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#I was trying to make it so my account isn’t a ghost town for two months while Im out of the country

abibliophobiaa · 1 year

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firstly I love your new blog layout it’s so fucking cute, secondly I love you 💕 thirdly, for your baby prompts, I’m thinking……… butterfly

happiness is a butterfly

got a little carried away with this one. 3k words of modern day!best friend!eddie munson x afab!reader. contains: fluff, alcohol, confessions of feelings, bisexual reader, two friends in a room who might kiss (they do), suggestive innuendo (eddie’s a sweetheart), and argyle’s matchmaking ways. thank you @breddiemunson and @ghost-proofbaby for always calming my wild thoughts, and katie’s line where eddie asks reader not to make him say what she already knows. genius, that one.

“happiness is a butterfly

try to catch it like every night

it escapes from my hands into moonlight…”

happiness is a butterfly - lana del rey.

Photo after photo. Swipe after swipe. Endless hopefuls that aren’t really hopefuls, because there aren’t many of those in Hawkins these days.

No—there are merely boys, wearing the skin of men, playing with hearts with a carelessness that leaves damage in their wake. Leaves your heart ripped to shreds; battered and bruised. Wounded, but not broken, with jagged lines where smooth surfaces had once been.

Tonight is no different. Tonight you mourn your relationship with Travis. Travis, who played hockey and apparently a different girl or guy in every state. You’d only found out through social media.

One of the girls he brought back to his hotel room had posted an image on her story while he slept, which then surfaced on another person’s social media account, and then eventually became a social media article on some gossip website you couldn’t, for the life of you, be bothered to remember.

You suppose the “Travis debacle,” as Eddie has been calling it, is your fault. A guy from out of town. The allure of some famous player with a broken down car in front of the Hideout, where you worked as a bartender, that you’d had your friend Eddie fix up as a favor.

You’d tossed him his keys as the sun set, burnt orange and red across the summer sky, and he’d asked, “How much?”

And suddenly you’d spent the week welcoming him around Hawkins, as well as the intricacies of your susceptible heart. Had preened and praised him while he perused his options in the next town over on his problematic apps.

The same apps you’re now frowning at, watching the population around you continue to dwindle with every pass of your thumb.

“You know, they say insanity is—”

“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

You shoot a glare Eddie’s way, watching his dexterous fingers pull his hair back into a makeshift bun at the back of his head. Those same fingers reach down to grab your glass, chipped black nail polish capturing your attention as he draws your drink up to his lips and takes a long sip.

“Tequila. Travis really fucked up.” He chuckles. The movement has his cropped shirt billowing around his hips, tattoos on his sides visible where the holes his arms extend through as he settles down beside you. “You know, I think you need to ditch the apps. I did, and I’m much better for it.”

“You got a puppy a few weeks ago,” you point out, finger jabbing him in the ribs. He hisses, cupping his pec. “Getting a puppy is code for throwing in the towel.”

“Ozz is the cutest puppy, I’ll have you know. Look—” He waves to Gareth as he passes by, drumsticks twirling in his hands. “Delete the apps. Take a break. Isn’t there some quote about happiness? That Nathaniel Hawthorne one. You know, the ‘happiness is a butterfly’ one you used in a paper back in school.”

“One, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought of your teenage years. Of you with braces and he himself being the first person to welcome you to sit with him on your first day of school, snapping at Jason Carver when he’d brushed by you and thumped your shoulder a little too hard for his liking.

“And two, the quote is actually ‘happiness is like a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.’”

“So stop chasing it. Just let it happen. C'est la vie. Carpe diem. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You don’t even bother letting him know none of those things mean what he thinks they do.

“Eddie.”

He loops his arm around your neck. Presses a kiss against your temple. You lean into his embrace, comfortable warmth that seeps into your bones and floods you with familiarity.

He’s hard lines against your softer edges. Inky tapestries of collected memories that tell a tale of his adventurous life on the forearm tangled in your hair. His ring-clad fingers delight in toying with the tips, hair shifting between digits like water.

Calming and soothing Eddie. A constant in your life since you were teenagers, now going on ten years of friendship later. Someone you’ve always been able to turn to at the end of the day; someone who never once questions your motives, even if he might suggest you try different methods to your lifestyle habits.

And now, your dating habits.

“I’m just saying it’s worth a try.”

Maybe you don’t stop right away. Maybe it takes a date with Joe, Jim and Jessica to realize the truth of Eddie’s words. Maybe there’s some weight to pushing it all aside, stepping out of the way of your own preconceived timeline, and allowing someone to walk in at the right place and time.

And on a night such as this, where Corroded Coffin are getting set up on stage and citizens are packing out the bar to see the increasingly popular band play, it’s easy to remember why swiping on your phone has brought you here. To asshole Andy Lerman standing before you while you work. Basketball coach at Hawkins High and douchebag royalty from what you remember of him back in your years of teenage angst and adolescence.

He’s had a few drinks now. You know because you’ve served him. But all they’ve done is instill courage in him to step over to the girl who people teased in school for being a “freak fucker” by merely being associated with Eddie, claiming time ‘really did wonders for you.’

He’s staring at your tits when he says it, and it takes everything in you to not toss his next drink in his face. But in a town where money is hard to come by, and there’s not much to do by way of work, bartending pays the bills, and you’re not about to mess up one of the few good gigs left.

“Andy, it’s really not going to work,” you tell him, “but here. Your last one of the night…on me.”

With a quick pat to his shoulder, you send him on his merry way with a fuller pocket and a story to warp when regaling his friends with the time he pity-invited the “freak fucker” on a date.

“Don’t look now, my lady, but Eddie Munson is staring at you,” Argyle says, working on mixing a margarita beside you for a patron.

“He’s not staring at me,” you retort, sliding a vodka soda across the bar, thanking your customer for the hefty tip they toss your way. At Argyle’s raised brow, you reiterate, “he’s not.”

“He’s always staring. That’s the look Eden gives me. You know, the look of someone in l—”

Argyle’s words are cut short as Eddie appears on the other side of the bar, bare elbows pressing against the counter, hair falling out of his ponytail, bangs long overdue for a cut shifting every time he blinks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, thanking Argyle as he passes him the beer he knows he prefers. At your arching brow, he continues, “I saw Andy Lerman flirting with you. You looked uncomfortable.”

You snort, getting to work on a moscow mule. “That’s because I was uncomfortable. But I took care of it. I appreciate you always looking out, though.”

He reaches over and grabs your chin. Gives your head a little wiggle until you’re grinning against his palm. Then reaches his fingers over toward you, rests them so gently against your curled palm resting on the bar and pauses. He waits a moment and closes his ringed fingers into a fist, knocking his knuckles against yours.

Then he’s off toward the stage to get ready, leaving you with a knot in your throat and warmth prickling against your skin.

Argyle passes you a knowing smile and before you can yell at him to get back to work, embarrassment roiling in your chest, he announces he’s going to take a quick break and call his wife.

His words spin in your head once more. Comparing Eddie’s gazes to Eden’s. To the nature of the depth in which he cares for you. But you shake your head free of it.

You’ve been unlucky in love.

It couldn’t be so simple.

Argyle’s words don’t change much in regards to your Eddie conundrum.

They’re a phantom in the back of your mind. Wispy tendrils of a memory that feels distant now.

Weeks pass, and the warm heat of summer in Hawkins turns to a sweltering hell on earth.

The Hideout becomes quieter most evenings. Those with air conditioning prefer to stay home, remain by their pools, to host gatherings where alcohol and coolers are plentiful.

And you don’t blame them, letting out a long huff as you wipe down the counter, while Argyle counts your tips.

“Oh, how was that date with…Paul, was it?” He muses thoughtfully, beginning to split the money.

“Not great.”

“You said that about the last three. What was wrong with this one?”

And that’s the thing. You sit across from these people, trying to force a square into a circle, trying to sparse out the qualities that they’re lacking.

Not funny enough. Not the right hair color. They lack that unruly smile. That glimmer of brightness in their amber eyes. There’s no dimple in Paul’s cheek. No banter on your date with Jeremiah. Caleb doesn’t like metal, and Kayla thinks D&D is a breeding ground for satanism (you’d thought that one was left in the 80s, but it appears not).

“He said Dio was overrated.”

“Interesting,” Argyle laughs, shaking his head.

You whirl around, damp bar towel flicking water his way. “What’s so interesting?”

“Just funny when two people are so obviously similar and don’t even see it,” he says, humming to himself, conversation over.

And that was that.

It’s funny, you think, that it only hits you then.

Like the flutter of butterfly wings on your flowerbeds you’d managed to stumble upon earlier that morning, the flicker of wings on a bird in the sky. The soft beating of both, like the constant thump of a heart in a chest.

A constant.

It’s the word everything hitches on as you sit on that work table in your garage, watching the man who stopped everything he was doing when you’d called earlier at the drop of a hat. All just to make sure you were okay.

That same person who is now up to his elbows in grease, fingers stained an oily black. With his hair pulled away from his face, you catch the determined line of his mouth, the jut of his tongue pushing lightly against pink lips. The corded lines of his arms move as he works, barest hint of stomach on display when he reaches up to slam the hood of your car down once it’s finished.

You toss him a towel, grinning at the shadowy form of him blocking the sun from your eyes. “Sorry you’re doing this instead of the movies.”

“Stop that. You know I’m happy to spend any time with you, sweetheart,” he laughs, wiping the planes of his face that are streaked like the fingers pressing against terry cloth to keep it in place. “Fixed the alternator and did an oil change. Seeing as you always forget anyway.”

He walks over slowly, grunting when your sandaled foot kicks him playfully in the kneecap. “That was why my car made that awful sound and shut off?”

“Exactly.” He curls the towel around his neck. “Day is still young. How about we—”

“Why’d you delete all your dating apps?”

The words fall from you in a rush. A swift exhale that has Eddie’s back drawn ramrod straight. Rigid, but not with anger. Instead, you watch that full mouth part just slightly. Like the words he had been about to say were lost to the wind, left to titter away into nothingness.

He swallows audibly, palm sliding over the towel across his neck. “I…just didn’t see the point in them.”

Determination hardens your resolve. Brings to attention Argyle’s teasing these weeks. The wondering, questioning, burgeoning curiosities brimming. So you utter a simple, “Why?” and try your damndest to ignore the nerves welling up in your chest at the fear of what comes next.

“Just kind of felt like I was using them to get over someone else,” he admits, taking a step closer.

Your bare knees brush the tops of his thighs. Warmth seeps into your skin, bristles at his touch.

Dark eyes drag along your form. Along the dress you wore that evening, covered in flowers, a thin thing that would have fluttered in the wind if you and Eddie had been able to do what you’d planned for the day. Simple drive to the lake to eat some lunch, share a joint and fish (a new hobby he'd picked up from his uncle), then movies at the theater when the sun had set.

You meet his stare. Remind yourself of those eyes that had been on you the whole time Andy had leaned over the bar just weeks ago. Ready at any moment to come to your aid, should you have needed it. He’s never pushed you, never crossed the boundaries of your friendship, trusted you knew best.

But he’d always been there if you ever needed a hand.

You only ever needed to reach out.

Always.

You swallow thickly. “Who?”

“Don’t make me tell you what you already know.”

It’s quiet. A plea for pity that has your heart clenching within your chest.

But it’s not scary.

It’s not frightening at all.

Dozens of memories flash behind your eyes.

Of teenage years, laughing in the cafeteria, trading snacks, sneaking off to the woods between classes to smoke. Of you in community college, and his van screeching through the parking lot to take you to lunch between classes. Of nights at his place, your place, the movies, around town. Of ice cream at Lover’s Lake with his van doors swung wide, trying to make out the shapes of the clouds in the sky.

Birthday parties, milestones, weddings, grieved losses.

To highs and lows and everything in between. To all those shitty dates, to his own failed dating escapades. To that time you had to ice his lip in the back of the Hideout when Jeff had accidentally elbowed him in the face, or when you’d fallen off Max’s skateboard and ripped open your shin and he’d had to hold your hand while he disinfected it.

To this very moment, where he’s just finished fixing your car. To him with his dirty palm tapping lightly against your kneecap, feet shifting awkwardly beneath him.

Your head tips up and you catch the downturn of his lips, frozen in time by your prolonged silence.

Argyle was right.

“What?”

You hadn’t realized you spoke out loud, but confusion swirls behind Eddie’s gaze all the same, mollified only when your hand snakes up around the back of his neck and drags him downward to your level. Only when you pour your affection into him where you’re finally, lovingly, connected at last.

The fullness of his mouth against the softness of yours is hesitant at first, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to his current reality, before he’s tipping your head up with his hand. Until his fingers slide across your cheek, cupping you gently, easing you closer to him.

Before long he’s gripping you closer. Deft fingers in the dough of your thighs, tugging you flush against him, skirt indecently high up on your hips. But you don’t care. Not as your ankles lock around his waist, nor as he hums into your throat while he leaves a sloven path along your skin, learning the sounds you make when he’s tender, sweet—when he scores his teeth against your pulse point and you melt like putty beneath his devotion filled fingertips.

Ten years. Ten years of watching that silly butterfly float away into the sky, only for it to have been there all along.

Only for it to have been the man with his forehead against yours, noses flush together, your fingers beneath his shirt and his around the bend of your kneecaps.

You’re not sure where you start and he ends, but even that incites a new thrill, a new world to explore further. A desire to know the depths of him beyond the limit of friendship.

“Argyle got to you too, huh?” At your nod, Eddie barks out a laugh. Kisses you softly. “Fuckin’ guy thinks he’s Cupid or something.”

“I don’t want to talk about Argyle right now.”

Eddie’s lips curl into a grin. The whites of his teeth flash in your gaze, your fingers trailing along his stubble-lined jaw.

“I don’t either.” His thumb comes to swipe at your cheek, dimple in his cheek twitching slightly. “Got you a little greasy. Just…ten years, you know? Got a little carried away.”

You nod, reaching out to lace your fingers with his. He watches as you hop down from the work table, brow arching curiously as you tug him toward the door leading into your home. “Well, like you said, we’ve got ten years to catch up on. So before I kiss you more, Edward Munson, we’re going to shower.”

“We?” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Like a two people conserving water shower?”

You enter the small laundry room, humming as his chest brushes your own, his weight just enough against yours to press you into the lip of your drying machine. Cool metal chills your skin at the open back of your dress, balanced by the heat of the knee that slides between your thighs to pin you in place. Your body both buzzes with life and oozes honey into your system as you melt into him, pliant under that smoldering dark gaze of your best friend in front of you.

“We,” you nod, grinning into his kiss. “After that we’re cuddling on the couch and ordering a pizza.”

“And tomorrow…I’m taking you on a date.”

🦋

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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thestaredown · 1 year

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The Comic Verse Ending ....it was all written by Jughead...maybe

Posed situation. Jug is writing as the last shot of the show in some capacity implying the whole show has been written by him. Not a theory that has been uncommon in these parts we’ve certainly seen it batted around though for the most part we all think its a huge cop out.

Lets take the posed situation again we come upon Jug writing one of these abominations( Betty is there in my version but hey choose your own destiny while you imagine it), as comics not books...and that is very important as it is the magic “a wizard did it” moment that will make things have reasons.

This is just a take of the possible series of events that could have taken place to create all of these AUs if in fact we find out Jughead is behind it.

We should know I’m wordy by now...hope you enjoy this explanation for what could possibly be.

After the success of his first book ,which ends up being a fictionalized YA retelling of his and Betty's love story in high school, as per the show; Jug struggles to write as he has always drawn from the craziness of his life. (To give it nuance perhaps he’s still working on the more autobiographical version of the original novel but isn't ready to put himself out there like that. )

Regardless there is the somewhat dicey part where we aren't sure if anyone outside of Riverdale knows that the book is a fictionalized account of real events or not ( considering some more ...interesting events could have some legal consequences if not kept under wraps) however the town we are told went to shit cause of Hiram not cause Jug made them look bad in a book, so lets say as far as people know it’s not a true story.

This leaves a lot of interesting, shocking and downright outlandish content for Jug to have that can easily fold into his existing book universe. So he decides hey there's stuff I didn't add, but no one knows it’s real so lets make it a comic book extra.

It turns into a comic series based on his novel, however the novel is limited in that it has an open yet happy ending, danger gone and two people waiting on the future with a little epilogue and all. But the comic is popular and he is pressured into more ( and under a contract) but leaving Riverdale helped make life much less dramatic and he was at a loss so when he was pressured to write more, he ended up just coming up with the craziest stuff he could and they ate it up before he could say just kidding.

Being involved with life in general and attempting to write another novel to get out of the universe he created ( spend bulk of life trying to get out of Riverdale....end up in several different versions of Riverdale) because of this ghost writers were brought in, or rather secondary writers to create and continue working on the comic universe. Jughead,adamant that he needed to fix the comic universe from the death spiral he put it in ( pretending to loose Betty and succumbing to his fathers failings was tough for him to parse out on paper) didn't want the help.

So they tell him....don’t you know how comics work? Think of your part as world one. We can keep cranking out some comics with these characters in different universes. Diversify the story, give some fantasy elements, shake things up by rearranging couples. Drop the readers into a new version of the world. Create something bigger than it started that can last for a long time in 5 different ways if we play it right. DC and Marvel do it all the time.

To a Jughead who is relatively young, having pressure put on him to produce and a life outside of his writing....financial security seemed worth loosening the reigns. It’s your property, it’s like they are playing with dolls, they can tell you the story and you can contribute.

He thinks the stories are insane and hates how shallow the characters seem out of their original story.He asks them to give the female lead a new look so she looks a little less like the person shes based on.

In the end he contributes sarcasm and it’s taken seriously.

When asked how do we segue into a new universe while the old one is on pause he posits...Just blow it all up and then have the main character announce it, make it obvious its a new universe. Thus Narrator Jughead is born.

He writes the special anniversary issue himself and hopes he brought some levity to people waiting on the original story to continue.

But the new worlds multiply. There’s an straight cult AU, there's superheros, witches, all tenuously “connected” but also their own entities.

But he’s done, it needs to end. He got out of Riverdale once and needs to do it again so he begins finishing the original story, then he picks up and finishes the others for good measure. It’s imperfect, the new universes feel like incomplete puzzles and the usage of characters baffles him but saying anything about characterization that implies real life counterparts is a big no, though plenty have figured that the characters looks are inspired, enough changes were made that real life has not been dragged into this.

But its over the chapter can close Frankenstein's monster defeated and they can continue to live happily ever after.

As we close Jughead lets his harshest editor take a look.

Betty says time to finally create some original characters, I think we’re all tired of looking at ourselves.

....He never sells movie/tv rights.

Find the beginnings of a more detailed fic version of this here.

#filling in the blanks of a potential ending #riverdale speculation #except its more if riverdale does this than this is the train i believe could get it there #not shippy but mentions bughead as this is my version of the possibility and it makes sense for the purposes #and also i like it #i got all inspired today...wild #yes the ending is vauge #im having some fun today #none of this should be taken too seriously #choose your own adventure people

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theparanormalperiodical · 2 years

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Let’s talk about Chernobyl

I decided to challenge myself this week: I’m going to write a blogpost for the second Saturday in a row (given I’m posting this on a Wednesday, I didn’t make it - but I was close!). A feat I was able to manage for literal years until about eight months ago, but that’s a story for another time. And when I’ve had a drink.

To motivate myself to get started, I wanted to find a really interesting topic. And since last week’s post was about Silent Hill, ghost towns were on the brain. For some reason, it wasn’t until after I posted it that I remembered about basically the most famous ghost town of all time:

Chernobyl, of course.

But when I began my research for the post one humble Wednesday evening, I stumbled across something else I’d forgotten somehow:

Chernobyl’s in Ukraine.

You see, I’m torn on this one. I don’t know, I feel like I’m propping up a macabre history of Ukraine that involves me wittering on about the ghost workers of reactor 4, completely ignoring the fact that its citizens are actually fighting a war over there? It’s a bit like writing an article about Candyman and not talking racism about in America.

So, I decided I’m going to try to write this blogpost - but I’m really going to try to do it right. The story of Chernobyl is integral to the history of the Soviet Union, and the invasion of Ukraine this year will unfortunately fall on the same timeline.

Fact is, Chernobyl isn’t a place crawling with ghosts and spooky stories. This is a man-made horror, and most would agree its far more terrifying - and tragic - than any tale of the supernatural.

Let’s start with the history of Chernobyl - before the accident

Like most eastern European cities, a lot of Chernobyl’s history is about how frequently it changes hands. In the 13th century, it was just a crown village of Lithuania’s Grand Ducy. By the 16th century, it was part of the Kingdom of Poland. In the 18th century, it was part of the Russian Empire. And it was in that century that it’s tragic history began.

For two hundred years the city had been a prominent Jewish community, and as soon as the 18th century it was a major centre of Hasidic Judaism. But it faced a wave of pogroms by extreme nationalists (riots that typically involved massacring specific ethnic groups) in the early 20th century. Throughout the first few decades, the city was taken back by the Polish Army, and then went back to the Red Army before finally being incorporated into the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. Only decades later, the Jewish community faced tragedy yet again during the Holocaust.

But it was in the second half of the century that Chernobyl became a household name. In 1977, government commissioned the Vladimir Lenin Nuclear Power Plant, the first in Ukraine. The first reactor was built in 1977, with three others following shortly after. It generated about 10% of Ukraine’s electricity before the 1986 accident, but interestingly enough prior to that event it faced a whole host of crises.

In 1982, a partial core meltdown went unnoticed for several hours, releasing a signifcant amount of radiation. And in 1984, “serious incidents” occurred in two reactors (the KGB documents were only declassified in April ‘21, so I think that’s all we’re gonna get).

Now, I was going to give a description of the surrounding area of the plant before the accident in 1986, like whether there was a hospital, a couple of schools, how much housing and other amenities. And we know that there were these things - the intrigue surrounding Chernobyl is that there are all these abandoned building to visit at one’s own peril. There’s even a funfair, apparently. But no one’s actually given any account of what life was like before the accident. That being said, I’m pretty sure there was a relatively well-developed community that centred around the employment the plant provided.

26th April 1986

It started with a routine safety test. A routine safety test that caused an unexpected power surge and a lot of steam build up. Steam build up that caused explosions. Explosions that blew reactor 4 apart.

The 1000 ton roof of the reactor is shot off into the sky. Walls and equipment cave in. Fires begin. Within five minutes, firefighters have arrived, unaware of the impact of the radiation and wearing no protective clothing.

A day later, residents are finally told they are being evacuated from Pripyat (the nearest settlement) and surrounding towns and villages. They’re told it’s temporary. Another day passes, and the outside world becomes aware that something is wrong: radiation is detected in the atmosphere in Sweden that they trace back to the USSR - they confirm an accident has happened, but give no details. Only spy satellite photos show the extent of the mysterious accident and its damage.

The next month, a huge cleanup begins, involving nearly a million people, including bulldozing villages and culling animals contaminated by the radiation.

Throughout May workers continue to carry out measures to minimise the spread of the radiation, like installing the sarcophagus (a concrete and metal structure to encase what’s left of reactor 4). 14 years later, the final working reactor was shut down.

The impact of the accident

Chernobyl is astounding. The statistics are jaw-dropping, it’s like my brain can’t compute that this happened and this will stay like this for a very, very long time.

There was seven times more radiation released at Chernobyl than created by the atomic bombs dropped on Japan. Radioactivity spread as far afield at France. Today, it is largely considered the worst disaster in the history of nuclear power generation.

That being said, our estimates of the impact of the tragedy are probably a bit cloudy: some sources claim two people were killed in the first explosions, others state 50. In 2005, the UN predicted a further 4,000 will die (which is probably a different number now, unfortunately) as a result of radiation exposure. Official documents from different authorities all put forward clashing statistics, each as tragic as the next. And some say people as far away as Moscow were reporting signs of radiation poisoning.

We think about five million citizens of the former USSR were affected by the disaster, and today the Ukrainian government (well, at least prior to the invasion, not sure how these systems are running now) pays over 30,000 women widowed by the disaster benefits.

But most staggerlingly, Chernobyl will be unsafe to live in for the next 20,000 years, according to today’s scientists. Where will humans be in 20,000 years? Will they still exist? Will we still have record of what happened in this place? Will our descendants thousands of years in the future develop urban legends of this mysterious place where people go and get ill? Or will medical science have developed to a place where we can limit the impact of radiation or cure cancer?

In 2006, Gorbachev - the leader of the USSR at that time - claimed that Chernobyl was “perhaps the real cause of the collapse of the Soviet Union”.

So, what’s Chernobyl like today?

Your first thought is “abandoned”, right? Empty buildings, swathes of vegetation, crumbling roads with the debris and litter of four odd decades ago still being blown across it? In most cases that’s true.

But even in the exclusion zone, where it’s illegal to live, about 150 people have flouted risk to live their old lives. And they regularly have visitors from so-called ‘dark tourists’: people that visit locations where the most horrendous human events have happened, like genocide, war and natural disasters.

Although I wouldn’t necessarily encourage anyone to try this kind of vacationing, I do understand the desire to visit such a location.

The peculiar sights of the abandoned city

While civilisation decays, nature has taken over

It’s the trademark aesthetic of a ghost town: being overrun by forests, bushes and weeds. But according to studies with soy beans, plants can become stronger in radiation: they weigh more, they take up water faster and they show signs of “protecting” themselves against radiation. Within three years, vegetation had recovered and breathed life back into the region, like the spread of the Red Forest.

The Red Forest was dense woodland consisting of pine trees from which the needles, when poisoned by the radiation, turned red. What was once a wasteland soon regenerated and is now full of silver birch. And all this vegetation has helped the local wildlife flourish.

The mutant monsters of Chernobyl?

Of all the urban legends surrounding it, one-eyed birds and two-headed dogs are among the stereotypical images conjured of the region. According to one study, the genetic mutations of animals increased by a factor of 20. But there are few reported physical mutations, most of which only include partial albinism.

In fact, Chernobyl is actually known these days for its huge populations of wild animals - including lil’ puppies. Dark tourists are advised not to pet the wild animals, no matters now cute the dogs are, because of the radioactive particles in their fur.

Wolves are seven times as abundant there than non-radioactive zones (and are supposedly mating with local wild dogs), and moose and wild boar have taken over the area. Even an endangered breed of horse is making a comeback, due to the lack of human activity. And as recently as 2014, they had the first brown bear sighting there in over a century.

Dark tourists have created the horror movie aesthetic

As much as the tragic backstory to Chernobyl sounds like the perfect urban legend, the rumours surrounding it have largely been put in place by non-supernatural forces: that means us.

A classic example of this is the number of creepy dolls that have been left on abandoned children’s beds in attempt to create Insta-worthy photo shoots. Fact is, what happened in Chernobyl doesn’t need legends of ghosts and long-lost spirits, nor conspiracy theories, to rouse fear in all of us.

We can see what it would really be like if some apocalyptic incident, like nuclear war, took place. And how well the rest of the world apparently gets on without us.

#chernobyl #chernobyl disaster #history #dark tourism #dark history #true story

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legend-the-goblin-man · 9 months

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The Ol' Velseb Smile: CH 2

Chapter Two: Devil's Daughter Peering At Death's Door

Lowkey I was finishing up chapter two as I was getting on AO3 to set up an account - not realizing how it works - so here's the second chapter.

TW Heads Up: Blood, Grief, Violent Outbursts

Once again apologies for poor Spanish. Reyes is primarily Spanish speaking so I try my best.

While Bob was out hunting his daughter was out and about town enjoying the holiday. Despite Bob being in town, not very far away, the two would not encounter each other tonight. Bob was too fixated on his cannibalistic hunger and wicked craving for vengeance to break out of his tunnel vision of hunting Lila or those close to her. Bob, also being a parent, knew that if he couldn’t kill Lila then taking her son’s life and leaving nothing behind was a good enough way to make her suffer just as she left him to rot alone. Unfortunately his tunnel vision left him with little mental space to better observe and pick his targets properly. He left a victim lying outside of a haunted house - a quick snack in his eyes. He never considered who his daughter might have become acquainted with within the past five years before satisfying his hunger.

Aconite Velseb all things considered was having a very fun Halloween. Being a twenty-one year old adult trick-or-treating is out of the picture at her age so she finds fun in her own ways. Regardless, she still wears a costume. Ever since she was eighteen she’s dressed up as Sam from Sam and Max: Freelance Police, even holding her beloved Max plush under her arm to sell costume fully. Grey blazer, matching slacks, same shade fedora to complete the suit, underneath the blazer is a white button up with black and blue necktie, and lastly a set of brown work boots. To give herself a bloodhound-like appearance she has a headband like long, fuzzy, floppy ears and a shiny black clown nose.

She’s made it a tradition to make some festive themed goodie bags to give to friends and family. Making a massive tour around town to make sure everyone gets their sweets. She finds walking around town on Halloween to always be a delight, getting to see the costumes and whatnot. Usually she’d do this trip around the town with her best friend or a few mutual friends from their circle or her partner if he isn’t working. However, this year everyone made plans or was working. Streber and their mutual friend group through him: Ethan, Aria, Confi, Leon, Liv, & Blaz are all doing a haunted house. Radford, who Aconite wasn’t very close to but he was Rick’s friend so she’s friendly with him, was working at the Theatre - scary movie marathon for the holiday. Rick was working his first day at Candy Club. Lastly her aunt was planning on having an easy night at home and her cousin was out trick-or-treating with his best friend. Aconite had already dropped off goodie bags to her aunt, Rick, and Radford. Her next stop was the haunted house then she was going to walk around a bit longer before going back home to give her cousin the goodie bags she made for him, his friend, and his friend’s sister. This year she made an assortment of monster themed peanut butter cookies - skeletons and ghouls - as well as bat shaped brownies.

She entered through the haunted house through the back discreetly so she didn’t bump into any visitor, ruining their immersion. She slipped into a door hidden from view of those walking towards the exit. It was a simple prep room. There was makeup and tools lying around in the dim room. As she heard shrieks and occasional laughter start to dim down she cracked the door to pear out to the spooky hallway. It was a tight hallway, rich crimson walls with flickering candles and hanging sheet ghosts, but there were wooden entryways perfect for slipping behind for a hint of stealth. She knew he friends put a lot of effort into this and Streber was extremely excited about it so she wasn’t going to ruin anyone’s fun. The closest two were Liv and Blaz - nearest to the exit. The pair were focused on eerily watching any coming from the entryway Aconite slipped towards them with ease, expertly not making any noise with her heavy boots. She gave them both a light tap on the shoulder without any words. Understandably their haunting facade faltered in the shock and Liv almost let out a shriek but caught herself.

Aconite quietly chuckled at their reaction and handed them a goodie bag each with a bit of a cheeky grin at managing to give them a fright. “Happy Halloween.” Her words poured out with lazy confidence as she sneaked deeper into the haunted house to hand out more goodies. Whenever she heard footsteps she leaned against the opposite side of the hollow frames in the hallway then right before the visitor could confirm the specter in their peripheral vision she’d silently sneak to the other side of the frame, perfectly into their blindspot without detection. Once the visitor would move on, so would Aconite. This carried on until she finally made it to the entrance, covered in thick fake cobwebs.

As she stepped onto the old wooden porch she lifted up the goodie bag intended for her best friend she’s known since high school. Her eyes shut with mirth and a wide smile on her face as she greeted her friend. “Hey Strebz I snuck through the back to bring snacks! Got you some batty brownies-” Her eyes opened with a lazy smile but it soon twisted into disbelieving horror at what she saw on the porch. The goodie bag fell to the ground as she clenched her beloved plush closer to her. “oh god no,” Her words were little more than a mortified whisper. Curled into a writhing fertile position, clenching a bloodied stump of a left arm, was Streber. She quickly sat the plushie by the doorway and scrambled down beside her friend. He was alive but bleeding out and clearly in shock. She lifted him with her right arm, pulling him against her, while grabbing her phone in her other hand. “Don't worry buddy. I’d never leave you like this.” The fear and sadness was slowly melting away. Adrenaline took control over her mind with each pump of her heartbeat pushing blood filled with fight or flight instincts through her entire body. Despite the intensity of her heartbeat and the waves of nauseous coming in and out she was overtaken by a calmness. It was a voice in her head telling her over and over to fix it. Fix the problem. Fix the problem now! It kept hammering into her head putting her into fight mode to power through any fear and doubts that would stall others. A deep logical instinct that didn’t allow any room for feelings or personal opinions until the danger had passed.

“C-Connie?” Streber called out in a confused voice as tears slowly dripped from his horrified eyes. Aconite didn’t respond outside of a nod as she began to relay information to the emergency services dispatcher. When the voice on the other side of the phone informed her they could get an ambulance in about forty minutes her eyes bulged and a deep, worried, frown overcame her expression.

“Forty minutes!! He’s missing an arm!” She repeated with hostility.

Streber’s expression became empty with the new information. He stared off into nothing. The tears stopped flowing as his mind turned to grim acceptance. “This is how I’m going to die…?” He asked in an utterly defeated voice. He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued. “I just wanted to make something fun.. I just….” His voice faltered as regret consumed him. In all reality he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, it’s difficult to not feel responsible when it was your choice to be at that place at that time - even though there was no way of knowing there would be such a horrible outcome. Aconite looked down at her best friend, briefly stricken with horror at his slow acceptance. She’s silent, unmoving, as she looks at him. Her mind both empty and trying to find any immediate solution.

She gets an idea. She doesn’t know if it’ll work but anything is better than watching her best friend bleed out as he contemplates in real time about how he’s dying. She looks down at her phone, going through her contacts. Her tumb presses down on one called ‘Tio Reyes’. The call goes through and she immediately starts speaking to the person on the other end.

“Tio reyes necesito ayuda. Mi amigo si esta muriendo. Hay poco tiempo.” Her voice is quick as she speaks. Her expression has gone from silent horror to a focus stare ahead as her brows furrow.

“Lo que está mal con el?” Tio Reyes responds. Streber is looking up at Aconite with a mixture of confusion and desperation. He’s never heard her speak fluent Spanish like that. He didn’t even know she was bilingual.

“Who are you talking to? Are they going to help?” He stared at her desperately wanting some kind of reassuring answer. However, she just looked at him with an examining stare, barely any emotion to it. The lack of emotion to her sent a bit of a terrified chill of his spine. They’ve been friends since high school. They’re best friends. She’s just helping him. Right? “Connie?” He continued to look at her for some kind of reassurance. None was given.

“Brazo amputado.” She squinted her eyes a bit. Giving a studious look to the stub of an appendage on his left side. “ Izquierdo.”

“Connie..?” Streber tried to call out to her again, noticing how she was staring at his mutilated limb. He didn’t want to admit it but he was feeling a bit scared at the uncertainty of the situation. In his heart he knows his friend wouldn’t take advantage of his vulnerability like this. However, the survival part of his brain was questioning everything that was happening in front of him.

“Tienes el otro brazo?” The person on the other side of the call checked.

“No.” She quickly said after giving the rest of the porch a surveying look.

“Levanta el brazo.” Following the instruction from Reyes she repositions Streber so he’s laying on the deck and his mutilated appendage is lifted. She has her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear so she can use her hands with ease.

“Connie what are you doing?” Streber’s voice is filled with dread as she has a tight grasp on what’s remaining of his arm, lifting in an upward angle. Once again no response - verbal or emotional. “Why are you ignoring me?” His eyes flicker in a mild panic desperately trying to not give into the fear that was creeping up in him.

“Terinado.” Her voice is sharp as she waits for the next instruction.

“Cubra la herida con un vendaje limpio.” Reyes further instructs. Aconite not having a first aid kit on hand simply slides her gray blazer off of her shoulders, careful not to drop the phone, and removes it from her person. Once the blazer is off she carefully wraps the mostly clean cloth around the bloodied stump, using the sleeves to make a secure knotted wrap around the wound.

“Terinado.” She repeats, another instruction completed.

“Disminuya el sangrado lo mejor posible. Luego haz una entablillar. No demasia do apretado.” Reyes’s voice continued to guide her and she listened to nothing else around her. She won’t lose her best friend here. Aconite lifted Streber up with ease, being the titan of a woman she is, and begins to walk into the haunted house with him in her arms. She needed to get him out of the puddle of his own blood.

“Comprendido. Gracias, Tio.” She responded with gratitude as she held her first and best friend close to her. Feeling more certain Streber was going to be alright her expression softened a bit as she looked down at him with his face pressed in her shoulder. She could feel tears and his snotty sniffles soak into her button up. She let out a breath of solemn relief knowing this will pass. It’s terrible and it was scary, but it’s going to pass. She saw Leon walking up towards her, Confi was right behind him. They had clear concern on their face as they saw her carrying Streber and Streber clutching onto Aconite with his good arm - his other arm is not visible clearly from how she’s carrying him with his left side pressed against her.

“Did something happen?” Leon asked a bit panicked since it was clear something happened.

“Why isn’t Streber at the entrance?” Confi soon joined in behind Leon, more confused at the situation than picking up on the severity. Neither of them could fully gauge the severity at the moment.

While thinking of a response Aconite quickly remembered the fact that during blood drives they typically give you cookies or donuts to help replenish blood cells. Liquid intake would also probably be good now that she thought about it.

“Ayudarán los brownies y el agua?” Aconite quickly asked Reyes just to double check. She knows the man isn’t an encyclopedia but he is pretty ancient and knows a lot of helpful information.

“Si.” With that confirmation Aconite snapped her head towards Leon.

“Grab me those brownies laying by the door….. And the rabbit plush.” Her voice was impatient and her eyes were soon focused ahead on where she saw the prep room.

“Who are you talking to??” Leon tilted his head at her previous sudden Spanish, overlooking the command she barked at him.

“GO.” She snarled at him with a viscous look. She then turned her glare toward Confi who cowered a bit under her looming figure. “Confi get some bottles of water! I’m going to the back room!” Aconite’s voice echoed through the haunted house. The howling command got the attention of their other friends who walked trailed behind her as she kicked open the prep room door. Confi opened a cupboard and quickly grabbed a cup then started to fill it up with the nearby watercooler. Soon after the rest of their friend group walked in, Leon hastily jogged in with the specified items in hand. Aconite starting to feel the adrenaline wear off sat down on the floor with Streber still in her arms. “Puede finalizar la llamada ahora. No puedo ya que estoy cargando a mi amigo.” Aconite concluded to Tio Reyes, not willing to let Streber out of her grip. She heard the phone call end but didn’t reach to grab her phone to put into her pocket. She held Streber in her lap, trying to get him in a comfortable position. She’s just happy the shock is keeping him from screaming in agony. She’s surprised he apparently didn’t scream initially, there’s no way the haunted house would have continued operating if they heard Streber scream.

Now with his missing appendage more visible the rest of the friend group begins to recoil in horror at the tragedy before them. Aconite in the meanwhile starts to scan the room for some kind of straight beam she can use as a makeshift splint. She sees a decent looking wooden ruler. Before she can ask someone to grab it Streber curls into the crook of her neck as he starts to sob more clearly.

“It - It was a guy in a d-devil costume..” He chokes out between snot and tears as he hangs onto his best friend as if his life depended on it. Aconite’s pupils shrunk. She was hoping the description was just a coincidence. “He- H - He was huge. He ripped it off li - like it was noth- n - no -nothing.” He whimpered on, recalling the horrific details. Wanting them out of his head anyway he could get them out. Aconite trembled a bit as she pulled her best friend closer to her. She knew exactly which giant man dressed as a devil would rip off someone’s arm. She really didn’t want to believe the reality out of anyone her father could have mutilated it had to of been her best friend. She almost lost he best friend today. “People k - kept walking past me… they thought it was fake!!” Streber wailed out into her neck, digging his nails into her button up. He hiccuped and sobbed as he rambled on. “I was going to…. I… Nobody helped me…! I - I -” His words turned into gasps for air and his gasps reverted back into choked sobs. Aconite shooker her head, shaking herself free from the grim thoughts flooding her mindspace. She pulled Streber back and began wiping his tears away with a pained expression on her face.

“Could someone hand me that ruler on the desk?” Her voice was tired and her eyes barely staying focused as she stared at her distraught friend. “I still need to make a splint.” Ethan nodded his head and quickly retrieved the ruler, handing it to her. “Thank you…. All of you.” Leon and Confi seeing Ethan’s take to action quickly rushed over to hand what Aconite asked them to get her. She continued to dry away Streber’s tears until they eventually slowed down and his breathing was more manageable. With dexterity she grabbed the ruler and began to readjust the blazer sleeves to affix it to the nadaging to make a temporary sling. After that she silent turned her best friend around so his back was leaning against her and starter to try to hand him the cup of water. He began to drink it after accepting it with his right hand. She nudged the brownies toward him. He eyed them and set the cup down. Ethan actually sat down in front of him and opened up the baggie. He started holding out the brownies toward Streber with a comforting but still concerned smile. Streber accepted and took a bite. Nearly choking a bit when Ethan started to make jokes. He seemed to be calming down a bit. There were still wide eyes and tears, but he was doing a little better.

“I’ll stay with you until the ambulance arrives, bud.” She reassured him.

“Thank you.” He responded with a shaky voice as he swallowed the brownie.

“Sorry this is the best I can do.” She says somberly looking at makeshift bandaging and sling. She didn’t bring her messenger bag with her today. She deeply regrets not coming prepared for an emergency. You never expect an emergency but that is sort of the reason you always carry a first aid kit… for when you do need it. “If you have any clue where the rest of your arm is, we could salvage it with some ice.” She tries to be positive about the situation. Aconite knows Streber has always been a massive nerd. He loves making things. Losing an arm would be most likely detrimental to his passions.

Streber freezes as his mind clearly goes back to a dark place recalling the events. Aconite regrets asking after seeing him like that, having to think back to figure out where the arm could be. “He ate it.” Streber says in a hollow voice. Aconite twitches a bit, with anger this time. There goes any suspension of disbelief it was her dad. There’s only one devil cannibal that’s graced this town. She stops gritting her teeth as a joke comes to her. Bad timing, maybe. Funny as hell, she thinks so.

“Raw?” She mused out loud in a curious tone. “Damn, eating another guy raw is more of a June thing than an October one.” A tired grin plants itself on her face hoping the joke lands. To her relief it does as Streber begins to cackle a bit. “Laughing??” She says with a joking incredulous tone. “I thought you were supposed to be traumatized or some junk.” She continues to goof. Despite the dark humor of the joke, the mood of the room is a bit lighter now.

Streber swats his good hand at her. “Shuush! Shuu! ShuushhH!” He hushed her in between laughs. The group soon begin to keep trading off jokes until emergency help arrives. Aconite watches on with concern as her best friend is set on the gurney and taken to the hospital. She stands on the sidewalk as the ambulance drives out of view just staring. She almost lost her best friend. The words hit harder than expected. What if she stopped by the haunted house first? Before the attack. Would anyone have checked on Streber in time? Would visitors been able to tell reality from fictitious? How much time would it have taken to have lost her best friend? As the ‘what ifs’ fade away a sense of regret and sorrow wash in like a salty tide adding sting to the fresh wound. She can’t help but wonder if there was anyway to prevent this. It was her father who attacked but at the same time Bob wouldn’t have even known anything about Streber. She’s tried visiting her dad, the prison kept him too doped up to even talk to. There was no way to even tell her dad about any of her friends. She can’t think of a scenario where it was intentional, but she still can’t help but be pained by how out of any psychopathic killer and any vulnerable person on Halloween it had to be two she was close to.

Minutes after the ambulance leaves her view the local officers begin to pass by on their cruiser. Jack and John she recalls. When they see her standing on the sidewalk they give each other a glance before pulling over. John had a cigarette lit and Aconite’s nose curled at the stench. She was used to fumes and smoke from a grill but cigarettes always smelled disgusting to her.

John speaks first. Jack watches nervously from the driver’s side. “Aconite Velseb, correct?” The pair of cops knew this was a rather unorthodox way of delivering the news, typically it’d be left to the state, but they are right here so they might as well get it over with. Aconite quirks a brow and nods her head at him, not certain where this was going. She remembers how the first few times her father broke out right before Halloween she’d be questioned a bit due to her relation - not by the local officers specifically. Since they never found any correlation, authorities stopped asking her. She wonders if this is going to be an impromptu interrogation. What the officers actually have to inform her of made her blood turn as cold as ice. “Ah, Miss Aconite we hate to deliver the news but since we are all here it’d be best to let you know as soon as possible.” John carries on trying to be as respectful as possible. “Bob Velseb…” He tries to find the best way to word that him and his partner shot and ran over Bob multiple times. He figures leaving out the fact they were responsible, even though it was in the defense of others, is the best choice. “...is dead. He was run over by a vehicle after not checking both sides of the road.” It isn’t a lie, technically. Bob did indeed not check if a car was coming. John gives Aconite a nervous but sympathetic look as condolences.

Aconite stares at him with sheer horror. John picks up on how the news was very not well received and decidedly checks with Aconite if she needs a ride home. Aconite shakes her head in response with a thousand yard stare. Jack pipes up and asks if she has a way of getting home? Aconite nods her head. The specific words lost on her. She can’t think after hearing that. She was just starting to process how the whole ordeal with Streber was taking its effect on her and now… this. She morbidly wonders for a moment if by fate one was supposed to die and the other live. It’s unlikely and purely out of macabre rationality, but the human mind can’t help but wonder. The officers leave with not much to say as she sinks into the dark part of her mind from the news, wishing her a safe night and drives further down the street.

As the moment passes she pulls her phone out of her back pocket as she clutches her beloved Max plush close to her - the plush her father got for her on her sixteenth birthday. The phone rings a few times before a tired voice answers. There’s background noise of a horror movie.

“Hey Aunt Lila…” Aconite says in a drained far off tone.

“Oh sweetie, is everything okay?” Her aunt responds with concern, immediately waking up a little at her niece’s upset tone.

“...No.” She answers. “I’m going to spend the night with Rick.” She doesn’t elaborate.

“Alright then. Maybe we can talk about your night in the morning, okay?” Lila asks in a soft shaken tone. It's clear she’s a bit shaken up from something herself - most likely the scary movie from Aconite’s perspective. The young woman was too drained to fully analyze anything unusual at the moment. She needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere but around people who saw her as an unmovable titan. Somewhere she can be weak.

“.......yeah..” Aconite hangs up the call without saying anything else.

Her steps down the sidewalk to Rick’s house are very deliberate, trying to point her mind in a direction from her emotions. Call it taking a page from her father’s book but when she gets lost in emotions she can have rather… explosive tendencies.

Rick’s house is well enough in walking distance. It’s gonna be a thirty-ish minute walk once she reaches the back road. He lives in a small converted barn in the more rural part of the town. The barn wasn’t really his taste but the retired farmer selling it sold it for a bargain with a decent chunk of land so he took it. Aconite liked it. It kind of reminded her of her father’s cabin, quiet and away from the noise of the town. She could use a familiar comfort right now. Everything was always easy with Rick to her.

Right now though she was walking alone along a worn road with no street lights. Only memory to guide her which way to walk to reach her destination. It’s a walk she’s made a hundred times over so she’s not worried. Definitely not worried about shady people considering her flaring emotions. She’s well certain if someone tried even flashing a knife her war she’d break their arm without a thought and leave them screaming.

Thinking about the idea of it made her fingers twitch in anticipation - daring the lord to tempt her fury. Her heart quickens with a righteous delight at the faint image of a dark silhouette. Eyes locking on, she focuses on the sleek shadow as she continues walking her path. To her disappointment it is just a scarecrow. The pumpkin that makes its head is still fresh and has a beaming smile carved into its face. The festive effigy wears a bright gown with a lacy ribbon upon its hip and a sharp witch’s hat upon the sly brow etched into the gourd that makes up its head. Aconite stares down the witchy effigy with intent. Regardless if it is an entity that could cause wrongdoing to provoke her she tackles the construct to the dirt - desperate to take her bottled feelings out on ANYTHING. She’s been dealing with too much shit and she is going to make something pay for it.

As her and the construct crash into the damp soil she growls in fury. “I really thought after everything I’d get to see my dad one more time!” She grasps the scarecrow by the collar of its vibrant gown. “Wasn’t that just goddamn naive of me!” A tormented laugh escapes her as she recalls her childhood. Born into a circumstance where she should want for nothing, but fated to lose the small things she actually wanted. When not even her own parents couldn’t be bothered to give a shit there was one man she could count as a small child. And now he’s dead. She tugged at the collar of the cloth ripping in the process before dropping the innocent effigy to the unfeeling soil once more.

She didn’t get to have her dad there when she graduated. Her fist collided with the tough outer wall of the gourd - it didn’t stand a chance. Her beloved plush falls to the dirt, momentarily forgotten in her rage.

Her father would never know she put everything into keeping Boy and Grills still running after all of the years. Guts of the scarecrow’s head spill onto the chilly ground below as her hands got to work on their own accord, beating the pulpy flesh of sinless effigy.

Tears mix with splatters of pumpkin guts as she turns the gourd into a lumpy paste. She doesn’t notice the sound of a car driving up the road or the headlights that shine upon her furious form, pinning down the scarecrow. She doesn’t even notice the car park nearby her as the driver leaves the vehicle to inspect the scene. Aconite simply starts ripping apart the straw body now that the head is utterly mauled. Enraged growls slowly melt into stifled hiccups as she tears open the effigy.

“Oh. Hey, it’s you.” A familiar monotone voice catches her ears. She freezes for a moment then slowly turns her head around. It was Rick in all of his depressed glory. His presence brought a more manageable calmness over her. His bleakness helps bring a serenity to her that isn’t easily achieved with the metaphorical hellfire that flares up in her soul.

“Yeah…. Hi.” Her intensity ebbs away as a tiredness overcomes her muscles. She looks at her pulpy and straw covered hands. Rick slowly examines the odd scene for a moment before returning his gaze more directly on Aconite. He’s seen Aconite tear small trees to splinters so this isn’t unsurprising but he is shocked at her relapse into her aggressive tendencies. Out of the two of them he really thought he’d be the one to backslide first.

His brow furrows with curiosity and slight concern. “Have a fun halloween? I quit my job again.” He probably shouldn’t have mentioned quitting his job, it just slipped out in the awkwardness. Aconite just sort of slowly blinked at his question before processing his words. Her mind races before she lowers her head and her pupils dilate with vulnerability.

“Can I spend the night with you? I don’t want to be alone right now..” She asks in an uncharacteristically small voice. Rick's brows raised for a moment at her lack of bravado, something was definitely wrong. He walked next to her and picked up her plush from the soil with care and wiping off any dirt that stuck to it.

“Sure.” His brow twinges slightly as he waited for her to stand up. The two hop in the car as Aconite wipes off her grimy hands on her slacks. Rick tosses the plush in the back of the car and begins to drive to his house. Both of them needed to relax and get cleaned up. It’s been one hell of a night.

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meanwhileinstasiville · 1 year

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And I can add “lantham” plumbing to the list of service vehicles that follow me around. This time next to a campus building, in the dark, next to someone in a suit. All three things converging about where I habitually walk to that side of the street.

At the time I went nomad or whatever, some really curious things happened in rapid succession. A cousin in the next town over took me to meet some of his “friends” who were “trimmers” we shall say, for lack of a better word. You know, in the marijuana trade. That’s not too curious considering his history in the drug business back in Tennessee. The curious part was that they (the trimmers) are both open carrying guns, and happen to have another visitor “from the bar” across the street from their pad coincidentally named “Aaron”, a variation on the spelling of the name of my former boss’s son. Someone I happened to have worked with and who wants to hear a story (with the immediate threat of death in the smoke filled room). A time after that passed and back at my cousin’s/aunt’s, ANOTHER Aaron came to live with us. Who really wanted to talk about Ayn Rand, and also continued to pressure my cousin (who gets smoky eyed and thinks of murder when he’s drunk, a little like his uncle once did) into sleeping with him when the vino veritas of his homosexuality was made manifest.

(We didn’t talk much on account of their near daily blackout drunk escapades)

A couple Aaron’s, one associated with one store I had worked at, and another from the town grocery of the next town over is some coincidence. And it doesn’t stop there. We started getting a visiting “Lee” on a day to day basis, like the name of my ongoing stalker. My cousin evidently spotted the ruse, and decided to start waking the guy up in the wee hours of the morning because, and I quote, “I’m bored. Entertain me. I need enter-taim-ent” because that guy had to be there. So it could be made to look like “Aaron” hangs out there, and “Lee” visits. These things, they happen.

Personally, I wonder why people even need to make things look like that for argument purposes; all crime is organized and the valley proper is like a set of company towns stacked on top of each other. The guy yesterday who yelled “fag!” every five seconds rounding he corner of city hall and riding in traffic, more or less makes my point. The plaza “island” is where the baddest of the street bad guys hang out, line of sight to city hall and municipal operations as a constant reminder that the city can do what it wants. Until five pm or so when they have to leave the “safety” of the building. He seemed to also want to fight (which makes him sound kind of gay) after spitting at me, as a cartel hopeful fatal aesop about gang violence (because all gangs in town are on one team) and there’s copious camera coverage on the plaza (for tale of the tape instant replay).

This kind of thing is not new. Way back when, my best friend’s dad introduced the two of us to MREs like the soldiers eat, at a point in my life when I was obviously not getting enough to eat. Semi-malnutritioned and a little emaciated, in the sort of way where someone would hope I’d go looking for more MREs on the way to a military career. That didn’t happen. People keep trying to get rid of me and it never quite works out, probably because evil is self limiting, but that’s neither here nor there.

I would like to say that all this is somehow about a heart being in the right place, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. The MRE story is a little like the Family Guy, “We’re being followed by ghosts!” cutaway, where Peter seems perfectly aware of the kkk like he’d been talking to them for a long time before having a black friend. Except with nazis.

A mini cooper or two everywhere isn’t doing anything that the red hondas, blue fords, HVACs including but not limited to “calculated comfort” bearing a rectangle glassed nazi looking guy on the side of the van, assorted now red and white trucks where 70s ford rangers once were, where the red hondas once were, in terms of promoting a religious system, or a race argument, or advancing a set of threatening gestures, or selling the latinas as desirable, or alleviating the problem with being stalked around the library by shelver spy now back in the DVDs (who owes my boss’s other son for her job enough so that “You will die!” was the response to the idea that something could happen *to him* on account of her following me around the library *years ago*)

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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

Text

The Island | KTH (Eight)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) mentions of sex, someone gets punched by someone,

Notes: Enjoy this chapter guys:) Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon @mawwnsterr

Previous --- Next

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The room you are in is as cold and empty as you feel. The one single table with 3 chairs, 2 on one side and the one you are currently occupying across from them. The room feels chilling like ghosts haunt it. Maybe they do, you think. The silence is truly deafening and the wait for these 2 other chairs to be filled makes you anxious. It’s been a few months since you have been back here and it makes you uncomfortable each time but you know little by little you are receiving answers.

Finally, after a long wait the heavy door to the room screeches open. And in comes a man and woman in professional clothing—he in a suit and the woman in a dress suit. They smile at you awkwardly like they feel pity. They both pull out their chair and take a seat.

“Have you found it yet? The island?” you’re quick to blurt out and they nervously look at one another before frowning.

“It isn’t that easy unfortunately Miss y/l/n. We’ve been in search of this company for over 50 years.” The woman taps her fingers on the table. “We have yet to find them or this island you speak of.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes you as you roll your eyes to the side.

“What kind of intel agency is this? You can’t even find some lame ass fucking love company.” You spit out.

The man hardens his eyes at you as he takes a long, deep breath. Obviously trying to gather his patience.

“Here’s what we do know.” He begins. “They tapped your home, your cell, all of your accounts and spied on you for over a year. Doing their…” he pauses, biting his lip. “Research…”

“And drugged you and your parents the night of the kidnapping.” The woman picks up where he left off, “And then they drugged you again to return you home and also your parents…assuming so it wasn’t to wake them while they were in your home…” she gulps…she understands how invasive this all is.

“You didn’t think to set up cameras around my parent’s house? For when they would return me? You didn’t think to keep an eye—”

“We did.” The man clears his throat, “But they….” He drags his hand down his tired face, “This company is smart. They obviously know what they are doing. The night of your return the cameras we had set up miraculously stopped working.”

You can’t help the laughter that erupts from your body. You begin shaking your head in disbelief, your laughter dying when you realize how serious this is.

“This is fucking bullshit.” You say with a tight lip smile. “Anyway…do you…do you guys…did you look into what I asked of you?” your eyes slide to the side as you nervously pull at the ends of your hair.

“The man you were with? Kim Taehyung…yes, we looked into it. We have been working with Korea’s intel in hopes to solve this case. He has been working together with them. I cannot release any personal information though.” The woman eyes her partner and her frown deepens. “Miss y/l/n…I know this is difficult and you two have been through a lot together. But I am sure you can find a way to reach out—”

“I just wanted to know how he is doing is all.” You cut her off, “It’s fine.”

~~~~~

You stare at the letter in your hands, it’s an off white color and the font in quite fancy. Your parents let you see it a few weeks after you returned home but every night you take it in your hands and stare at it. Not knowing how to take it. The company sent it to them the day you disappeared…explaining the company’s goals. They sent photos of you and Taehyung every week to prove you were alive and well. Your parents said this is what kept them sane…trusting you were okay because they couldn’t—wouldn’t accept any other reality.

Your heart aches thinking of what your parents must have been through but not just them…your sister found out through your mom and dad about the situation and she grew so worried without you. When she found out you were returned home she immediately came to you, sobbing in your arms and hasn’t left you since.

You set the letter down and pick up the pile of photos on your night stand…it’s a thick stack. You begin shuffling through them and you feel like someone has stabbed you in the chest with a dull knife and they begin to carve your heart out. It’s slow and painful…they finally take your slow beating heart and squeeze it in their hands, blood spilling and spilling. Killing you.

Some photos are just of you but majority you are accompanied by Taehyung and seeing his smiling face makes you relieve the experience of getting your heart carved out of your chest.

You glance up at your ceiling as tears begin building in your eyes, you try to blink them back, your eyes opening and closing repeatedly. But it’s no use, not when you feel this lost and hopeless. Suddenly, there is knocking on your bedroom door and your father is walking in.

“Ready sweetie? Got the rest of your things?” He steps into the room, a worried expression on his face but he tries to hide it behind a forced smile. “We should get going.”

You quickly sniffle and nod your head, shoving the stack of photos and letter into your backpack before you’re swinging it over your shoulders.

“Yup, ready.”

It’s moving day. Thankfully you found another job in your old town that you lived in, you found a new, better apartment that is close to where you use to live, you finally are getting out of your parents hair.

“Alright let’s get this show on the road!” your dad pats you on the back as you walk past him. He’s got the truck loaded and ready to go for the couple hour drive. Back to the city!

“This place is so much nicer than your last!” Your sister sets a box down on your new kitchen counter, “You actually have a decent sized kitchen! Not that you really cook.” She laughs.

“Hey!” you whine, “I told you I learned quite a bit of cooking while on the island.”

“You also told me that your boyfriend cooked a lot too…so I’ll just assume he did all the work.” She teases and your face falls.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Your lips curls so far down that it’s almost comical but alas, it is not because you feel your eyes sting.

“Sorry…” your sister walks to the living room, joining you. She reaches for the box in your arms and sets it down on the floor. “y/n…just message him.”

“…I can’t.” you feel your chest start to burn, “The way things got left…I don’t know how to speak to him.” you admit. “and it’s been so long. If he hasn’t already moved on then he at least hates my guts.”

“Yeah I probably would too.” Your sister nods her head and you swat her arm.

“Thanks Ellie.” You deadpan. “Anyway, I just can’t.”

“He is probably waiting for you…he loves you.”

“You don’t know him?” you laugh quietly, “So how would you know?”

“I’ve seen the pictures of you two, in the moment pictures, and dude, he looks so taken with you in every single one.”

You can’t help the way your heart drops to your stomach. You told him you thought your feeling may not be real…those are some of your last words to him and that kills you. Without a doubt he has had to have moved on from you…why would he torture himself?

Later that night you are snuggled up in your bed with your sister snoozing beside you. You have your phone (Damn you missed this device) and are scrolling through Taehyung’s Instagram. You notice he posted a new group photo just 4 hours ago. You look at all the tags and see all his friends…Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, Jimin and Jungkook. But there are also a few girls in the photo. You notice the tag for Hana. You hate that your heart completely stops beating in your chest then suddenly starts racing. Hana. He’s hanging out with Hana? Wait, why are you surprised? You take a deep breath and click her name to view her page and then that’s when your heart really stops. Her most recent photo is of her and Taehyung, their faces smooshed together with wide smiles on their faces with the caption “Missed you.” With pink hearts.

She’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. No wonder Taehyung liked her. Liked? Or likes? Are they together now? They look awfully close. You feel your eyes sting for the millionth time this day and they begin to bubble with tears. This is your fault. You pushed him away, so far away, into another woman’s arms. You start to feel lost and hopeless again…you decide stalking Taehyung through social media probably isn’t the healthiest thing for you or your heart. You continue scrolling on Hana’s page…she has lots of photos with friends, pretty Korean scenery, selfies and more. She looks lively and beautiful, oh so fucking beautiful.

You exit the app and click your phone off. You squeeze your eyes shut and a few pathetic tears that you do not deserve slide out and down your face. You really need to move on, you really need to focus on you. But how can you when a huge part of you feels like it’s been ripped from you? Taehyung was a part of you and you think he still is. You feel crushed, fucking crushed. He is probably with Hana now and you absolutely cannot blame him.

Taehyung is doing fine. Just fine. With or without you. And that reality is setting in and it hurts. It fucking hurts. But you have no one to blame but yourself.

“Why are you doing this, huh? Things were so perfect.” He stops in front of you and pulls you up by the arms. Your chests almost touch from how close you are. “Unless…” he looks down at his feet, “You’re saying all of this because that’s how you feel. You’re the one unsure of your feelings. You’re the one who only likes me—loves me—because there’s no one else.” He looks into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Maybe.” You finally say. And you wish you didn’t because Taehyung releases a shaky breath and his brows crease together as he forms the saddest smile you have ever seen. The canvas of his life is full of beautiful bright colors but you continue to splatter blue and grey paint all over it. The paint mixes together and drips down, a gloomy mess.

“Oh.” He steps back. “I see.” He takes another step back, carding his fingers through his hair. He looks into your eyes as his gloss over, “I’ll leave you alone then.” And he turns around and walks out of the room, leaving you behind.

Why does this scene replay in your mind every single day. Every single night. His sad, sad expression leaving an ever lasting imprint in your mind. You feel broken, but you also feel angry. How dare the company send you back when you and Taehyung have so much to resolve? What is the purpose? What are their intentions? You ball the sheets in your hands as you release breath after frustrated breath. What was the point of all this? Somewhere deep in your gut you feel like this isn’t over. You feel like the company still has some ties to you…you can’t explain it…just a gut feeling.

To say you hate yourself is an understatement. You truly can’t stand to even look yourself in the mirror. You ruined the best thing that has ever happened to you—Taehyung. But you should be happy, right? He’s doing well. He has his friends, his family, Hana. He is absolutely 100% doing just fine and you have to accept that.

~~~~~

“You can’t live like this dude.” Namjoon throws a trash bag on to Taehyung’s bed, signaling him to use it.

“Yeah…Joon is right.” Jimin starts picking up some trash off the floor…mostly empty food containers. “This is getting out of hand. I know things haven’t been easy—”

Jimin is cut off with Taehyung groaning loudly and dramatically. He lifts his head off his pillow, his face evident with sleep as he eyes his two friends in his apartment.

“Get up.” Namjoon lightly kicks the bed with his foot, “And open a damn window or something.”

“And maybe take a shower. You reek of this hangover I am sure you have…” Jimin sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand going to Taehyung’s back, rubbing it soothingly. “She isn’t coming around Tae.” Jimin says as softly as possible, “She isn’t—”

“We don’t know that.” Taehyung cuts him off, grumbling. “She could.”

“You said it yourself, she isn’t sure of her feelings…why aren’t you letting it go?” Namjoon sits down on the bed as well.

“I know her.” Taehyung begins to sit up from his place in bed, his hand flying up to his pounding head. “Fuck. I’m hungover.” He complains.

“You went too hard last night.” Jimin frowns, “Again.”

“So what? You think she lied to you? That she does love you?”

“She was just scared.” Taehyung whispers. “Trust me, I know her.” He repeats again.

Jimin and Namjoon share a look of pity mixed with concern. Jimin stands from the bed, taking the trash bag with him, he opens it up and starts filling it with the garbage around the apartment. Taehyung just watches Jimin clean up and he starts to feel a sense of guilt. Maybe he has been a handful the last few months.

Taehyung is trying his best though.

The unfamiliar bed along with the unfamiliar room was indication enough that Taehyung was in a place without you. It only took him halves of seconds to realize he was in his parents’ home in their spare room. A place he didn’t frequent very often. But he understood his situation right away. The island returned him home to Korea but suddenly this place feels like the last place like home.

When he made his existence known to his mother and father they cried over and over for their son. His father going on about his regrets, how he wishes he would have supported Taehyung more in following his own dreams and so on. His mother wishing she had cooked his favorite meal more often. They basically took his disappearance on the island as his death. At least that’s how Taehyung sees it.

His parents’ received the letter as well, even the photographs. They know all about you. They know that Taehyung is in love, they know Taehyung heart aches. They know everything. They were honestly rooting for you two…they could see how much love went on between the two of you even through pictures.

But as the days went on, as the weeks went on and as the months went on, Taehyung started to feel like he is withering away with every day that passed that you did not reach out to him. Did your time on the island with him mean nothing to you? Even if you ‘maybe’ weren’t in love with him like you claimed you were still friends for god’s sake. You still without a doubt had a powerful connection.

Things have been hard. Really fucking hard. But nothing is harder than the day when the Korean intel agency notified him that you were good, that you were okay. That you were home. But they could not release any personal information. You were home…you were okay…but you still have not reached out? He’s relieved you’re well but that also comes with the disappointment that you are choosing to stay to yourself.

“Yoongi wants to work on that new song tonight, what do you say?” Namjoon stands from the bed as well and makes his way into the small kitchen for a glass of water.

“Not in the mood.” Taehyung mumbles underneath his breath.

“Listen Taehyung…” Namjoon walks back into the room, his hands crossed over his chest as he looks at Taehyung with narrowed eyes.

“If you’re serious about this, being with her, that is. Then fucking do something about it.” Namjoon continues to stare down at him while Jimin keeps cleaning.

“I don’t have her number, I can’t find her anywhere on the internet and I barely know where she lives. What the fuck can I do?” Taehyung grits out, raising his voice just the slightest as he talks.

“….There has to be something.” Jimin speaks up. “A clue.”

“A fucking clue? What are we? Fucking detectives?” Taehyung throws his hands up, frustrated.

“Jimin’s right.” Namjoon uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through his hair, “She must have mentioned something, anything. You have to think.”

“You think I have the mental capability to think right now?” Taehyung questions with a bitter chuckle. “She doesn’t do much. She never mentioned some grand event she goes to every year, she didn’t mention what school she went to, she didn’t mention what company she worked for, she didn’t fucking mention anything. She stays to herself.” Then Taehyung’s eyes go wide.

“You know I use to go to this coffee place almost every single day. I miss it. That routine. It’s called ------------…a small, family owned shop. Only one of its kind. I would read, write, journal. Just relax. Every day.” You breathe out, missing your comfort spot.

Taehyung rushes to stand from the bed, he is quick to scoop Jimin up in his arms and place a dramatic kiss to his cheek.

“Jimin you fucking genius!” Taehyung suddenly remembered the night you had a panic attack. When you calmed down enough to speak you told him all the things you missed about your real life. Including some coffee place you would frequent on the regular. But he cannot remember the name of it for the life of him.

“What? What?” Jimin starts giggling, “Why?”

“A coffee shop! She used to go to a coffee shop!” Taehyung basically yells in excitement.

“Okay, what’s it called?” Namjoon smiles and immediately Taehyung expression turns sour.

“I…I don’t remember. But it was family owned, only one of its kind.”

Namjoon can’t help the frown that decorates his face but then he tries to smile.

“Better start doing your research lover boy.”

“Cozy Coffee. It’s in (Your city).” Taehyung slams a sheet of paper onto the bar top in front of Namjoon. “I found it.”

“What’d you find?” Jin asks from besides him, “Wait that place y/n goes to?”

Taehyung nods his head quickly with a wide ass smile adoring his face.

“Yup.”

“Now what, kid?” Yoongi brings his beer to his lips as he takes a generous sip. “You going to call that place and ask for her?” he laughs a little.

“No.” Taehyung straightens his back as he speaks. “I’m going there.”

“You’re…” Hobi begins but stops when he sees how serious Taehyung is.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jungkook starts shaking his head. “This girl—”

“y/n.” Taehyung snaps.

“Right…” Jungkook gulps. “y/n…she ignores you these last 6 months and you are still trying to be with her?”

All of the boys share looks with one another, frowns on everyone’s faces.

“Jungkook is right—”

“Tae told her he would do whatever it takes…he also believes in her feelings. So let’s believe in him.” Jimin cuts in, his hand going to Taehyung’s shoulder and giving him a smile.

“Jimin is right…” Namjoon breathes out, “Let’s trust in our Taehyungie.”

“But don’t forget what she did to you Taehyung.” Jungkook whispers seriously. “You weren’t okay…”

Another day passes and still, nothing from you. Taehyung brings yet another bottle of soju to his mouth as he starts downing it. He feels his world collapsing around him. He feels how everything around him is cracking and breaking apart. But the most cracked, broken thing is him. He looks at himself in the mirror and stares into his empty eyes, these same eyes that used to gaze at you. These same eyes that saw your smile, laugh, cry. These same eyes that undressed you. These same eyes that saw you coming undone over and over. These same eyes.

Taehyung chugs back his drink, his eyes never leaving his reflection as he finishes the bottle. He made a mistake tonight, a drunken mistake but a mistake nonetheless. He slept with Hana. Taehyung, the boys and Hana and her girlfriends were all at the bar tonight and he just doesn’t see her that way. Yet, he was inside her just an hour ago. He slowly closes his eyes, regret and guilt filling his entire being. What the fuck did he do?

His life is all over the place, a mess, if you will. A big, fat messy mess. He got a new apartment, leaving his parents’ house and he doesn’t think he has cleaned it even once since moving in. He drowns in alcohol, he drowns in unfinished songs, he drowns in his friends concerns and mostly? He drowns in you.

He stares at your photographs an unhealthy amount. He has cried over your photos countless times, he has touched himself to them too. Somehow that is more satisfying than the sex he just shared with Hana. The empty fuck he just gave her haunts him in this very mirror. Did he betray you? Have you also fucked someone new? Have you moved on?

Taehyung stares at himself, hating what he sees. You’re doing this to him. He went from being miserably depressed to angry. He’s beginning to blame you for everything with rage. But as much as he wants to hate you—he does want to—he just can’t. He can’t gather that type of energy in your direction. He just can’t.

Hana looks very pretty tonight…she’s been trying extra hard lately, Taehyung thinks. She is always casually got a hand on his arm, she always finds a way to be standing next to him, talking to him, leaning into him. Taehyung isn’t stupid. She wants him still. She apparently dated during the 8 months he was gone but nothing serious came from it. And now here she is, sleeping on his bed as he drinks by himself in his bathroom mirror.

So many different thoughts have gone through Taehyung’s head. Is he hard to love? That’s the main question that came out of all of this. You spent every day with him for 8 months and you weren’t even sure of your feelings. Shouldn’t a person know by then? He’s trying to be understanding…he is trying so fucking hard to understand but how can he? When he is balls deep in love with you and he doesn’t have to question it at all.

He is spiraling, he is being sucked into a darkness that he can’t crawl out of. He looks at himself in the mirror again, his eyes narrowing at his own reflection—disgusted with what he sees. He grips the empty bottle of soju as he feels his eyes wet with tears. He grips on to the bottle harder and harder, tears now leaving his big brown eyes. He growls out, groaning in frustration as he lifts the bottle up and throws it at his mirror. Glass shattering everywhere.

Startled, Hana jumps from the bed and rushes to the loud sound, finding Taehyung just standing lifeless, continuing to eye himself in the broken mirror. He likes what he sees much better. The cracked glass making for a better reflection, a more accurate representation of what he truly sees when he views himself.

“What the fuck?!” Hana yells out, rushing to Taehyungs side. “Are you okay???”

Taehyung walks closer to the mirror and lightly slides his hand down the cracked mirror, his fingers careful not to get cut.

“No.” he answers honestly and quietly. “I’m not.”

“I’m fine, Jungkook.” Taehyung assures him, “At least I will be…when I see her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to see you?” Yoongi says quietly, worried for his friend. He brings his beer to the bar top and stares at the liquid.

“I’ll get to that when I get to that.” Taehyung sighs out…”I can’t let go of this until I know for sure.”

~~~~~~

Settling into your new job has been smooth, thankfully. It’s only been a few weeks but you can say you really like it. Your boss is an older woman, your coworkers seem nice and the work isn’t too taxing. Your apartment is starting to come together as well, only a few more boxes left to unpack. On the outside things are honestly going well…your life looks normal and put together. But on the inside you continue to fall apart.

“Come on!” Ellie whines, “Just give me one little, tiny, juicy detail.”

“Ew, no!” you laugh, “I have nothing to share!”

“Oh, bullshit.” Ellie takes a drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke the other direction.

You two are sitting on your balcony, watching the evening sun set.

“You are trying to tell me you two didn’t fuck? Not even once?” Ellie gives you a knowing smile and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay maybe once.”

“I call bullshit again.” Ellie starts to laugh, thrusting her hips forward theatrically, “I bet you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

“Something like that.” You admit shyly.

“I don’t blame you. He looks so hot.” Ellie takes another puff of her cigarette. “What was he like in bed?”

“Ugh, Ellie.” You groan, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Afraid of getting horny thinking about it?” She chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, I’ll tell you one thing.” You hold one finger up, giving her a look that says you are serious. Ellie giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

“He’s…big.” You basically whisper.

“He’s what?”

“Shut up, you heard me.” You laugh, “First time I saw it he wasn’t even fully hard and I was impressed.” You smirk, feeling proud of Taehyung’s gorgeous dick.

“Damn girl. Nice.” Ellie nods in approval, “Did he know how to use it?”

“Ugh….yes.” you roll your eyes back, remembering the feel of his cock. “He did. Aaaannnd he is probably using it on his new girlfriend.” You sigh, feeling your heart break piece by piece in your chest.

“What? What do you mean???” Ellie puts her cigarette out in the ash tray, “New girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” You keep it short and simple. “Anyway, I really do not want to talk about him anymore.”

“…Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

You give your sister a sad, small smile and she returns it. You feel your phone buzz in your lap and you go to pick it up, you quite literally feel all the color drain from your face. Your heart stops completely. What the actual fuck? Why is he texting you? Him of all people?

Finally gathering the courage to buy his plane ticket, Taehyung begins packing for his trip. He got a roundtrip flight for one week. He has one week to find you. He’s starting to get nervous, really fucking nervous. He had all this confidence to do this but honestly? Over the last 6-7 months he has become quite insecure. You left him in shambles. He grew weak without you, he grew pathetic in his eyes.

“Make sure you bring plenty of underwear.” Jimin teases, helping Taehyung pack. “You never pack enough and somehow end up going commando.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Taehyung is too nervous to even joke around, he is too nervous to even look at Jimin—his best friend—for more than a second because he is afraid he is going to see right through him.

“You’re nervous.” Jimin blurts out and Taehyung opens his mouth in shock. But should he be? Jimin is his best friend, he can read him like a book.

“Yeah…”

“I think you have every right to be.” Jimin pats him on the shoulder, “You have been through a lot…and so much is unknown.”

“Yeah….” Taehyung agrees, “I feel like I’m walking into this blind.”

“You kind of are.” Jimin admits quietly. “You kind of are.”

“Do you think…I’m making a mistake?” Taehyung sits down on his bed, messing with the blanket between his fingers.

“No.” Jimin answers honestly. “I am probably the one who has heard about y/n the most. I almost feel like I know her.” Jimin laughs, “And I think you’re right. She was scared. This company…fuck that company by the way, this company set you two up and tried to force love on you. Of course that’s going to fuck her up. Of course she is going to have her doubts…you can’t blame her Tae. Yeah, it’s fucked up she hasn’t reached out at all but dude…it’s a tricky situation.”

“I know…” Taehyung’s head falls into his hands, “Fuck…I know.”

“And…” Jimin sits down next to him, “I don’t want you to regret not looking for her, it sucks that it’s you doing everything, I can admit that. I wish she would grow some fucking balls and talk to you but looks like you got to do all the work buddy.”

“Yeah.”

Taehyung checks into some dingy hotel downtown in the city you live, the place is dark, gritty even. But it’s just one of the first places that was affordable that popped up when he was googling places to stay. He doesn’t totally mind, he doubts he will be spending much time in here. He receives his key from the girl at the front desk, she eyes him up and down, obviously liking what she sees.

Taehyung walks down a dark hallway to reach his room—he’s starting to feel like the main character in a horror movie. He reaches his door and unlocks it, opening it and shuffling inside with his luggage. The room smells dusty, the bed is small and the blanket thin. The room is loud with the AC unit blowing freezing air and the dark curtains don’t let in any light whatsoever.

He sets his luggage down on the carpet and sits on the bed…he takes his phone out and sends a text to his group chat that he made it alive.

Namjoon 4:02pm

Good luck man, we’re rooting for you.

Jungkook 4:02pm

Fingers crossed homie

Jin 4:03pm

Bring her back to Korea

Yoongi 4:03pm

He can’t just bring her back Jin

Hobi 4:03pm

I also vote he brings her back with him

Jimin 4:04pm

I agree, I want to meet the infamous y/n

Taehyung 4:04pm

Am I also allowed to vote that I want to bring her back with me?

Taehyung quietly laughs to himself as he clicks his phone off. He lays back on the bed and groans when he feels how hard the mattress is. But it doesn’t matter because he is here on a mission, a mission to find you and he wants to waste no time.

Day 1:

Taehyung wakes up early to grab a bite to eat at the diner next to the hotel, this place doesn’t even offer complimentary breakfast! The audacity. He orders pancakes but they definitely aren’t as good as yours.

Waking up and breathing the same city air you’re breathing makes Taehyung for the first time in 6 months—feel alive. Like being in the same place as you is slowly helping him regain some of his self back. He knows you are here. You live here. You walk these streets, you eat these foods, you breathe this air. The same fucking air he is breathing.

Nothing excites him and makes him more nauseas. He misses you. He wants to see you. But he is afraid at the same time. He’s so fucking terrified. How will you react? Are you okay? Do you really not love him? Have you moved on? Seeing someone new? His mind races as he cuts into these pancakes.

Taehyung pulls out his phone and checks the time…almost 7 am. He needs to hurry to the coffee place…because what if you stop by there on your way to work? Or maybe you don’t work right now and you go there just to chill? He doesn’t know but he knows he won’t miss a chance to see you.

Taehyung finishes up his plate of food and pays. He leaves the diner and starts walking towards Cozy Coffee, only a 15 minute walk. He inhales deeply, hoping to somehow get a whiff of you, he looks at all the flowers on the side of the sidewalks and thinks of you. Would you be interested in a bouquet of flowers? He recalls on your first unofficial first date he gave you a handful of flowers from the island and you liked it. Ugh, what is he thinking? All he needs to be worried about right now is fucking finding you.

Finally, Taehyung makes his way inside Cozy Coffee. It’s a pretty small place but big enough for a handful of people to be occupying the many tables. His eyes scan the area but they don’t come across you. He sighs and heads towards the counter to order a tea and take a seat at a table in the back near the restrooms.

He spends hours here in this spot. The entire day actually. No sign of you. And the owner has to literally escort him out when it is closing time. He walks back to the hotel with his head hanging low, he guesses today wasn’t a day for reading or writing.

Day 2:

These pancakes aren’t bad actually, not the second time around. Yours are still better, of course but he’s getting use to them. Maybe tomorrow he should try something different.

Taehyung walks leisurely towards the coffee shop, he somehow has this idea he might run into you on the street or something. But he doesn’t.

The coffee shop is a little less busy today, Taehyung goes inside, orders his tea and occupies the same table as yesterday. He pulls his backpack to his lap and brings out a notebook and pen, he decides he will work on song lyrics today.

Hours and hours pass, tea after tea is drank and still, no sign of you. Closing time approaches and he is once again, asked to leave. Taehyung nods in understanding, gathers his belongings and walks back to the hotel. Slowly of course, because deep down he thinks he just might run into you.

Day 3:

French toast today…not as good as the pancakes but still, pretty good. He wonders if you can make French toast? You never mentioned it. Taehyung realizes there is still so much he does not know about you. The thought kind of drives him crazy. He wants to know you. Know all of you. Know you better than anyone else.

The walk to the coffee shop is slow and enjoyable. The scenery is pretty as he strolls on the sidewalk, the flowers poking through the cement bring him a small level of joy for the day. Once he enters the shop, the owner gives him a smile. He orders his tea and makes his way to the back table, pulls out his notebook and starts writing his song lyrics.

On my pillow. Can’t get me tired. Sharing my fragile truth. That I hope the door is still open. Cause the window. Opened one time with you and me. Now my forever is falling down. Wondering if you’d want me now.

Taehyung sets his pen down taking a break from writing, he reaches for his tea and takes a few sips. The liquid has gone cold. He sighs out and lets the hours pass him by. Closing time approaches like it does every night and he is asked to leave.

Day 4:

He’s back to getting pancakes. He likes to pretend they are yours, that you made them for him. He likes to imagine a life where you make breakfast for him again. He likes to imagine a life where you’re just here again. It’s almost 7 am, he needs to head to the coffee shop. He strolls casually, wondering what you are up to on this Thursday morning. Are you finally going to make an appearance at Cozy Coffee? Are you running late for work? Are you in early today?

Taehyung enters the shop and the owner gives him a sweet smile and begins working on his tea. Taehyung feels grateful that it’s being made without him even ordering it yet, a smile adorning his face. He pays for the tea and makes his way to the his table, pulls out his notebook and continues working on his song.

I’m wondering are you my best friend? Feels like a river’s rushing through my mind. I wanna ask you if this is all just in my head. My heart is pounding tonight, I wonder if you are too good to be true. And would it be alright if I pulled you closer.

Taehyung lets hours and hours pass, his pen busy on his notebook paper. The lyrics coming to him so easily for the first time in months. He can’t help the sad smile that grows on his face as he reads and rereads his song lyrics.

Just like every day when the bell of the front door jingles his head shoots up to see who it is. Now is no different. A woman comes in and his heart almost stops because she looks like you at first glance. Taehyung groans at the disappointment. Because it’s not you.

Day 5:

Okay, he is back to French toast. It’s starting to grow on him, he definitely wants to ask you to make this for him. His imagination begins to run wild with dreams of making food with you again, kissing the side of your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind you. Like the many times he has done it.

“Taehyung…” you whine as he nips your neck with his teeth. “I’m trying to concentrate on this recipe.”

“I’m trying to concentrate too.” Taehyung smirks against your soft skin, “On you.”

You can’t help the blush that begins spreading across your cheeks, his fingers dig into your hips and you moan out.

“Taehyung…”

“What is it baby?” he starts kissing your neck. “Want me to fuck you? Right here?” he digs his fingers deeper into your hips and you start grinding against him.

“Couch.” You breathe out. “I want to ride you.”

“Oh? You want to be in control? Maybe I will allow it this once.” He teases, his tongue licking a strip up to your ear, then he nibbles on the lobe.

Taehyung finds his pants getting tight as he recalls his memories with you. He misses kissing you, he misses touching you, he misses your scent, he misses your skin, your eyes, your lips.

Shit, it’s past 7. He needs to hurry to Cozy’s.

He’s seated in his spot with his tea and notebook out, he swears he is almost finished with this song…the chorus needs some work but he thinks he’s got it. Something about being ships in the night, but somehow he doesn’t have the courage to finish he song, he doesn’t want that to be his relationship with you.

Night time comes and still no sign of you. Tomorrow is his last day and he is starting to freak out. Where are you? He thought you came here all the time? Why aren’t you coming? Are you okay? He is asked to leave once again and he does.

Day 6:

Back to pancakes. Back to strolling on the side walk. Back to Cozy’s. Back to his tea. Back to his spot.

Taehyung feels the nerves in his body multiplying with every shaky breath he takes. Today is the last night, his flight is in the morning and he has made no progress on finding you. This place being his only hint.

“Excuse me…” Taehyung walks up to the counter and greets the owner.

“What can I do for you young man? Another tea?” he softly smiles at Taehyung but Taehyung shakes his head.

“I have a question…” he begins. “Do you know y/n y/l/n?”

“y/n???” the old man begins to smile after expressing his confusion, “Of course I do, that girl has been coming here for years.” He starts wiping down the counter with a rag. “Why? You looking for her? You aren’t some creepy ex-boyfriend are you?”

“No, no.” Taehyung laughs. “But I am looking for her…she usually comes here right?” he nervously chuckles.

“Usually. But she started a new job recently that has kept her a little busy…” the old man continues to wipe down the counter. “But she was in just last week! And It’s Saturday!” he cheers, “She always comes to write on weekends.”

Taehyung lights up at that. “Really??” he shows the old man a wide, boxy grin. He feels like he hasn’t smiled like that in what seems like forever. All because there is finally a chance he might see you.

“Oh…” The old man stops wiping to get a good look at Taehyung. “You look like a man in love.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen just a bit before he smiles, “Do I?”

The shop is busy today. Taehyung sits in his usual spot, writing and doodling in his notebook, his head lifting up quickly every time the door jingles. It’s never you though. It is already 6pm and there is still no sign on you and Taehyung hates that he is starting to lose hope. Are you not coming? He doesn’t have much time left.

Taehyung sits here, his pen between his lips as he thinks about you. He thinks about the first time he saw you…he really thought you were some girl he might have drunkenly hooked up with…he remembers your expression, how shocked, how scared, how overwhelmed you were. He wishes now he could go back in time and hug you. Tell you he’s with you, together. That you aren’t alone. Taehyung wishes he could kiss your temple, bring you in close and make you feel okay. He recalls the first time you two really interacted.

“We need to find out what’s going on.” Taehyung takes a deep breath, lifting his head up. He locks his eyes with yours again but you break contact to look at your feet.

“We don’t know anything…would if it’s not safe?” you quietly try to reason.

“Exactly, we don’t know anything and that’s a problem. You don’t expect us to stay in this room forever, do you?”

He has a point and you know it. You want to follow him out of this room but your feet seem to be glued to the floor.

“Well, no. But—”

“Didn’t think so.” He turns away from you, his body shuffling towards the bedrooms door but before he can become out of reach your hand flies to his shirt sleeve, tugging it softly.

“Wait! Just hold on—” Your voice wavers and Taehyung rolls his eyes. Rolls his fucking eyes at you!

“Listen, come. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” Taehyung releases your hold on his shirt, unsticking your fingers and throwing your hand towards your body. “Decide.” He states before swiftly turning around to head towards the door.

Oh. So this guy is a fucking asshole. Noted.

You end up following him because although he was rude about it, feeling someone’s touch when you feel so scared was slightly comforting and yes, you are aware of how fucking pathetic that is.

Taehyung stands in front of the door, his hand reaching for the knob when he turns his head to say, “Just trust me.”

And now you are the one rolling your eyes. Trust him? You just met the dude! 10 minutes ago his name was Future Murderer. How could you possibly trust this asshole?

“How can I trust you? I literally just met you.” The scowl on your face deepens when he smirks.

“Are you always such a fucking baby?”

“Are you always such a fucking baby?” you mock, eyes rolling so far into the back of your head.

Taehyung can’t help but chuckle. God, you were such a brat. It’s almost 7 now…still no sign of you.

“Maybe if you weren’t always following me, they would have sent us home by now.” Taehyung states bitterly as he puts his slice of bread on top of his now made sandwich.

“I’m not following you.” You roll your eyes, “I have to eat too.”

“You can’t wait until I’m done?”

“You look pretty done to me…” You point at his sandwich and he scoffs.

“I still have to eat it.”

“Eat in your room for all I care.”

You and Taehyung are getting along just fine…maybe not swimmingly but like, fine. It’s been a couple weeks and you have mostly stayed out of one another’s way but it’s moments like this that you end up interacting.

“I think I’ll eat at the table, thanks.” He grabs his sandwich and makes his way to the dining room table, sitting down with a thump. He aggressively picks up his sandwich and takes a bite while showing you a smart ass smile.

“Fantastic,” you state, “Me too.” You finish pouring milk into your cereal bowl and set it back inside the fridge. You dramatically make your way over to the table as well, giving him a wide grin as you sit down in front of him. You slightly slam your bowl down on the table, some milk dribbling over the edge of the bowl and Taehyung snarls.

“Great, you’re making a fucking mess.”

“If you went up and ate in you room you would have no idea about this mess.”

“But you still would have made this mess?”

“Ignorance is bliss, Taehyung.”

“You’re such a…” he stops, setting his lips into a firm line and you lean your head forward, clearly curious about what you are.

“Such a…?” you blink at him repeatedly and his lips curve upward into a charming smile.

“A fucking brat.” Taehyung grabs his sandwich again and takes an obnoxious bite while grinning and you give him your best annoyed eye roll.

Taehyung continues to chuckles as he goes down memory lane…he does regret being mean to you at first but god, you truly were a fucking brat. But he laughs about it now, loving every single memory he shares with you.

The door jingles and he shoots his head up, hoping it is you. But still, just like every other fucking time—it’s not.

Taehyung groans into his notebook, feeling lost and frustrated. What’s he going to do if you don’t show? He’s trying here. Is the universe really that cruel? And suddenly the door jingles again, but he doesn’t look up, he knows it isn’t you.

“Hi Mister Jones!”

Oh. Oh. That voice. That voice belongs to you. Taehyung whips his head up and there you are. You are standing at the doors entrance with a nervous smile on your face, why are you nervous? You are wearing jeans and a oversized t shirt, a casual but cute look. And Taehyung is falling in love with you. Seeing you in the real world for the first time has him frozen in place.

“The usual?”

“Yeah.” You reply calmly, glancing at the empty table at the front of the shop. You pull a chair out and take a seat, your back to Taehyung. He is still frozen. He all of the sudden feels unprepared for this. He all of the sudden feels sick. He clenches his jaw as he watches your back. You are here, living your life without even think of him aren’t you? Taehyung swallows down his anger now. He has to. Anger won’t do him any good.

He takes long breath after long breath trying to compose himself and find his confidence to go up to you and confront you. He blinks back his growing tears of frustration and stands from his table, the chair screeching against the wooden floors.

He stands here, frozen again. What if you really do not want to see him? That this was all intentional? He starts to feel sick again. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to get rid of the feeling of nausea.

“Taehyung…” you whisper his name, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think having feelings for me means that’s it? That it’s the end? Baby, it would only be the beginning.” Taehyung leans down again as he caresses your face. “I know you’re scared. I know you have trauma that you’re still getting through. I know your ex fucked you up. But I’m not him. I’m Taehyung. I’m…fuck, I don’t know. y/n, please just open your heart to me.” Taehyung looks at you with so much compassion that it physically hurts.

“I know,” your voice shakes, “I know you aren’t him, Tae.” You take his hand in yours, “I do like you.” You finally admit, shutting your eyes.

“Look at me.” Taehyung commands, “Look at me babe.”

You slowly open your eyes again, gazing into his dark ones and you feel yourself grow warmer and warmer.

“I’m only looking at you.”

Taehyung quickly opens his eyes as he finds his resolve. You love him. He knows it. He feels it. You wanted him, just like how he wanted you—wants you.

He nods his head, trying to pump himself up, about to gain the courage to walk to you when the door jingles again and a man walks in. A man that immediately looks at you and smiles.

This man takes a seat across from you at the small table and Taehyung feels his heart halting in his chest. He feels himself grow warm, he feels himself grow the company of something evil, something green. He feels himself grow incredibly fucking jealous. So you do have someone. You moved on. You have someone, someone that is not him. Taehyung slowly plops back down in his chair, his mouth slightly open as he watches this man talk and smile at you.

But suddenly, Taehyung notices how tense you become. How you grip on to your purse harder and harder with every word this man speaks. He can sense you from here…something is wrong. Who is this man? Why is he making you so uncomfortable? Is this not a date? Taehyung isn’t sure what to do. He could be reading this all wrong, he could be imagining this for his own sake. He could be creating this world where you don’t love anyone but him.

But then you stand from your chair abruptly and storm out of the shop, this man desperately tries to grab for you and quickly follows after you. Taehyung stands from his chair as well, already racing towards the shops door, in search of you. He didn’t even think about it, he just acted on instinct.

“y/n!” the man calls out after you but you continue to speed walk away until you feel a hand grab at your arm. You are quick to turn around, ready to give him an earful when your face goes completely pale.

“T-Taehyung…?” you stutter out, the shock riding in waves throughout your entire body.

“I said wait baby!” The man jogs up to you and Taehyung, Taehyung releases his hold on your arm and looks between you and this man.

“Baby?” Taehyung whispers out, already feeling his heart crack inside his chest. Maybe this is just a lovers quarrel. He continues looking between you and this man and you can see the hurt plastered all over Taehyung’s face.

“No—”

“Who is this?” The man stands between you and Taehyung. “Who are you?”

“Ben, you can leave. I think I have heard enough.” You spit out and Taehyung’s eyes widen before they are narrowing at you.

“Ben…?” he asks, not even sparing Ben a glance, only focusing on you. “Why are you with him y/n?” Taehyung’s voice goes dangerously low. “I asked, why are you with him?”

“He was just—”

“I was just talking with my girl. Is that a problem?”

“Your girl?” You and Taehyung ask in unison.

“You’re fucking kidding, right y/n?” Taehyung’s face is taken over with a scowl. “There’s no fucking way you are seeing this asshole again.”

“It’s not—”

“Asshole?” Ben scoffs, “Who the fuck are you?”

Taehyung doesn’t even look Bens way as he eyes you, he stuffs his hands into his front pockets and stares at you with his hard expression.

“Answer me.” He commands. “Now.”

“Listen buddy—” Ben begins but Taehyung just a holds a hand up in front of Bens face and tilts his head at you.

“I said, now.” Taehyung finally lowers his hand, then he is feeling his body being shove backward.

“I said who the fuck are you?” Ben pushes Taehyung, his hands still on his chest at the collar of his shirt. “How do you know my girl? y/n…you been fucking other men?”

“I’m not your fucking girl Ben.” You finally snap out of your daze, “I said leave.”

Ben lets go of Taehyung shirt to face you, he walks closer and closer until his feet are practically touching your own.

“Sweetheart I said I was sorry…” Ben tries to caress your face but you smack his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spit out, “Ever.”

Taehyung eyes the both of you with curiosity. What’s going on here? Are you with him or aren’t you? You notice Taehyung’s confused expression and move towards him to begin explaining.

“Ben is just here to explain why he did what he did…I don’t know why I agreed…but—”

“I’ve heard enough.” Taehyung stops you, he walks closer to you. “He’s bothering you?”

“I ain’t bothering anyone you fucking dick. And you never answered my question—who the fuck are—”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers and you watch the collision of Taehyung’s fist to Ben’s face. You swear you are witnessing it in slow motion, the way his fist crashes into the side of Bens jaw. The way Ben stumbles back and falls to the pavement. The way Taehyung grits his teeth as he brings his fist back to his own body. Did Taehyung just fucking punch your ex-boyfriend in the fucking face?

“She said to fucking leave.” Taehyung growls, “Now.”

“Taehyung!” you rush to his side, immediately reaching for his fist and inspecting it for any damage. You are hit with something massive…like the grandest bolt of electricity the moment your hand touches his. You try your hardest to ignore it, to ignore the fire that caught light, the raging fire that burns so wildly in your chest.

“Come. Come with me.” You say in panic, ignoring the fact that Ben lays on the concrete, probably knocked the fuck out. You hold on to Taehyung’s hand tightly as you lead him to the parking lot until you’re at your car. You hurry to let go of his hand, feeling so fucking nervous. What the hell is happening? Everything with Ben happened so fast that you haven’t even processed the fact that Taehyung is here. Here with you. In your city. In this parking lot. At your car.

“Tae—”

You stop before you can even finish his name. He looks at you with something you have never seen before. He goes to open his mouth but he stops himself, not knowing what the right thing to say is.

“I don’t know what to say anymore now that I am with you.” Taehyung finally says after a long while, his eyes are wet and his expression is troubled.

“I thought I would get here and I would tell you I am ready to make this work, that I missed you, that I love you. But now…seeing you. Really seeing you, I don’t know anymore.” He admits. “I think I am angry with you.” He says softly. “Really fucking angry.”

“Tae—”

“No.” he moves his head to the side, his eyes down at his shoes. “Let me speak. I have prepared a whole speech for you…but now, I don’t think I would mean any of the words.” He shuts his eyes, a tear escaping. “Did you go too far? Too far in hurting me?” he whispers. “Did you ruin me?”

You start breathing heavily, not knowing how to take his words. Why is he here?

“I had to fucking search for you. But did you even want to be found?” he questions you softly.

“Taehyung.” You say firmly. “I—”

“Am I a fool?” He chokes out, “A fool for doing this? Coming all the way here…sitting at this coffee place every single day waiting for you like the pathetic man that I am.” Another tear slips.

“Can I talk now?” you whisper. “Please?”

Taehyung gulps down his spit, anticipating what you might say. He gestures for you to speak and you take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out…” you begin, your chest getting tighter and tighter. “Every day that passed it got harder and harder to do it. If I’m being honest I stalked your account…” you admit with a bitter laugh, “You seemed happy. I wasn’t even sure you wanted me to reach out. Then Hana…”

“Hana?” Taehyung scrunches his brows together, “What’s Hana got to do with this?”

“You two are together aren’t you? I know, Taehyung.” You swallow hard.

Taehyung shakes his head in confusion, how do you know about Hana? You know he slept with her or?

“It was only one time.” Taehyung admits quietly…”but how do you know about that?”

“She posted you on her Instagram. I just assumed.” You say dryly, feeling a pang in your chest as you look at him. So he did get with her. You fucking knew it.

“Why are you here Taehyung?”

“I was here to tell you I love you. I want to make this work.” He says bluntly.

“Was?” you whisper and he nods.

“Now that I am here and I see you, I know I fucking love you still. But I think I’m lost and confused right now.” He admits between bated breaths. “I was so nervous to see you and to be honest looking at you now…I still feel nervous. Like, I could throw up.”

“I feel that way too.” You admit.

“You hurt me, y/n.” he steps closer to you, his gaze is dark and unwavering. “Can I forgive you?” he whispers and you choke back a sob. “Do you even love me back?...That’s also a main problem here.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You breathe out roughly, “I’m sorry for our last conversation on the island.”

“Are you?” he takes another step. “Are you really?”

“Yes, Tae…I …I…”

“You? You?” Another step.

“I was so scared, I was so confused.” You take a step back, but he continues walking towards you. “ But I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” he steps closer. “About that ‘maybe’ hmm?” he steps even closer until he is breathing the same zone of air as you. He reaches for your jaw with his hand and tilts your head up towards him. “I could have fucking told you that.”

“Taehyung…” you don’t mean to whimper, but you do. You fucking do. “I’m sorry. It just got so hard to talk to you but I have thought about you every second of every day.”

“Every second?” he scoffs, “Even as you were having coffee with fucking Ben?”

“It seriously isn’t what it looks like…” you rush to say, “He wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

“Tell me how you feel y/n. Right fucking now.” He roughly commands, his fingers still on your jaw.

“I—”

“I want everything, every detail. I want to know exactly what’s going on in this brain of yours.” Taehyung looks at you with hard eyes. “I want the truth.”

You scrunch your face up as you try not to cry, you feel so many overwhelming feelings all at once. You don’t know what to say. You love him. But is it that simple? “I…” You gulp.

“You?” his eyes soften just the slightest, “Just talk to me babe.” His voice loses all its edge as you begin to silently cry. His thumb wipes away your falling tears. “Just talk to me.”

“I miss you so fucking much.” Is the first thing that slips out of your mouth, “You have no idea…” you sob.

“If anyone has an idea, it’s me.” He chuckles bitterly.

“I let time pass me by Tae, I regret it so much. But as the seconds ticked by I knew I was losing my window of opportunity. And before I knew it 6 months had passed.” You choke, “I am so, so sorry.” You stare into his dark eyes. “The company did me a favor.” You laugh, “They gave me you. I fell in love with you, Taehyung. I just…I’m so sorry I doubted myself, doubted you.”

Taehyung’s features soften as he listens to you, he feels himself grow weak. Especially with his fingers touching your skin. He pulls back from you and leans against your car.

“Are you still in love with me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” You sniffle, wiping your face of your tears. “I think I always will be, even if you decide you hate me.”

“I wish I could hate you.” Taehyung throws his head back, “It would make this easier, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Make what easier?”

“Leaving you behind.” He says quietly, “Leaving us behind.”

Your body begins to shake as more tears escape you, you feel the heavy weight of his words fucking crush you. He wants nothing to do with you. He doesn’t want you anymore. You fucked up too badly. Taehyung watches as you sob for several minutes, his eyes never leaving your flushed face. He clicks his tongue and puts a hand on your shoulder and rubs it.

“That’s what I think I should do.” He says, “But I can’t.”

Wait, what?

“You c-can’t?”

“I love you too much. And I all my friends voted I bring you back to Korea.” He says with a small smirk.

“But you?” you cry, “You said you are leaving me?”

“I was thinking aloud. And to be honest I wanted you to suffer a bit.” He says with his dark gaze. “I wanted to punish you just a little.”

Your wide eyes narrow at him and you can’t help but cry harder. “You fucking sadist.”

“Maybe a little.” He admits with a growing sly smile. “We have a lot to talk about.” He says after a moment. “Do you want to make this work with me or not?”

“Are you serious? Even after all of this you still want to be with me?”

“We’re soulmates, baby. Or did you forget?”

“You fucking smartass.” You wipe at your face, wiping your snots on the collar of your t shirt. “But yes…I want to make this work.”

“Spend a couple weeks with me in Korea. I want to start over with you. Take things slow. I am still angry. But I fucking love you.”

“A couple weeks in Korea?” you shake your head, “I can’t take off work that long.”

“I am not going to beg you.” Taehyung warns, “But please.”

A couple weeks in Korea? With Taehyung? Meeting his family? His friends? Starting over? Going slow? Can you two really do this?

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #the island chapter 8

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strangerthings4theories · 3 years

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Billy Is Going To Find The Byers

IMPORTANT: If you haven’t read my post “The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection,” please check it out, as it goes hand in hand with this one. Thanks :D

A few months ago, we all got our first look at some of the new characters for S4. I checked them out with great interest.

“Lt. Colonel Sullivan... military dude in Hawkins... cool, makes sense. Victor Creel... ooooooh, played by Robert Englund, betcha he’s gonna be one of El’s predecessors. Eddie Munson... damn, he’s super sus. Argyle... Jonathan’s new bff, who delivers pizza for--”

I stopped.

And freaked. OUT.

Argyle delivers pizza for Surfer Boy Pizza.

Surfer Boy Pizza.

SURFER BOY PIZZA.

A whole constellation of dots connected, and I knew IMMEDIATELY where this is heading. Let’s walk through it step by step... starting with the inception of Stranger Things itself.

The Duffers love the movie Jaws, to the point that they give it pride of place in their list of inspirations. Hell, Stranger Things probably wouldn’t have existed without it. Initially, as a homage to the movie, the show was set in a Long Island beach town called Montauk. The setting didn’t change until the Duffers began pre-production:

They began by scouting locations on the northern tip of Long Island, but the community - so integral to the script - didn’t look as they had imagined, and its distance from New York City made the idea of anchoring the production there unfeasible. A new approach was required. (Worlds Turned Upside Down, p 25)

After that, they rewrote the script to take place in Indiana, and “Hawkins was born.”

Still, you can tell their love for Jaws lingered. Hopper’s truck looks like Martin Brody’s:

Meanwhile, the Demogorgon was inspired by the shark, and the show isn’t shy about that fact. In S1, when Nancy explains her theory for what the Demogorgon is, she likens its bloodlust to that of a shark:

In the final episode, when Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve are hiding from the Demogorgon in Will’s room, the Jaws poster hangs prominently in the left side of the frame:

Furthermore, the Demogorgon’s behavior emulates that of the shark. Like Nancy points out, it hunts alone, emerging from the Upside Down (*COUGHTHEOCEANCOUGH*) to pick people off one by one. And though we don’t see its full form until the end, its presence haunts us throughout, infusing the story with dread.

Okay! So the Duffers originally set Stranger Things in a beach town, and the Demogorgon was inspired by the Jaws shark. Cool. What does this mean for us?

Everything.

Think about it. The Byers have moved to a new town. We aren’t sure where they went, but in S2 Bob suggested Maine. Maine is on the East Coast, not far from Long Island.

And as you can see, it has hundreds of miles of beaches.

If the Duffers have any sense, they wouldn’t drop the Byers in another town like Hawkins. That would be redundant and hella boring. Instead, they would seize the opportunity to explore a new setting with a different feel. Not an inland town surrounded by woods and farmland, but... oh, idk... a beach town.

On top of that, the Byers’ move gives the Duffers the perfect opportunity to return to the show’s roots. Finally, they can bring Montauk to life.

If that’s what they’ve done, and the Byers have moved to a beach town, we’re headed for prime Billy territory.

Billy OWNS the beach. In the context of the show, we get our first glimpse of a beach in his mind, for God’s sake. And he’s deeply connected to water as an element. He’s a surfer, lifeguard, swim instructor... need I say more?

He’s also likened to the Demogorgon - the monster inspired by the shark in Jaws.

I’ve already discussed the similarities between Billy and the Demogorgon. Those were fresh on my mind when I read Runaway Max for the first time. So, when I read this paragraph where Max describes the Camaro, I freaked out (I do that a lot):

Once, for two weeks back in April, I thought that Camaro was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. It had a long, hungry body like a shark, all sleek painted panels and sharp angles. It was the kind of car you could rob a bank in. (pp 12-13)

It’s a motherf***ing equation, y’all. Billy (by way of his Camaro) = the Demogorgon = the shark in Jaws.

And the Byers have just moved to a town where the local pizza place is called Surfer Boy Pizza.

A name like that doesn’t make sense unless they really are in a beach town.

Hence why I completely lost my shit when I read about Argyle. When you take all the evidence together, it looks like the Duffers have set up a situation where, figuratively, our heroes will think they see a shark in the water (aka the Demogorgon).

But they’ll find out it’s not a shark. It’s a surfer boy coming back to shore.

Hints and leaks have confirmed this idea so far. The Stranger Things social media accounts teased the following exchange last year:

“What if it’s the Demogorgon?” “It’s not the Demogorgon.”

Just a couple weeks ago, we got our first photo of the Surfer Boy Pizza delivery truck (credit: strangerinsidebr on IG). And the writing on the side is telling.

The writing in the center doesn’t say, “Surfer Boy Pizza delivered hot to your door.” It says, “Surfer Boy delivered hot to your door.” The ‘pizza’ is way off to the side.

They’re making a joke, guys. A fuckin joke.

“Surfer boy delivered HOT to your door ;)”

Jokes aside, the potential for Billy’s intro scene is so CLEAR and VIVID that I took a stab at sketching out how it could happen. Obviously I don’t think it has to happen this way; the writers have plenty of wiggle room. But it illustrates the kind of scene I have in mind:

Episode 3: “The Survivor”

All this time, hints have been building that Billy is still alive. Creepy things keep happening that remind us of Will trying to communicate from the Upside Down in S1 (flickering lights, people feeling "haunted" by his "ghost," etc). At the end of the episode, a thunderstorm rolls into the Byers' beach town. Will and El are together at home, probably alone. As it's raining and thundering, strange things begin to happen that frighten them. They get a creepy phone call; the power goes out, but only at their house; etc. Remembering that horrific night three years ago, Will races to the window to look out. El follows him. Through the rain, they see a form swaying toward the house. Terrified, Will wants to leave, but El stops him. "But El, what if it's the Demogorgon?" "It's not the Demogorgon." They back away from the door and wait. To their shock, the chain unlocks by itself. The door opens, and their visitor walks in, looking like a drowned cat with a nosebleed. Billy.

God, I’m freaking out again just writing all this out lololol. I need to go lie down.

BILLY’S COMING BACK, BITCHES.

Peace. ✌️

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series (So Far)

Billy Is Not a ‘B’ Character In Stranger Things

The First Rule of Analyzing Stranger Things: The Upside Down Is Symbolized By Water

The Lifeguard And The Rip Current: Our First Big Hint That Billy Is Alive

Why Haven’t We Seen Dacre On Set?

The Demogorgon Is Billy’s Dark Reflection

Frequently Asked Questions

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

218 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

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.

#the banner looks like shit but we don't talk about it #but in all seriousness emma i hope you enjoy ❤️#nathan mackinnon imagine #tyson jost imagine #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the summer fic exchange 2k21 #cwrites

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grittyreadsfic · 3 years

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hello my friends, one singular person asked for this weeks ago so i’m here with my most unhinged rec list yet: tk and nolan.

now, this one was hard to reign in, so i really didn’t. this pairing had maybe 230 fics in the tag when i first started reading hockey fic, and it’s now over 900, and i’ve read far too many of them, and that makes it so hard to parse it down. so i just...didn't!

so with that said, please enjoy so you want to get into tknp: a beginners guide to a classic case of idiots to lovers

i told myself that i couldn’t rec an author’s entire body of work but then i remembered this is my blog and i do what i want, so i did some consolidating. here’s a list of the quintessential authors for this pairing, you can start at any of their profiles and pick any of their fics at random, and it’ll be one of the best ones for the pairing, hands down.

therainbowsedge: i’d start with the summer camp fic, or the sex toys one, as both beautifully capture the true idiots to lovers nature of this pairing, but just top tier writing all around

manybumblebees: the wedding fic is so tender and port stanley is a classic, but literally pick any single fic and you’ll have a perfect tknp fic. i’m not kidding

jamesvanriemsdick: their tknp fics in their series are some of the hidden gems of this pairing (the tk heartbeat fic makes me LOSE it) but the delaware fic or the seattle fic…..there’s really something for every mood

catchascatchcan: start with era of gods because i could write literal essays on how it’s some of the best fantasy worldbuilding i’ve ever read, but then just read everything else on their account, including non tknp fics. you won’t regret it

hackysack: ao3 user hackysack has written one of two timeloop fics that i absolutely adore, and i thought about just calling that one out in particular, but all of their work deserves the attention

canary: nothing to prove was the first tknp fic i ever read and i was immediately hooked. all of their fics are a good starting place for the pairing, and just really give you a feeling for the pairing

and now, for the fic recs!

to be, despite it all by smudgedfreckles

summary: or, nolan patrick’s gender thesis, by travis konecny.

why i love it: there’s not a lot ofo nonbinary characters in media, even in fic, but this fic’s treatment of nolan and their path to figuring out their gender just feels so real and made me feel so seen. tk’s characterization is also just top notch, and it’s just a super sweet story about two people who love each other

last ones standing by makeit_takeit

summary: If you’re committed to finding your future spouse, reads the last line of the ad, and are ready to look at yourself and your love life in a whole new way, apply now.

At the bottom of the ad there’s a link, and Travis finds his finger hovering over the screen, lip still caught between his teeth.

“I mean,” he says very reasonably, speaking out loud to his empty apartment like some sort of possibly-crazy person, “just applying doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I just fill it out, and see what happens. It’s not like I’m really gonna get picked to be on TV, come on.”

He snorts out loud, just to show his apartment he hasn’t lost his grip on reality or anything; he fully understands how ludicrous that would be.

Then he clicks the link anyway, because yolo or whatever.

why i love it: what part of a married at first sight fic doesn’t make you want to immediately dive right in? the concept is fun, the execution is absolutely flawless, and it captures their dynamic so well while letting it develop naturally

motivation by connectknee

summary: Kevin knows when to back off, the article said. He knows just when to shut up and leave Patty alone, something Travis has never known how to do.

why i love it: the thing i love about this pairing is that tk is loud and in your face, and nolan’s more reserved, a little quieter, a little harder to read. this fic does a really great job of exploring how tk could feel like maybe he’s just a bit too much and is one of my favorites in terms of miscommunication

a tenderness grows by rusesdeguerre

summary: Nolan wouldn’t say that landing a job as the Philadelphia Flyers’ psychotic and probably clinically insane mascot was a childhood dream of his. Maybe tangentially: playing pond hockey in –30°C weather and pretending to be Sidney Crosby is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Manitoba. That, and experiencing the distinct displeasure that is thousands of mosquitoes sucking your blood out when your father drags you on a father-son camping trip into the backwoods of the northern Canadian Prairies.

why i love it: this was the first fic i recced on this blog, and i stand by that decision. a fic where nolan is not only not a hockey player, but is in fact the person in the gritty suit? absolutely perfect, and so charming from start to finish

meet me at my window by springsteen

summary: Travis has lived in Philadelphia for a few years now, long enough to know there isn’t a major city in America where superheroes don’t destroy an entire city block trying to save humanity or whatever. He can deal with all the super-shit, but Travis did not sign up for getting woken up from a deep sleep because some fucker’s trying to break in through his window.

(5 times the super-villain known as "The Cat" breaks into Travis's apartment, plus 1 time Travis invites him in.)

why i love it: there’s a lot of things to love here, but the concept is just absolutely one of my all time favorite aus ever. it’s fun and charming and the perfect glimpse into a world where heroes and villains exist, and what it’s like just to be a run of the mill kind of guy existing in it. tk and nolan’s back and forth in this make it so engaging, and it’s such a top tier fic

body’s in trouble by cloudsandpassingevents

summary: “Oh, sorry,” someone says. “Didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Nolan freezes, then turns around very slowly. When he looks up, Nicklas fucking Backstrom is standing behind him in a hoodie and baggy sweats, holding the biggest bag of Swedish Fish Nolan’s ever seen in his life in one hand.

“Uh,” Nolan says around the pop tart between his teeth. “Yeah.”

What the fuck, his brain helpfully supplies.

why i love it: from nolan’s inner voice, to the way the author explores all the dynamics within the team, to the way they write the unexpected but actually, it kind of makes sense friendship between nolan and backstrom, is just absolutely fantastic. there’s a lot of moments that circle back and build on each other in a way that really just makes it super compelling

rhizomatic foundations by lighthousetowers

summary: Twenty days after he moves in with Kevin Hayes, twenty days – three months, five months, depending on how you look at it – after not talking to TK, TK shows up at the front door with a plant the size of a basketball in his hands.

TK grins. "Patty, meet Reginald." He lifts up the plant. "Reggie, meet Patty. He's going to be your new - caretaker."

"What the fuck," says Nolan, not moving a single muscle.

Or: That Nolan can hear the plant talk might as well just happen.

why i love it: this is probably my favorite magical realism fic just about ever. it’s fun and charming and a little weird, but in the best possible way. there’s such a wonderful narrative in it, and lighthousetowers always has such beautiful writing, and it really shines in this one. the dialogue and nolan’s characterization are also part of what set it apart for me as one of the best tknp fics

in the dark of any town by mengetpegged

summary: If the voice has an accent at all, it’s a flat prairie Canadian, with none of G’s French-Canadian softness at the edges. But mostly, the accent is just ‘pissed off,’ which TK believes is a default setting for ghosts.

“Who are you?” TK asks, and he doesn’t like how strained his voice sounds, doesn’t like the tinge of anxiety tinting the rise of his question. He tries to regulate his breaths—in through his nose, hold, out through his mouth—but it feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen, which makes him panic even more.

“Someone with a fucking migraine, dickhead,” the voice says. “So keep the lights off and shut the hell up.”

(or: Nolan Patrick, Hotel X Ghost)

why i love it: i’m usually not super into ghost fics, both the spooky kind and the nonspooky kind, but this one is a rare exception. it’s charming and fun and tender and it’s got some of, in my opinion, the best characterization of tk and nolan in any fic. the way the author writes their dynamic and their dialogue is just unmatched

lets_make_this_moment_a_crime.mp3 by honeydripping

summary: Travis meets Nolan at a Midtown show in 2002 when he punches Nolan in the face. He can’t help it, “Like A Movie” just goes off.

But he does feel guilty about it.

TK and Patty work at a bakery together. They go to punk shows to pass the time.

why i love it: idk if anyone asked for an early 2000s emo/punk/alt au but wow! i sure am glad it exists! really the vibes of this fic, as silly as that sounds, are absolutely unmatched. i love the structure with the music, the development of their relationship, and just everything about how the author wrote the setting (there’s this whole thing with tattoos in it that makes me feel absolutely insane)

you’re ripped at every edge by you’re a masterpiece by conformityissuicide

summary: “Ugh, look, this yoga teacher has it out for me, man. And I can’t go back there without at least having some of the basics down. I’ve got to win this battle.”

“Yoga isn’t really something you win at,” Hartsy starts.

Travis cuts him off, “You can win at anything if you try hard enough.”

+++

OR that time Nolan's a grumpy yoga teacher and Travis realizes he wants to bone him and prove him wrong about Travis' non-existent yoga abilities.

why i love it: listen, if you want tknp, at least one of them has to be an idiot, and this tk absolutely captures the obliviousness i love to see in him in fic. it’s such a great characterization of them both and such a great concept (and even better execution)

you form a terror pack (and i’m aware of that) by dalmatienne

summary: “Can I help you?” TK snarks, both eyebrows hiked up in a way that has earned her many elbow checks to the ribs.

The chick looks down her nose, long thick eyelashes fluttering. Red-bitten lips part to blow a florid pink bubble and TK can smell the chemical sweetness when it pops.

“Yeah,” she says in this monotonous voice that seems almost at odds with her bubble gum and neon skates. She jams her stopper into TK’s thigh again, literally inches away from where it’d really hurt. “Tie ‘em.”

why i love it: to be honest, i generally don’t read rule 63 within hrpf, but this one is just absolutely knocks it out of the park. the concept (i fuckin’ love roller derby), the characterization of nolan, the pacing, the rituals, the tone of the entire fic, it’s just all around a perfect read from start to finish

thrills and grills by bitter_leaf

summary: Travis can’t even begin to wonder what he did in a previous life to incur the wrath of this fucking cook. Travis thinks he’s a nice person, doesn’t conduct himself in any way that could be considered particularly dickish, and unless this guy has some sort of issue with hockey bros or people from the boonies, he’s not sure how he started shit without even knowing.

Patty has a vendetta. Travis just wants to eat his eggs in peace.

why i love it: honestly this is the enemies to lovers fic i’ve been waiting for. i remember seeing the reddit post when it first went viral and thinking it would make such a great fic premise, so stumbling across this one was just so wonderful. super engaging and fun and so hilarious to read!

nothing but room for you by fightingfuries

summary: When his agent tells him he’s going to be traded to the Devils, Nolan isn't sure how he feels about it. Might be easier if he was going somewhere farther away, like California or fucking Florida. Somewhere sun-soaked and foreign. Someplace so different from Philadelphia that he can forget he ever played for the Flyers, forget everything that happened there.

Or Nolan fucks up, gets traded, gets his shit together and falls in love. Not necessarily in that order.

why i love it: i cannot stress to you how much i love trade fics, and this one is one of my absolute favorites. the trade to the devils-so close to philly, still, but there’s more to distance than physical miles-was such an excellent choice and the split timeline adds so much to the narrative, and the emotions are real and messy and complicated in the best way

a couple of runaways (i’m glad you stayed) by overturnedgoal

summary: The person in the video he’s watching is super annoying. Some obnoxious holier than thou granola type who keeps talking about their environmental impact as if they aren’t driving a gas guzzler around, but the basic idea of living in a van, driving around wherever, camping all the time, just going hiking and swimming and seeing the whole country? It sounds pretty dope, honestly.

why i love it: i like to watch tours and conversions of vans/buses into tiny homes as a self soothing method, and this fic has the same impact that watching those do. it’s such a fun concept, and it’s so fuckin’ soft, and the dialouge between tk and nolan is just *chef’s kiss*

all candor and style in the crook of your smile by p3trichor

summary: It’s a photo of Nolan on his knees with someones’ fingers in his mouth, lips slick with spit. Travis flicks by it almost too fast and he’s only got seconds to decide if he wants to screenshot it, if he wants to just give up the ghost right then and there. Except Travis’s phone freezes momentarily and then the group refreshes, sidcros87, Bert59 and 14 others took a screenshot!

It’s gone before Travis even has time to process it and he already wasted his replay of the day on a stupid video of a stupid fish that Hayes caught.

Can you send me that screenshot Travis texts Bertuzzi before he can overthink it, his dick already stirring in his sweats. Tuzzi sends back the cry-laughing emoji and then the screenshot before Travis can be too annoyed at him.

Or, Nolan is being weird about Travis's break-up and TK is maybe not straight.

why i love it: i genuinely don’t think i have words for the amount i love this fic. it took me forever to actually read, but it’s absolutely one of my favorite fics, and it’s an absolutely riot to read. carter’s meddling and the presence of tyler bertuzzi both make it extra fun, in my humble opinion

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steviespanties · 3 years

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Since Steve’s parents are out of town so often, he and Billy have a habit of hooking up at Steve’s place. Steve’s room is nice and all, but Billy has a thing for fucking Steve in his mom’s bed;; ((HI I LOVE YOUR ACCOUNT AND YOUR STORIES THANK YOU FOR CREATING SUCH MASTERPIECES💖💖))

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH AND ALSO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS!!! (This sent me down an interior decorating rabbit hole trying to figure out what Steve’s mom’s bed- and then her own room might look like😅😂 Please imagine a layout similar to this, but with another window on the other side of the bed for more light. The ‘sofa’ and bed look a lot more like this, but the colors and style are more similar to this and this room.) 2.2k words, rated E. Steve POV, some manhandling, some frottage, some rimming and dirty talk. Anal sex. Ya know. My usual.

Steve’s parents have a big enough house (and are rich enough) that his mom has an entire bedroom for herself. She calls it her boudoir, because it’s where her walk-in closet is and where she keeps all her fancy makeup, lesser used jewelry and perfumes. There’s a massive four-poster bed with floor-length drapes matching the curtains, a chaise lounge, a vanity, all in creamy white and bathed in warm lamp light.

Before he gets together with Billy, Steve doesn’t even think about it’s existence. It’s just another empty room, after all. The most he sees of the house are the entrance, kitchen, living room and the walk upstairs to his bedroom with his own bathroom. Hell, sometimes it slips his mind that he technically lives in what counts in Hawkins as a mansion.

Billy, however, becomes obsessed with the ‘boudoir’ in particular.

The first time he's supposed to really stay over, not just crash in Steve’s room and fuck him into his bed at 3am, he steps through the front entrance, whistles after a survey of the hallway and goes “Aren’t you gonna show me around?”

“Yeah, sure. Just take a pair of house shoes from over there.” Steve gestures towards the shoe rack in question and Billy’s expression goes from amused to disbelieving.

“Seriously?”

Steve glares at him. “Yeah. Seriously. My parents put in new flooring over the summer and now everything has to look pristine for the two times a year they have visitors over.”

It's such an unnecessary, stupid rule to enforce all of a sudden when Steve has rarely worn shoes around the house anyways.

He’s barefoot when it’s warm outside and leaves his shoes by the front door to change into thick wool socks during the cold months. And somehow, his parents still have found a new way to make him feel like he’s walking on eggshells in his own home.

Still, he watches Billy sullenly take off his shoes with growing amusement that gradually lightens the bad mood Steve’s gotten into just thinking about it. He figures he can give Billy a quick tour of the house and then order pizza. Watch a movie, fuck in an actual bed instead of getting each other off in the cramped backseats of their cars.

What happens instead is that Billy spends a ridiculous amount of time dragging Steve through his own home. He looks into guest rooms. Shoves his nose into cabinets. Looks out of windows like he’s staking out the neighborhood. (Woods. The neighborhood is mostly woods.)

“What are you, a spy?” Steve jokingly asks when Billy lifts up a painting to peek behind, like he’s looking for a safe. Billy scoffs, all mock-offended. But Steve can see a hint of a blush form on his cheeks. Gotcha. It’s kinda sweet how curious he is about the place, even if his main complaint is that it “feels like a show house.” Steve doesn’t have the heart to point out that he’s not too far off.

It’s when they step into his mom’s room that a predatory glint enters Billy’s eyes. “Ohh, is this where Mama Harrington sleeps?”

“Yeah. Sometimes. She wanted a room to get ready ‘in peace’. I’m pretty sure she just wants to drink prosecco in peace.” He watches Billy’s fingers trail over the fabric of one of the creamy white curtains framing the window. They part and his rings glint in the sunlight he’s suddenly bathed in. When he turns back around his hair is lit up gold and frames his head like a halo. Steve licks his lips. The fun thing about dating Billy is that he not only matches Steve in terms of libido, but seems to have a sixth sense for the moment Steve’s thoughts get distracted by his gorgeous everything.

Or maybe Steve just isn’t very subtle.

That glint in Billy’s eyes turns into hungry laser focus. Sets him into motion until he’s all pressed against Steve, a hot line of unrelenting muscle pushing him closer to the bed until they tip over and onto the mattress. Half hidden by more curtains hanging from the canopy. Sunlight follows them.

White teeth flash in an easy grin, quick and sweet, and then Billy’s lips are on Steve’s. His body weight pushes Steve into the creamy white bed cover and the air out of his lungs in a huffed laugh. Underneath him the texture of the blanket- distinct raised ribbing- digs into his skin. Billy’s hands dig into his hair.

The slick heat of Billy’s mouth and his thigh shoved between Steve’s legs is intoxicating. Makes it impossible to form a coherent thought when his focus narrows down on Billy on top of him, curls just long enough to fall down and tickle Steve’s face. He makes the most delicious sound when Steve grabs his ass and pulls him closer, till their hips are lined up just right. Steve pulls. Billy pushes. Like a conversation in a language purely made of heat and pressure, hitching breaths and choked moans. Against his own growing erection, painfully trapped in his jeans, he can feel Billy fill out as well. The pleasure is maddening. Enough to make Steve feel a burst of wetness pulse from his dick into his underwear. Enough to make him roll his hips up, searching for a better angle.

“Billy,” he sighs, not sure what he wanted to say afterwards. Just enjoys saying his name.

“We’re wearing too many clothes,” Billy complains in response, like he picked up whatever thought Steve dropped in the minuscule space between them. They break out into a familiar flurry of limbs and discarded clothes. A condom packet and a small bottle of lube make it from Billy’s discarded jacket onto the comforter next to Steve’s head. He snorts.

“You sure you weren’t a boy scout at some point? Feels like you’re always prepared to get your dick wet.”

Billy rolls his eyes, fond smile belying his annoyance. “Shut up. Turn around.” His voice has taken on that deep, rough tone indicating how much he’s turned on. Steve leans back instead, takes his dick in hand. Enjoys the rough drag of his dry palm when he drags it up in a loose grip. Just enough to tease. Billy raptly follows the movement. “Maybe I will if you ask me nicely.”

Oh, he loves this game. Put up a token bit of protest when Billy gets bossy, until he gets impatient and starts dragging Steve around until he’s nothing but putty underneath his hands.

“Show me your pretty hole, babe. I won’t ask again.”

Steve’s dick pulses in his hand. He watches Billy with half-lidded eyes. The way his muscles shift, getting ready to move. Hungry and powerful, like a big wildcat.

In the next second, he’s on Steve. Makes him gasp out an involuntary yelp when he easily flips him and drags him up by his hips. Until he’s on his knees, face buried in the bed cover and hot breath suddenly ghosts over his hole. There’s barely enough time to reorient himself before the scratch of Billy’s mustache and the slick warmth of his tongue press into his crack.

“Ah, fuck yes.”

He’s never done this before Billy. Not with any of the girls he fucked or dated. Not with Tommy, who he’s traded sloppy, shameful handjobs and blowjobs with. He doesn’t think he can ever get enough of feeling Billy’s tongue on his rim, swirling around until he’s dripping with saliva. Pushing inside where he’s sensitive, pressure and stretch of his hole making him squirm and push his hips back immediately.

It’s almost embarrassing how greedy he is for Billy’s mouth on him. His lips wrapped around his dick. His tongue shoved deep into his hole, held in place by those warm hands on his asscheeks. Holding him open so Billy can get even deeper, making him moan and drool into the blanket beneath him. It’s like a pulse, curls into him till his dick pushes out another spurt of precome and he can feel himself twitch, heavy and aching between his legs.

A slicked up finger joins Billy’s tongue. Makes the stretch just a bit more intense, but still so, so good. Billy only comes up for air when he adds a second finger. Steve can feel him rest his cheek on his ass, probably watching the movement of his fingers up close. He seems to have a thing for the sight of Steve’s rim stretched, his hole filled up and glistening.

“Gonna make you a complete mess in your mom’s bed,” Billy huffs into his skin. “Gonna make you cry and cream yourself all over her sheets.” He thrusts deeper and stretches his fingers until they tug at Steve’s hole and he groans with the ache. “Better get going then,” he tries to taunt. It falls flat with all that desperation laced through his words. The thing is, provoking Billy only gets you so far. Steve can tease him into impatience, but once he’s fully grasped control, he revels in it. Basks in Steve’s frenzied, futile attempts at irritating him. Like he’s had his chance, but the game is already won.

Steve doesn’t mind losing that much anyways.

“Just you wait,” Billy says fondly.

All Steve can focus on for a while is that glorious, slick movement of Billy’s fingers. The way he pushes in and out of him, stretches his rim and his insides, rubs over that spot inside of him that makes him frantically claw at the textured bed cover underneath him. Just long enough to make him whine and push back, pulse around a third finger that stretches him even wider.

At some point, when he’s reduced to a sweat-slick line of tightly wound pleasure, he finds himself empty. Barely registers the sound of a ripped open condom wrapper. Warm, humid breath over his spine that wanders up up up until there’s lips and teeth on his shoulder and Billy’s cock slowly pushes inside.

There’s a growing spot of drool-wet fabric his face presses into that swallows some of his moans. When Billy moves, satisfied sighs and barely coherent praises tumbling from his lips, Steve grasps the bed cover tight.

Billy’s hips find a rolling, unrelenting rhythm. The drag of his cock is a drug Steve can’t get enough of. Dreams about, just as much as he dreams about the tight heat of Billy around his dick.

He wishes he could turn around and admire Billy’s flushed face. Hold him between his spread legs. Get lost in his eyes and dizzy from his freckles. But Billy’s weight on his back and his mouth sucking hickeys into the back of his neck isn’t bad either. He tries to hold himself up, tries to concentrate on carrying that weight on his back, but with each thrust inside it’s like his knees spread wider and his elbows sink down until he’s pressed flat onto the bed. And then his dick makes contact with the bed cover and gets pushed right into it right along Billy’s thrusts.

“Ah!” The moan is embarrassingly loud. Louder than any other noise he’s made so far. Of course, Billy picks up on it.

“You gonna be a good boy and blow your load all over your mommy’s sheets?”

“Shut- shut up, fuck.” Billy just laughs, voice shot to hell.

Even if Steve wanted to, he can’t escape that mouthwatering pleasure the additional drag of rough fabric against his dick provides. Because even if he wanted to try, he can’t pull away from Billy’s weight on top of him. His heavy, thick cock inside of him that holds him open and fills him up.

He comes with a sob. Pushes his face harder into wet fabric. Pushes his dick through his own mess. Pushes his hips back to meet Billy’s thrusts, even when it becomes just a bit too much.

Billy rests his entire weight on him when he comes with a deeply satisfied groan. Through their aftershocks, he buries his face in Steve’s hair and they rest in companionable silence.

It’s not the last time they end up fucking on that bed, no matter how many times Steve complains about the laundry with flushed cheeks.

...

Steve isn’t enough of an idiot to not understand that Billy likes to fuck him in his mom’s bed because he likes the conquest of a room that’s ‘forbidden’. He’s the same at parties, likes to sneak into rooms he’s not supposed to be in. Likes the thrill of doing something nasty with Steve in a place his mom will walk into and never even suspect what’s happened.

And Billy? Billy doesn’t want to admit it, especially not to Steve’s face, but... the way Steve’s hair looks against the creamy-white sheets in his mom’s bedroom? The soft yellow glow of light, the blush that spreads from his cheeks down to his neck, to his chest faster than it does anywhere else- it’s addictive.

The best part, the one they both like a little too much is what happens afterwards. When the raised ribbing of the bed cover has left indents on Steve’s face where it’s been pressed down. On his arms and knees. On his back, where only Billy can see and trace it for the rest of the night, reverent and sweet.

#asks #OHH my god I'M SO FLATTERED THANK YOU SO MUCH😭💖💖💖#I hope you're having a LOVELY day and you like this!!#saberghatz #(also i'm so sorry this took ages to answer bc i took so long to write this?? jfc!!!)#harringrove #harringrove fic

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partiallyobscure · 3 years

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otp questions from this post <3 I just went ahead and did them with David and Michael lmao. it’s mostly my usual headcanons with my fic as the backstory but you don’t necessarily need to read it to understand. cw for light nsfw but it’s mostly tame.

Who is the most affectionate?

David is disgustingly affectionate. he lives to make people uncomfortable so he would be the absolute worst perpetrator of PDA. he and Michael have gotten kicked out of too many establishments all because David is constantly letting his hands wander. I don’t even think he’s aware of it at this point lmao

Big spoon/Little spoon?

they bicker about it a lot, but usually in bed, David ends up being the little spoon. he tries to start off being the big spoon but he always wakes up with Michael’s arms around his chest, specifically covering where the holes from the antlers were, even though the scars are long gone by now.

Most common argument?

usually comes down to who/what/where to eat.

Favorite non-sexual activity?

they love doing tons of stuff together, but they really like racing, watching bad sci-fi movies, and going on haunted tours around the country. they’ll really go the extra mile for the ghost tours and get huge cameras to hang around their neck and everything and act all tourist-y. it’s a great time.

Who is most likely to carry the other?

David fusses but Michael carries him around when he can or requests it. he doesn’t like to do it too often though because it always reminds him of that first time he did so, thinking he was carrying David’s dead body in his arms.

What is their favorite feature of their partner's?

Michael’s favorite feature is David’s mouth, especially when it quirks up into his signature smirk, but he can also tell a lot about what David’s feeling from what he’s doing with his mouth. David hates that Michael can read him so easily (even with their shared mental connection) and asks how the fuck he’s able to do that, and Michael always gives an enigmatic smile and swipes his thumb across David’s lips.

David’s favorite is Michael’s eyes. he could lose a whole night just staring into them. he can’t quite place the color, but they remind him of how the sky would look at noon and he gets a rush of nostalgia every time Michael looks at him. whenever they light up like when they’re with Michael’s family or when he’s talking about the coolest bike that he saw in town that day is David’s absolute favorite. and when only his eyes turn amber, before the rest of his face follows to match David’s, David falls a little bit more in love every time.

What's the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

not much changed on David’s end since he was attracted to Michael at first sight. he couldn’t let it show though so he just found excuses to touch Michael whenever he could, passing him the joint and their fingers brushing when Michael took the bottle and catching him when they fell off the bridge.

when Michael realized he started to share those feelings, he was confused at first considering everything that happened between them. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit David or hit on David when they first met, so those feelings simmered a bit until he could get to know David beyond their history. he doesn’t fully admit it until he realizes he’s the one David is pursuing and he has the ego boost from this combined with knowing there’s more to David than what he allows people to see.

Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

David likes how Michael’s name sounds too much to give him a nickname, but will sometimes hit him with a ‘babe’ just to see him flustered. Michael calls him Davey just to make him mad but especially in public.

Who worries the most?

Michael since he still can’t seem to shake the fact that he doesn’t need to worry anymore about human dangers. he still flinches and looks twice before pulling onto the highway and all. but mostly he still worries about his family and their perception of him and whether or not they see him as a bad person, despite their love and support. and of course, he worries about how he’ll be when the day comes that he gets older than them.

Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

David knows Michael’s order all too well and specifically chooses restaurants that have at least fifteen kinds of burgers to choose from.

Michael swears David is making stuff up at this point whenever they go to a sushi place or a Thai place and he chooses something new to try every time. he knows David’s bubble tea order by heart, though.

Who tops?

Michael, but they’ll switch whenever David has had enough of Michael being too gentle with him.

Who initiates kisses?

David, but he’ll usually give Michael a look when he wants a kiss and Michael is happy to oblige. otherwise, since David likes gross PDA, he usually steals a kiss whenever he can.

Who reaches for the other's hand first?

David and it’s usually because he has to pull Michael along after he gets lost in his thoughts, more often than not after they feed.

Who kisses the hardest?

Michael. David nipped at his bottom lip once and that’s all it took for his fangs to come out and sometimes, it gets a little bloody.

Who wakes up first?

Michael. he has to practically drag David out of bed most nights because he’s too comfortable.

Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

David as stated above lmao. who knows how long dude was batting it up before he could sleep in a bed again.

Who says I love you first?

Michael and it was out of frustration.

Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

there’s no one to tell at first since they were keeping it secret, but Star finds out first and is initially upset, mostly about being lied to. grandpa eventually finds out next and then Sam stumbled across them by accident, so...both of them technically spill the beans together each time lmao

What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Lucy is supportive and likes David a lot. she knows she should probably resent him for turning Michael, but he really seems like a boy who was in a bad scenario and is making due with what happened to him. she also knows Michael has been a good influence on him and trusts the two of them are doing what they need to to survive. her and David bond over shit talking Max and the best kind of wines.

Sam was understandably skeptical at first, but he and David came to an understanding and they’re cool now. they bond over music and David eventually comes around to really enjoying board games because of Sam, mostly because he wins every single game. Sam even refers to him as his brother-in-law.

Star took longer to come around but she mostly listens whenever Sam tells her what they’re up to. she’s also mostly relieved that she dodged both of those bullets and can live her own life how she wants to now, grateful that the boys gave her an escape and that Michael helped get her human life back.

Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

both of them suck at dancing, but Michael will spin David every now and then when a cheesy slow song comes on, or Careless Whispers and they both crack up.

Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

when they’re back spending time with Michael’s family, David is usually the one helping Lucy in the kitchen. he’s chided Michael before about joining in, especially with the big holiday dinners but Michael is always there to lick whatever spoons and bowls clean when they make dessert.

they vow to take a cooking class or two while they’re out on the road but never do.

Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Michael. he usually gets them from Sam.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear during inappropriate times?

David, 100%. inappropriate times being at all times because of the whole telepathy thing.

Who needs more assurance?

David, that Michael still wants to be with him and doesn’t resent him for turning him. but also Michael that he isn’t a monster and that he’s only doing what he needs to to survive.

What would be their theme song?

SOOOO MANY but just from my drive to work today: Possum Kingdom by the Toadies fits TOO well. Michael by Franz Ferdinand too obviously. I’m curating a playlist for them here at the moment if anyone’s interested lmao

Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

please don’t give these two a child

What do they do when they're away from each other?

they’re not usually too far from each other but David gets a little mopey until he can see Michael again. he’s protective so he doesn’t let Michael too far out of his sight. Michael feels a little part of himself missing when David’s not with him, so he’ll do whatever he needs to do quickly or just take David along with him.

one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart:

despite all the time David has had to mourn and grieve, he still misses the other boys every day and sometimes it gets really painful. his only regret in life is not easing Michael into the vampire thing more before turning him, but he was under a time constraint from Max so he didn’t have much of a choice. they still get into shouting matches very rarely about whether or not Michael was the catalyst for the other three’s deaths and David’s very deep, hidden fear is that he’ll never learn how to accept it and one day, his emotions will take him too far and Michael will get sick of his guilt trips.

one headcanon about this OTP that mends it:

Michael does blame himself for David’s grief, because how could he not. he feels like the constant source of David’s sorrow when it comes to the boys but also his ecstatic love and it pulls him in two directions. he listens intently whenever David tells him about his past and his time with the boys and asks what they’d say or do if they were there with them right now, and it continues into the modern era. Michael asks what kind of blog Paul would have (music reviews and fashion), what Marko would name his Instagram account for bird photography (vampigeons), and how many followers Dwayne would get on tiktok for posting thirst traps. David knows Michael cares and is trying to keep the spirit of the lost boys alive.

#i miss my fic ok i wanted to expand on it a little 🥺#the fluff overload tag comes in handy here #my fics #the lost boys #david/michael emerson

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chaotic-tired-cat · 3 years

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world walker to date is one of my most favorite fanfics ever. it's so well-written! not too op, with real difficulties and plot, but still light-hearted and funny! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 i hope life smoothens out for you so we can get an update of this awesome story! :D :D :D

Aaaa thanks Anon!! This ask made me super happy - I'm glad you like World Walker and that it hit the right balance between angst and comedic moments (tbh that's one of the things that's really hard to get right). Things are still hectic but as soon as they're not that chapter is getting finished!!!

Since it might be a while, have a post-World Walker scene from the pov of a couple civilians. It was written to try out Cryptid as Izuku's hero name (/^o^)/

(Note: this scene isn't canon to World Walker and was written before I knew how the story would end.)

“Why do you even think this is going to work?” Yua hovers around Mariko’s efforts in the Denny’s parking lot, careful to avoid stepping on the complicated design taking place under Mariko’s second piece of chalk. The first one was sacrificed to ward off a raccoon. They specifically chose to do this after midnight for the ambiance, but Yua is starting to have second thoughts.

It’s very dark, and they’re both fem-presenting teenagers with emitter quirks in a deserted part of town.

This is not a good place to be.

“I got the pattern off a hero,” Mariko assures her. “You know how I was in the gym when Uravity's fight hit school, right?”

Yes, and Yua is trying desperately to forget the worst day of her life, thank you.

“Uravity and Cryptid dug me out, but it was weird, because he drew this symbol on a piece of the roof and it just- stayed. In the air. Even when nothing was supporting it.” Mariko pauses, beaming at the magic circle that’s mostly made of lines and squiggles to complete the aesthetic. One of the symbols doesn't look right. It slides out of focus, and Yua carefully steps back, because hell no.

“How is that supposed to help us summon a ghost-”

“Finished! Start filming, hurry, hurry, hurry!” Mariko drops her piece of chalk as Yua scrambles to swipe open her camera. Before Yua can stop her, Mariko has drawn a pocket knife, cut the pad of her thumb, and is smearing blood on the unsanitary parking lot ground.

Delightful.

Her hand is going to get so infected.

That’s right about when the air above the circle tears itself apart.

Mariko shrieks. Yua almost runs, then remembers herself and makes sure her phone is pointed at the sliver of starlight shining out of thin air. She knows her horror film tropes. Whatever they released into the world is taking them first, but she can at least get a video account to warn people of what they did.

Eaten by a demon or some shit. That’s a bomb-ass obituary.

Pro Hero Cryptid crashes out of the portal, one hand protectively wrapped around a bowl half-full of salad. His Uravity sweatshirt mostly obscures Froppy sweatpants, but Yua is more alarmed by the fact that Cryptid looks surprisingly human. No needle-sharp teeth, no starlit eyes. Spinach flutters to the ground around the hero in a gentle shower of greenery that nestles in his curly hair as if adding to the foliage. He stares blankly at them, then at the scribbles under his feet, before pointing a truly pissed-off look at the sky.

“Are you serious?” Cryptid yells at the city skyline. A spinach leaf falls off his shoulder. “Right in front of my salad?”

“Holy shit,” Yua whispers, and discovers that she can, in fact, be more embarrassed than the time their teacher made the whole class sing ‘Happy Birthday’ while she stood in silent mortification on a chair. “We summoned him.”

Mariko claps both hands over her mouth to keep in her laughter, eyes wide. “We really did.”

This seems to draw the hero’s attention back to them.

“You two okay? Yes? Nobody’s hurt? Oh, thank goodness.” Cryptid stabs a fork into his vegetables, shoves it into his mouth, and makes grabby hands for the chalk. Mariko passes it over with a potent mix of awe and glee.

“I am so sorry,” Yua breathes.

Mariko sniffs. “I’m not.”

“And I’m glad to be summoned,” Cryptid finishes with a sunshine-smile. He’s very… human. The wrinkled eyebrows he directs at Mariko’s chalk art do not resemble the otherworldly creature that showed up during All Might’s last battle. “Better for me to be dropped here than for y’all to get… hm. Yeah, this is good.”

Hm?

Hm??

What does ‘hm’ mean?

Yua reaches over and frantically swats at Mariko’s sweatshirt in an attempt at telepathically communicating her many, many feelings concerning accidentally summoning a hero into this godsforsaken Denny’s parking lot.

“How did you find a stasis glyph?” Cryptid mumbles around his fork.

“Copied it from you. My quirk lets me mimic actions if I see them without blinking.” Mariko peers around his shoulder at the lines taking form.

“That’s such a cool quirk,” Cryptid tells her instantly. “Do you need a clear line of sight? Is it only capable of copying real-life actions or can you use recordings? Oh, are you limited to your own flexibility and strength, or is this a mirror skill instead of a mimic? You could use that for anything, it’s a very adaptable power.”

Yua cautiously edges closer to give the camera a better angle at the ground while Mariko preens. “What are you even doing?”

“Editing. Here, look- right there, you tied it down with intent contrary to the meaning.” Cryptid shuffles over so she can see and points out a circled section. He smudges out the blurry patch.

Mariko watches eagerly as the hero replaces it with a mishmash of lines that Yua can actually make sense of. “I don’t understand any of what you just said, but hell fuckin’ yeah, you funky lil’ cryptid.”

“Oh, sorry. I get called whenever the void gets angry, and this is the language it speaks,” Cryptid says, like this makes sense. He taps the lines eagerly. “Put a stasis glyph on the ground and continents will stop shifting, which is a whole lot of bad news."

"Uh huh," Mariko says. Yua swats at her again, because there's no way she understands and going along with this for entertainment value alone is going to get them into some sort of horror movie B-Plot.

Cryptid just looks amused. "Next time you need to experiment, use a paper base instead of the concrete. It’s safer. And- is that blood?”

“Maybe,” Mariko says, partially as a dare for him to say anything because she isn’t really the type to listen to anyone, regardless of if they’re a hero. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Huh. Yeah, you got me there.” Cryptid puts his bowl of salad on the ground and fishes around in his Uravity sweatshirt for a tiny med kit.

“Where’d we go wrong,” Mariko asks, like they are ever going to try this again. Yua hisses for her to stop and is ignored with the extreme confidence of someone determined to keep making the same continuous mistake until success is summoned through stubborn willpower alone.

“You didn’t need to hurt yourself.” Cryptid bandages her hand, slips away the medkit, and says gravely, “Blood never brings anything good.”

“Holy shit,” Yua repeats as Cryptid takes a bite of salad and goes right back to his art project like this happens every other Tuesday. Mariko glares at her, but honestly, this is the wildest thing.

The hero keeps saying things.

“Not to lecture either of you, but it’s a bad idea to mess around with unborn languages without supervision.” Cryptid hands back the chalk and takes another bite of his salad. “This stuff can blow up in your face. So, can I escort you guys anywhere? Because it’s a little dark and this isn’t exactly the safest part of town.”

That’s about when Yua realizes something under the spinach is glowing.

#Anon #Tired cat asks #World Walker #Fic snippet

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Questions

I was tagged by @neonponders, thank you so much, love! 🔅🔅🔅💓💓

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have a few accounts? xD I’ve got 23 in the one I’m using now, but it's all very tiny.

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

54,159

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

mmmm…

Game of Thrones

Supernatural

Teen Wolf

Harry potter

Pacific rim

Stranger Things

And a few minor fandoms

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

‘That’s how you close an open wound’ | ‘Kinda wanna make us happen’ | ‘It burns in my tongue’ | ‘The Buckley-Hargrove dilemma’ | ‘Forget the paths written in the palm of your hand’

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I always, always try to. Sometimes It might take me a little while to get to things but I try to never forget to answer. I honestly appreciate the effort it takes to leave a comment or a note or tags in a reblog, and I also try to always answer to those. I think it’s important to show to that person how much it means to you that they’ve taken the time to reach out. Because it is so important to the writer. So important it can even be determinant for us to keep on writing.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Uff. It was a Ned/Robert, for Game of Thrones (more like Asoiaf). And I basically cried the whole time. I still do, when I re-read it. I managed to actually capture something, in that one.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Sometimes? I wrote a Supernatural/Lost Boys thing back in the day that’s still 2? 3? Chapters from being finished? Hopefully one day. And I have not as much a crossover as an ‘inspired on’ the Goonies universe Teen Wolf fic where Derek and Stiles go to Stiles’ mom natal town to investigate a polish ghost pirate ship while falling in love. And a tiny harringrove /Men in Black au where Agent S and Agent B end up paired with a demo-puppy.

Wich one's the craziest, I honestly don't know. All of them feel pretty ??? to me! xD

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeh, a few times. Basically just bc of writing m|m, of bc my 'awful writing' or for catboy!Steve xD.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yep. I’ve always considered myself more smut writer than anything else. Now I guess I’m a smut writer with pretensions xD. (Truth be told, when I started writing I didn't imagine I would be capable of writing anything more than that). So I wasn’t actyally writing that much smut when I landed on harringrove. I was more focused on the pretensions (aka the gosh pirate ship fic). But harringrove and their chemistry hit me hard, I literally put aside everything else and started writing them like crazy, including lots of smut bc hfahfsafhfhsifhs. Another reason is that it’s hard for me to keep other kinds of stories short, but smut not that much (I get an idea for an slightly emotionally charged scene I like and I suddenly feel the need to write 10k for it minimum). So I focused more on smutty stuff when I jumped into this language, as a way to have something finished on my hands, feel like I was making some kind of progress (BUT ALSO: THE CHEMISTRY).

And I guess my smut comes in diametric opposites, or at least that’s how I perceive it. Plain, straightforward smut, or heavily (in my head, at least) emotional smut. I’M IN LOVE WITH the way we can use touch and slow pace and physical sensations and glances to enhance what we’re saying about emotions in a sexual scene.

Also, and contradictorily, smut is so hard to write sometimes for me! So another good thing is that when I finish one smutty story I suddenly feel like a can write anything! Haha.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeh. A few times. Both Sterek oneshots :(.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yess! <3<3<3< To Chinese and Russian and English and I <3<3<3<3<3<3<33<3<3<3<

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Was about two once, with a friend. But sadly both out lives became real busy, so didn’t. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll be cut for it, but I wanted to test it.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

The last ship I land on always feels like my fav to me. But it might be true in this case. Bc yeah, harringrove.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Ufff, too many.

What are your writing strengths?

Uh. Eh. Well. I hopeguess sometimes it sounds good? I can’t control that in eng as much as i do in spa bc I don’t have any real knowledge of the phonology but, well. I try. And that’s one of the aspects I put more thought/work into because I LOVE that.

Sometimes I like my dialogue and sometimes I like my pacing/rhythm. Sometimes I feel like I’ve managed to convey/describe one feeling the way I wanted to.

I dunno. I try to keep my head in a the ‘get the work done’ space not as much as in the ‘is good’. Not easy but, again, try is the key word in here.

I rely a lot in the editing process but I think I’m actually good at that. At least, when I finish, I like the prettified version way more than the ‘raw’ one.

What are your writing weaknesses?

My writing reads the same way my brain works: in a cluttered, messy way. And I don’t like it but. I feel like I can’t change it. Can control it, sometimes. I manage to keep the ‘too much’ at bay but other times it just wins me. I also keep rolling my eyes at how sticky-sweet I can get and despise the way I keep repeating formulas and sentence structures (I feel you @neonponders ) but. Ugh. They just. Happen? Gah.

But! I actually feel more at peace with all that than it might look like xD. ‘Cause the alternatives is not writing and that I cannot do so 🤷‍♂️

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Ahhh, I LOVE IT! Started doing it with the kegboys, basically to treat myself XD, and I’ve got it in a few wips and also in this dumb thing I wrote. I think it’s fun, and it also adds certain feeling of expansion to the world the characters live in, helps us remember there’s more (people, places, types of lives and ways of communicating and meanings) aside from the ones represented in the scene/wholeness of the story. I’m aware that too much can be confusing and tiring for the reader, but not more than a bit is needed, really. Also, can be used to induce some fun misunderstandings xD.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Some fantasy book series I was reading at the moment, during my ‘epic fantasy’ phase xD.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably one supernatural fic I wrote ages ago. It isn’t particularly well written or anything. But was one of the first longer-ish things I wrote. And I still feel proud about that one. And I always felt so happy writing Theon Greyjoy, so I really love the things I wrote for him. And the ship fic, again, if I ever finish it! Except I feel like I can’t stop writing harringrove.

I’m tagging! @memes-saved-me @edith-moonshadow @disdaidal @dyingontheharringrovehill @wherearetheplums @c0bblenygma @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger @pretty-bratty @ghostofjellyfishforgotten

#tagged!!!#thanks neonponders 💖💖💖💖💖#this was fun #withoneheadlight

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mishavacado · 3 years

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SPN has so much spinoff potential and so much canon to work with, it's such a waste that none of it's getting used. This post is just all of my spinoff ideas, I'll apologize in advance because it is VERY long.

Wayward Sisters, obviously. There are so many possible storylines to work with, so many stories to tell. I'd really love to see some Charlie, Eileen, or Krissy Chambers cameos. I think that Charlie and Claire would get along really well (just read this post). Rowena is another character that I think could easily be worked into the canon. She could teach the girls all kinds of magic and be the fun wine aunt that spoils the girls on their birthdays. I don't think that Claire would like her very much, but, Rowena and Alex would probably get along just fine. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000/10 when I heard that this idea had been tossed out I was so angry. Why doesn't this exist?

Men of Letters prequel that's mostly set in the bunker. This show could really expand on the canon lore and give us some more background on the Men of Letters, as well as any other similar/rival organizations that were around before the main show's time. The Men of Letters have so much story potential for a spin-off; corrupt leadership, new monsters, other organizations, expanding the MoL to outside the U.S. Episodes could be in a monster-of-the-week (MOTW) format, starting and ending with the Man of Letters the case is assigned to making notes in his journal or case file or talking about the case, as well as the overall season arcs. Episodes would be titled by their case number, i.e S1 E1 Case No. 1925-4, etc How much I need this in my life: 1000000/10, the supernatural/historical drama combo would be absolutely stunning.

A series focusing on all of the alternate timelines and universes, both the ones mentioned in the main show and ones just randomly created for an episode. There are infinite possibilities. Each episode would be in a MOTW format, but with different versions of Sam and Dean. The HunterCorp universe, Jared and Jensen from the French Mistake, a universe where their names are switched, a universe where Dean went to college and was the one with the demon blood powers, a universe where they drive a Mustang instead of the Impala, a universe where Sam isn't scared of clowns. I could go on, but I'm going to stop myself here. How much I need this in my life: 9/10 I think it would be pretty funny, but it's not my best idea.

A Bobby and Rufus spin-off where they talk about cases they worked on together or with other hunters, but the stories are told similarly to Tall Tales. It's the same story but told from different points of view depending on who's talking. I wish we'd gotten to see more of Bobby and Rufus because I think those two are hilarious and really think that this could be funny, even if it was just a web series with twenty-minute episodes. How much I need this in my life: 10/10, I love Bobby and Rufus and I think that they have a lot of interesting hunting stories to tell.

GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000/10, I love the Ghostfacers. That's my whole idea.

A Jack-centric show that's almost a political drama. Jack is the ruler of heaven and is constantly being manipulated by angels, demons, and Death herself. He just wants to make an afterlife paradise, but power-hungry angels won't leave him alone. Remember that Jack is very young and trusting by nature, so there is a lot of potential for disaster if he gets goaded into doing something, like making new universes or ending existing ones. Cas is a main character and he does his best to protect Jack, but he has to be careful to not seem overprotective/like another manipulator or Jack won't trust him either. I have no idea if I'm making any sense, but shoutout to me if I am. For some reason, I've always thought that heaven would be an interesting setting for a spin-off, and those angels are pretty similar to power-hungry politicians. How much I need this in my life: 800/10, I would totally watch this.

A very short series that just destroys the canon finale. Twelve episodes, detailing the storylines that were ignored or destroyed by Carry On. E1: Rescuing Cas from the Empty and he and Dean have a long talk about their ~feelings~. They kiss, and for the first time, Dean’s mind is free of doubt about whether or not anyone could ever love all of him. E2: Eileen returns. She says nothing when she sees Dean and Cas holding hands, just raises her eyebrow and smiles knowingly. Some excellent movie night content. E3: 1 year later. Sam and Eileen’s wedding. Dean and Cas aren’t legally married, but their matching gold rings are very prominently shown. It isn’t mentioned. The wedding is almost canceled because of the rain, but with a wave of Jack’s hand the clouds disappear and the birds start to sing. E4: Sam and Eileen have moved out of the Bunker. Cas finally convinces Dean to downsize, so they find a little house in Lawrence and settle down. Cas works as a special ed teacher. Dean works as a mechanic. Miracle loves the backyard but makes sure to stay away from the beehives in the back corner. E5: Sam and Eileen’s twins, Mary and Maura, are born. Dean and Cas love their nieces, and Jack loves them too. He doesn’t know what to call himself, so they settle on Uncle and call it good. E6: Deaths. They all die old. Cas’s vessel has aged, but he can’t die, so when Dean finally passes away in his sleep, Cas scatters his ashes in the woods and disappears, ascending to heaven, to spend eternity with Dean. The closing scene is a dark screen, with the whoosh of wings and a soft “Hello, Dean.” OK. That was a long one. My apologies. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000/10. I would reach nerdvana thirty seconds into episode one.

Another spinoff of that idea is just...Dean and Cas living a normal life. Short episodes. Cas goes to the grocery store. Dean drags Cas to a horror movie fan convention. Cas meets a roomba. How much I need this in my life: I can’t type enough zeroes to express it.

Campbell prequel that focuses on Mary and her childhood. Mary being raised as a hunter but not being allowed on hunts. Mary rushing home to finish her chemistry homework so she can help her dad track a nest of vampires moving east. Mary missing her prom to help Samuel on a hunt. Mary trying to keep her real life secret from John, a man she knows loves the parts of her he knows about. Mary always being an outsider, the kindest and most beautiful girl in her class, but so slow to trust and quick to speak that everyone is afraid to be her friend. Mary is a character that has the potential a lot more development, for twelve seasons she’s the burning martyr in every Winchester’s imagined paradise. She deserves more. How much I need this in my life: 11/10, Mary isn’t my favorite character but I would die for her.

Gabriel spin-off. That’s it, that’s the idea. How much I need this in my life: 10000000/10, Gabriel is a character that we don’t know a lot about so there are so many possible directions for a story about him to go.

Show set in the SPN universe that doesn’t really interact with the main show’s canon. It’s about two cops in the 30s that become hunters by accident. After investigating the apparent suicide of a hunter in their small town, they become enthralled by her library, filled with books about ghosts and vampires. They pour over her journals on their own time, fascinated by what they’re reading. They get to know the hunter through her writings, her accounts of her hunts and travels. Eventually, a nest of vampires settles in the town and the two put their newfound knowledge to the test. This show would just be based on canon lore, there wouldn’t be any mention of the Winchesters or other main characters, although a few MoL team-ups is definitely a possibility. The two become quite a team, tracking werewolf backs on bulletin boards in their basements and hoarding rock salt. How much I need this in my life: 89/10, I think this could be really interesting and I am a sucker for historical hunters.

Speaking of historical hunters-Samuel Colt prequel. Cowboys, vampires, cowpires. Hunting in the wild west, galloping across the prairie chasing a pack of werewolves. This show could also tell us a lot about how different types of monsters spread across the U.S. Ghosts will go anywhere people go, but what about vampires? Shapeshifters? Ghouls? What was it like to hunt without technology to help with research? The hunters in this series would be the authors of the journals that modern hunters use every day. They’re the ones that tested tracking and trapping methods. Again, no idea if this is making sense, but I think that a supernatural western would be really awesome and would expand/substantiate the canon lore. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000000000/10, I love cowboys and I love Supernatural. This is literally the best thing that could ever happen to me.

Crowley. I want to know more about him. A series that tells us all about Fergus Roderick MacLeod, starting with when he was born in Scotland and ending with his death in All Along the Watchtower. We know that Rowena was his mother, that he was a tailor, that he sold his soul for an extra three inches ~down there~, and that he was a terrible dad. I want to know more about his childhood, about the people he made deals with, about how he became king of the crossroads and of Hell. Crowley was a very interesting character that was abused by the story. I want to know more about him. How much I need this in my life: 10000000000000000000000000000000000000/10, I really do love Crowley and I would watch this a thousand times over.

Final idea: MOTW only. No season arc, no overall storyline. New hunters every episode, from all different times, from over the world. All kinds of monsters. One episode in Victorian England, the next in 1990s Los Angeles. Very few recurring characters, if any. The recurring characters would be the Bobby Singers of the world; the lore guys that you call when you need help. Each new character has their own style, own car, own music, own personality. The show could have some a m a z i n g guest stars because they’d only appear in a few episodes. There are so many possibilities for episodes, even if they weren’t full length. How much I need this in my life: 100000/10, I love MOTW episodes and would really like to get to know the characters. It would be very easy to write one-off fanfics for this show, and also very easy to introduce this show’s characters into Supernatural’s canon.

You made it to the end!!!!!!!! That’s all I have for now. Sorry for writing so much, I just can’t stop thinking about SPN and all of the wasted stories.

#al speaks #spn #spn spin-offs #my ideas #i worked hard on this #big brain time #do you like it?

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chasingforeverandaday · 4 years

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Can I ask for #23 from the fluff writing prompts please? “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a mansion with some (boy/girl/person) I barely know.” I mean, it’s just screaming gendrya at me! Thank you!

Well, how does some Regency era AU sound? This one ended up a full on one shot, because I fell down a rabbit hole real fast. Also I got to write Robb, which was super fun because I never write Robb. He may be a bit out of character, but I feel like if any of the Stark siblings would understand Arya’s conflict of love and duty, it would absolutely be Robb.

half agony, half hope

There are times that Gendry Waters thinks his life would be so much simpler if he’d ever actually learned how to say no to Miss Arya Stark, sister to the Lord of Winterfell. He can stall her in her impulsivities yes, or can sometimes talk her around to his point of view on a matter, but straight up denying her when she looks up at him with those big grey eyes and the pout he always wishes to kiss from her lips?

Stronger men than him would capitulate without question.

Stronger men have.

So when she barges into his smithy one June morning, he steels himself for whatever new (potentially scandalous) misadventure she has in mind for them. But the stricken look on her face as she quietly requests that he close up early and meet her in his personal quarters ignites a panic in his belly, and he hustles the other customers out as quickly as he can after she leaves.

Door locked and forge cooled for the day, he hurries through washing up and finds her in his rooms, pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. He can see the exact moment she notices his presence, as her head whips around to his and her face crumples. Terror seizes in his veins and he crosses the room in two strides to pull her into his arms.

She doesn’t fight him, just lets herself be held for a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist so tightly he thinks she’ll never let go. A shudder passes through her slim frame, then one hand reaches up to bend his neck downwards, her mouth seeking his.

Gods know he’d be happy to kiss her forever, but something must have shaken Arya badly for her to show up unannounced and ask him to abandon his work. Pulling away to lean his forehead against hers, he asks, “Love, what’s wrong?

A tiny voice he’s never associated with Arya Stark whispers, “How quickly can you be ready to leave?”

“What?” Utterly bewildered, he pushes her back farther so he can read her face, but she just burrows her face into his neck, clinging onto him like a limpet. Cautiously, he moves them to his narrow bed, sitting on the edge as she falls into his lap, all the while never letting him go.

She looks up at him then, eyes a little harder, a little more sure as she takes his hands in hers. “Run away with me. Gendry, please, we need to go, and it needs to be as soon as possible.”

“I don’t understand, I thought we had more time, that I had more time to…” Prove myself worthy of you, let myself learn to let you go, something, anything but be forced to watch you choose between me and your family.

“My mother’s invited suitors from houses Frey, Dayne, and Arryn to Winterfell, and I heard her tell Robb earlier that she won’t be letting me reject all of them.” Turning away as she speaks, Arya curls into him more, making herself look even smaller if that were even possible. “She intends to have me wedded and bedded by the end of the summer, seems to think it will curb my more unladylike tendencies.”

“Arya, you’re only twenty two for gods’ sake. She can hardly be that desperate to be putting you on the shelf already!” Almost as an afterthought, he mumbles into her hair, “And I like your unladylike tendencies.”

A sad smile on her face, Arya cups his cheek with her palm as she stays seated in his lap. “I know you do. I think she just wants me to be someone else’s problem now. Besides, all my siblings but Rickon have made good matches and are married. But what my mother said isn’t the important part.”

There’s a subtle shift in her voice as she draws herself fully upright, the pain replaced by something a little more hopeful. She’s finally looking at him again, her grey eyes searching his.

“Because Robb…” she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders before looking him straight in the eye. “Robb told her he thought I should have more of a choice. He said that yes, I should marry, but that it didn’t have to be one of them. He told her that none of them would make me happy, and that I should marry a man who made me smile, not grimace every time I looked at him.”

Rubbing a hand up and down her back, Gendry cannot help but wonder, “That’s good, even I know that’s a good thing, but why…?”

“Because Robb walked out of his study and found me standing there, pale as a ghost I’m sure. He took me back to my room, and he told me that he thought I shouldn’t be forced to marry a man I didn’t love.” One of her hands comes to rest over his heart, fluttering rapidly at her touch. “Somehow, he knew about you and me, because then he told me he’d been thinking about commissioning you for some ironwork around the estate, and perhaps I could go to town to speak with you about it, since neither he nor Bran could do so today.”

The pieces fall together, and a little of Arya’s hope finds a home with Gendry. “So you think he’s giving us his blessing, and we’re running away.”

“I know he is, he just can’t come out and say it because of who he is.” Threading her fingers through his own, Arya holds their clasped hands together like a talisman, pressing a light kiss to the back of his before looking up with a smile. “We’re going to Gretna Green, and we’re going to get married like we’ve wanted to for three years, and then I’m going to actually learn how to keep a house and run your smithy, and we’re going to be happy, Gendry, so incredibly happy.”

“Aye, in our tiny little home with two rooms and no grand paintings or pianos or anything fancy like what you have up at Winterfell.” He knows that Arya says she has no care for those things, but he needs to remind her of the difference in their standing, just one last time before they make this choice that will alter their lives forever.

“Stupid boy,” she giggles, poking him in the nose with the first true grin he’s seen on her face this afternoon, “I’d rather live in the woods with you than in a manor with some person I barely know. I mean, ideally we live somewhere with a forge for you, but as long as you’re with me, I’m hardly going to be picky.”

Bending down, Gendry allows himself to brush a quick kiss to her lips, a promise made without words. “Give me a few days, so I can finish up my orders and get everything ready so I can leave. Just don’t say yes to any other proposals, and we’ll be saying our vows in a fortnight.”

-/-/-

A sennight later, as she prepares her horse for the journey as surreptitiously as she can, the stable door creaks open. Terrified that it will be that one stablehand who always tells her mother when she leaves the estate without asking permission, Arya hides in the shadows of Nymeria’s stall, peeking out into the center aisle into the hazy, pre-dawn light.

It’s Robb, carefully shutting the door behind him. He walks straight up to her hiding place and holds out his hand to her, a small smirk on his face. “Come out sister, we’ve not much time to waste.”

Slowly, she leads Nymeria out of the stall, fingers tightly gripping her reins. Her brother looks older than she’s ever seen him before. He looks like a lord in a way he never has before, one with the world weighing on his shoulders. But then her eyes meet his, and he smiles at her, and Robb is her big brother once more.

Dropping Nym’s reins, Arya throws herself into his arms, trusting that he will catch her implicitly. She’ll miss this, she thinks, having a brother she knows she can depend on.

When they finally pull away, Robb reaches up to wipe a tear she hadn’t even noticed from her eye. “There now, this won’t be the last time we see each other, little sister. Besides, one would think you’d be happier to be heading off on such a grand adventure with your blacksmith.”

Laughing wetly, she replied, “I am, trust me, I am anxious to start our lives together, I just…” here she shrugged, fidgeting her hands as she tried to gather the words to express herself. “This is the last time I’ll be in Winterfell as Arya Stark, or maybe ever if Mother reacts the way I think she will when she finds out. I’ll miss it here, even when Gendry and I have a new home. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“You’ll always have a home here, for as long as I’m the lord. Probably after too, as you and I both know you’re Little Ned’s favorite auntie. But I think you’ll be far happier living wherever you and your husband end up than you would locked up in a London townhouse with whatever ponce our Mother has handpicked for you.” The disgusted face he made at his own words made her smile again, which she knew was exactly why he’d done so in the first place.

Serious again, Robb placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze as he said, “I’ve grown to love Jeyne, I have, but I’ve never looked at her the way your Mr. Waters looks at you, or you look at him, and neither has Sansa’s husband. You’re incandescently happy whenever you’re near him, and I can always tell when you haven’t spoken to him in days because you’re so quiet, like you’re holding in all of your thoughts until you can share them with him.”

He sighed before continuing in a soft tone, “If you hadn’t found him, hadn’t fallen in love, then I would try to arrange a marriage for you that could lead to your overall happiness in life. But you did. You fell in love years ago, and I’m glad that at least one of us gets to experience that joy in this lifetime.”

Moving to hold her hand in his left, he reached with his right into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out an envelope. “This is the information for the accounts I’ve had set up in your name in London.” He placed it in her hand and looked her square in the eyes. “You may not be marrying with a proper trousseau, but this way you won’t be entering this marriage without your dowry. You don’t need to worry about Mother’s reaction either, I’ll take care of it. Jon will meet you in Scotland, I’ve already sent him an express explaining everything.”

Shocked at all the things he had thought of and put in place for her, Arya could only manage to sob, “Robby, I…” before hugging him again.

Her brother pulled her close once more, placing a kiss on her brow before pulling away. “I love you, and I’m sorry I cannot do more. Be happy, Arya. Be happy and one day when we’re old and grey, you’ll tell me stories of all your adventures with the man I know you love and the adorable little children I’m sure you’ll have. Now go, the tasks I set for James cannot take much longer, and you have quite the ride ahead of you.”

With that, Robb helped her onto her horse and led her outside as the sun rose. After he let her go, Arya pushed Nymeria into a trot, determined to make her way to the closed smithy before the people of Wintertown fully awoke. She only let herself look back once, barely able to see the figure of her brother as he waved her off into her future.

#gendrya #writing prompt #my writing #regency au

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