quite gone away yet. Probably because she only did so, because of her feelings for Luke, who, as Flynn has pointed out many times, isn’t even actually alive. She can’t really date a dead guy...

“I just had a feeling... Anywho, I was hoping to ask you something! Do you have plans this weekend?” He smiles, his eyes sparkling. Nick has had it bad for Julie ever since the band played that show in her backyard, and especially since she agreed to be his dance partner.

“Just rehearsal with the band, why? Did you wanna hang out or something?” She wonders aloud. This is it! This is iiiiiiitttttt! The moment she’s been waiting for since grade school.

“Well, they’re doing a horror movie marathon at the Westin Theater tomorrow for Halloween, so I was thinking maybe I’d pick you up, and we could go check it out?” He smiles. “Like on a date?”

“YES!” She exclaims, a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, yeah, sure! That sounds chill!” Nice save, Julie, nice save.

“Cool!” He chuckles. “I’ll text you the deets!”

Nick smiles, lowkey flipping his hair out of his face as he walks away. And within seconds Flynn appears.

“Did Nick just ask you out?” She squeals bouncing up and down.

“Maaaaaaayyyyyybe!” Julie teases. She cannot even believe she’s saying these words. A date? With Nick? Flynn couldn’t believe her ears.

“Give me all the details!” Flynn demands.

“He’s picking me up tomorrow to go to that horror movie marathon at the Westin! He told me he’d text me!” She squeals excitedly. 

“He’s gonna pick you up? Like in his car? Is your dad gonna be okay with that?” Flynn replies worriedly. Crap. She’s right. Ray is going to freak.

“I don’t know, um, I hope so…” She sighs. This is gonna take some convincing.

______

After arriving home from school, and having a less than pleasant conversation with her father about dating, and boys, and boys with cars, she heads out to the studio. 

“Guys?” She calls out entering the studio after school. No answer. This is strange because there’s almost always at least one of the boys in the studio when she gets home. Julie throws her backpack onto the couch and starts writing in her notebook. 

“Hey Julie!” The boys greet her as they poof in from wherever they came from. 

“Hey! I’m cancelling rehearsal tomorrow! I’ve got plans!” She tells them nonchalantly hoping to god they’re not gonna press the issue. 

They press the issue. 

“You’ve got plans that are better than rehearsing for our next gig?” Alex questions confusedly. 

“Yeah, what are you doing? You got a hot date or something?” Reggie teases laughing. 

Julie goes silent, not making eye contact, staring straight at her journal. 

“WAIT I WAS RIGHT?” Reggie exclaims. “I’m never right!” 

Julie can’t help but hide her smile. 

“Oh my god! I’m right! I can’t believe I’m actually right” Reggie continues before being fully cut off by Luke. 

“Wait seriously? A date? With that boy you were flirting with in the hallway?” Luke asks, with just a hint of jealousy in his voice. 

“We’re just going to a movie! It’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy!” Julie sasses back. 

“What are you going to see?” He inquires, sounding even more protective. 

“There’s like a horror movie marathon at the Westin Theater for Hallowen so we’re gonna catch one of the showings!” I inform them. 

“Oooh, guys love taking a girl to a scary movie. That way he can hold your hand whenever something scary happens!” Reggie chuckles. 

Luke gives him a look that immediately shuts him up.

Part of Julie likes that the guys are so protective of her. It’s comforting to know they have her back, but at the same time it’s like having three older brothers that could scare him off at any given moment with just a little ghost power.

“It’s just a movie. Stop overthinking it!” She warns. “We talked about boundaries, remember?” 

The boys all nod in agreement and move forward with rehearsal.

 ______

“I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me!” Nick tells me, opening the car door for Julie to get out. “I know you initially said no, but I’m really happy you changed your mind…” 

“Yeah, totally! How could I say no to a scary movie! I love scary movies. Ghosts are totally my thing!” She smiles, thinking she’s hilarious. 

“That’s awesome! The movie I chose is totally full of ghosts and monsters and stuff!” He informs her excitedly. 

Nick hands the employee the tickets, and they head into the theater. They find some good seating in the middle row, as the theater is more or less empty. 

Just before the movie begins, the boys poof into the very back row. 

“Do you see her?” Luke whispers to Reggie, Alex, and Willie who have all taken it upon themselves to play spy on Julie’s date. 

“There she is!” Reggie points, grabbing a seat with the extra large popcorn he stole from behind the counter with his ghost skills. 

“Are you guys sure we should be doing this?” Alex questions, apprehensive about the whole ordeal. 

“Oh absolutely. What kind of friends would we be if we didn’t check this guy out for Julie?” Luke smirks. 

“Yeah. This is basically research. Plus, this way, when we ask how the date was, and Julie refuses to tell us, we already know!” Reggie explains. 

This does not make Alex any less apprehensive but at least Willie came with them. He’s been looking for ways to get Willie and the boys to hang out for a little while now, and this was the perfect opportunity to get them all in the same room. 

“What is this movie anyway?” Alex looks around to see if anyone’s ticket is out. Alex has never been a horror movie fan. 

“Who knows, but if Julie can handle it, you can too, bud!” Luke smiles comfortingly. 

As the horror fills the screens, Luke watches Julie and Nick like a hawk. Nick yawns and puts his arm around Julie like guys do at movies, which just about drives Luke crazy. 

“You ready boys?” Luke says, clearly getting ready to go mess with them. 

“Absolutely not! If she finds out y’all followed her here she’ll freak!” Willie rolls his eyes, pulling Luke back to his seat by the shirt. 

Reggie hides behind Alex’s fanny pack from every spirit that enters the screen, before realizing that he too is dead, and begins relating to every ghost in the movie. 

“Don’t go in the creepy house! Don’t go in the creepy house… AHHH!” Alex yelps as the main characters enter the haunted house. He quickly notices he has left his seat and is now sitting comfortably in Willie’s lap, who is honestly enjoying the movie. 

“You scared, Hot Dog?” Willie grabs onto Alex’s hand and smiles. “Don’t worry, I got you!” He says comfortingly. Alex blushes. 

Reggie, who has officially gotten bored of the movie, begins tossing little popcorn crumbs at the screen, and other movie goers. 

“Dude cut it out?” The guy in front of them turns around, looking genuinely freaked out when he realizes that no one is behind him. 

The boys all laugh. How have they never thought to haunt movie theaters before?

Without thinking, he tosses one at Julie. 

Julie lets go of Nick’s hand, and fixes her hair, only just barely noticing that something hit her. And he probably would’ve gotten away with it too, if he hadn’t done it again. 

The second piece of popcorn hits Julie’s neck and she turns her body around in her seat. The guys sink really low in their chairs. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She whispers under her breath. 

“I’ll be right back. Gonna go get a refill on this icee!” She smiles at Nick, getting out of her seat. 

“Do you think she saw us?” Alex asks quietly to the other guys. 

“Yeah, definitely!” Willie says as Julie approaches the back of the theater. 

“All of you, outside, now!” Julie mutters as she exits the theater. 

The boys follow obediently. 

Julie stands outside the door of the theater with her arms crossed. She gets out her phone and puts it to her ear. 

“Heyyyyyy Julie! What are you doing here?” Reggie smiles awkwardly. 

“Are you guys serious right now? What happened to boundaries? What happened to not overthinking it?” She scolds, rolling her eyes. 

Alex sighs. “We’re sorry. We shouldn’t have intruded…” 

“You’re darn right you shouldn’t have intruded!” She rolls her eyes. “This was a total invasion of privacy!”  

“I know... We just couldn’t help ourselves. We had to make sure he treats you r-” Alex begins. 

“Nope! No excuses! I don’t wanna hear it! I called boundaries, and you all broke them!” She interrupts. “I’m going back in there. If you guys follow me again, I’m coming for all of you!” 

“But I wanna see how the movie ends?” Reggie complains. 

“Don’t. Even. Think about it.” Julie warns, walking back into the theater.

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, The Deal, Chapter 3.

Thank you so much for the messages and asks for this story. I love hearing what you guys think, it always feeds into my writing in future chapters. 

The morning the Hellwater clients were due to arrive at Lallybroch, a weird like energy seemed to descend upon the Frasers. Ellen who was always an accomplished host, relaxed and competent at accommodating visitors in her home, appeared to be absolutely frazzled.  Brian resembled someone waiting on a promised attack, and Jamie wavered between zealous and sullen.  I took Willie into playschool and ran a few errands in the village. When I arrived back to Jamie’s cottage, Jenny was in the neighbouring one cleaning. Recognising my opportunity, I made two mugs of coffee and went to see her.

  Jenny’s mood wasn't too affected by the imminent arrival; instead, she was humming happily wiping down surfaces. “The Dunsany sisters will be staying in this cottage” she explained, and Lord Dunsany and Dougal will stay in the main house.”

  “Jenny?” I said cautiously not sure exactly what I wanted to know. “What is it about these clients? Everyone seems so ….” For lack of a better word I hazarded “highly strung?”, Jenny looked up from what she was doing and smiled knowingly “Ach each of them for different reasons Claire”, when my brows furrowed she threw down her cloth and accepted the mug of coffee from me, “What I mean is there are different reasons for Mam, Da and Jamie to be tense.” Jenny paused over the word tense and exhaled, “Mam doesna like Dougal, her brother” she clarified.

“Hmm Ok.” I gave her a nod in understanding   “that makes some sense...”, Jenny bowed her head “aye he isna someone ye could trust too easily, and he has shafted Mam in the past”, she gulped her coffee, placing a hand on her hip thoughtfully, “These Dunsany’s that he is bringing here…they're Big business ya ken? Own one of the largest Equestrian centres in Britain, Lord Dunsany is a personal friend of Dougal’s.” Jenny pressed her lips into a thin line and continued. “They’ve been buying horses from us for a while now ….but what they are here about this weekend…well, it would mean we would be the sole supplier of their stock, they're adding onto their premises in Hellwater, and building a state of the art equestrian centre, it will be used to train the best of the best". She paused raising her eyes in exclamation. My own widened, and Jenny continued. “It would make Lallybroch into a company, probably quadruple our workers, not to mention equipment and buildings that would be needed once the deal is established…it would secure the future of our business if ya like.”

  “so a lot is riding on this trip?” I stated unnecessarily.”, “Aye," she replied simply, Jenny smiled at me, her eyes like her brother were sparkling now, and I could see pride in them, she hesitated before she spoke again, "Jamie... well I'm no the type to lavish him with praise, but he has a talent for it, Aye?”.

  Her face lit up, "he knows just the right horses to cross breed to get the best animal, and he is renowned for his handling and training.” A bolt of pride ran through me at Jenny’s words.  “I dinna ken how he does it to be fair” She picked up her cloth and recommenced wiping a window ledge vigorously. “He can spot a good breeding horse a mile away, but it's not just that,  Jamie will consider what the animal will be used for and will match it with the best breed for its use. He will decide where that animal will be best trained and the equipment or method that should be used to get the best from the horse.”

  Jenny leaned up against the window for a moment and stared at her cloth thoughtfully before continuing, "Jamie has always been that way with the horses, he handles them, and whispers to them, they're almost hypnotised by him" she crooked an eye at me teasingly, "Ha maybe you do ken Claire" . A red flush ran up my face,   I could suddenly feel the ghost of Jamie's hand running up and over my hip that morning, his mouth tight to my ear as he whispered encouraging words to bring me into oblivion.  I dropped my gaze guiltily. Jenny just roared laughing, "Well then," she said pointedly.

  “He has bred and trained horses that have gone onto compete at the Olympics dressage or racing, she explained grinning at me,” it’s the main reason a lot of our buyers use us.” Jenny clarified soberly, “Jamie’s reputation.”

  Her face blushed slightly, and she gave me a sheepish look,  “Ya can see why Da couldna lose him to Boston?”

  “So it would seem” I breathed, “and that is what has Da's dander up”, she said quirking her mouth slightly, “what do you mean?” I asked puzzled. “Well, Dougal is hanging out of the Dunsany’s like he got us the deal when really Jamie did on account of what he sold them initially.”

“Oh” I played with the top of my coffee mug, “Is that what has Jamie annoyed then?”

Jenny shook her head laughing, “Ach no, he is edgy cause the Dunsany’s drive him mad, but he has to hold his tongue, or he will jeopardise the whole deal.”

  “Well then,” I said as I rolled up my sleeves, I better help you clean up!

                                It was late in the afternoon before Jamie got home; his face held the harsh tone of earlier but softened on seeing me. “ye look bonny Sassenach, with yer hair atop yer head like that.” Strong arms came around me from behind, and Jamie nestled his chin into my shoulder. “thanks”, I said while continuing to rummage in the press in front of me. “It’s my domestic hairdo,” I replied smirking and turned into his arms, “What do ye mean?”

  “Oh, I helped Jenny clean out the cottage next door for our ‘visitors’, whispering visitors as sinisterly as I could to make him smile. Jamie rolled his eyes, “I dinna want ye doing that Sassenach”, “um well Jenny was, am I not part of this family too...that I can’t be put to work on the family business?”

  Jamie’s face lit up, and he pressed on my lower back, so my hips bowed into him, “Yer part of my family aye,” he said smiling warmly “, and I am to be yer husband no?”

  “So I hear anyway, “I said grinning foolishly at him.

  “Aye well, Jamie bent to nibble against my ear, "in that case, it's my job to spoil ye and not have ye grafting like that.” His warm lips slipped onto mine, and I breathed him in. Jamie chuckled into my mouth “Asides Sassenach, yer a surgeon, not a housekeeper”,

  My eyes narrowed as a bold smirk formed on his lips, “it’s been like a bomb hit this house since ye arrived, I dinna ken why it’s next-door yer cleaning.” I pinched him full into his stomach, and he let out a large puff of breath. Pulling me to him again, pinching my sides until I was bent over wheezing, he suddenly lifted me and threw me over his shoulder, grasping my arse almost painfully. “Where are you bringing me?” I squeaked out, between screeches into his back, Jamie continued slapping my bottom and scolding me in Gaelic. “I am”, he continued while trying to manage my squirming “going to make love to my betrothed”, throwing open his bedroom door and shutting it with his foot again, he landed me unceremoniously on his bed, so I bounced slightly. I managed to look down, Jamie was crawling over me with a predatory look in his eye. “I have one hour to make ye scream afore our son comes home.”

    His hand ran over himself as he tugged on his zipper, "god Claire" he huffed, "I never stop wanting ye" a bolt ran between my legs, as he roughly grabbed at the button of my jeans. I bit my bottom lip; smiling up at him "don't make me scream too loud" he bent to kiss me, and I continued talking into his mouth "remember we have the Dunsany's next door..." my words were breathy and lacked real concern. Jamie pulled away from my lips crooked one wicked eye at me, “Oh let them hear”.

    _____________________________________________

  First impressions, Geneva Dunsany, was far more uptight than her younger much more likeable sister, Isobel. She was currently sitting across from me cutting her food into minuscule bites, pushing it around her plate and making a face of distaste as she attempted to swallow it.

  Her gaze flickered around the table until eventually, it rested on me “Claire, isn’t it? I spotted you leaving our cottage with Jenny this afternoon but didn't get a chance to say hullo or to thank you, the cottage is beautiful” she gave me a smile that didn't reach her eyes and waited for my reaction carefully. “No problem at all, Geneva isn't it?” She nodded, darting her tongue out to wet her lips before taking a small sip of wine. I, in turn, drank deeply.

  When I looked up again, Geneva was peering at me over the top of her wine glass inquisitively. “How long have you worked for the Frasers?” her cheeks raised for a second as she shot me another weak smile.

“Well no, I don’t actually work for them…trying to add humour

I finished lamely with "well I suppose you could call it work....”

   Geneva’s brow furrowed slightly, Jamie half turned his attention from Lord Dunsany  "Well,” she said biting her lip and gazing at Jamie in a way that made me feel completely uncomfortable “I would imagine the Frasers are tremendously supportive in the workplace if James is any measure”. I came to the sudden realisation that the Lady Geneva was indeed very sweet on 'James'.

Looking to my right demurely, I batted my eyelashes at Jamie, who smirked at my subtle attempt to flirt “Oh tremendously” another long sip of wine. 

  One of Jamie’s eyes crooked at an angle, bewildered. “Tremendous at what?” he probed “Well James” Geneva purred padding her mouth genteelly with a cloth napkin, “I was just saying to Claire that I imagine your family would be wonderful to work for.”

  Jamie took a long sip from his own glass, sucking in his top lip as he placed his glass down. “We aren't too bad...I suppose?", a flash of teeth, “why do ye ask?”

Geneva turned to me a bemused expression across her face. “I was just saying to Claire she did a wonderful job on preparing our little cottage, she will be a great asset”.  We seemed to have grabbed the rest of the dinner party's attention, as I pinked slightly conscious of several sets of eyes on me. “An asset?” Jamie cut across, his lips pursed and hands clasped together, resting on the table as if in prayer, engaged.

  Geneva glanced around the room quickly, her cheeks flushing “well at working for Lallybroch estates?” she clarified.

Jamie just snorted, head downwards and shaking from side to side, “She doesna work at Lallybroch.” He said grinning, he took  my hand delicately in his, rubbing over the diamond on my ring finger, eyes soft now as they sought me out  “Claire is the future Mrs Fraser.”

  It was only a second, but I watched Geneva’s face crumble before she fixed a bright smile across her lips. Hand shakily grabbing for her wine glass, it was the sympathy in Isobel's eyes watching Geneva that made me wonder how deep her feelings ran. “Congratulations” her voice wavered slightly.

  “We are having a small little celebration tomorrow night for Claire and Jamie, and hoped ye would be able to attend?” Ellen said smiling warmly before her sweeping glance fell on her brother and it cooled considerably. Dougal Mc Kenzie was in some ways the complete opposite to Ellen, he lacked her warmth, graciousness and kindness but I couldn’t argue that he didn’t share her astuteness. Since he had arrived alongside the Dunsany's he appeared to be presenting the Frasers as a sacrificial offering on a plate, there was something in it for him to facilitate this visit and I wondered if he was loyal to anyone, only himself?

  Dougal pushed his chair back from the table abruptly, almost bouncing his discarded dessert spoon across his plate. “Ellen dear sister, would ye be so kind as to bring  some cognacs into the drawing room?” the gentleman has some business to discuss.”

  Ellen looked at Dougal bemusedly, almost a hint of sympathy in her tone when she said “Dougal, I dinna ken what century ye think it is, but my husband is well fit to serve ye cognac, and if ye think for a minute the business ye consider only involve the men occupying the house tonight, ye are very much mistaken.”

  Dougal's 6ft, 6 height did nothing to intimidate his sister and when he opened his mouth to argue Ellen raised her hand, “I will join my husband if the matter is to do with our business” the ‘our’ said an octave higher than the rest. Ellen smiled warmly over at Brian “as always”; Brian ran his hand over the back of his wife’s “as always” he repeated softly.

  Dougal let out a huff of breath and swigged down a large gulp of whiskey, his cheeks were naturally ruddy, it was hard to tell if the deeper flush was to do with his temper or the vast amount of whiskey he had put away.

  “Of course sister,” he said smiling sweetly. Lord Dunsany’s deep aerostatic voice cut through the family tension. “Ellen, Brian, I will gladly discuss the matter with you of course, but its imperative that James should attend, he is the carrot in this deal.” He clapped Jamie on the back, and all eyes flicked to him, he didn't look at all surprised at Lord Dunsany's words but attempted a wink in my direction and said: “Aye, I will be there.”

  I squeezed Jamie’s hand “good luck, I will go ahead up to the cottage with Willie”. As I rose to leave Geneva stood, “you know I think you are right Ellen, I would like to talk business too, after all” she looked to her sister, “decisions taken today will affect us further down the line”, she gave me a curt nod, and excused herself from the table.

  ________________________

  I lay awake for some time hoping Jamie would return and tell me how it went, but I eventually was lulled to sleep.

  He woke me with a gentle shake sometime before dawn, my eyes were blurry from sleep, I rubbed them quickly and ran my hand through my hair, now able to take Jamie in, he looked positively wild, his hair standing in rufts ontop his head, clothes dishevelled and his eyes bloodshot. My heart started to beat painfully against my chest.

“Sassenach,” he said in a solemn whisper, “we need to talk.”

[niall-is-my-dream]

You & Me - Part Ten

2500 words

Callie's POV

You felt like you had slept for days, when in reality you just hadn't left Nialls bed in almost 36 hours. After arriving at LAX, yourself and the rest of the crew went to their accommodation and Niall got dropped off at home. He had called you as soon as he had got home and dropped his bags in his room.

 "Don't unpack, I'm coming to get you."

 "Niall! No you will not!" 

 "Already in the car, can't be at home without you and knowing you're alone in the hotel." 

"This really isn't keeping it a secret!"

"Don't care Petal, I need you here with me. I'm missing you already."

There was a pause in conversation before you replied. "I'm missing you too. I'll meet you in the lobby."

Driving back to his, he kept a hand on your thigh, running circles across your skin. A smile of victory across his face.

When you arrived back at his, you took some time to grab some food and take a shower together before climbing into bed. 

And that is where you were 36 hours later. You had both got up to use the bathroom and eat numerous times, but then retreated back to his bed.

"I don't think this is jetlag anymore." You whispered.

"No, don't think so darlin', think this is just me keeping my girl captive in my bed for as long as I can." He replied as he turned to his side and snuggled his head into the crook of your neck.

 "We should get up and do something."

 "Or we could stay here and do something." He smirked against your neck.

 "You're completely insatiable."

 "Already told you that I can't get enough of you."

 "Come on, let's get up." You said as you managed to remove yourself from his grip. 

As much as you wanted to stay in bed with him all day. It was a glorious day in L.A. The sun was shining and you were desperate to get outside for some fresh air. After showering and getting dressed in shorts and a t-shirt you made your way downstairs for breakfast.

Niall was at the stove, some bacon and pancakes cooking, his eyes however we're glued to his phone. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Everything ok?" You asked.

He looked up not realising that you had come down the stairs, you could see he wasn't sure how to answer.

"Saskia just won't leave me alone."

"What has she done now?" You asked. 

Putting his phone on the counter, he turned the pancakes and bacon over in the pan before they burnt. Closing the distance between you both, you moved behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Placing a kiss on his back, you held him close and stood silent while he gathered his thoughts.

 "She's made it known she's back in L.A. for something on her IG. But she's also text me, asking to see me backstage when we play the Hollywood Palladium."

 "Oh."

 "I don't know what to do." He said with a massive sigh. "She just won't leave me alone." 

He took the pan off the heat and turned off the stove, taking a step to the side and turning around, he leaned against the counter pulling you at the hips to stand between his legs. 

This whole Saskia thing was causing him a lot of stress, he was on his first world tour and she was spoiling it. He had been buzzing this morning when you'd been laying in bed discussing the show. With the Troubadour and the iHeart radio shows straight after, you all had a busy week ahead.

"Text her back and explain that you think it would probably be best if she didn't. That you're sorry things didn't work out with you both, but could she not keep texting you so much."

"I've said similar to her before, but maybe I need to repeat it." He sighed. "I don't want to block her number as I think it'll make her worse."

"I agree babe. Anyway why are you cooking so much food? Are you building up your energy for later?!"

"Energy for what later?!" He replied, ghosting his lips across yours. 

You were still standing between his legs as he leant against the counter. He pulled you even closer, his hands on your bum giving it a squeeze. Pressing your lips firmly against his, he moaned as your hands reached his hair and gave it a tug. He tasted like mint where he had brushed his teeth earlier and you could smell his aftershave, the fragrance lingering on his neck.

"Good God you two!"

You pulled away from him recognising the voice.

Bex?

You looked between Niall and across the kitchen where Bex and Willie stood.

"What the....?! What's going on?!"

"Surprise!" Niall said, kissing your neck before releasing you so you could go and greet them both.

"I've got a couple of weeks off work. This one" she said pointing at Niall. "Insisted I come out here with Willie so we could all hang out together."

It had only been a couple of weeks since you'd seen her, but you had missed her like crazy. You'd been living together for three years now and although you were away with work a lot, you were never normally away for more than a few weeks at a time.

After you had hugged them both, they took a seat at the table while Niall dished up breakfast and you set about making coffee for you all. 

After catching up with them both about their journey to LA, you cleared away the dishes under the watchful eye of Bex. As you were loading the dishwasher Niall went into his office to answer a call. Taking your seat back at the table, both of them looked at you.

"What?" You asked.

"Nothing!" Bex smirked as she glanced at Willie.

You raised your eyebrows at her.

"Just love how cute you are together, so domesticated. You've been seeing each other for what? A month? You seem relaxed and at ease with each other, like you've been together forever. It's sweet."

"Says the couple who have been seeing each other for only a bit longer but are taking vacation time together!" You smiled.

Willie reached across the table and gently took her hand in his, the biggest smiles on their faces. You caught up with what they had been up to back in London, while you finished your coffee. Niall joined you all a few minutes later with a grin on his face.

"Tara has got us in to Nobu tonight at 8, so we've got the whole day free. How's the jetlag with you two? Would you prefer just to hang out here today?"

"Fancy chilling here today?" Willie asked Bex.

"That's fine by me." Bex replied.

"Me to." You said, agreeing with them both.

After changing into some swim stuff, which took longer than it should've since Niall couldn't keep his hands to himself, you made your way outside. Setting yourself up on some sun loungers, you sat back and chatted happily with your best friend. You could see Niall and Willie sitting on the edge of the pool talking. You were too far away to hear, but you could guess what the conversation was about, Nialls face said it all.

It wasn't long before Bex brought it up.

"Willie has told me about the problems Niall has been having with that model. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

"Didn't want to worry you, and he thinks he's got it under control anyway. It's getting to him though. She's in town and wanting to see him at his show tomorrow."

"She's a fucking nutjob, she's harassing him now. They only casually dated for what, 6 months? He tells her he doesn't want to see her anymore, and yet 3 months later she's still texting him almost everyday. He needs a restraining order."

"I know. He's involved his management now, they asked her team to get her to leave him alone. Tara has been watching her social media and recording everything she's texting him and posting."

"Good, I hope she stops soon."

"Me to."

You spent the day lazing by the pool, eating a late lunch and napping with Niall in the hammock. The music from the surround sound in the house could be heard in the garden through the open patio doors. Willie and Bex hadn't bothered to push two loungers together for their nap. Instead they were snuggled up together on a single one, her head resting on his chest. They were so cute together.

"I think we need to take full credit for those two." Niall whispered to you as you both lay in the hammock.

"Mmmm, all because you were perving at our holiday selfie."

"What did you expect? You looked incredible."

"Well, you didn't have to actually press like on the picture."

"Got your attention didn't it?"

"You always had my attention."

You felt his lips turn up into a smile against your head.

Heading out to dinner later that night felt strange, you'd not gone out like this before with him. You may have been together for a month, but with being on tour and surrounded by the crew, you'd not had the opportunity to go out on a proper date together. Well a double date.

Even with so many celebs in L.A., you still managed to get into the restaurant without being seen. Taking your seat next to Niall, you looked around nervously.

"Don't worry Petal." Niall whispered. "We live with people who are dating each other, just friends having dinner with them. Ok?"

He reached under the table and gave your thigh a squeeze, before bringing it back up and opening the menu.

You stayed at the restaurant for a few hours, eating and drinking. Niall was beginning to get handsy as the beers took effect. You should have stopped him, but the wine you'd been drinking was taking effect too. You were thoroughly enjoying his hand over the back of your chair, tenderly stroking your shoulder as you leaned against him.

After paying the bill you managed to get home easily without being seen. Collapsing into bed that night, you snuggled up to him and fell asleep. 

Today had been an amazing relaxing day.

The next one however wasn't as relaxing. 

Willie dropped you back at the crew accommodation, and they took your explanation of Bex being at Nialls with Willie as to why you had been absent the last few days.

You made your way to the venue and began getting setup. Niall had a morning full of interviews before he would return for sound check etc. It was a busy one for you getting everything ready for later.

You began tuning his guitars, and going through your check list for each one. The band were on stage jamming and you pinched one of Nialls guitars and joined in. One of the crew James started hoovering the carpets that Niall had down on stage. A rendition of "I want to break free" by Queen was soon started. James began copying the famous video for the song, pretending he was Freddie Mercury and soon everyone was laughing. John started filming you all, Jake and yourself adding guitars to the performance.

You were soon all in stitches and couldn't carry on playing anymore. Tears were running down your face from laughing and you were worried you might wee yourself.

A little while later it was time for sound check and Niall appeared. He looked nervous.

"You ok Ni?" You asked him.

"Yeah, of course."

But you weren't convinced and he knew he hadn't fooled you. When you helped him lift his guitar over his head and get his pack sorted onto his jeans, he looked at you and his eyes said he was far from ok.

"We will talk in a bit." He whispered as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

You tilted your head and gave his wrist a kiss, his thumb reaching out to stroke your lower lip.

With a party planned with some of his L.A. friends at a club after the show, you weren't sure when you'd be able to find out what was bothering him.

The chance as you predicated never came, especially since Niall was busy with interviews the next day. Then with back to back performances at The Troubadour and the iHeart radio show and with dinners and get togethers with friends in between, you'd hardly had a moment alone.

Waking up the next day and knowing it was a day off for both of you, was the best feeling. You looked across towards the bedside table and saw the clock said it was a little after 10am. Niall was the big spoon, his chest flush against your back. In need of a wee, you managed to slide out from his grip and make your way to the ensuite.

When you emerged a few minutes later, he was still sleeping soundly. Slipping on a pair of his joggers and one of his t -shirts, you snuck out of the room and downstairs. Tying your hair in a loose bun, you made your way to the kitchen finding Mully making some coffee.

"Morning Callie."

"Morning sweetheart. You ok?"

"All good. Want a coffee?"

"Yes please."

You sat down at the kitchen table and Mully brought over two cups of coffee and some chocolate chip cookies. You were chatting about the previous evenings events when the buzzer for the gate sounded.

"Is Niall expecting anyone?" Mully asked you.

"He didn't say he was."

Making his way to the front door, he checked the camera screen.

"Um, it's Kim and Sam from Nialls management. You better go wake him up?"

You pegged it upstairs as Mully buzzed them in, hearing him greet them as they came over the threshold.

When you got into the bedroom Niall wasn't in bed, he emerged from the bathroom seconds later.

"Hey where were you when I woke up? Was hoping for a snuggle." He said cheekily as he came over to cuddle you.

"Sam and Kim are downstairs." You replied.

His eyes widened.

"Do they know you're here?" He said glancing at the bedroom door that was closed.

"No, I came up here as Mully answered the front door."

"Ok, wait here and I'll see what they are here for. It'll be fine." He said as he kissed you gently and then left the room.

You sat down on his bed wondering what on earth they had come over for, especially unannounced. A few minutes later Niall appeared at the door.

"They want to speak to us together." He said and your heart sank.

Part Eleven

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/183234280963/you-me-part-eleven

[trashforhockeyguys]

All Your Life// William Nylander

You’d met William Nylander when you were young. Your family moved around quite a bit, but somehow fate put you in Washington DC around the same time that William’s father was traded to play for the Washington Capitals.

Despite how young the both of you were, the two of you almost instantly became best friends. Your father’s company had connections with the Caps which in turn meant you has season tickets. You could remember spending almost every game sat beside Willy, hopelessly listening to him trying to explain everything to you. Even now, many years later, those are some of your fondest childhood memories.

The following year, both your’s and William’s family moved. Causing the separation of you and who you thought would be your lifelong friend. You found yourself living in New York, which wasn’t a horrible place for an eleven-year-old to live. But you were lonely without Will, however you made sure you got to see him every time he came to town.

It didn’t take long for fate to bring you two back together though. The following season, William’s family was brought to New York, his dad having been traded to the Rangers. It was like nothing had changed between you and Willy, the two of you picked up exactly where you left off.

As time went on things changed of course, you moved again and so did he. But ultimately you both found your way back to DC for a time. But that didn’t last either.  

Even after all these years, you could still remember William saying goodbye to you for the last time. The way he fought back tears because he was trying to act tough. You remembered the way he tucked your long hair behind your ear and smiled sadly, promising to keep in touch. Or the way he said that you’d have to come visit him, wherever they landed, even if it was back in Sweden.

But the one thing you could remember clear as day, almost as if it had just happened, was the way be slowly and cautiously leaned in to kiss you. The action had caught you completely off guard. After all, you hadn’t even given much thought to you and Willy being anything but friends. But in the moment, you could see an entire future with him. It was strange the way it worked.

But in a second, he was gone, much like a ghost.

You’d tried to keep in touch with him. You both called whenever you could, but as you both got older it got harder. By the time he moved back to Sweden you knew you’d probably never speak again. But that was okay, you’d grown up and moved on with your life. To you, William had become just another little blip on a timeline. Another childhood friend lost to the years.

By the time you graduated high school, you barely even remembered knowing him at all. You still watched hockey when it was on though and went to a few games with your dad, but in no way would call yourself a true fan. You didn’t even know William had been drafted, or that he was still playing.

For college, you found yourself at the University of Toronto, on almost a full academic scholarship. You were more than excited to finally get out on your own. You couldn’t wait to explore the city and country. You were finally getting the opportunity to be on your own, no strings attached.

You’d finally ditched your deadbeat high school boyfriend, who’s only aspiration was to join a frat and go on the longest bender possible. Your parents had finally settled down in upstate New York, saying that it was always their dream to live there. You’d finally figured out what you wanted to do with your life and knew that Toronto was probably where you wanted to stay to do it. You finally felt as if life was falling into place for you.

You were walking out of one of your favorite coffee shops when someone came running in and smashed right into you, both knocking you on the ground and spilling your coffee everywhere. You’d already had a shit day thanks to your alarm not going off on time, so you were ready to scream at the person before-

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry! Here let me help you-“ The person stopped speaking abruptly, which made you look up.

Your eyes went wide. He was the last person you expected to quite literally run into. Yet, here you both where.

“Y/N?” His blue eyes were twice as wide as yours.

“William. I- What are you doing here?” You questioned.

“I live here, well kind of,” He carefully helped you up to your feet,” I play hockey here, for the Marlies.”

Your breath hitched, you didn’t know all that much about hockey, but your dad was a Toronto native and you could remember him saying that the Marlies were like a development team thing for the Maple Leafs. Which, as far as you knew, meant that William had made it.

“That’s um- that’s great. I guess I should’ve known you were still playing,” You laughed almost nervously.

“What about you? God, we haven’t seen each other since we were kids!” He exclaimed,” You um- you look-“

“Yeah, you too,” You quickly replied,” I um, I go to U of T now. So, uh yeah.”

The two of you continued the extremely awkward interaction for a few more minutes before you finally decided to run. He put his number in your phone and told you to let him know if you ever wanted to catch up or come to a game. You hadn’t seen him play in years and that was long before he was playing actual pro level hockey.

You didn’t text him for a few weeks. You’d gone back and forth with your roommate, explaining the whole situation and asking multiple times if she thought it was a good idea. In all, it took you nearly four weeks to work up the courage to actually text him. It surprised you that he texted back almost automatically.

Somehow, despite the differences that appeared in the years since you’d last been friends, you both settled back into your friendship. Just like last time, it was almost as if nothing had ever changed. As time went on, you spent more and more time with Willy.

He’d come hang out in your dorm when you still lived on campus and later at your apartment. You’d spend time with him and his teammates over at his place. The two of you became almost inseparable. You loved almost every minute of it.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” William asked before one of the last games of his season.

“Wouldn’t miss it, you dumbass,” You laughed,” Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. Plus, thanks to you I now love watching grown men hit each other for a little rubber puck.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head, something he’d started doing in the previous weeks. You would’ve been confused by it, if you hadn’t wished it’d turn into something more. It almost seemed crazy to you, but you wished that you and Willy would be more than just friends.

“Would you mind maybe wearing this?” William asked, tossing you one of his jerseys,” I mean you don’t like, have to or anything.”

“I would’ve worn one a long time ago,” You admitted, tugging the jersey on,” But honestly I was too broke to buy one, and I didn’t want to steal one of yours, unless you wanted me too.”

“Okay, right. I’ll see you after the game?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t help but feel a little stupid. He was just being polite because you didn’t have a jersey and just about everyone you knew that went to the games did. But you went to the game and proudly wore his jersey, knowing it obviously didn’t mean what you thought it did.

He proved you wrong a couple of months later. He’d taken you out for pizza for your birthday, which turned into you both talking and walking the streets of Toronto. You both joked about things you’d done together when you were younger. You knew things were changing between you two, you could practically feel the tension that had been building.

“I hated when you left the last time,” You admitted,” That was honestly one of the hardest years.”

He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. You weren’t quite sure what was going on with him, he’d been acting a little off all night. Part of you figured it was because he’d been hit pretty hard during the last game, or maybe he was starting to worry about being called up to play for the Leafs.

But when he cupped your face and leaned in, your entire body threatened to shut down. This kiss wasn’t the same as the one you shared years ago. This time you were both older and obviously knew what you were doing. But somehow, it was still cautious and careful. You could tell he didn’t want to overstep.

You found yourself clutching onto him, almost as if you’d float away if you let go of him. When you broke away, you were both breathless. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, truth be told you felt like a kid again.

“I should’ve done that sooner,” He admitted.

“I agree.”

From that moment on the two of you spent as much time together as you could. You’d steal kisses before a game, or sometimes he’d meet you at campus in between your classes. You’d call each other when he was on the road and spend hours on the phone.

It wasn’t an easy relationship, that was for sure. The distance in the off season was awful and the constant road trips were brutal. Yet, somehow, you’d managed to make it work. The both of you said it was because you’d managed to do it as children, so why not now?

Which brings you to your current situation, two years later. You, William, and some of his teammates from the Maple Leafs were all hanging out at the apartment that you and William now shared. William was lying with his head in your lap, laughing at something Auston had said, as you played with Willy’s long blond hair. Willy was running his fingers up and down your arm that was draped across his chest, which caused you to smile slightly.

“God, can you two stop being so cute?” Mitch groaned,” It’s gross Will!”

“Oh please, you and Steph are just as bad,” You pointed out.

Mitch grumbled, but didn’t say another word. I loved days like this, when we could all just hang out. The season had rough this year in terms of the schedule. If Willy wasn’t gone, you were off working at an art studio. Sometimes you’d forget how long you’d been there and Willy would have to come drag you home.

“Are you coming to the game in New York next week?” Willy asked you suddenly.

You looked down at him and smiled softly,” Yeah, my parents are coming into town for it too. You really should consider yourself lucky that my dad’s even coming.”

“Why? What’s wrong with your dad?” Auston asked, having met both of your parents when they came to visit in the fall.

“He has this weird thing with the Rangers now,” William answered for you,” Don’t really know when or how it started. But he hates MSG now.”

“Well, that and he was totally thrilled when he found out I was dating a hockey player,” You added,” But I think he relaxed when he found out it was Willy.”

“Oh? So, Willy is better than the rest of us?” Mitch questioned, obviously trying not to laugh.

“It just that we’ve known each other almost all our lives,” Willy shrugged,” I guess he figured I wouldn’t hurt her.”

You smiled and combed through his hair some more,” He also knows that you know that he’d kill you if you ever did anything.”

Willy hummed and closed his eyes, seemingly content for the time being. You were almost positive the boys would give him crap later, they almost always did, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’d gotten up to walk the boys out, but the moment he came back inside he returned to the same position and put your hand back on his head. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, little snores falling from his lips.

Your heart felt so full, you knew it sounded so incredibly corny, but you didn’t know how you could possibly love anyone more than you loved him. All the little things over the years only made you love him even more. The way you used to chase each other through your back yard or go to all the games together. The way that he’d call you after each move and complain that he’d rather be where you were.

There was no doubt about it, you’d loved William in one way or another for most of your life. He seemed to always be there, but when he did leave he always found his way back. You didn’t think you’d ever have a relationship like this until you two found each other again. Now you couldn’t imagine anything else.

“I’m going to ask you to marry me one day,” He mumbled a few hours later.

You smiled softly, knowing he was still pretty much asleep and probably didn’t know what he was saying. But that didn’t stop you from replying in the only way you could.

“Well, one day I’ll say yes.”

[jillmariej]

The beautiful art by txdora I had the opportunity to write for 

The archangel Michael steals the control of Dean’s body and he plans on keeping it. Dean fights to get it back until Michael sends him on the "vacation" he’s always dreamed about. Turns out Wincest saves the world (again). Spoilers for Supernatural season 14. Written for the Spn_reversebang 2018 

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The One in Which Wincest Save the World

“No! You can’t do this!” Dean howls, but only Michael hears him. Dean struggles to move his arm, fights to stop his legs from walking but he has no control over his limbs. “Listen douchebag, we had a deal.”

“I don’t make deals,” Michael replies to the voice in his head. “That was your friend Crowley.”

“But you need my permission. I’m rescinding my permission. I take it back. Get the fuck out of my body!”

Michael ignores him and gets his vessel some new clothes. Then he admires himself in a mirror. “I make this look good.”

Dean looks into his reflection, but he isn’t there. Those aren’t his eyes looking back at him.

**************************************************

It only takes Michael a moment to see that this earth is no better than the one he left.

“How did this place become so depraved that even its holy men commit the most immoral of sins? Where is God? Where are the angels to guide them? Why aren't my brothers stopping this?” he asks Dean though he doesn’t need Dean to speak to get the answers; they fly from Dean’s memory as the angel speaks.

We stopped them. Me and Sammy. You junkless angel douchebags were nothing to us. Now there’s only like ten of you left. You have no power here, so get the hell out!

“That's where you're wrong, Winchester. That simply makes me the most powerful being in this universe. I will set this world right. The sinners will be stopped and the righteous will rule.”

Sammy can stop you.

“He wouldn't dare hurt this vessel.”

About that. Why don’t you go find yourself another one and leave me out of your plans?

Michael admires himself in the mirror. “No, I quite like this one. It’s strong and beautiful. Yes, I'm keeping this vessel.”

You can’t do this! Dean bellows from deep inside himself. I’m getting my body back and I will make you pay for this.

“Shut up. I’m the captain now. You will be silent and stand down,” Michael commands.

Dean snarls. If Michael wants him to be silent then silent is the last thing he will be. Sammy won’t let you do this. He will hunt you down and stop you. My brother won’t give up until you’re dead.

“Killing me would kill you. Your precious Sam wouldn’t do that.”

That’s where you’re wrong. Sam will never give up. He’ll figure a way to break me out of here and when he does--

“Stop fooling yourself, Dean. Sam’s given up on you before.” Michael smirks at the pang of betrayal Dean feels. “And now he has no one to help him. You think he’ll put saving you before saving others? We both know better than that. Sam’s a big picture guy. Sam saves the world. He won’t have time to look for you.”

What does that mean? Dean demands.

“Assume he’ll be busy fighting his own demons and monsters and things that go bump in the night.”

Michael’s right. Jack is powerless. Cas is weak. With Crowley gone, no one is ruling the demons. Rowena might be able to do something but Sam would have to find her first.

“That witch can’t touch me, boy. She’s much too afraid of my power.”

Dean growls in frustration. How can he defeat this asshole if his every thought can be heard?

“I’m glad you finally understand.” Michael checks his reflection again. “Now hang on and enjoy the ride.”

Dean knows this isn’t really him doing these awful things, but it is his hands and it becomes his guilt. He makes another vow to himself to defeat Michael’s hold on him. What did Sammy use to say? Always keep fighting.

He’s struck by a memory. He can’t dwell on it, Michael might figure out a way to stop him if he does, but hell, it worked for Swayze.

I'm Henry the eighth I am,

Henry the eighth I am I am,

I got married to the widow next door,

She's been married seven times before,

And everyone was a Henry (Henry),

She wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam (no Sam)

I'm her eighth old man, I'm Henry,

Henry the eighth I am

Second verse, same as the first

I'm Henry the eighth I am,

He continues to sing loudly, off key and occasionally in an awful cockney accent. Michael doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t need to eat. So, neither does Dean, which allows him to continue singing for twelve hours non stop. His voice never weakens.

At first, Michael thinks Dean’s gone bat shit crazy. But at hour twelve and one minute, his eye twitches. At hour fifteen, he searches Dean’s memories for anything that would make him shut up.

All he finds is Sam. The song makes it difficult to focus but Michael finds a couple memories that stand out.

Dean likes classic rock and ‘80’s horror flicks. He likes cheeseburgers and pie. Michael examines every memory he can. The car seems to be very important to Dean, but nothing is more important than Sam. For his entire life Dean has made sacrifices for Sam, though he doesn’t see them as sacrifices since he did them willingly. Michael also finds promises Dean’s made but has yet to keep. And that is something he can work with.

Hunting and Sam have been Dean’s entire existence, so hunting and Sam will be what Dean gets.

“Sam!”

“Dean!”

The ancient oak door slams shut between them leaving Dean outside the dilapidated house “Watch your back, Sam. I’ll go around.”

Dean picks his way through the overgrown brush along the side of the house. This was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, but nothing was ever simple.

The sound of a shotgun blast quickens his step to the back of the house. “Sam!”  Dean yells as he pries a board off a low window.

From the inside, Sam lifts the pane. “Hurry. I don’t know how long that will hold him off.”

Dean hoists himself and a duffle bag through the window and rolls onto the floor. “Get down.”

Sam falls to his knees and Dean shoots at the giant masked figure behind him. “Let’s get to the basement.”

Once in the basement the brothers take pickaxes to the wall. When they finally break through, they are greeted by a blast of cold air and the rotten stench of death. Knowing they are close drives them on. Ten minutes later they are salting and burning and congratulating each other on a job well done.

As they pack up the Impala, Sam says, “You know, any of the newbies could have done this. We didn’t have to drive all the way to Wisconsin for a ghost.”

“Not just any ghost, Sammy. Ed Gein, the original leatherface. You love this serial killer shit.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, I do,” he concedes with a slight blush.

“And did you see Celeste?” Dean whistles low. He grins at Sam and waggles his brows. “You know she has a sister.”

Sam rolls his eyes and walks to the passenger door. “That’s okay, Dean. You can go be with Celeste, but I don’t want a set up with her sister.”

Dean starts the car and chuckles, “Your loss, man.”

************

He drives them back to the hotel and gets cleaned up while Sam pouts in front of his laptop screen. Sam does a double take when his brother leaves the bathroom in boxers and not dressed for a date. “Making it pretty easy for her, aren’t you Dean?” Sam teases.

Dean shakes his head and crosses the room to Sam. “No, man. I was just yankin’ your chain. Let me show you something.” He spins Sam’s laptop to face him and taps a few keys. “Celeste’s sister is a travel agent and she hooked me up with these.” He turns the screen to his brother.

Sam looks at the screen and then to his brother in awe. “Boarding passes?”

Dean nods, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “All expense paid trip to Cabo, Sammy. Just her way of saying ‘thank you for saving my sister’.”

“Seriously?” Sam’s eyes are wide with excitement.

“Hell yeah, I’m serious. Now go get cleaned up. I want to get some shut eye. We leave early in the morning.” He pats Sam’s shoulder as he heads for the bed. “Sun, sand, tequila and Sammy. My kind of vacation.”

Michael seduces another human to feed to his vampire pets.

This is what heaven feels like, Dean thinks, then shakes his head. No, he’s been to heaven and it ain’t this nice. Their suite is on the ground floor with a sliding door that opens onto a private beach. The resort has everything they could want. Parasailing, deep sea fishing, a masseuse that comes to your room, there’s even a grill if you want to cook your own food. He’ll make use of that later, grill up some seafood since Sam likes it so much.

“Dude there’s a hot tub,” Sam tells him as he strips off his shirt. “This place is amazing. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

His smile warms Dean more than the Mexican sun. “We’ve earned this, Sammy.”

“Yeah we have.” Sam pulls on some swim trunks. “I’m going for a swim. Wanna join me?”

“In a minute, I’m gonna order something I can throw on the grill. What do you feel like having steak or seafood?”

Sam wrinkles his face in thought. “Why not both?”

“Surf and turf it is.” Dean picks up the phone. “Don’t forget sunscreen. I don’t want to deal with your whiny ass if you get burned.”

They spend the day relaxing in the sun, drinking beers, and reminiscing. Dean loves seeing that smile on Sam’s face and he loves being the one to put it there. It’s been a long time since they were alone, just the two of them, without the pressures of a case and Dean feels years younger by the time they pour the wine for dinner.

He’s nervous about the food though he doesn’t know why. For some reason it’s especially important that Sam likes it. And he does. He tells Dean so more than once during the meal and Dean smiles with pride. He pours Sam the last of the wine but notices that he’s staring at the cooler. “Did you want a beer instead?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head. “No.”

“Are we out of beer?” Dean asks since Sam still finds the cooler interesting.

“No, not yet.” Sam raises his wine glass. “Thanks, Dean. I can’t believe we’re finally doing this.”

“Like I said, we earned this.” Dean pushes himself back from the table, perfectly sated after their meal. “The best part? We don’t have to clean any of this up. They’ve got someone to do that for us.” Sam makes a disgruntled face which makes Dean roll his eyes. “Dude I’m going to tip them.”

“No. I mean good,” Sam nods, “but I was just thinking that maid service is definitely not the best part of this trip.”

Dean laughs at himself. “What do you think is the best part, Sam?”

Sam stands up and moves around the table to Dean. He reaches out a hand to pull him from his chair. “You and me, here, alone without a care in the world. That is the best part.”

“I can get on board with that,” Dean says as he allows Sam to lead him back into their suite.

Sam pulls Dean into his arms. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had you all to myself without worrying about interruptions or the world ending?”

“Too long,” Dean whispers stretching up to kiss his brother. He ignores the slight tremor under his feet, not even an earthquake will keep him from his brother.

Michael twitches like a trickle of ice water slid down his neck. What was that? Doesn’t matter. He can’t dwell on it, can’t let it become a weakness Winchester can exploit.

He doesn’t have time, anyway.

The rumble of the Impala tells Michael this will be over much too soon. Sam Winchester and his little army of hunters will put an end to this group of vampires and he will have to start over. If he’s lucky his vamps will kill a few of Sam’s people. If he’s luckier still, they’ll turn one. But he knows they won’t get lucky enough to capture Sam.

Michael doesn’t stick around to help his brood. He has to find Anael, that whore must have told Winchester and company where to find him. She’s going to pay for that.

In the morning there’s fresh fruit, pastries, bacon, and eggs waiting on the lanai for them. Sam’s already at the table when the aroma of fresh coffee entices Dean to join him. Sam hands him a steaming mug. “Dude, I --” recognizing Dean’s nothing before coffee look makes Sam pause. “Right, in a minute.”

With his eyes still closed, Dean savors his first sips. Once the coffee does it’s trick, he opens his eyes. “Alright, what’s up?”

“Here, eat up.” Sam hands him a plate filled with bacon, eggs, and hash browns. “I thought today maybe we’d go fishing. There’s a charter that leaves in an hour.”

The green cooler captures Dean eye. He ignores his food and nods absentmindedly. “When did we get here?”

“Yesterday. Just before one. What’s going on with you?”

“Had a weird dream. There were vampires and you were driving the car instead of me.”

Sam’s eyes widen but he’s smiling. “Ooo, nightmare, huh?” he teases.

Dean ignores the teasing. “It felt really real, ya know? Like I was watching it all happen but not actually a part of it.” He shakes his head as if clearing cobwebs. “Do you like it here?”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Sam assures him quickly. “This place is the vacation we always wanted but never took. So, fishing?”

“Sure, Sammy, whatever you want.” Dean tucks into his food, savoring every bite.

The ocean is the deepest blue Dean has ever seen. It’s beautiful and grand and awe inspiring. Dean drinks it all in because it took a lifetime to get here and he doesn’t know when they’ll ever be back.

Sam is going on about the types of fish that are migrating at that time of year. He knows how big they get and how fast they swim and the best bait to use. Dean’s about to tease him for being a nerd about everything, but seeing the smile on Sam’s face stops him. For a minute. “You gonna talk the fish to death or are you gonna catch one?” His rod and reel are already set and he’s sipping his first beer. Sam gives him a bitch face but joins him, grabbing a beer for himself.

“This is the life, Sammy.” Dean grins tipping his head back to soak in the sun.

Dean’s lost track of time again. He doesn’t think much of it. It’s not as bad as when that witch cursed him and he forgot who he was. But something is scratching at the corner of his mind, telling him that something isn’t right.

He’s about to mention it to Sam when he feels a stabbing pain in his arm. “What the fuck?” He mumbles under his breath. He rubs his bicep and the room around him shimmers. There’s a brief flash of a hooded figure in the woods. “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Sam asks.

Dean turns startled, like he forgot Sam was in the room. “Nothing. I tweaked my arm somehow.”

“Huh. Weird. Gettin’ old, dude.”

“Shut up. You’re old.”

Sam snorts at the lame come back. “Yeah, I am, but you’re way older.” HIs insult is softened by his fond smile and the kiss he places on Dean’s neck when he comes up behind him to wrap his arms around him.

Dean allows himself to be encircled in Sam’s arm and tries to ignore the pain in his arm and itching in his brain.

That bitch with the spear must be stopped. Michael gathers some werewolves and puts them on her scent. No need for him to risk injury again. He looks at the scar on his vessel’s arm and wonders if Winchester felt it.

But, Michael doesn’t bother checking in on Dean. The world he created for Dean is based on all of the man’s favorite things. Winchester is so far back in his mind on “vacation” that Michael is confident he might never hear from him again.

Dean’s not bored. Not exactly. He’s having the time of his life with Sammy on this vacation, but he feels like he should be doing something more. It’s almost like he misses hunting. Maybe he only misses the adrenaline rush it provides.

Sam comes in from his morning run and pours himself a glass of lemon water. “So get this, I overheard the staff talking about el chupacabra.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment. He has the oddest sensation, like the room is expanding around him, but Sammy is waiting for a response. “So, you want to go hunt it or something?”

Sam shrugs but he’s also smiling which tells Dean that his brother definitely wants to hunt. Dean sighs like this hunt is a major inconvenience. “Okay. Go take a shower. I’ll see what I can find out.”

There are no coincidences, Dean tells himself when Sam leaves the room. He rubs the phantom pain in his arm and thinks about the figure with the spear. His thoughts are coming so fast he can’t focus. He steps outside for some fresh air and, when his eyes land on the cooler, everything becomes clear.

“That shouldn’t be here.” He turns and races back through the room. His hand is on the knob for the front door to their suite. If he opens the door, he’ll see the Impala. He’s as certain of this as he is his own name. But he knows if she’s out there, Michael still has him and Dean can’t risk the angel knowing he’s onto him.

Dean thinks about a hotel he stayed in when he was sixteen. It was in the Arizona desert. The air was crisp and clean and the sky was the bluest he’d ever seen and stretched out forever. With that memory fixed in his mind, he opens the door to the Arizona desert and Baby shining in the sun.

“Fuck!” he growls, slamming the door.

The room shimmers again and he fears Michael is on his way to tear him away from here and make this possession a million times worse.

But, when Sam’s done with his shower and Michael still hasn’t shown, Dean thinks he might have a chance. He fears he can’t hold his entire plan in his mind at once or that rat bastard angel will figure it out.

“So, what do you think? You want to hunt the chupacabra or what?” Sam’s eager expression ignites more hope within Dean.

“You know that it’s probably a dog with mange, right?”

“Obviously, but if it’s rabid, someone should put it out of its misery. You don’t want it attacking someone or something and spreading the infection.”

“Yeah, sure, but first I want to apologize about the whole Ezekiel/Gadreel mess I got you into. I know I had no right to do that, but I love you and I wasn’t ready to let you go. After you sacrificed so much, it didn’t seem fair that you didn’t get to enjoy it.”

Sam makes a face at the abrupt subject change. “Dean, I forgave you for that a long time ago. Why are you bringing it up now?”

“Because seeing you this happy is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve always wanted to take a vacation like this, with you.” Dean looks out the sliding door. The sun is at the perfect angle and the palm trees are shading the extra large chaise lounge. A light breeze is rustling the privacy drapes and the sky is that perfect blue.

Dean watches his brother pull on some long cargo shorts and his mind goes back to the tremor from the other night. Maybe that wasn’t an earthquake. “You know, we haven’t done it on those lounges yet.”

Sam snorts a surprised laugh. “You wanna do it outside in broad daylight where anyone can see us?”

“There’s no one around and besides we’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“A pre-hunt fuck instead of waiting until we get back.” Sam smirks, but he starts to undo he shorts.

“Think of it as a fuck for luck,” Dean adds with a grin while grabbing the lube off the bedside table.

Dean’s laying back, drinking in the beautiful sight of his gorgeous brother riding him, when he feels another tremor and the world around him shimmers. He doesn’t know why sex effects Michael’s hold on him, but he doesn’t care. His joy at this discovery brings his orgasm faster than he would like. Not wanting to disappoint his brother, Dean blows Sam to make up for it.

“Dude,” Sam pants as he catches his breath, “vacation sex might be the best sex yet.”

Dean chuckles and they both lay back on the chaise, the sound of the ocean waves relaxing them. The shimmer has stopped. The only thing Dean feels is the light breeze and the heat coming off his brother.

Dean chooses his next words carefully. He doesn’t want to tip off Michael, but he needs a certain memory. “You were such a badass at Stull, owning Luci like that.”

Sam shakes his head at the praise, but gives Dean a confused look. “That’s because you were there. You never gave up on me.”

“And I never will Sammy. I knew you were strong enough, how’d you take control?”

“I remembered how much you loved me. My whole life, you were always there for me. Even when I thought you were gonna push me away, you accepted me and loved me.”

And Yes! That was it. The memory comes flying back to him. Fifteen year old Sammy, drunk from a bottle of dad's Jack and crying in the rain.

“I hate you!”

Dean sighed and pulled his little brother out of the pouring rain into their motel room. “Yeah, I know. What’d I do this time?”

“Why are you hanging out with Sheila Ward? She’s such a bitch. She's just using you. She’s tryin’ to make her old boyfriend jealous. She doesn’t love you.”

Dean wrapped a dry towel around his shivering little brother. “I know Sam. It’s okay. I don’t care.”

“You should care. You deserve better. I love you. I would be so good to you, Dean. Don’t you see you deserve someone better than her? If only you’d --,” Sam sobbed.

Dean hugged him. “Shh, Sammy, it’s okay. I love you, too. It’s just Sheila can do stuff you-”

“I can do those things, Dean. I’ll do anything you want.” Sam practically slammed his mouth onto Dean’s in a sloppy demanding kiss.

*******************

“That’s enough!” Dean’s voice bellows at him. Only it’s Michael and not him.

Dean’s torn away from his vacation and finds himself treading water in an endless black sea. “What’s enough, Mikey?”

“He’s your brother. It’s one thing when it’s your disgusting fantasy, but a memory?! How can an abomination like you be my perfect vessel?!” Michael’s voice echoes over the water.

“It doesn't matter what you do, Michael, Sam and I are soul mates. We love each other. We even share a heaven.”

“No, it’s not possible,” the angel sputters. “This is an outrage! An obscenity! You don’t belong in heaven.”

“No, it's not,” Dean argues. “It’s love, pure and simple.”

The space around Dean shimmers and he has a brief glimpse of Sam.

“Your father knew about me and Sam and never once did he call us an abomination. Hell, he even wrote books about us.”

“That can’t be!” Michael growls.

“Love is Love. God is Love. Love is the strongest force in the universe. And that’s what Sam and I have an abundance of and it’s something you can never take away from us.”

Michael screams in anger and the world around Dean vibrates with the angel’s rage. He drags Dean deep under the water until there is no light and Dean doesn’t know which way the surface lies. His lungs ache, but he keeps swimming.

*********************

Fearing this is the end, Dean focuses on Sam. He remembers Mary placing his brother in his arms when she brought him home from the hospital. He remembers carrying him out of the fire. He remembers that first kiss that was unlike all the other kisses. “I love you, Sammy.”

“GET OUT!”

Michael is gone in a blink of an eye and Dean is left, collapsing into his brother’s arms. “Sammy?”

“Dean, is it really you?”

“Yeah, it’s really me.”

Dean is exhausted and silent on the drive back to the bunker. He’s resting against Mary in the Impala’s backseat as she attempts to comfort him. All he can do is stare at Sam. When Sam meets his eye in the rearview mirror, Dean tries to reassure him with a smile. Sam’s too worried to smile back.

Sam can feel Dean’s eyes on him, he’s so desperate to have Dean back he fears he’s overlooking an obvious trap. He wonders if Michael is still in Dean, hiding the way Gadreel did. He worries that the refugees in the bunker will be too much for Dean. What if one of them tries to attack Dean before he can tell them he’s no longer Michael?

Back in the bunker, Dean ignores everyone and retreats to his room. Both Sam and Mary follow him, but Sam stops her with a hand on her arm. “I’ve got him, Mom.”

“But,” Mary begins looking a little disappointed but then aquiesses with a nod.

Sam taps on the door, opening it only a crack to say, “Can I come in?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam peeks his head in. “Can I come in anyway?”

“Yeah.” Dean sounds exasperated.

Sam closes the door behind himself and leans against it. He wants to rush across the room, wrap his arms around Dean and hold on for a lifetime or two but he knows he has to wait for Dean. And right now, Dean’s not able to look him in the eye. It’s a red flag and Sam’s ready with an angel blade but he silently prays he won’t need to use it.

“I’m sorry.” Dean finally looks at him with eyes begging forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have said ‘yes’ but Lucifer had you and I, I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” Disappointed in himself, Dean ducks his head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Dean-”

“I know Michael did awful things but I couldn’t stop him. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Why’d he let you go?”

Dean looks up at him and for a moment considers telling him everything he remembers, but instead he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Sam accepts the answer with a nod and edges further into the room. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Dean huffs. “I’m not him. He’s gone. You don’t have to worry-”

“I know,” Sam quickly interjects. “That’s not why I want to stay.” He blows out a shaky breath and steps towards Dean’s dresser. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And if I did,” he sets the angel blade on the dresser, “I thought I’d have to kill you.” Looking over at Dean, he adds, “I don’t know if I could do that.”

“You could.”

Dean’s quick response makes Sam pause. Expressions of anger, hurt and sadness wash over his features. “I’m glad I don’t have to find out.” Dean has to understand how much he means to him. “I looked for you, you know. I followed every lead I could. Mom’s been on my ass ‘cause I haven’t eaten or slept --”

“Or shaved,” Dean teases with a small smirk.

Sam makes a face. He doesn’t want snarky Dean right now. He wants his Dean. He goes back to what has always worked for him in the past. He sits on Dean’s bed. “I was so scared, Dean.” His voice is just above a whisper. “I love you so much and I thought I lost you.”

Dean’s rounding the bed and is hugging his brother to his chest a moment later. “I love you too, kid.” He rubs a hand over Sam’s hair like he has since they were children with no one to comfort them but each other.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Sam asks again. “I don’t want, I mean we don’t have to do anything. I just want to sleep knowing where you are.” Dean goes to pull away but Sam doesn’t let go.

“What about the others?” Dean asks

Sam looks up at him. “I don’t give a shit about the others.”

“Mom?”

Sam scoffs. “Dean, God stayed down the hall from us. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about it so why should we care what anyone else thinks.”

Dean cradles Sam’s face in his hands and stares into his eyes like he’s memorizing them. “Yeah, okay.”

He walks back to the other side of the bed and strips out of the last bit of clothes Michael put on him. On the other side of the bed, Sam is quickly down to his boxer briefs and crawling under the covers. Dean snaps off the light and lets Sam curl up next to him. “You can stay on one condition, Sammy.”

“What?”

“Lose the beard.”

“Some people think it looks good,” Sam argues, rubbing a hand over his cheek.

“I thought we didn’t care what some people think.” Dean turns on his side and says, “And I am not getting whisker burn all over me.”

San chuckles and holds Dean close, pinning their bodies together. He rubs his beard on Dean’s shoulder before he kisses it. “First thing in the morning, it’s gone.”

Dean turns in the tight circle of Sam’s arms and kisses him with all the pent up passion of the last few weeks. Sam eagerly takes all Dean can give him. When they’re lying there, sated, but not ready to let the other one go, Dean whispers, “It was you, Sammy. You saved me. When you told me you loved me. When you trusted me with that love, that gave me the strength to fight Michael.”

They lay quietly together, their breathing falling into a synched rhythm as they drift off into the most peaceful sleep they’ve had in months.

Please check out the gorgeous art txdora made

[davidmann95]

Hey, talk somewhat on Superman's B-list villains? Livewire, Atomic Skull, Silver Banshee, Terra Man, Prankster, and any other low-level but recurring ones. Any ones have potential or cool powers there?

With minor Superman villains, I’ve already touched on Silver Banshee, Prankster, Riot, the Galactic Golem, and J. Wilbur Wolfingham. Delving into some others who maybe don’t have that much name recognition, both B-listers of some degree of note and not-quites who I have some fondness for:

Livewire has always felt like she should be a bigger deal among the Superman villains, but at the same time I get to a certain extent why she hasn’t been. She’s got a great design, and Lori Petty’s voice did as much to define her as Arleen Sorkin did for Harley Quinn, but the more I think about her, the more she runs into problems. She’s not especially meant to be taken seriously - her ‘criticisms’ of Superman are deliberately framed as petty and shallow, to an extent that changing them would essentially rewrite her already pretty well-defined personality. So what you’ve got is a villain who won’t really hurt Superman (given one of his most iconic covers is taking a lightning bolt to the chest with a reply of “It tickles!”, electricity isn’t much of a plausible threat to him) who can still avoid him while causing a ruckus throughout Metropolis, mocking him all the while…and, well, that’s Mxyzptlk. Plus, while Mxy while might bring a vague air of sleaze with him in a way that can leave Superman a touch out of his depth, he’s still deliberately ridiculous, while Leslie Willis is typically much more straightforward and pointed in how she tries to take him down a peg or two in a way that can too easily slide into showing him as stodgy and boring by comparison.

The solution then I think is to bend her away from being a character who has direct confrontations with him all that often. One of her big shticks is that she can manipulate media broadcasts, usually just to make fun of Superman before they throw down. But what if that got pushed further? Make her instead a ghost in the machine riling up idiots on message boards who find the idea of tearing down Superman simply for the sake of it a riot; she could be a one-woman Anonymous, the Bad Media to the Daily Planet’s Good Media, drawing a line under how much of Metropolis hasn’t been hearing Superman’s message at all, needing both to be stopped, and to themselves be saved from far more than a meteor or robot (which would also do a lot to counter the image of Metropolis as a generically perfect city). Ironic, detached cynicism vs. unapologetic sincerity. In short, 4chan vs. Superman, winner take all.

Atomic Skull is, what, an actor with amnesia who thinks he’s a movie villain or something? Meh. I guess there’s something to play with in the idea of his powers as inherently dangerous, evoking Superman’s own fears of losing control, but that seems kinda shallow. I know Superwoman has shown him as somewhat reforming, which seems like a good hook (some of his villains really should), but that’s a whole other angle that hasn’t really been developed yet. The one time I have really liked him was in a set of stories immediately after Electric Superman where each of the four Superman titles briefly told stories set in different eras, with a version of the Skull in the first Golden Age story. A movie star who parlayed his fame as an American Nazi propagandist, he tried to attach himself to Superman’s own increasing public recognition - given he too wore a caped uniform in the serial Curse of the Atomic Skull - claiming they were both examples of the emergence of ubermenschen to reclaim the world. Mesh that with his traditional powerset and contemporary context, and I have an idea of him as some kind of hyper-reactionary, ‘realpolitk’-espousing nihilistic superman of skinheads, alt-righters, and crazed survivalists, who see him as the firey atomic nu-human of an apocalyptic tomorrow. He could even hook up with the Supremacists from Greg Pak and Aaron Kuder’s time on Action Comics for some easy recruits and henchmen.

Subjekt-17; now here’s a guy who I wish had popped up again. Largely forgotten as a consequence of Kurt Busiek’s time on Superman being criminally overlooked, Subjekt-17 was a worst-case scenario: not able to pass for human in the same way as Kal-El, he was taken in by the Soviets as an infant and experimented on his entire life, only to be confronted by Superman when freed and trying to cut a swathe of blood through humanity as payment for his suffering. There was an interesting, painful dynamic in play there - he saw Superman as something like a brother, but in spite of his telepathy couldn’t understand why he would protect the humans who coldly tormented Subjekt his entire life, ultimately seeing Superman as so desperate to assimilate that he would fight an innocent to protect the guilty. I feel like there’s a lot more stories in him, and when it comes to the perennial question of “Are you sure you’re really doing the right thing, Superman?”, I feel like he as a victim of the establishment would have a much more consistent batting average for good stories than yet another edgy new antihero lecturing Superman about the Real Issues.

Magog doesn’t even feel like he should break C-list in the natural order of things, but he was in probably the most widely-read Superman-centric comic ever other than I suppose Death of Superman, so yeah, he counts as notable. The idea presented later on in The Kingdom with Gog as a worshiper of Superman whose shattered faith drove him to madness feels like it has almost a kernel of something interesting at the heart of it, but it feels much more so like a vehicle for semi-talented creators to write dumb comics with him that think of themselves as much more important than they are. A friend did have a decent take on what to do with him narratively though in a way that works with how he’s existed up until now: he’s not a threat himself, he’s not even a consistent or on his own necessarily important figure, but he’s a multiversal constant in that his arrival is always the prelude to a cosmic upheaval or an end of an age of heroes, and specifically catastrophe for Superman. His appearances even back it up: his time in Chuck Austen’s Action Comics was shortly before Infinite Crisis, he came on the scene in the New 52 shortly before Truth and the resulting death of that version of Superman, and now another seemingly new version of him is in Supergirl in the build-up to Doomsday Clock. There’s a lot you can play with there: he doesn’t even have to be the same character twice, but he always emerges to try and take Superman to task on some profound level as a harbinger to a greater doom for the DCU. Maybe over time he could have the same kind of narrative “him showing up means something” cache as Doomsday, but in the sense that seeing him means Superman’s going to have to ask some big questions about himself and what he does as preparation for a larger reckoning for him and his kind, rather than meaning Superman’s gonna have to punch a bone monster again.

I wanna love Terra-Man. He’s a cowboy who was abducted by aliens and got a winged horse to fly around the universe, who calls himself Terra-Man because he a spaceman from Earth! That’s great! But I can’t say the execution has ever much interested me; he’s so over-the-top without ever especially being played as a gag that I just can’t get into it. Luckily though, the solution has already been reached with him: Tom Strong’s Coleman Grey, the Weird Rider, is straight-up Terra-Man, played with the melancholy, cold competency and swagger of a killer out of time, and some fantastic stone-cold badass moments that sell the hell out of him. Just apply that personality to this guy - fearsome but not unreasonable in the right circumstances, out of time but comfortable with his new life even if it means sometimes running up against the Man of Tomorrow - and we have an instant winner; maybe not one of the greats, but not every Superman opponent needs to bring major thematic concerns to the table so long as they can pull their weight in entertaining storytelling opportunities.

And now for a few rapid-fire takes:

Kryptonite Man was one of those characters who just had to exist sooner or later, but there’s really nothing about him that Metallo doesn’t make redundant.

To my knowledge Blackrock has never particularly worked, but I like the idea of him as a reality show hero who gets in Superman’s way sometimes. It doesn’t even need to be that specifically if those trappings are passe at this point; so long as he’s another vigilante opposed to Superman, you can probably pull something out of Blackrock.

Mindlessones convinced me that Nick O’Teen has a place in the background of Superman’s world.

Paragon is a comically awful human being with the powers to back up his inane egotism and cruelty in a way that actually quite worked for me under Kurt Busiek; I think he hits on the same “oh god dammit, this guy” response from Superman that Mxyzptlk elicits, but of a different enough flavor to make him worth keeping around as a separate figure.

And finally, while Tempus would probably lose a lot of his charm if up against a more straight-laced version of Superman, in the context of how silly Lois and Clark got he was my favorite part of that show, and I think he’d work fantastically in any other tongue-in-cheek Silver Age revival treatment of Superman’s world as a way to poke fun at the foundations, hilariously enough so it doesn’t grate but so over-the-top villainously we know we’re not supposed to agree with him.