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#shouts in english student; I LOVE THEMES!!!
macbeth-s · 1 year
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1899 + themes [1/??]
↳ [stolen] identity
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satorunigojaloo · 3 months
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Say yes to heaven (pt1)
Gojo Satoru x f!reader
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-> Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ part 4 (epilogue) <-
Genre: Fluff, friends(maybe enemies?)to lovers, romance, little humour,teenage love, slight touchy touchy but no smut.
Warning: swearing, sexual themes
AN: After writing an angsty story previously I decided to try out a more lighthearted and happy story.
I was originally planning on just one whole story, but as I wrote this it felt more natural to make two parts.
Sorry for the grammar, English is not my first language and I wrote this on my phone.
Wordcount: 3.6k
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A year had almost gone by since Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru stood outside the KFC and departed. The sun was about to set as Gojo watched his best friend leave, unsure of what the future had in store for them.
He stood alone in the crowd frozen and the sky around him painted the scenery in a deep orange colour. Gojo turned his head and watched as the sun slowly set behind the scenery.
As he walked back to the school he decided to sit down on the stairs to watch the sunset despite the sad memories he associated with it. His chin rested in his palm and sunglasses on the tip of his nose.
Gojo Satoru thought he would never feel true happiness again after that day. His world that used to be a vibrant blue was now a dull orange.
He hated how the sun looked as it set, but couldn’t bring himself to look away. His best friend in his mind. Little did he know his world was about to change for the better when you came into his life.
-
It’s the first day of Gojo’s fourth year as a student and after a whole summer of purely focusing on improving his skills he felt excited to test them out on missions.
Apart from that Gojo didn’t really feel excitement for anything else. Geto Suguru still occupied his mind, but to avoid people bugging him he decided to pretend nothing had ever happened. He knew very well that people would know what he were doing, but hoping they would roll with it.
They were only two fourth year students left, himself and Shoko. Meaning they would be working with the third year students more.
Fucking Suguru leaving me alone like this. He sigh but quickly push the thought of his best friend far back in his head.
When closing in on the school building Gojo change into lighter steps, pushing his shoulders back and chin up. Just gaslighting himself into thinking nothing bad ever happened.
Mood improving when he see Nanami standing outside the building, scrolling on his phone with his usual unamused expression.
The great thing about Nanami is that he never ask about his feelings or try and make him talk. Actually the opposite, Nanami seems more interested in not talking to him.
That guy really did not have a single funny bone in him. Can’t remember ever seeing him smile or laugh. The white male determining to prove himself wrong. A cheerful greeting and maybe a hug might be exactly what Nanamin needs.
Waving his long noodle arms while running to the blonde man, Gojo gather all his strength to shout:
"NANAMIN!! Did you wait for me? Awww you shouldn’t have." A clearly visible vein forming on the blondes forehead when a too familiar voice call out to him.
The poor third year student had spent the whole morning strategising on how to avoid bumping into his senpai.
Already dreading another year of all this curse crap, Nanami was one Gojo Satoru away from dropping out and fly to Malaysia.
Too late.
"Hello there Gojo-san." His voice did in no way conceal his annoyance. Being the overly dramatic person he is, Gojo grab his chest in a gesture to show his physical pain from his cold underclass mate.
"Ahh, why are you like this, Nanamin. Here I thought you would be excited to spend the year with me, your amazing and brilliant Gojo-senpai."
"Not really." Flipping his long blonde bangs to the side he turn away to leave whatever that was left of Gojo. A pile of heartbreak.
"Nanami-san, hi! Thank you for meeting me here. I am still not familiar with these school grounds."
The pile of Gojo on the ground quickly jolt up to the sound of your voice. His eyes sneaking from behind his sunglasses to get a clearer view of the person that just spoke.
Heart throbbing as you come into view. His jaw wide open. What is going on…? He thought to himself grabbing his chest in a less dramatic manner this time.
Smack.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop glaring." Rubbing the back of his head where Nanami’s hand had so violently slapped him, Gojo groan in pain.
Shaking his head in an attempt to regain some senses Gojo finally manage to speak. "I’m Gojo Satoru and a fourth year student. I’m also the strongest and coolest person here." Striking a pose trying to look cool, he awaits an answer.
"Hi Gojo Satoru. Kinda weird to brag about oneself like that when first meeting someone. Do you have any form of cognitive failure?"
Not often did Nanami Kento laugh, but he couldn’t help himself when you so smoothly destroys him. "I can assure you he does. " Chuckling the two left behind the pile of heartbreak Gojo had turned into again.
When Shoko noticed the pile of Gojo she gathered him up and brought him with her to class.
-
The following weeks he had learned your name and that you had been transferred from Kyoto. Reasons unknown. You were quick witted, sarcastic, evil and beautiful.
A very conflicted Gojo was sitting on the school stairs. Was he a masochist? Why does he enjoy the way you verbally abuse him every time you talk? Internally screaming Gojo throws his head back only to be met with your face.
"What are you screaming about?" Well apparently not internally screaming, fuck me.
Such a cheeky little voice. Hands on each hip and a stance that scream confidence, Gojo couldn’t help but smirk.
"I was just mentally preparing myself for another day of you slowly destroying my mental health."
"Can’t destroy something that doesn’t exist. Do the strong and almighty Gojo ever feel anything but jolly and superior?" Ah fuck that was too harsh you curse inwardly.
You didn’t know why you bullied him so much. Easy target maybe? A defence mechanism perhaps? Luckily he seems able to take it, but you really wish you could just flirt like a normal person.
"I was just kidding…" you hurriedly say to break the silence from your last snark. Laughing at you he stand up.
"Glad to know there’s something human behind that facade. Now let’s go meet the others." His height intimidating even standing a few steps below you. Fuck he’s so tall.
That was something you noticed quickly, maybe that’s why you bullied him? Tall people are scary and there’s no reason for people to be that tall.
For the first time ever, the two of you were walking to your destination with minimal sarcastic remarks towards one another.
-
The missions in Tokyo were different than in Kyoto. Despite both places being similar you experienced more heavier curses here.
You had been a student for around six months now and you were managing. Compared to the other students you were really average. Enough skills to manage third grade curses, but nothing more really.
After graduating you weren’t really planning on being a sorcerer full time. Your dream was to find a normal job and just exorcise curses on the weekends.
The school day had ended and everyone except you already left. You’d been stuck behind to help the teacher. The sun was setting and you stop to admire it.
Something white and fluffy in the distance catches your attention. Gojo-san? Instead of greeting him like any normal person would do, you decide to hide behind a tree. Feeling very sneaky you carefully look from behind your hiding spot.
From this angle you could see the back of his head and some of his profile. Barely able to read see his features and expression.
He looks sad. I wonder why?
Squatting down to be more hidden you stay there and continue spying. Despite him being an arrogant and stupid idiot, you knew there was more to him. Which is what kept you intrigued.
Well that and he’s disgustingly handsome and funny. You find it weird that none of the other girls seem to take notice. Probably because he’s an asshole.
The sky is a beautiful orange and pink clouds framing the sun like a painting. It was getting darker by the minute. Goosebumps forming on your skin from the cold breeze. Vibration from your pocket distracting you from your mission.
"Why don’t you join me instead of standing behind that tree like a creep?"
Heat immediately gathering in your cheeks and you look up to see Gojo now looking in your direction with an unreadable face.
Trying to hide the embarrassment from being busted you make your way to the bench he was sitting on. "H-how long did you—"
"The whole time. From the moment you walked out of the classroom." Lacking the usual chirpy tone in his voice.
Sitting next to each other now you admire the starry sky. You couldn’t see the moon, but it must be somewhere because Gojo was bathing in moonlight. Only a few centimetres between the two of you now, you were able to take a closer look at him.
Despite the tiredness in his eyes, they still have that sparkle in them. His lashes annoyingly long and full, unfair that he’s blessed with them. Gojo’s sigh broke you out from your thoughts.
"I hate sunsets. They’re so depressing." He throws his head back, glasses resting on the tip of his nose revealing more of his beautiful and perfect ey— NO STOP. Don’t even start.
"Why are you watching it then?"
"Ahh… who knows?" With a cheeky smile trying to conceal the sadness behind it.
"If you want to talk about it I’m here. Sometimes sitting alone with your thoughts can be a burden. Just having someone to vent to can help." You say as you place a hand on his thigh.
Turning to him again to look at his face your eyes locking with his, despite him having his head facing up. Gojo turn his head slowly towards you, never breaking the eye contact while doing so.
Laying his hand on top of your hand placed on his thigh, an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart and brain were currently on rollercoaster screaming from his touch.
Badump
Is he leaning closer?
Badumpbadump
Am I leaning in closer?
Badumpbadumpbadump
"You…" his voice trailing off as his hand raise up to your face playing with the strands of hair.
BADUMPBADUMPBADUMP
The distance shortening and you could feel his breath on your face, the hand that played with your hair now cupping your cheek.
BADUMPBADUMPBADUMPBADUMP
"Hey you guys!"
FUCKING HELL FUCK FUCK. Internally screaming at the interruption preparing to murder whoever had spoken.
"It’s Ijichi, ah fuck…" Gojo murmuring and you couldn’t help but feel the disappointment as he withdrew from you. Creating a distance between you, you could feel his barrier around him. The thought of him lowering his infinity for you made you feel a warmth inside you. Blessed to think Gojo Satoru trusting you.
"What the fuck do you want?" Gojo snapping at the poor guy. Standing up, Gojo gave you a quick smile before he went in Ijichi direction. His annoyance clearly not hidden.
-
Back at your dormroom lying on your bed, head still stuck in the moment with Gojo. You roll over and start giggling like a schoolgirl. I’m so fucked.
Your giggling was interrupted when your phone vibrated. A call? This late?
On the screen you see Gojo’s contact name popping up. ‘Cocky Idiot’ and you froze. Should I answer it?" Yes, of course.
"H-hey there." Was he stuttering? So cute!!
"Hey y-yourself." Fuck why did you also stutter?
"Can you meet me outside?"
-
You were not proud of how quick you answered yes and basically ran outside. You were dressed in only your pyjamas which consists of a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt.
Also only in his pyjamas you saw Gojo sitting on the wooden stairs. "Come, sit sit." Hand tapping on the spot next to him, he was in a much cheerier mood now than earlier.
His pyjamas was a pair of blue checkered pants and a grey t-shirt that complimented his physique. Easy to overlook the fact that Gojo really is muscular, his chest broad and arms stretching the material. I hate this guy.
"Well look who’s suddenly wagging their tail again." You stick out your tongue teasingly. A light chuckle escaping his mouth.
"Yeah you found me at a bad time earlier. Sorry about that. I was going to tell you, but for some reason…" sighing and looking away quickly, Gojo continues. "For some reason I was embarrassed."
"You know, you’re kinda scary?" He quickly say catching you off guard.
"Me? Scary? Says the almost two meter tall man who is like a god. You even introduced yourself such."
"Strongest, not god. And what does my height have to do with this? It’s just you who’s freakishly short."
Standing between his legs now, hands on your hips and a huge pout on your face to demonstrate how wrong his statement is.
"I will have you know, I’m actually pretty average." You really weren’t, but he didn’t know what average people’s heights were due to him being a giant.
Gojo couldn’t help himself from laughing. The way you stood there in your silly little pyjamas pouting like a child. Hair messily wrapped in a bun at the top of your head.
Feeling how his heartbeats escalate, giving away how much you affect him. The feeling of joy and excitement he got in your presence was something he hadn’t felt since Suguru.
"S-stop laughing you idiot." Flicking his forehead as punishment. Ouch, should’ve kept infinity on.
Gojo quickly catch your hand and look up at your stupid grin. She’s so fucking dorky. He smile for himself and enjoying this bubbling feeling inside him.
"You know, that hurt." His hand let go of your wrist and his fingers intertwining with yours. The mood now changed into something else. Locking eyes with each other enjoying the sudden sensual touches.
"S-sorry, Gojo-san"
"Satoru. I want you to call me Satoru."
Feeling brave you change your position so that his legs were between yours. His free hand now on your hip, helping you as you seated yourself in his lap.
"Satoru." You whisper only centimetres from his lips. " Cupping his face between both your hands you look down to his glossy lips and back up to his eyes.
"Yes?"
"I want to kiss you."
"Kiss me."
His cheeks heating up and a tint of red on them. Face still between your palms and you pull him in closer to you. Both unsure and shy in your movements as you’re closing in almost feeling the touch of his lips.
His hand move from your hip to your lower back, bringing you even closer in his lap. Lips carefully brush against each other before Satoru crash his lips onto yours.
Grabbing the back of his head you answer his kiss. His lips soft and a slight taste of candy on them. His hands moving up your back holding you tighter in his embrace.
The white haired boy pulled away reluctantly, breathing heavily. Head dizzy from everything happening. This euphoric experience filling him up with such happy emotions.
"That was my first kiss." Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that, now she’s going to think I’m a loser.
Ah fuck she’s giggling now, you’re so stupid Satoru.
Looking away in embarrassment feeling stupid he was surprised when a hand on his cheek force him to face you again.
"Sorry for giggling, I just got really happy because this was also my first kiss."
Relief taking over giving Satoru back his courage. Pulling you back to him for another kiss. This time more passionately and Satoru’s tongue hungrily seeking entrance. Welcoming him with your own tongue.
Tongues exploring each other’s mouths and hands becoming more daring. Satoru carefully slide a hand lower to grab your butt.
He feels you jump from the sudden touch, but you quickly continue exploring your mouth with his.
You match his bravery by placing your hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscles through the thin material of his shirt.
Continuing your touches up to his shoulder and down his free arm. Muscles flexing beneath your fingertips, you couldn’t help feel a heat gathering inside you.
Breaking the kiss, your fingers intertwine with his. Desperate to feel his warmth cursing yourself for not dressing yourself in something properly more proper for the night cold.
His heartbeat beating in a calming rhythm as your head rest on his chest. "Satoru.." you mumble into him.
"Hmm?"
"Why do you hate the sunsets?"
His heart skipped a beat and you felt his fingers twitch for a second before he relaxed.
"I don’t know if you remember him, but there was this guy named Geto Suguru." Nodding in his chest confirming you knew about him. He was apparently a talented and kind man… before he…
"The day when…" struggling to find the right words. Satoru sigh and rest his chin on the top of your head. The hand previously on your butt now holding around you. For comfort?
"There was a sunset that time, when he walked away from me. The day when we departed. Suguru left the school and… and me behind."
Trembling, Satoru’s grip tightened around you and you take him into your embrace. Stroking up and down his back as comfort.
"I see, thanks for telling me. For the first time since meeting you, you actually seem human. Not just a guy with a god complex."
Chuckling at your response you feel relief. That was a gamble. You curse your own lack of ability to stay serious for long. Thank god Satoru was the kind to understand.
"I’m impressed that you managed to stay serious for this long." His laughter genuine and sweet. "Jerk." Laughing with him. Enjoying the intimate moment.
-
Months had gone by and the day you had dreaded came. The end of the school year which meant Satoru and Shoko were done after today.
Your relationship had never been established, but throughout the months the two of you had grown close.
Watching sunsets together, going on walks and late night talks. None of you ever told the other about your feelings, but that didn’t matter.
Despite knowing you did not have the time you wished you had, none of you rushed anything. Now that the day had come and Satoru was going to leave you felt regrets.
"Hey don’t cry, it’s not like I’m going to die. Well, close if I actually manage to become a teacher the job might end up killing me." His large hand rustling your hair like a child.
With a pout you rub your eyes and do your best to put on a brave face. "You will become an amazing teacher. A stupid and arrogant jerk teacher, but a good one. Don’t be afraid to text or call me, even though I know you’ll be busy."
Your eyes met his lingering and soaking in his warm gaze.
"You can count on me, always." Barely a whisper you manage to speak.
"I know. Thank you. You somehow managed to make sunsets a little better despite being the brat you are."
Eyes rolling at the snarky comeback completely unprepared for his lips on yours. The kiss in itself was light and more like a peck, but also had so much emotions behind it. Satoru embracing you in a tight hug, not wanting to let you go.
You and Satoru never took the next step, there had only been kisses, light touches and hugs.
And your favourite - handholding. Satoru had large and warm hands. Sometimes like a child you wrapped your tiny hand around his pinky finger. Satoru loved how it felt.
Kissing your forehead and saying his goodbyes, you watch his back as he walk away. His white hair bathing in the orange colour from the sunset. For a guy who don’t like sunsets he sure look good in one.
-
A year after it was your turn to graduate. Reminiscing back to the day you said goodbye to Satoru feeling a little nostalgic.
Typically the texts and phone calls had been frequent, but slowly became less and less. No bad blood, just naturally loosing touch because of distance and both having stuff going on in your lives.
With little to no motivation to continue any studies after leaving Jujutsu High you decided to find a job and do sorcery on the side. No one was allowed to find out, but you started working at a small maid-café.
The job was actually quite nice compared to the gloomy curse exorcising. Nice enough for you to have stayed there for four years.
Locking the door behind you, you left the café humming for yourself. The sun was setting and you stopped to admire it for a moment. Hard to see it properly due to the tall buildings.
The evening chills creeping up as you were fumbling to get your jacket out of your backpack. It also covered up your maid uniform which was a plus. Imagining anyone you know see you in it…
"Well I have to admit. That attire does in no way fit your personality at all."
Freezing and unable to move any limbs. What the fuck?
"Also you shouldn’t be bending over like that, very improper." That voice alone was enough for you to somehow experience a whole year of flashbacks in 0,3 seconds.
Turning around slowly, heart beating like crazy, sweating all over and shaking uncontrollably.
"S-Satoru?"
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intotitties · 6 months
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For a hazel Callahan x reader could you do it about how both of them are in a relationship but they secretly have feelings for each other. Like if they hooked up and then it’s really awkward between them even though those feelings they have are still there and there relationships end up imploding because the people they are dating find out. If it’s not too much trouble.
i love this!!
Hazel Callahan x reader
warnings: kinda angst??, cheating, Hazel and PJ are in relationship at the beginning, 18+ themes (no smut), cursing, childhood friends hazel and reader, no use of y/n
a/n: my first Hazel fanfic i hope that’s what you were asking for!! im open to any requests btw!! enjoy :) also english is not my first language, if you spot any mistakes tell me please.
-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-
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-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-
Hazel and you have been best friends since you were kids, but things have changed after you realized that you had feelings for her.
Once when you two got a little bit drunk she confessed that she likes you - and that’s how you ended up in a bed with her. The only thing was that you both were in relationships. You felt so bad about cheating on your girlfriend, but you could feel your feelings for Hazel deepen with every day you spent with her, so you tried to avoid her, no matter how much it hurts.
Now, you were at mr. G’s class, sitting on your table and talking with your girlfriend about new project ideas, when mad PJ rushed through the class and started yelling at you.
— You filthy bitch! - she shouted as she pulled your hair, making you fall off of the table.
— Hey, what the fuck PJ?! - your girlfriend said and pushed her back.
Then panicked Hazel ran in to the class.
— She fucked with Hazel!
Your eyes widen at the words. How did she know? All eyes were on you now.
— No.. you wouldn’t cheat on me, right honey? - your girlfriend said confidently, but you didn’t respond — Answer me!! - she shouted.
You couldn’t look her in the eyes.
— You two disgust me - said PJ as she walked out of the classroom.
— P-please listen.. - your eyes got teary as you saw your angry girlfriend trying not to hit you.
— No. Don’t let me ever see you again - she said and walked out of the classroom as well.
You looked up at Hazel, her face said it all. It was her who told PJ. Why would she do that? Was it an accident? Or was it on purpose?
She was saying something but you didn’t listen. You took your bag and ran to the school exit. Of course, she immediately tried to catch you and explain herself, but you were faster.
And that’s how you spent almost a month away from everyone. The only people who had contact with you, were girls from the fight club, who knew about all of this. Hazel tried to call and text you everyday, but you blocked her.
-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-
After a month, with hope that most people has forgotten about what happened, you went to school.
The day has passed without any problems, since you haven’t seen PJ or your ex-girlfriend, you saw Hazel tho, trying to talk to you, but every break you were hidding in the bathroom.
When you walked out of the class to your locker, it was around 7pm and it seemed like you were the only student in the corridor.
Surprisingly there weren’t any slurs on your locker anymore, and it looked like it was new! But when you opened it, a pile of letters fell on the floor.
— What the fuck… - you mumbled to yourself and packed most of them to your bag after leaving books in the locker.
-ˋˏ ༻❀༺ ˎˊ-
As soon as you got home you started reading them, but god, you weren’t ready for that.
All of them were from Hazel. Every day you weren’t in school, she was leaving you letters about how much she misses you and she wish things were different.
Then you heard knocking on your door.
You stood up and wiped the tears from your eyes. As soon as you opened the doors you felt someone trapping you in a tight hug.
Hazel.
Your heart dropped.
— I hope you won’t hate me more after this, but i can’t live like this - she said and pulled you for a soft, yet deep kiss.
You gave her a shocked look, but you just couldn’t resist her.
After she pulled back she looked in your eyes. You could see how much you matter to her, yet you still ghosted her.
She pushed the doors to close and kissed you again, more passionately this time. You wrapped your arms around her neck while playing with her hair with one hand.
A quiet breathless “Haze..” left you mouth after she put her hand under your shirt.
— O-oh i’m sorry.. - she pulled away - look. i’m so sorry for ruining everything.. but i can’t stop thinking about you.. i still like you, but if your feelings had changed, i’ll leave - she said after a while of awkward silence.
— If my feelings changed, would i be kissing you right now? - you laughed quietly. Deep inside, you were still mad a little bit at her but how could you be mad at her? You were the cheater.
She smirked slightly and started leading you to your room.
Your heart skipped a beat after she pushed you on your bed and got on top of you. She kissed you again, but this time it was more.. lustful. Her tongue exploring your mouth like there was no tomorrow, both of your breaths getting heavier with every second the kiss lasted.
— Are you sure you want this? - she whispered.
— Yes, Haze.. fuck.. - you brushed the hair off of her face and kissed her again while her hands were already under you shirt.
You didn’t even know, how much this moment meant for her.
You didn’t even know how much she loves you.
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ironstrange1991 · 2 years
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The Point Of No Return (Part I)
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A fanfic slightly inspired by the play The Phantom of the Opera
+18 Smut (a lot) / Angst / Horror (just a bit)
Pairing: Sinister!Strange x Fem!Reader  /  Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader 
Synopsis:  When a strange and dark man starts to haunt the reader's dreams  her life is turned upside down and she discovers in the hard way that if you can't wake up from the nightmare maybe you're not asleep at all.
Word Count: 3,700k
Warnings: Dark themes! Psychological manipulation, Dubious consent, Mentions of abuse of medications and alcohol, Mentions of injuries and blood, Deception, Stockholm syndrome(?), Sexual content (P in V, masturbation with both receiving, oral sex with both receiving, fingering, physical control, domination, bondage.) 
Writers note: This will be a long fanfic divided in chapters. You will find references to lyrics, scenes and dialogues from the play The Phantom of the Opera as long as others movies and TV series throughout the story including possible spoilers from this play/movies/series.
As usual I would like to remind you that english is not my first language so there will probably have some grammatical mistakes here and there but I hope it doesnt spoil your experience.
----------------------------------------
“The trap is set and awaits for its prey.
I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you already succumbed to me, dropped all defences, completely succumbed to me. Now your are here with me, no second thoughts, you’ve decided.”
His voice was like a melody playing in your head nonstop. Those words that loved you, scared you, tortured you in dreams.
The first time you saw him your whole body shivered, your heart raced in your chest and your mind told you to run away, but your body remained standing there at his mercy, at the mercy of his scarred hands and when he touched your face you knew somehow you would be his.
You were distracted again, totally lost in your own mind, staring blindly in front of you as your students screamed, laughed, argued among themselves.
“[Y/N], did you hear what I said?”
You faced Anne, your coworker and the closest you had to a friend, she was standing in front of you.
“Sorry, can you repeat that?”
“The bell rang five minutes ago. The kids are waiting.”
You nodded “Oh sure, I'm sorry. I didn’t hear it.”
You got up. “You can go now kids. Have a nice weekend everyone.”
The kids ran to pack their things and ran out the door bumping into each other.
"Careful, go slow" Anne shouted at them.
You sighed, flopping down on the chair.
Anne pulled the chair sitting in front of you. “May I ask what's going on with you? You've been acting weird for a long time, but it's gotten worse in the last few weeks. You are distracted, barely eating. I can see by your dark circles under your eyes that you haven't been sleeping as well.”
You ran your hand over your face shaking your head.  “I'm just a little tired, that's all.”
Anne didn't seem to buy it, but you didn't bother trying to convince her. Instead, you got up and started putting the materials from your desk in the closet.
“All right, if you don't want to tell me, don't tell me.”  She sighed and then giggled taking something out of her bag.  “I was almost forgeting, I saw this article in the newspaper today talking about your crush and I couldn't help but stole the page for you.”
You closed the closet barely realizing what she was talking about. There was a kind of numbness around you, everything seemed meaningless, it was as if none of it was real and you didn't know how to explain that feeling so you didn't even tried.
Anne reached out, waving the torn page of the newspaper in front of you, handing it to you. You opened the folded paper and saw a picture of Doctor Stephen Strange with the headline: Superhero saves the day by fighting monsters on the streets of NY.
You looked at the photo longer than you should, then you folded the paper and stuffed it inside your bag. “I need to go, we'll talk later.”
Anne widened her eyes stopping in front of you. “Not at all. You're not even going to comment on the matter? You love talking about this guy! You see, I'm saying there's something wrong with you.”
You sighed. “I'm tired, Anne. Sorry if I'm not excited to talk about my platonic crush today, I just want to go home, shower, and sleep.”
She nodded. “All right girl, but don't forget to call me to let me know you are okay. I'm worried about you. Are you sure you're not sick?”
You nodded digging through your bag until you found your car keys. “I'll call you later.”
She nodded and you walked past her out of the room and walking quickly through the silent, empty hallways.
As you arrived at your tiny apartment, you dropped off your shoes and placed your keys and bag on the counter before stepping onto the fluffy rug that seemed to caress your aching feet from standing all day.
You were hungry, but looking at the empty fridge, you sighed and closed it again. After all what did you expect? Food wouldn't materialize in the fridge if you didn't bother going to the supermarket.
Frustrated, you quickly made yourself a cup of coffee and took two pills to help you stay awake. Your record was now 42 hours without sleeping and you were hoping to pave the way to beat that record as there was no way you were going to allow yourself to sleep again anytime soon.
You finished your coffee when you heard your cell phone vibrating inside your bag. You went to the counter and rummaged through the things inside until you find the phone. The piece of newspaper Anne gave you crumpled under your hands. You took it along with your cell phone and threw yourself on the couch.
The message was Anne’s, of course, besides her the only people who texted were from work – and they wouldn’t text you on a Friday night, the owner of the apartment when you were late on rent and telemarketing.
Anne's message read: I'm meeting some friends from college tomorrow night. Come with us, please. You need to meet new people.
You sighed without bothering to answer. If your plan worked out, you'd be even more dizzed the next day, and no way you'd risk leaving anywhere.
You stared at the piece of newspaper and unfolded it looking at the picture of Doctor Strange: he was standing on top of the hood of a taxi looking at something you thought was probably the monster. Some time ago you would have been melting looking at that photo, maybe even cut it out and pasted it together with the many others you shamefully keep in a notebook hidden in your closet as if you were still sixteen.
Today, on the other hand, looking at a picture or even hearing the name of Doctor Strange gave you shivers down your spine and an immense discomfort in your chest as if someone had punched your stomach and the air was drained from your lungs.
It had been like this for months now. The dreams hadn’t stopped.
Sighing, you stood up, tore the newspaper into several pieces and threw it in the trash. You walked to your room, entering the small bathroom and filled the tub with hot water to try to relax your muscles that were tense and sore.
As usual, you turned the cd player to full volume to prevent you from falling asleep while showering and allowed yourself to get into the tub. Running up that hill started to play. You already liked the song, but you'd been obsessed with it since watching the episode of the last season of Stranger Things and in a way you couldn't help but draw a parallel between your daily struggle with depression and the character Max's struggle to escape the demon Vecna.
You had repeated this little ritual of bathing and loud music many times with success, so it was hard to say what went wrong this time, but the moment you opened your eyes and the water was overflowing from the tub, somber classical music was playing coming from some distant room and a ghostly blue light filled the space, you knew you were dreaming and your heart raced, your skin shivering with dread.
You turned off the faucet and slowly stepped out of the tub, wrapping yourself in your robe as you shivered. When you came out of the bathroom, it wasn't your room your saw anymore, it was the same room you always saw: a large room, full of bookshelves, carpet and dark, heavy curtains, but they were torn, moth-eaten and smelled of dust. The entire room looked destroyed and the musty and damp smell made it look like no one had lived there for many years.
These were all impressions you had the first time you saw the place, now you were used to it, you would always end up there when you failed to stay awake and ended up falling asleep. It was more common than you'd like it to be, but it was still terrifying as it was the first time.
You walked across the room feeling your heart pounding in your chest. If it was like every other time, and it was always the same every time you dreamed, soon you wouldn't be alone in that room anymore and then the nightmare would begin.
In dreams he came every other night and this one wouldn’t be different.
You stood by the window watching the stormy sky outside, always as if the world were disintegrating in a silent hurricane that took with it every trace of life from that godforsaken place.
And there he was inside your mind.
“You're here finally. I missed you. Isn't it enough to make me suffer waiting for you when all I want is to please you?”
You closed your eyes listening to that voice that haunted you even when you were awake. That deep, terribly beautiful voice that talked to you and called your name.
You felt him behind you. His body so close you could feel its heat and his hot breath on the back of your neck.
“You look so tired, so frail. Why deprive yourself of your sleep? Am I really that scary that you don't want to come back to me?”
Usually you tried to be silent. You were well acquainted with the pattern of his sickned behavior. First he would shower you with tender words, swearing he loved you more than anyone else, but when he didn't get the answer he wanted he would speak to you in a cold, threatening voice.
He ran a hand around your neck and held on tightly.  “I'm here. Why you reject me? What do I need to do to make you love me like you love him?”
Then he'd go for what he really wanted from you and if you didn't fight it, maybe he'd let you wake up. He was the master of your dreams now.
“Well then, I'll have you in a way or another.”
He took you by the arm and threw you on the bed. You stared at him trying to hold back from crying. It was worse when you cried.
He made a gesture with his hands and a rope of purple magic tied your hands and feet to the bed. This was new and he smirked at the surprise in your eyes.
He snapped his fingers and your clothes disappeared leaving you completely naked and open for him to do as he pleased.
“Look at you, so beautiful, completely open to me. I know you like it. You can pretend all you want, but I know how much you love it when I'm inside you.” He cooed  “Is that why you're so afraid to come here? Because deep down you know you like the things I do to you?”
You struggled against the bonds, a tear falling from your eyes.
He brought his hand up to his erection, rubbing over his clothes, unable to control the desire he felt for you and as much as you hated to admit it, your own body betrayed you, and he could smell your arousal as you got shamefully wet by only listening to his voice. That damn devilish baritone voice.
He crawled into bed coming closer to you, his face so close to yours you could feel the heat of his breath. Your body was shaking, tears streaming down your face.
“You look so beautiful when you cry”  He muttered smiling mischievously. He kissed your lips quickly and you tried to pull away, but he cupped your chin and licked the tears that were streaming down your cheek.
You closed your eyes waiting for that nightmare to end.
 “It's not real, it's not real” You muttered to yourself. “It's just a dream, it can’t hurt me.”
You were so focused on trying to wake up that you didn't notice when he pulled away, going down on you, only noticing when you felt his tongue licking your slit. Your entire body trembled at that touch and a kind of whining moan escaped your lips involuntarily.
You heard his laugh vibrating between your legs, but you didn't allow yourself to open your eyes.
“You are not real. You can’t be real”
He licked again, the same slow, precise movement collecting your dripping fluids and stopping at your clit, giving it special attention, licking and sucking, circleling his tongue around your bud of nerves and before you could stop, your hips started moving towards his mouth. It was as if your body had a life of its own, you couldn't contain the wave of lust that washed over you every time he took you in dreams like this.
He used his fingers to open the folds of your clit and licked there, curving his tongue over it, playing with your most sensitive spot and you moaned loud and clear, a moan of pleasure that filled you with shame.
“Oh it's delicious, isn't it? You can't resist, can you?”
He smirked “Why you chose to fight me when you like the feeling? Look how your body responds to my touch.”
He slipped two fingers inside you, curving them perfectly to hit the precise point that brought you to the brink of an orgasm.
You panted. Your fists clenched so tightly that your nails dug into your skin, drawing blood. You bit your bottom lip hard trying to stop the moans and kept your eyes closed.
He withdrew his fingers and slid them back into you, increasing the pace as he fucked you with his rough scarred fingers.
“Open your eyes, my love, look at me.”
His voice seemed to purr at you. Like a demon trying to seduce you for his own purposes. Manipulating you at his will.
“Open your eyes. Don’t fight me. You know you want this. You know you want me, your body doesn't lie.”
You could no longer contain the moans that left your lips, nor could you fight your hips that curved forward to get the most of the pleasure that his fingers gave you. It was useless, all that was useless. You always surrendered to him in the end. Every time and that's why those nightmares were so terrible. Because you felt helpless at his mercy.
He brought his lips back to your clit, sucking and licking, his fingers penetrating you in suck an intense pace, your breathing getting difficult and irregular as you felt the familiar shaking at the bottom of your belly.
You opened your eyes and the sight of him between your legs licking you while maintaining eye contact was devilishly arousing and you were moaning loudly and your moans were pornographic now, your hips moving in circles, your hands fighting the shackles of magic, but this time you didn't want to run away. He had won.
He continued working his tongue nimbly on your clit, his fingers fucking you at an increasingly rapid pace. That shaking was getting stronger and stronger and you knew that if he continued you would cum shamefully in his mouth.
“Please, I beg you… stop!”
He didn't listen to you. Why would he?  Instead he lifted his free hand and made a subtle gesture with his fingers releasing one of your hands and automatically your hand grabbed his hair, pressing it down, trying to increase the friction between you and his mouth.
He chuckled satisfied, curling his fingers inside you so deftly you couldn't help it.
Your body writhed against the bonds, a loud scream escaping your lips as you gave yourself to your high. Always so intense, so devastating, always leaving you completely drained. As you relaxed, your face sank into the pillows trying to hide how satisfying it was.
He loosened the rest of the bonds looking at you smirking devilishly.
“Your lips ask me to stop, but your body tells me otherwise, my love. Why you fight something that gives you so much pleasure?”
You sighed still dazzed from your orgasm.
“Because... because it feels wrong.”
“How can it be wrong when it feels so good?” He cooed.
You did not answer. Tears coming back to your eyes now.
“Please let me wake up.”
He shook his head, taking your hand and directing it to his throbbing cock.
“You'll be good and you'll repay the pleasure I gave you, won't you?”
You nodded between your sobs as tears fell down your face.
“I know you will” He muttered mischievously unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He approached you kneeling by your head, his cock hanging frighteningly erect just inches away from your face.
He caressed your cheeks. His hands went up to your head, taking all your hair and pulling it into a ponytail and directing you until his cock touched your face.
"Open your mouth for me"  He demanded.
You obeyed and put it in your mouth as best as you could. He was big and thick and your mouth barely held his size, but he insisted on pushing, never giving up control.
“Your mouth is so deliciously warm, my love.” He grunted.
You choked a few times, tears streaming down your face, saliva dripping from your mouth as you tried to please him as best you could.
He kept his hips still, moving your head to a pace that satisfied him and it took what felt like an absurd amount of time before you felt him throbbing, his breathing getting more labored, his pace getting more erratic and you knew he was near.
“Look at me while you swallow my cock”  He demanded and you did as you were told. “I'm going to cum in your mouth and you better not waste a drop. Are you listening to me?”
You nodded in total obedience as he tugged hard on your hair.
“Good girl. Such a good girl.”
He kept fucking your mouth until his moans turned into loud, obscene growls and he started to spill into your mouth. A hot load down your throat.
“That's right, swallow it all. Excellent. Good girl.” His compliments was obsessive “You did so well for me, I know you like to please me, you like to be mine, don’t you?”
Those compliments were possessive and scary, but a part of you knew he was right, a part of you enjoyed having sex with him every time, even if it scared you.
He withdrew from your mouth and threw himself on the pillows beside you and pulled you into his chest.
“You are feeling it, don’t you? This sweet intoxication? You love me as much I love you. I know you do.”
You were too physically and mentally exhausted to fight him, so you gave in, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes, wishing with all your might that you could wake up.
“I'll allow you to come back now, but remember, I will always come back for you.”
His voice grew farther and farther dissipating in the nothingness.
When you opened your eyes you were lying naked on your bed. The loud music and the strange noise coming from the bathroom made you startle and you got up running in time to see your bathroom completely flooded by the water that overflowed from the bathtub. You turned off the radio and turned off the faucet totally dazzed and went back to the room sitting on the bed again. The clock on the bedside table showed that was past 10 pm. You'd slept for nearly four hours, but you were now fully alert, your heart pounding probably from the coffee and pills.
It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. It had been just over 12 hours since you had slept, it shouldn't have happened so quickly again, especially if you thought that your body was feeling all the effects of the medication you took to keep yourself awake.
When those dreams started you were amused, even amused at the idea of ​​dreaming about Stephen Strange because it felt natural since you were obsessed with the guy, but soon the dreams got weirder and darker and you started to get scared. Scared of him.
You covered yourself with your robe and went down to the living room and by doing it you couldn't help but notice the discomfort between your legs, an uncomfortable dampness that proved those dreams were getting more and more intense. As much as it embarrassed you, you couldn't help but feel aroused by the memories.
You grabbed your cell phone and flopped down on the couch, your legs dangling lazily as you performed your own embarrassing post-dreaming ritual: Opened your photo gallery, opened the photo album you've saved from the internet, and swipe each one as your fingers dove between your legs and you were so wet, your clit as sensitive as if you'd cum a few minutes ago, but it was a just a dream, right? It couldn't affect reality, could it? You didn’t know what was real anymore.
You circled your clit gently with your fingers imagining his scarred fingers while looking at the pictures. Your fingers sliding inside you as you imagined he was the one fingering you.
Soon you were moaning uncontrollably and it didn't take long for you to cum with your eyes closed now as you kept the image of him in your mind.
Him, always him... Doctor Strange.
In some other godforsaken universe, Doctor Strange wandered through empty corridors keeping the sweet memories of you in mind.
In his head a melody played over and over from some long-forgotten past, he hummed those lyrics longing to have you again in his arms where you belonged.
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you.
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind
in this darkness that you know
You cannot fight…
MASTERLIST
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Part 2 already posted. You can read it HERE
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duckprintspress · 2 months
Text
Meet Aether Beyond the Binary Contributors Sebastian Marie, Lyonel Loy, and Elior Haley!
As we enter the last few days of the Kickstarter crowdfunding campaign for Aether Beyond the Binary, we’re introducing the last few of our authors. Today, meet Sebastian Marie, Lyonel Loy, and Elior Haley! We’re really excited to be featuring these three authors contributing to this fantastic collection of 17 stories set in modern aetherpunk settings where the technology runs on magic, all starring characters outside the gender binary.
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Un Charco, Un Lago by Sebastian Marie
About Sebastian: Sebastian Marie (he/him) is an engineering student with a lot of opinions about dragons, pirates, and sword fighting. Track him down on Ao3 or Tumblr and he’ll share these opinions gladly, just be prepared for music and some excited shouting. His original works often combine fantasy and dystopia into what he calls “queer fantasy hopepunk,” something that will be explored in his future novels. He loves to write conflicting traditional and non-traditional family dynamics, especially where they intersect with queer relationships. And if he can throw werewolves and brujas into the mix? So much the better. When not writing, frantically studying, or reading, he can be found singing loudly, sewing impractical coats, and going on long rambling walks while plotting stories (and occasionally falling into rivers). 
Also, he’s also the guitarist and one of the lyricists of folk punk band Here Be Dragons, who hope to have their debut EP out near the end of Fall, 2023. 
This is his third time writing for Duck Prints Press, having previously contributed to Aim For the Heart and She Wears the Midnight Crown. This brings his grand total of published works up to three! He’s looking forward to more, as soon as he gets some sleep. 
Links: Archive of Our Own | Tumblr
This is Sebastian’s third contribution to a Duck Prints Press anthology. His first contribution was in the masquerade-themed anthology She Wears the Midnight Crown, and his second in Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers” – which, mostly coincidentally, has been released on our website TODAY!
Title: Un Charco, Un Lago
Excerpt: 
The person who answers the door to the townhouse is short, brown, and incredibly tired looking. Victorie sees this look a lot in her line of work; plumbing disasters really take a lot out of people. He adjusts the strap of his work bag on his shoulder and begins his spiel. 
“Hello, Hola, English or Español?”
“Ingles,” the person responds before yawing. “but either is good.” They scratch at their shoulder, which is covered in paint-splattered overalls and a worn blue polo shirt. 
“All right. My name is Technician Victorie, public works wizard at your service.” Victorie points to her name tag that helpfully states “he/him” and “she/her” under his name. “And you must be Lago Cabrera? Elle/le or they/them?” Victorie reads off her paper.
“Yes.”
“Do I have your permission to inspect the problem, a…” Victorie consults the paper. 
“The sink is throwing up.” Lago says bluntly.
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We Might Contain Multitudes by Lyonel Loy
About Lyonel: Lifelong maladaptive daydreamer, finally working up the courage to write those daydreams down. Spends time cosplaying as a Responsible Adult With A Job.
This is Lyonel’s first time writing with Duck Prints Press.
Title: We Might Contain Multitudes
Excerpt:
There are master crafters in the sleepy hills of New England, waiting amongst the silent ward stones.
The first has eyes like a spider’s, arrayed out neatly in rows, and the spider eyes sparkle in a riot of colors that Kwok’s human eyes should not have been able to see.
The next has no mouth yet whispers ceaseless, an uninterrupted flow of half recognizable words in a myriad of voices and a myriad of tongues like a mountain stream in heavy rain, swirling over and around itself like dancing water.
The last is Guo, whose name is not truly Guo. Guo, who could be any ordinary young man on the streets of Ipoh or Singapore or Seoul except for their eternal eyes, and yet it is they who scare Kwok most of all.
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Epiphanies of Friendship, and Other White Whales by Elior Haley
About Elior: Elior has spent much of the past few years primarily writing for fanfic exchanges. Currently, he’s in the process of slowly working his way through university. When not writing or studying, he can be found binding books, drawing, ice skating, and—very occasionally—playing the violin. His story in Aether Beyond the Binary is his first published work.
This is Elior’s first time writing with Duck Prints Press.
Title: Epiphanies of Friendship, and Other White Whales
Excerpt:
There was no such thing as night and day, deep in aetherspace, but it was during Raisel’s resting time that the song woke her from sleep, deep and low and rolling in her bones.  She felt it more than she heard it, its vibrations layering on top of the omnipresent hum of the gravity generator and engines.  At once she sat up in her narrow bunk, heart beating jackrabbit-quick; she tried to calm her shaking limbs for a moment before realizing that the tremors were from the song.
It was like nothing she had heard before.  No words she knew felt adequate to describe it; it was both beautiful and eerie, and somewhere between her bones and her soul she felt something call to her.
Halfway down the corridor, still in her sleeping clothes, Charlie caught her elbow.
“Where are you going?” they asked.
With less than 5 days left in our campaign, we are 83% funded. Time is running out to back the Kickstarter to buy your copy of Aether Beyond the Binary and help us raise the funds we need to bring this anthology into print! Become a backer TODAY!
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milandsk · 3 months
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Ineffable Girlfriends | F!Aziraphale x F!Crowley | Ballet AU
(they're just teenage girls, happy ah fanfic because we're children of divorce, leave me alone)
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When Aziraphale walked into the studio there were already ballerinas from other private school. She couldn't help but notice how dark-themed their leotards were.
“Aziraphale! How nice of you to come.” her headmaster Gabriel said.
“Why wouldn't I?” she didn't really like him.
He just chuckled and pointed to a short person next to him.
“I want you to meet someone. This is Beelzebub, headmistress from the other school.”
The individual came closer and Azi shook their hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you too.”
Azi smiled politely. Gabriel and Beelzebub looked at each other with mysterious expressions.
“I think it's time to let the students know of our decisions.” said Gabriel. He clapped his hands getting everybody's attention.
“Come here guys! We got something to say.”
Blonde girl stood weirdly by Beelzebub's side while the other students mixed with each other, trying to get the closest to the headmasters. She noticed tall girl standing next to her. She raised her head to look at her. She had red hair tied into a messy ponytail. When she looked at her Azi shyly looked down at the floor.
“Together we made a decision for the two main roles of the Royal Opera House play to be distributed between the two schools. Which means the roles would be Aziraphale as the White Swan and Crowley as the Black Swan.
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Crowley didn't find that surprising at all. She was the best and she deserved this role.
She has heard of Aziraphale before - the best ballerina at the Heaven’s Private School of Ballet.
The headmasters finished announcing the other roles.
“We’ll start the rehearsals in half an hour.”
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After four hours of training Azi could feel her whole body becoming sore. The next few months are going to be amazing, won't they?
They only practiced scenes from the first act today so she didn't have the chance to rehearse with the other lead. There was a possibility they wouldn't meet each other at all at the rehearsals because Black Swan appears later on.
Blonde girl felt both anxiety and excitement in her chest. Over the last few years she became less and less interested in dancing. Her pressuring parents gave her the ultimatum - if she'll do good at ballet this last school year they will let her go study English Philology at the expensive university. Getting the leading role was already half of the success.
She walked out of the building, heading towards the metro station. Even though it was mid-October the night was so cold Azi regretted that she only wore a thin coat.
She put on her headphones and headed into the city.
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The next day Crowley walked into the Heaven’s Private School of Ballet. She would much rather prefer if the rehearsals were in her school. Yesterday she just went in after her headmistress and she didn't think of remembering the way into the studio. She was relieved when she heard footsteps at the end of the hallway.
The girl had blonde - almost white - fluffy hair and was walking with her headphones on. She was that short ballerina from yesterday, Crowley finally realised.
“Hey” she shouted “lead girl!”
The girl took off her headphones and turned around confused. Crowley quickly walked up to her.
“Sorry, I don't know which way to go.”
“Oh!” Azi exclaimed “I can show you.”
“Thanks.”
Two of the girls began to walk. The headphones on Azi’s neck were still making a quiet noise.
“I love that song.”
“What?”
“I said I love that song, ‘Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’.” Crowley nodded at Azi’s headphones.
“Really? You know them?”
“Of course.”
Blonde girl smiled.
“I'm Azi by the way, I'm playing the-”
“-White Swan” Crowley finished. “Yeah, I know. I'm Crowley. I play the part of Black Swan.” She said carelessly with her hands in her pockets.
Azi’s smile widened.
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Over the next two months they occasionally talked and against the belief that two of the leads from two different schools would be rivals - they actually didn't mind each other at all. Azi didn't even realise when going to practice became something to look forward to. She didn't think of Crowley as her best friend or someone close to her but whenever she saw even a glimpse of her dancing for some reason she couldn't resist staring at her. She always wanted Crowley to start a conversation with her but when that happened she was being all nervous and sweaty. But then again when they didn't talk she was disappointed and wished to just spend some time with her? Azi thought that it was because she hated her but she genuinely liked her. She was confused.
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It was evening when Crowley walked into the studio. It was the day off so no one was there and she could practice in peace. She put her bag on the floor and took off her coat. The air ventilation working was the only sound breaking the silence. After stretching she began to dance her parts in quietness.
“Hi.” She heard a voice say.
Redhead stopped her turns and looked startled in the voice’s direction. Aziraphale had her blonde waves loose. Crowley only now noticed how natural and pretty they looked.
“I assume you're also here to practice after hours.” remarked Azi since the girl didn't respond. That was really stupid thing to say and she felt a little embarrassed.
“Yeah.” answered Crowley while making intense eye contact.
The girls rehearsed and didn't look at each other - at least not when the other was looking.
“Shit” Azi muttered quietly after a while. Crowley glanced at her in the mirror. Blonde girl placed her hands on her hips and breathed deeply. For some reason Crowley couldn't ignore her. She pulled herself together.
“Do you need help?” Why did she ask that?
“Oh… if you don't mind.”
Crowley walked up to her. Only two of them in a room. Azi shyly looked down.
“Um- There's a turn… I- For some reason I can't do that.” she stuttered.
Crowley came closer and stood behind Azi facing the mirror.
When Azi started turning Crowley was touching her waist helping her turn. After she finished Azi's face lit up. She turned around.
“Oh my God, it worked-” Crowley was so close, Azi could feel her breath touch her skin. Air ventilation still humming. Crowley's hands still on Azi's waist.
Blonde girl looked at her waist just realising that. Other girl softened her grip, hands falling loosely to Azi's hipbones. Crowley scanned her face trying to see any sign of disagreement.
She looked into redhead’s eyes feeling her cheeks becoming pink. She gently cupped Crowley's face, losing herself in her green eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” asked Crowley.
“Please do.” she whispered.
Crowley closed the remaining distance between their faces. At first it was just the soft brush against Azi's lips. She wanted to kiss her again but she backed up.
“I'm sorry,” said blonde girl avoiding eye contact. “I have to go.”
With that said she quickly grabbed her bag and rushed out the door.
Crowley was left alone.
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Azi couldn't sleep. She thought about this whole night. They were supposed to be friends, nothing more. And definitely not that.
She had to focus on the play, with everything at stake she couldn't afford to get distracted. It's a promise she made to herself.
Next day in the evening she went again to the studio. She told herself that it is to practice but secretly she hoped to see Crowley again.
In the hallway she already heard shuffling in the room. She stopped walking and took a deep breath. All of the sudden her mind had gone empty. She didn't know what to say - but most importantly - she didn't know what she wanted. The thought of Crowley’s hands on her waist made her chest heavy but in a good way.
She knew that it was just irrational distraction however she couldn't help the way she reacted to her.
Azi opened the door - there's no going back. When Crowley noticed her she stopped what she was doing. She didn't expect her. The redhead went for her bag wanting to leave.
“Don't go.” Azi stopped her.
Crowley stared at her, not saying anything.
“I'm sorry for yesterday.” she continued.
“You already said that.” replied Crowley “And you don't have to apologize.”
“I have to.” said Azi with a firm voice “I didn't mean to run out on you like that. I just… I guess I wasn't expecting that.”
Crowley nodded her head.
“But I enjoyed it. A lot.” Azi remarked shyly while the other girl came closer.
“I liked it too.”
They were just a few steps away from each other.
“I was scared that you would be a distraction to me, you know?” blonde girl said.
“I get that.” Crowley smirked “Aren't you scared anymore?”
Azi closed the remaining distance between them while looking up at her.
“I am.” she replied ”But I think you're a worth it distraction.”
Crowley smiled.
“Can I kiss you?” asked quietly Azi.
“Of course.”
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apollo-gate · 1 year
Note
"Shoot I could just imagine someone shouting "HEY BATMAN." everyone would be confused but you would know. " That did happen lmao 😅 multiple times in fact
Okay so what happen was, one day there was a tv crew outside my high school and school just ended. So while I was waiting to go home, the crew was interviewing students. And they came to me and asked if they could interview me. I for some reason couldnt decline them. They just told me to talk about my idol. I looked at my friend and asked her "Who should I talk about?" "Batman, you wont shut up about him" (She was right 😐)
...So yeah, I just talked about why Batman was my idol in my school uniform VERY seriously in the national language. Cause the tv crew was actually from a non-English news station. Lo and behold, some time later my friend sent a link to the new program where my part was showcased. So in the entire news section, there was just kids talking about their parents and how hardworking they were, I was the only 16/17 talking about Batman and how he fights crime 😭 but without context it looks like I'm talking about the cure of cancer or some shit, I dont know why I was so damn serious 💀 I'm not sure what the program was even about lol. So yeah, the news got pretty famous in school cause only around 2/3 people from my school was showcased and I was called Batman for some time after that 😂 Sometimes random people would just yell Batman at me and I have no clue who they are lmao 💀 I had a taste of fame and I'm still chasing that high 😅 it was fun times for sure
Also pls call me by my nicknames, dear author. You have permission, I kinda miss hearing my nickname, I dont hear it as often now. It's also cool how you had like a batman-themed bedroom 😂 I wish I could have something like that but DC stuff would always be expensive in my place. Maybe when I'm working I'll get a batcave themed apartment 🤔Dressing up isn't really common here since costumes were hella expensive too and it's not like we celebrate halloween or anything, though I would love to have a cape and a cowboy hat, I find it neat. But I do have a small pillow with the words Batman hand sewed on it by a friend, thats the only 'batman' thing I have lol.
Also, AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! VANESSA FLUFFF!!! *ahem* yes, I love it, especially the one with tired MC. Like damn im squeeling, why is she so cute!!! dancing in the rain, like damn author, you're turning me into a puddle. AAAAAAHH!!! I love her!!! I wanna pick her up and twirl her around! I wanna softly kiss her hands, I want to gently kiss the top of her head!!!❤️she deserves the world, I wanna give her so many kisses and cuddles 🥰 and not only her, Gracie's adorable 😭😭😭 Is one of her ears always floppy and the other one perked up??? Thats so cute, I wanna kiss, hug, and pet her!!! Pls pet her for my sake. Hope your travels has been safe and well so far. Hope your doggo and you had fun in the snow too! Also if you're comfortable, may I pls request another pic of Gracie? 🥺 She's really photogenic ngl 😅 This got really long lol, hope it still entertained you tho 😄
Ohh wow
I’d be a deer in the headlights. I’m an introvert.😅. This is the first time I have interacted with people differently.
But to be in the news would be awesome and your friend deserves a reward. She waited until she saw it one day and said, “V would love to see this.” Haha, I would do the same thing in her shoes. But wow her just saying you should. Oh lord, I would have done it too. Just became a robot. Then afterward like I said that why did I say that. But that's me. I don't like speaking much as my voice is naturally lower. So when I speak louder it's like I'm screaming and that hurts my ears.
I will say DC stuff was always expensive for me too. I did more of save the birthday money and Christmas money and was like I want this. But yeah the Batman theme was great. I always kept a darker theme in my bedroom. And clothes. So maybe that's just me.
Now V you do know that you can dress up now. In the safety of your own home. I have stuff that not even my very very close friends know about. 😁( besides there are other holidays to dress up even if it’s for yourself.)
But I bet you’ll look good in a cowboy hat and a cape. Interesting choice. I’m interested in what you would do. 👀
Now the pillow sewed is adorable that’s something that can be treasured for life. And I’ll encourage you to make your apartment a Batcave theme. That looks awesome. We need to fix this only Batman thing. There must be a way for more Batman stuff V. You can do it. (Unless you are in school or saving money don’t do it. I understand as I’m a student as well.) But birthdays are a day to spoil yourself.
I'm happy you liked the Fluff. Vanessa is different from my other ROs as her personality changes depending on when or how I write her. Like when I first wrote scenes of her after Aspen's death the “Wonderful” Mother showed up. Vanessa was harsh and in a way, I had never seen her as. Well in a way I’ve written her as cold and not feeling anything and that Vanessa. She scared me. Seeing her thoughts in that way was hard.
Now Vanessa would love all the hugs and kisses in the world. Especially with the hell, she’s been through. (All the characters have pain and it’s not on purpose. I let them write themselves at specific times. 🤔 it’s hard to describe.)
Vanessa is in some ways a kid still. Vanessa needed to grow up to survive but she has moments when she’s a little girl again and can be free. After all with her lifespan just barely a dent in it, she has time for it.
Yes, Gracie is very adorable. Her ear was not always like that. I got her before I graduated high school. (You might be older than me. 😅 most of you are so hello 👋.) When my mom brought her home it was more of you always wanted a dog so I got one now that you're older. And Gracie's tail did not go up for 🤔 I think two months. I was staring at her one day and poked near her paw. And then we started playing and it started to wag so fast I was laughing and just happy. I didn’t feel like that in years of the shit I went through with people. Then I think roughly a year later her ear was up. Funny enough it was both but over time it was just one. And it’s up all the time. But If a strange noise or if a dog barks far away both will shoot up, to me she looks like bar ears. Haha yes, I did a comparison to a bat. Gracie loves pets not hugs as much she’ll let you but then will pull away. But if you did meet her she’s more of a pet my butt. Yes, Gracie will turn and shove her butt on you.😆😆 I remember when this girl was talking to me. Gracie pranced and did a surprise butt shove to her.
I don’t mind sharing another. I’ll get a more updated one as my phone likes to make pictures disappear. And the travel has been great V. I drove at night while my mom drive during the day. So school work online and writing for me. Might try drawing again if I don’t hate it. Can do buildings but people not so much.
Here are 2 more.
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ao3feed-tododeku · 2 years
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These are the Little Things That Define You Forever, Forever
these are the little things that define you forever, forever by OWritingTrashO
For Izuku, nostalgia was a bitter taste on his tongue.
It was sour. It was rotten. It was bloody and metallic and mean. It was the ache of a burn. It was fireworks on his skin, grime under his fingernails, bandages under his clothes.
It made him angry. It made him clinch his fists, tighten his grip on his pen as he stared at the back of the same head he'd been staring at for seventeen years. It made him wish he had the guts. It made him want to scream and shout and sob.
He wished everyone knew.
He wished no one ever found out.
theme: nostalgia “tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.” ― gustav mahler
Words: 5806, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 6 of tododeku week 2022
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: Gen
Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Shuuzenji Chiyo | Recovery Girl, Uraraka Ochako, Asui Tsuyu, Iida Tenya
Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto
Additional Tags: Age Regression/De-Aging, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Middle School Student Midoriya Izuku, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Established Relationship, yeah ik nostalgia is supposed to be happy, but i love me some Izuku trauma, Quirkless Discrimination, Quirk Discrimination, Aldera Middle School Bashing, Bakugou Katsuki Bashing, shouto is ready to kill, Protective Todoroki Shouto, Quirk Accident, plot device quirk is plot device quirk yk, that's just how these things go, not really much ship stuff, bc izuku is 13 for most of the fic
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40331055
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shwarmii · 7 months
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shout-out to my Shakespeare professor who was one of the most put-together ladies i had ever met
i had her during 2020, so the end of the semester was online due to quarantine. but everyday, in-person or online, she themed her outfits around the play we were studying. and as much as i loved Ms Frizzle, when i say that she themed her outfits i dont mean this professor dressed like Ms Frizzle; if anything, she dressed more like the world's most Ms Frizzle-Like Version Of Miranda Priestley. this woman dressed in silk and carefully draped her blazers and wore pencil skirts or pleated pants with luxury high heels. she had the softest-looking waterfall of white hair i had ever seen on a woman. always had her nails and make-up done to match her outfits. i get the idea of planning outfits around Shakespeare plays seems a bit kitschy, but her wardrobe also screamed classic, wealthy silhouttes. she had a sun outfit for the Romeo & Juliet balcony scene, she wore all black for the mourning scene at the end of Romeo & Juliet; she wore an all white and silver-jewlery outfit to symbolize the moon in what i think was a specific passage of Midsommer's Night Dream and she also wore a green, leaf-print outfit with fairy-inspired jewlery for Midsommer's closing i think. it's been three years since i saw her and i have chronic memory loss (and my memory is all Bullet Points and no visuals, weird, i know), so the details are fuzzy, so i just really remember the overall impression and vibe; but i do have a notebook somewhere in which i wrote down notes in the margins detailing what she wore because i was so amazed at her fashion sense and dedication. like, even if i dont remember specific outfits that well bc of my own neurodivergencies, THAT'S how much i liked her outfits, i recorded them individually to spite my chronic memory loss (...i just need to find my Shakespeare class notebook lmao rip). but yeah, it was all very much what you'd expect a fashionable CEO of interior design or a television network to wear. she knew how to look good and relied on classic looks and silhouttes with that play-themeing. and even though i have been describing her to look severe, esp with that Devil Wears Prada reference, i feel the need to iterate that she's a very giggly, always smiling, squeal-happy, elderly woman with a very "Oh, I might complain about men in a generalized sense to analyze all the men cast in these plays but obviously I do not mean like the men in my class, of course not, you darlings are perfect, you're English majors, of course I do not mean you, you're special" Obviously Joking sense of humor (she made the same jokes about the women in her class tho, dw, her coy "my students are perfect ♡" jokes hit everyone she could aim them at), i loved her. she carried around a purse that was formatted to look like a Complete Works Of Shakespeare book; and for her introduction on our first day, she facetiously cuddled her purse with pursed-kissy lips and announced loud and proud (and with many "I can't take myself seriously" giggles) that she was a single, never-married woman whose closest thing to a romantic partner was The Bard himself
i just keep unintentionally remembering her as i myself spiral, thinking of all my chronic health issues and my combination ADHD-Autism and how my each-labeled-"severe" mental illnesses, my C-PTSD and Anxiety and Depression, means i find it hard to sit next to people sometimes bc their presence just feels so pressuring. like, i just feel stiff with my shoulders high and i am uncomfortable. it's only sometimes, but i still panic that-- what if on top of the flare-up days and the bad brain days and asexuality and caretaking and potential medical debt-- what if i cant even share the couch and need to get up and leave to go sit somewhere in private? doesn't that make me a failure somehow? do i maybe not want romance like i have hungered all my life for? am i too damaged or was i never made for it, or am i only wondering this because i am single? because it is a hypothetical, because i havent met someone yet? or would i be better off with a queer platonic partner, or maybe even no one? would my ideal future be me with no one? i felt so safe and at peace, albeit lonely but never debilitatingly, when i live alone. maybe i just need to meet someone i can feel safe with. maybe that person doesn't exist. maybe im not aromantic, but im just not going to meet any person like that, statistically. i dont think i am aromantic anyway. but would "the worst case scenario" (it isn't the worst, but the unloved parts of my brain likes to act like it is) being single forever really be so bad?
and the past day or so, i then think back to that Shakespeare teacher, who i am pretty sure is aromantic but either doesn't know or care about labels (and i feel like she might be because of her diction towards these men she self-admittingly had "very shallow" attraction to) as she is at least 75+ years old and identifies herself as a cis woman attracted (at least mildly) to men. she told us once that she's gone on plenty of dates, she's had men move in with her, but then she needs her space back because they breathe too loud or something else feels too suffocating, and now she's something-odd years living happily single and alone in her home with all her books and no loudly breathing partner around, and how happy she is with her life. not to mention how reading Shakespeare and teaching about him is all the partnership in her life she openly thinks she will ever need (which, i have my own inner qualms about her choosing Shakespeare of all people, but, sure, she's a Shakespeare professor with a doctorate in his plays, it makes sense she'd joke about hitching to his wagon alone and no Properly Romantic partners, fair, fair, fair enough lmao)
and it is so nice, even as someone socially raised as female (aka. still grew up with the whole "spinster, get married young, anti-aging" rhetoric) but identifies with they/them pronouns, to see a woman in real life be old and never-married and happy. all the women i otherwise know are either single and at my age (and almost all of them plan for marriage, or at least having a lifelong partner, in their future), or are women i grew up knowing that either are still married or were married. i never knew an older woman who was unmarried her whole life long (nor a man, actually? i think??), much less an older genderqueer person. and it's just really lovely to remember that even with the parts of you screaming "UNLOVED UNLOVED UNLOVED" to know there is still a future where, even if no one else has got you, that you yourself do. you can protect your own peace as you get older. and you can still be happy
it doesn't fix me automatically, of course. but it's comforting to have a real-life example like her to hold onto, to remind myself that even of "the worst" happens and i never marry: it's okay. that's a perfectly fine option. i'd be in pretty good company
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MAG017, The Boneturner’s Tale
Case #9991006, Sebastian Adekoya Release date: May 4, 2016 First listen: 15th October, genuinely no memory of where I was but can catalogue it as ‘the point where I started to loose my shit about Leitner’.
This whole blog is the result of a need to dissect and inspect aspects and themes and imagery and ideas that plague my mind and dodgylogic’s inbox, because at heart there will always be a part of me that’s an A-Level English Literature student. There will always be a part of me looking to take a work and hold it up to the light before ripping it open like Rafiki with a baobab tree fruit and daubbing on the walls with the juices.
So, no surprise, I love Chaucer. Considered an OG of English Literature and Poetry. Thing is, Chaucer was writing late 1300s. It’s Middle English. It’s flipping hard. Take English, German, Latin, French and Italian but to name a few, blitz that all together, then strain it through a cheese cloth of social strata with one language for the court and another for the courtyard. It’s madness. I’m trying to remember which ones I actively studied and which ones I remember from that one time I accidentally watched part of the animated series when I was about 8. Fairly certain it was The Merchant’s Tale and The Franklin’s Tale we studied, there was some heavy comparisons between ‘courtly love’ going on.
Anyway, while some tales were funny or had little morality tales attached to them, some where just dark. The Knight’s Tale, two cousins fight a battle for a woman that doesn’t really want either of them. The Franklin’s Tale, a man tried to extort the love of an already happily married woman. The Wife of Bath’s Tale opens with sexual violence. The Pardoner’s Tale, 3 friends kill each other out of greed. Death, hypocrisy and violence is seen again and again in Chaucer’s work and they way it hurts ordinary working folk.
- ‘Books are amazing, aren’t they?’ - Sir, I love you. There have been statement givers I’ve sympathised with, some I have flat out disliked. Sebastian and I need to go get a pot of tea somewhere and talk books.
- That whole opening section is just me flailing my arms around, wishing I could articulate like this. Jonny, I have major word envy. I mean, this whole blog is me just rolling around in my thoughts and feelings and weird little tangents that this show inspires in me. Ugh, this is so poetic I might cry.
- ‘...though if (a thought) find a host, then they can lodge there, proliferate, and maybe spread further.’ See, now you’re making it dirty. We’re spreading, eheh, into the idea of virus and infection and get outta ‘ere The Corruption, this one ain’t about you. But yeah, I’m back to thinking about parasitoid wasps again...
- ‘… humans are fragile creatures.’ Oh buddy. Buddy, you have no idea. But give it, checks notes on time line, 7 years and you’ll see.
- Sebastian goes off on a line of thought about ‘written texts that have outlived the civilisations that created them’, and that makes me so sad. Words written for prosperity but the people they were written for haven’t prospered. Thinking about various posts I’ve seen of (white) experts saying ‘we have no idea what these markings mean, it’s a mystery!’ and then seeing a screenshot of a whatsapp to someone who asked the native language users saying, ‘yeah, naw, that’s a list of names.’ ‘We had no idea what happened to the Franklin Expedition until Global Warming meant we could look.’ ‘No. We knew where the lunatic white folk were but we didn’t want anything to do with that nonsense and you didn’t ask.’ OK, I’m going to try not fall face first into an anti-imperialist rant. There would be no recipients or citations, only rage. But yes, writing systems and languages dying out is such a heartbreaking strand of the imperialism cat-o-nines. 
- There are a lot of people who have spoken very long and well on this sort of topic, far better than I could ever hope to, but I wanted to give Overly Sarcastic Productions a shout out. Especially with consideration to the line ‘corrupted, or translated, perhaps, by a culture that does not understand them.’ Blue, the history half of the duo, did a wonderful video looking at Sappho and her writings. Now, accusations for why we don’t have much of Sappho poetry left is usually leveled at he the burning of the Library of Alexandria and then the Christian Church and scholars censoring her. But in reality, it was much more likely that her work fell victim to linguist drift as her naive Aeolian dialect of Ancient Greek was overshadowed by the Koine dialect that Alexander the Great wielded lingua franca. Anyway, I love these kids, I so want to be friends with them in real life, go check their stuff out. Red does literature and mythology, Blue does history, hijinks ensue. They also have a podcast.
- ‘Will the thoughts that first ran through Shakespeare’s head ever stop being thought by someone, somewhere?’ *sigh* I love Shakespeare, I do, I will forever go to bat for The Bard. But I also have Netflix’s The Sandman brain rot and I am Dreamling trash… Hob Gadling, my beloved.
- I wonder how The Archivist felt reading this statement? Hearing the words of someone who found the same solace in books that he himself felt once, as a child? 
- ‘…an old library, with heavy tomes covering every wall, seems to have such a weight to it.’ That’s L-space baby! Ook!
- ‘...cash-strapped local councils than of the rich majesty of knowledge.’ Mood. Also, support your local library. This is your PSA, support your library. Don’t let Amazon have a goddamn penny if you can help it. 
- ‘The barcode and ISBN.’ Confession time; this bitch doesn’t know how the dewey decimal system works. I don’t know what it is. I sort my own books by topic so I think I’m sorta aping it, but I don’t know. I hardly used the library at Uni, it was scary and full of arts and business students. I just spent my time in the computer lab we had at the science quad, trying to scrabble over scientific article paywalls with my peers.
- I don’t know if the selection of Ruth Weaver’s name was given a lot of thought or not, but I really like that she has a surname that comes from a profession. Will the name itself may evoke ideas of The Web, the profession surname feels in keeping in this dark draw on the Canterbury Tales, where near all our story tellers are identified only with their profession.   
- I tried to see if there was any significance of the book being returned as Trainspotting, but as I have never read the book or seen the film I’m not sure what a quick wiki dive will yield. I suppose we have friendships going sour in both stories.
- Michael Crew! Lightning boy! His second mention. And it’s connected with another Leitner… I’m getting angry with you Mike, if you are going to shop around for a new Entity to save you, can you at least burn the ones you’ve decided you don’t vibe with and not, you know, drop them in a public library were anyone could find them? Gerard Keay would snap you like a twig if he knew.
- Jared Hopworth, beef boy. So many boys. *Griffin McElroy voice* Too many beautiful boys!
- I like how Sebastian starts to describe a ‘campaign of petty terror’ and not a minute later, Elias is on the scene.
- Ah Elias… Jonny Magna, Mr Bitchard, Bastard Rat Man, Peter Lukas Ex-husband to the power of 12. Hell make it 13, a divorce of each of The Entities. Voiced by Mr Ben ‘I’m going to give this MF a voice like a chocolate dipped orgasm and there’s nothing you can do about it’ Meredith. Urgh, illegal. 
- ‘Do you have a moment?’ Always fucking dangerous words to hear from a line manager.
- The Archivist is so defensive straight from the off, it’s so funny. Elias doesn’t even specify the nature of the complaint, he is just ready to throw down with Ms Herne and her rancid attitude. Sod Naomi Herne and her ‘I want to speak to the manager’ vibes.
- You didn’t need to throw Rosie under the bus, but now I have an answer as to why the Archivist was present for the recording of MAG013. Also, if the complaint was lodged day of the incident or soon after, this from Elias is coming now at least a month after the fact. Yet the Archivist is still so snitty, delightful.
- ‘I would prefer that you not antagonise anyone connected to the Lukas family. They are patrons of the Institute, after all.’ First, ‘connected’ to the Lukas family seems like a weird word considering their whole deal. Second, ‘patrons of the Institute’... is that what we’re calling it these days Elias?
- ‘Fine, fine, I’ll be more lovely.’ Oh the derision, the scorn. I can picture the look of contempt on his little face.
- ‘…(Martin’s off sick) Blessed relief if you ask me.’ RUDE!
- Being stuck in a situation at work, where you have to be professional and calm and controlled, but there’s a member of the public who wants to go off or has decided to make it your problem… Bad times. Bad, bad times. 
- The noting of the look in Jared Hopworth’s eyes when he held the book, ‘not entirely unlike fear’, is interesting. As far as Sebastian mentions, he didn’t feel anything amiss with it when he first handled it, so what made it see something in Jared. Was Sebastian perhaps too well read, in that he’d read The Boneturner’s Tale and while it may disgust him, as it does when he reads a section, is there always going to be a voice in the back of his head comparing and contrasting to the original Canterbury Tales, too much that it wouldn’t hook him? Did Jared had a fear in him already? One that could be cultured? I may be drawing this out of nowhere, but am I right in remembering Jared having a bad home life? Was his father abusive? I can’t remember, but did The Flesh see a fear in him and utilise that? Give him a way to wield fear like weapon and not cower behind it like a shield? Did it see building blocks and potential? A Judas goat to bring in more fearful minds? Maybe Sebastian had no such fear in him to be of use to The Flesh.
- Oh god I’d forgotten about the rat! The poor pet rat with no bones in the back legs and the head at a distressing angle! It was on the same day too, Jared evidently works fast.
- ‘But as the days turned into weeks I started to feel something I wouldn’t have expected to – worry.’ Looks like Jared wasn’t the only one with some left over childhood affection. Or maybe Sebastian was projecting when he first considered the state of their friendship.
- With the arrival and state of Jared’s mother, I wonder how much of her, erm…, rearrangement, was maybe accidental and how much was practised and deliberate? Did it happen when she got the book away from him? Also, I’d like to know how she’d gotten the book away from him. And if the injuries done to her were done deliberately, would he have not fought her for the book. Or was this perhaps in the wake of a terrible accident, and in the aftermath she takes steps to protect her son and herself, but Jared goes after the book.
- ‘Should I have destroyed it? That last thought was quickly pushed away. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to destroy a book, even one with such a strangeness to it.’ OK, I know book burnings and the destruction of books evoke very vivid thoughts of Nazism and cultural genocide down the centuries and part of me is proud of Sebastian for baulking at the impulse. The rest of me wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until all the ‘bleeding heart’ falls out and then tell him to find some matches. 
- ‘…my hand came away wet.’ THAT. IS. NEVER. GOOD.
- ‘Red dripped and pulsed from the cart.’… ‘Pulsed’… Not just covered in blood, no. Actively bleeding. Who’s blood was it? It wasn’t coming from The Boneturner’s Tale, but the other books. Was it the blood of their readers? Authors?
- I HATE it when things that shouldn't bleed, bleed. Why was there blood in you in the first place? What was it doing in there!?
- ‘…written in modern English.’ Listen, I will defend fanfiction til the day I die, but… oh fuck. Although, sounds like a pretty cool concept in a gnarly way... 
- ‘In the Prologue, over a hundred tales are promised, but the most complete surviving version doesn’t even reach two dozen.’ Hey, the Canterbury Tales were written between 1387 and 1400. Our good man Chaucer dies 25 October 1400. Maybe the stories died with him. Maybe that epilogue is him signing off knowing he’s approaching his death. Or maybe he’d just gotten busy, maybe circumstances had changed. *thinks about my AO3 account with its’ shivering WIPs and multiple incomplete series and sweats*
- The switching and smuggling in of the book and the slightly clumsy altering of the frontispiece by Michael. Didn’t care for Michael when we met him and now, in the relisten, I’m seeing all the little ripples he set in motion.
- ‘…the library of Jergensburg or Jurgenleit or Jurgerlicht or something like that. It didn’t help me.’ Yeah, Leitner be like that. 
- It’s very lightly done, but there are a few points through the statement where word choice has be wondering if we’re talking about a person as a human or as an animal. There’s a point here where Sebastian describes Jared as being ‘longer’ than he had been. Not ‘taller’ or ‘wider’. ‘Longer’. Like you’d talk about an animal being long.
- It’s a well worn image, and lord knows I’ve used it enough in my writing because I am a sentimental hack that in many ways understands animals better than people, but I’ve always loved the way various emotions can be described as a ‘beast that lives in the chest’. Be if something hot like fury or lust, crawling at the bars or something small and frightened, like a heart beating like a bird in it’s cage. But then we get ‘his ribcage (was) trying to bite me’… and I know we’re onto something different.
- ‘He had… added some extras.’ Yup, just… urgh god, vague is so terrifying because it let your imagination kick our own arse for it.
- ‘It wasn’t my book, it wasn’t my responsibility and I had no idea what I was dealing with, so I didn’t.’ I feel you may have been a bit late to the party on this type of thinking so while you fall short of Joshua Gillespie levels of ‘do not engage with this shit’, I think you defiantly deserve an honourable mention.
- ‘God knows how I explained the bloody books, because it wasn’t some disappearing phantom. It took weeks to get out.’… How?! God may know but I don’t and I want to know! Also, part of me wonders what you might have found out if a sample had been taken for testing… Who’s blood was it?… Was it even human? 
- ‘…last I ever need to hear or speak about Jared Hopworth or The Boneturner’s Tale.’ Well, sorry bud, but you’ve got at least one more instalment. And we’ve got several.
- So, so far the two Leitner’s both have a connection with Michael Crew. We’ll find out more about Ex Altiora in MAG046, but on the relisten, I really don’t like Michael. He can’t keep his business clean.
- ‘I’ve seen what Leitner’s work can do.’ …. Archivist? Explain please. Oooooh wait… Nope, sorry, I’ve remembered… I thought perhaps he’d seen the aftermath rather than… the event.
- ‘… he passed away in 2006.’ So we have another death of a statement giver, I believe the second confirmed and connected with the inciting incident, after Carlos Vittery of MAG016. As I’ve said, it’s about 7 years after the statement was taken, almost 10 after the event took place. So in world, Jared’s been… like that… for about 20 years now.
- The fact that it was chalked up as a ‘hit-and-run car accident’ makes sense, given how and where he was found, but I think it also plays into the more animal fear response The Flesh plays too. The idea of being left in the middle of the road, by a higher functioning unfeeling power, in a truly terrible state, like so much road kill.
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swimmingleo · 3 years
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Harry Styles and Two Loves - A love that dare not speak its name.
‼️Disclaimer I am in no way an English literature expert or student for that matter and can barely organize my thoughts but I’ll try my best. If something doesn’t make sense or is regretful thinking please tell me‼️
Basically Harry is a fervent reader that does not limit himself to Buk*wski and Mur*kami though for some reason he loves to bring up those dudes. Queer literature seems to play a big role when it comes to his inspiration and I love that about his music. A good example is his Shakesqueer Sweet Creature madness. But another one that I hold close to my heart are the parallels he draws with Alfred Douglas’ poem, Two Loves.
Here is the full poem. Give it a read if you can because I won't break it down verse by verse for this post sorry :(
To make it short, the poem is about the narrator (let's say Douglas) wandering in a garden where he meets a young man that turns out to be his lover. For context, Alfred Douglas was very much queer and in a romantic relationship with Oscar Wilde. Both developed their own coded language to express their love and ''sexual tendencies'' through their art (been this way foreverrr will we ever leaarn). However they were not always so sneaky about it and Two Loves in particular was so in your face that it was used against Wilde to prove his homosexuality in trial. He did get away with it this time. Here is his defense. Blueprint of denials. No iPhones at the time.
In Two Loves, two different personifications of love introduce themselves to Douglas and his lover:
The first love is loud and cheerful and sings about pretty women and men that love the said pretty women.
The second love is discreet, almost erased by the other’s presence but is beautiful and draws the attention of the narrator.
Obviously the first love is Heterosexuality, the one that is openly praised by society and the second is Homosexuality who is bullied into silence by Heterosexuality if he tries to speak. The poem ends with Homosexuality saying "I am the love that dare not speak its name." Yeah. And isn’t that the story of H’s career.
HS1 opens with MMITH which ends on "We don’t talk about it, it’s something we don’t do". And from there follows SOTT, "We don’t speak enough". And right after we get the very loud, very explicit and very well documented Carolina. So far the album narration goes "There is something painful going on but we can’t talk about it, I say ‘we’ because there is a you and I and yeeEEAAH THIS GIRL I MET ONCE GETS A WHOLE SONG THE WORLD DESERVES TO KNOW HOW GOOD SHE FEELS FOR A LADDY LAD LIKE ME ALSO HER NAME IS TOWNES YOU CAN CHECK FOR YOURSELF SEE IF SHES REAL I LOVE REAL WOMEN AS IN WOMEN THAT EXIST". Heterosexuality is loud and sings about pretty women right.
But then, THEN we get Two Ghosts. Which is the center piece of this whole post. I mean, the title... Two Ghosts//Two Loves Two hearts in one home ? Sick.
The parallel that hits the most is the physical description that is made of Douglas’ lover and of Homosexuality (which are technically two different characters in the poem).
Douglas’ lover / Homosexuality
Same lips red / Same eyes blue / Same white shirt
Red were his lips / His lips were red / His eyes were clear as crystal / His large eyes were strange with wondrous brightness / White as the snow / His cheeks were wan and white
In Douglas’ poem, it is meant to be understood that the young boy he meets first, his lover, is related to Homosexuality through their physical appearance. Douglas’ love is therefore inherently queer. With Two Ghosts, I’ve always wondered why Harry chose specifically to point out a white shirt as it comes across a bit generic and not really personal yk? But if you compare it to Two Loves, it checks out the recurrent descriptive color scheme: red, blue and white. In both works, red are the lips, blue are the eyes, and white is the ~envelopp. RIGHT. I suppose Harry didn’t feel like describing his lover with pale white skin since it’s brown with lemon over ice when under summer skies so he went with a plain white shirt instead.
I’m not going through a whole analysis of Two Ghosts yet I can safely say that it deals with unspoken words. Not saying things is a recurrent theme in H’s songwriting but within the album, Two Ghosts is the first song that deals with it through the undeniable prism of romantic love. Right before with Carolina, H had no issue being straightforward and wanted to "scream and shout it out", but with Two Ghosts he’s tongue tied and doesn’t say what he really means. Communication issues go on with the following track Sweet Creature, btw may I just:
But oh, Sweet Creature (!), Sweet Creature
Would he […] cry "O sweet creature!", Othello
I cried "Sweet youth…, Two Loves
Queer Literaturry is going wild(e).
Expanding this post with Sweet Creature allows me to speak about the garden metaphor. In lyric poetry, the expression of emotions is often done through nature. It is a process that Harry seems pretty fond of when singing about love (ie Olivia, Adore You, WS, Canyon Moon and Sunflower are good examples) but it’s way more subtle with TG and SC. In Two Ghosts, nature is the moon, and in Sweet Creature it’s the garden.
Would you look at that, Two Loves happens to combine both:
Moon dances over your good side and this was all we used to need, Two Ghosts
Running through the garden oh where nothing bothered us, Sweet Creature
Flowers that were stained with moonlight / Alone in this fair garden, till he came unasked by night, Two Loves
For Harry, the night is where the moon enhances his lover’s beauty, when it’s just the two of them and they need nothing more than each other. The garden is where they run (free?away?), once again alone, unbothered. For Douglas, Homosexuality took form and began to occupy the garden at night, while Heterosexuality who thrives in the golden light (um I- nvm) wasn’t paying attention.
It is also interesting to note that Homosexuality is associated with the night but also with death. And he’s super pale. So like… A ghost ? ANYWAY.
The garden in Two Loves is where love happens, it is a piece of heaven. It’s elevated on a hill and untamed with flowers of various colors growing everywhere. There is sunshine and moonlight, there are "pools that dreamed" and by pools I assume the author means vernal pools which are habitats where flowers grow and oh look over there:
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Nice ruffles on that white shirt by the way. Very Victorian.
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Two Ghosts, 2017 Mularry so true
So yeah. I don’t want to go into full analysis mode but I find it all interesting. Once again, Two Loves holds a great significance regarding the Oscar Wilde’s lore, and Harry is probably very familiar with anything Wilde related (don’t even start) and by that I think about the Carnation business.
I’ll just conclude with that quote from Maurice by E.M Forster whom I love very much:
"I am an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort."
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angryschnauzer · 3 years
Note
Henry got excited when his new running torch came. And wanted to show you that itll be good for more than just running in the dark...
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Roarry you are the source of inspiration for so many stories, and for this one i’ve continued my Rugby Teacher Henry series;
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Outdoor Sex.
Pairing: Rugby Teacher Henry x Teacher Wife Reader
Previous parts: Thigh Riding, and Jingle My Bells 
An Epic Quickie
The sound of the doorbell chiming had you pulling the pillow over your head. It was early on a Saturday morning and it had been a very long week. 
As a school teacher during a pandemic you’d had to quickly adapt to teaching ‘home learning’, and to a class of thirty 5 and 6 year olds that had the attention span of a slug, combined with stressed out parents that were trying to juggle working from home with childcare, homeschool experts, and sometimes entertaining multiple children of different ages, you had also become IT support for them too. 
Henry had it a lot easier. Not only did he teach PE which meant simply recording videos of tasks and setting it for his students, there was little to no work that needed to be submitted apart from the oldest class of his high school students that were working towards their exams. 
You groaned as the warmth of Henry left the bed and he excitedly dashed for the door as you shouted out;
“Clothes Henry, put some clothes on”
Only last week he’d given the Uber Eats delivery guy an eyeful after ordering breakfast and had ‘forgotten’ that he had ordered from the comfort of your bed, where he slept naked.
Moments later you heard him returning up the stairs, obviously taking them two at a time before he burst in the bedroom door;
“Babe, what do you think?!”
Peering out from under the pillow you took in the sight of your husband; standing in the doorway wearing nothing but your hawaiian print satin kimono that barely came to his thighs, his arms spread wide, and blindingly bright head torch.
“What… what the... why?”
He crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed;
“So i can go for a run at night, or before dawn!” 
“You can test it out tonight then… i’ve got to go up to Dad’s stables to feed the ponies as he’s on duty”
-
After a busy day catching up on chores and booking deliveries for the following week, the sun was growing low in the sky when you realised you needed to drive the three miles to your parents place on the other side of town to put their two pet ponies to bed in the stables. Both your parents worked at the Fire Station so you’d worked out a rota with them and their neighbours so that their animals were cared for in the winter months. Henry was going to go for his run and test out his new head torch whilst you sorted the animals out.
An hour later you had mucked out the stable, had loaded it up with fresh hay and water, and had herded the ponies in with the promise of apples when you saw a strange light bobbing along the road that ran alongside the field. As it turned the corner and started to come up the driveway you grinned, realising it was Henry.
“How’d you get on?”
He came to a halt in front of you, breathless and sweaty, and even in the cold winter night you could feel the heat radiating off of him. The fact that you were blatantly checking him out he didn’t miss in the light of his new head torch, and before you knew it he was pulling you flush with his furnace of a chest;
“Hen! You’re all sweaty!”
“Yeah, and i know you love it”
“At least take that torch off so you’re not blinding me!”
He quickly pressed a button and the stable yard was plunged into darkness, and whilst your eyes adjusted his lips were suddenly upon yours, a forceful kiss that had you melting into his arms. When you finally had to put away for air your night vision had returned and you could see the dark look of mischief on your husbands face;
“Hen… what are you thinking?”
“Your Dad installed that roof over where he keeps the hay, right?”
Before you could even answer he had grabbed your hand and was pulling you around the back of the stables to where there was now a small lean-to built to cover the bales of hay. Henry had you pushed up against the back wall of the building and his lips were immediately back on your body, his hands finding their way beneath your hoodie and he let out an appreciative grunt as he found you without a bra. His other hand was between your thighs, rubbing against your cunt through your leggings.
“Fuck Hen… need you…”
“Here, bend over this bale”
He quickly positioned you and pulled your leggings and knickers down, feeling around before cursing;
“Fucking dark… hang on a sec babe…”
A moment later you were faintly illuminated and you realised he’d turned his head torch back on;
“Hen! Someone will see!”
“Shhh, no-one will see. There’s no-one for miles. The whole reason you’re here is because your parents and their neighbours aren’t around… now bend over and spread that pussy for me…”
Leaning over the tarp covered bale you felt the velvet touch of his fat dick pushing at your entrance, gasping as he thrust in fully and started to fuck you hard and fast.
“Fuck… you’re so fucking tight babe… your cunt is so hot around my dick, gonna fill you with a massive load so i know you’re gonna have to hold it inside you on the drive home… you like that babe? Like the thought of me filling you up? If it wasn’t so fucking cold that my arse cheeks are developing frostbite i’d have you sucking me off after to get me ready for round two…”
You loved it when Henry talked dirty, he had been brought up in a well-to-do family and went to a posh boarding school, but when he was at his horniest his mind and mouth was worse than squaddie at a Weatherspoons on Curry night.
Back in the present you felt Henry snake his hand around to your clit, rubbing hard as his thrusts got faster and deeper;
“C’mon Babe, cum for me, let me feel that tight cunt of yours milking my dick for my cum… gonna fill you up with a massive load, got my balls so tight i’m ready to blow, not gonna cum until you do though…”
As if on cue your body knew exactly what it needed to do, and with a small cry you started to cum, shaking as you felt Henry pounding into you from behind before with one final deep thrust he came deep inside you as you felt his meaty dick pump you full of his cum.
-
Walking back to the car Henry had his arm around your shoulders as you happily chatted with your husband, pulling your keys from your hoodie pocket;
“I’ll drive”
“Thanks Babe”
Settling into Henry’s big Volvo SUV you flicked the switch for the heated seats and grinned at him;
“To defrost the frostbitten bum cheeks”
He grinned sleepily as he settled into the warm seat;
“You can warm them up more when we get home”
Returning his smile you knew he’d be fast asleep before you even pulled onto the driveway, but the thought of cuddling up to him under the duvet made up for it.
A/N: Explanations of ‘English-isms’ Squaddie = A guy who is in the Army - usually low level Weatherspoons = a cheap chain pub/restaurant know for cheap beer and having themed ‘nights’ which do combo deals such as a Curry and a Pint of beer for £5.
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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 💛
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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.
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mammonsvulva · 3 years
Note
Hi there! I just discovered your page and i loved the bachata headcannon!
On that same line, can you do a female latina headcannon? Like, more specifically, Colombian, you know, an MC that's like normally fluent in english but when mad she just burst on angry spanish screaming session with latin curses and a strong accent and also just getting really mad if deemed as Mexican by default? I'd love that! Thank youuuu (also feel free to ignored this if it's not of your fancy)
I hope you have a great day!
Of course! I really hope you like it! :)
(I tried to incorporate things some of my relatives say as Colombians please don’t hate me🥲)
The Brothers + Datables and a Latina MC with Colombian Habits
Lucifer❤️
Lucifer has always been amused by the boldness MC portrayed, that is until Mammon pissed her off
MC actually f*cking explodes, calling Mammon “culicagao” (like a bratty kid) and a bunch of profanities out of rage
Actually leaves Lucifer surprised, who could she hate so much that she’d put a curse on them?
Is actually kind of scared to speak up after she went silent, kinda just stares at her like “what the fuck do I do”
“I’ve told Mammon A THOUSAND TIMES. IM NOT F*CKING MEXICAN”
(Oooohh Mammons gonna get his ASS WHOOPED)
“MAAAAAAMMMMOOOOONNN????”
Mammon💛
Could learn a thing or two from MC, had some strong clap backs
Is counting his money when OUT OF NOWHERE MC just starts incanting a literal curse
Literally has his quaking in his boots dude, like he’s genuinely terrified
He can’t keep up with anything she’s saying and feels like his time to die has come
Doesn’t say A WORD when she calms down, jumps when she starts apologizing for reacting like that
“W-w-what happened? ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )”
“I LOST 10 GRAND IN BLACK JACK! ITS FUCKING RIGGED!”
Is genuinely more cautious for a while, kind of traumatized him
Mammon thought it’d be a great Idea to take her to meet one of his witches, MC already didn’t like her but listen to this
First thing the witch said was “Aren’t you that Mexican transfer student or whatever?”
(‘Oooh Ms. Girl you fucked up’)
Leviathan💙
Wishes he could have MCs confidence, ‘how does she respond like that 0•0’
He’s reading Manga while MC just lost on the same level for the 5th time
Accidentally shifts to his demon for he got so scared
Has to whip his tail up and grab the controller before she could slam it, genuinely terrified for his well being
Once she calms down she goes to give him a hug, to help with her frustration
*PANICS* “I-I can h-help you with that level, if y-you want..”
MC watches as he beats it with ease and heaves a sigh of relief, literally such a stupid game
Gets just as offended as MC when somebody said “I went to Mexico on vacation once, what was it like growing up there?”
Will let her handle it and he’ll be her Moral Support <3
Satan💚
Loved that MC was always ready, he was like that too being the Avatar of Wrath
Is genuinely amused when MC burst out swearing because she got a bad grade, he actually thought it was hilarious
Thinks of like a game to keep up with everything she’s shouting, makes her more upset
“What the fuck are you laughing at juemadre de la-“
“You’re Hot when you’re mad, Did you know that?”
Makes her go silent immediately, why is he like this, making people wanna act up on DIAVOLO
When they’re BOTH mad at something it’s like a f*cking BOMB RAID bro
They both just keep adding more, even when Satans speaking a Demon Dialect and MC is speaking Spanish LMAOO
When an arrogant soul decides to purposely mislabel MC as Mexican, the fool needs to count his seconds with MC and Satan both getting on his ass
Asmodeus💞
Has always liked the spunk MC had, it entertained him to watch her bicker with his brothers
Surprised, but not happy AT ALL with the fact that MC could blow up like that
Gets on MC for lashing out, “MC! THIS IS TERRIBLE FOR YOUR SKIN, DO YOU WANT WRINKLES?”
Gets MC to tell him what made her loose her cool like that
“That stupid b*tch from class posted saying “That Mexican transfer student isn’t pretty enough to be this annoying”
Almost explodes as bad as MC did
“MS. GIRL SHE SAID WHAT? Lemme hop on Devilgram and end her career real quick💖”
Devilgram post- Asmodeus 19:34: “Aw sweetie, Not everybody can be as gorgeous as MC and muah, but don’t go trying to drag her in the dirt with you. Filthy🥱”
No mercy on the haters💔
Beelzebub🧡
Like Asmo, found it entertaining to see MC bicker with his brothers every now and then
MC just couldn’t keep calm anymore when she messed up the recipe she was working on AGAIN
Beel becomes more concerned than scared, ‘Is she ok? :(‘
Gets up to hug MC, hoping it’ll help calm her down a bit
She explains that she kept ruining the dessert no matter how hard she tried
“MC, it’s ok to do it wrong, because it helps you learn how to do it right :)”
She’s tried again, except this time with Beel to help her :)
Gets upset when someone defaults MC as Mexican, knowing how much she hates it
He may be a teddy bear but man don’t f*ck with his Chef
Belphegor💜
Thought MC was amusing with the way she made sure everyone knew she wouldn’t take any BS
MC just happened to stub her toe while Belphie was sleeping, and now he’s awake, and heated
“What the f*ck happened?”
Is actually more concerned than upset, she wouldn’t lash out like that for no reason
When MC explains that a picture of her in the RAD Catalog still ended up being there even though she made it clear she was against it
“Oh, MC- you look good in every photo, I wouldn’t be upset about it”
Assures her it’s not a big deal and then invites her to come take a nap with him
Will mean mug the f*ck out of anyone who assumes MC is Mexican, because he finds extremely disrespectful (as it is)
Might commit homicide if they keep saying Mexican but I ain’t no snitch
+
Diavolo♥️
At first took MC as disrespectful, but learned it was only when she felt she was being disrespected (then by all means, go off)
Surprisingly, Diavolo speaks Spanish, but he still kind of struggles to keep up
He’s just laughing the whole time too, like MC isn’t furious
Later, MC calmly explains just some random student pissed her off again
“Who is this student you say? Do I need to have a chat with them as the Demon Lord of The Devildom? :)?”
Dia actually admires how passionate MC is about her home country, agrees that it’s disrespectful to mislabel someone
Because he can, Dia starts to learn about Colombian culture and throwing parties just for MC
Starts saying shit like “politas pa la rumba!” (I’ll buy beers for everyone¿) just to sound cool to MC
Barbatos💟
Barb doesn’t understand how someone could be so beautiful but so hostile sometimes, overall doesn’t really mind though
Is surprised that such things could conde from MC, kind of chuckles thinking about it
He figured he should try and step in to calm the situation
“Is there anything I can do to ease you, MC?”
It ended up being that Diavolo was completely ignoring her and brushing her aside when he never did that with Solomon
Asks if she’d like him to talk to Dia about it, since he may approach it better than she will
Barb will quietly correct anybody who believes her to be Mexican, just so MC won’t have to deal with their arrogance herself
Takes his free time and makes dishes from Colombia, or Colombian themed cookies or cupcakes to make MC happy :)
Simeon🤍
Is trying to teach MC better ways to respond to idiots, more Angelic ways
When MC blows up for the first time in front of him, the literal shock she sent him into omfg
*GASP* “MC?! WHY ARE YOU SAYING SUCH VILE THINGS?”
Like, HELLOOO? SHE DARES TO SAY SUCH THINGS IN AN ANGELS PRESENCE?
Helps to calm her down after showing distaste for her words
“You’re lips are to beautiful to speak such sinful things”
Will go on to give MC a long but kind lecture about why exploding like that is bad for her Aura and whatever
Will politely make it known that someone was wrong for assuming MC is Mexican, does get a bit irritated though
He now goes up to MC when she’s getting upset, to remind her to breathe and comfort her with a deep hug :)
“See? It’s ok MC~ just breathe in and out for me, ok? :)”
Solomon⚛️
Will piss MC off on purpose just to see her pop off, he LOVES it
Literally her #1 cheerleader when she blows up, adding on to what she’s upset about
“Period MC” “No way she said that! What a fugly b*tch” “Right, she’s just a hater”
Hypes her up all the time, even when she’s obviously in the wrong
Sol needs ALL the tea, pulls up like “who we talking shit about?”
Will get on someone’s ass just because, now think about when someone mislabels MC😳💥
Gives MC a sense of pride hearing him say “Cagué” when he messes up a potion, he obviously picked that up from her
Luke⛅️
Gets kinda (really) scared when MC becomes a little aggressive
Actually bursts out crying because he was scared MC was mas at him
MC traumatized this kid so bad, he ran to Simeon like he was getting chased be some demons
“M-m-mom is really m-mad and *sobs* I’m s-scared *sobs more*”
MC IMMEDIATELY feels super bad because she scared away his soul
Simeon, having talked to her about it already, mouthed “Apologize now.” In a very not polite manner, kinda scaring MC too🚫🧢
Has MC apologizing PROFUSELY, trying to explain it wasn’t Luke’s fault
Once he calms down, they go to bake cookies like usual, except this time he’s sniffing the whole time :( 💔
I really hope this fit what you asked for :( </3
132 notes · View notes
edna-skiffens · 3 years
Note
Ooo what about some teacher!Haz angst? Him and the reader get into an argument and avoid each other for a few days, their students find out and remind them of why they're together - the perfect couple - and they forget about the argument?
I love this! I hope it is okay. I got a bit carried away - sorry it took so long.
Lesson Learned
Summary: You and Teacher!Haz had an argument. Everyone at school can see the tension and they try to help.
Word Count: 1.8K
Warnings: Some angst, Some fluff, Some bad attempts at writing an English lesson
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The moment you pulled your car into the parking lot, Tom knew something was wrong.
“Haz not coming in today?” You only gave him a small smile and a shrug as you walked by the boy that got stuck doing car rider duty each morning.
Less than a minute later, Haz pulled in, trying not to glance at your car as he made his way towards the building.
“How come you didn’t pick up Y/N?”
“Ask her, mate.” was the only information Harrison gave out, before he made his way inside.
When you signed in, the office staff noticed the tension as well. Usually Harrison would be holding your bag or the two of you would be way too giggly for the early mornings. Today you were managing your purse, work bag and mug of tea all alone while signing in. You’d have to put on a better act if you wanted to make it through the day. The last thing you wanted was to be the subject of workplace gossip or have your students interrogating you.
When the first bell rang, you knew you needed to stand in your spot in the hallway to watch the students, but knowing Harrison would be out there across from you made you drag your feet.
When you saw him standing there- in his stupid glasses and his stupid jumper - you froze. How could you be angry at such a face? But you were angry.
You were still stalled in the doorway when one of your students started walking in.
“Hey Emma, will you help me with something?” Sure. You used her to get away from the hallway.
“Sure, Ms. Y/L/N. What do you need?”
Once you were safely inside you turned to her. “Oh uh.. never mind I think I’ve got it actually..” You knew you were a coward, but you couldn’t face him yet. Harrison saw you retreat and hung his head. He noticed how you had an excuse to avoid the hallway all day. You two used to be inseparable and now it felt like across the hall was a world away.
He wasn’t the only one to notice. The students and other teachers noticed. Even the custodian pointed out how during lunch you were eating in your separate rooms.
“You must have a lot of work to do?” He joked light heartedly while emptying Harrison’s trash.
“Sorry?”
“To not be eating with Ms. Y/L/N today you must have a lot to do.” He smiled before leaving the room.
After school Harrison coached Track practice. You would usually busy yourself with work while waiting or occasionally host Yearbook Club and Prom Committee meetings. Today you had no reason to wait. After the dismissal bell rang, it felt odd to start packing up immediately, but you did. Avoiding anyone’s questions or awkward run ins, you made a quick exit and headed to your own place.
The next day was much of the same. The staff noticed the tension even more, though they tried not to point it out. The students were also beginning to pick up on the sudden change.
You couldn’t just avoid the hallway for another whole day, so in between classes you moved down to Mrs. Greene’s area and made small talk with her, occasionally calling out a student to put their phone up or hurry to class.
During lunch Tom popped in to check on his friend, noticing that he was eating alone again.
“Hey, mate.”
“Hey Tom. What’s up?”
“You tell me.” Tom responds while leaning against a students desk with his arms crossed.
“Sorry?”
“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” Harrison stared at his friend for a moment. He loved having a close friend that cared so much, but sometimes hated how persistent he could be.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t do that. Everyone has noticed how you two are acting differently, so you can’t say it’s nothing. And I’m your best mate so I’m going to worry about it if I can see it’s affecting you.”
“We got into a fight.” He said after a moment.
“Was it bad?” Harrison gave his friend a ‘seriously?’ look before rolling his eyes. Obviously if they weren’t speaking it was bad. “Okay okay. Well, you didn’t break up right? So you can still repair things. That is, if you want to?”
“Of course I want to.”
“So then what are you waiting for?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me. She does everything she can to avoid me and we work right across from each other.”
“Okay, but sitting in here and moping about it isn’t helping anything.” Harrison knew Tom was right, but it was still tough to hear. “Look, I don’t know what the fight was about or who was right or who was wrong, but if you don’t want this to ruin the relationship then you’ve got to suck it up and go over there and talk to her. The silence isn’t doing anything for anyone.” Harrison just nodded, taking in his friend’s advice before the bell rang. “I’m here if you need me.” Tom called out as he made his way back to the science lab.
It was the last class of the day, your AP Literature class, and you were discussing Little Women.
“What are some themes we saw throughout the novel?”
“Love.” Shouted out one of your students, Jessie.
“Yes, love is a big one. We see it in many different ways that we can explore as well. But let’s go a little deeper into those relationships, shall we? What themes do we see?”
“With Jo and Laurie there is tension.”
“Yeah we see that a bit.” You turn to add it on the board.
“Could you say war? Because of the actual war but also the arguments the characters have.”
“Good one.” You say with your back to the class as you write it on the board.
“And with Amy and Jo, they don’t communicate very well. They just argue a lot.”
“You’re right. They do.” You say turning back around, suddenly uncomfortable with where this is headed. “Okay that’s a good starting point. Why don’t you write down all the themes you can think of being consistent throughout Little Women and turn it in at the end of class.” You smile before heading back to your desk.
It wasn’t long until the end of the day approached and the afternoon announcements came over the loudspeaker. After they were over, your students started turning in their papers to your desk.
“Ms. Y/L/N?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Um-” they looked back at their small group of friends who seemed to be encouraging them. You smiled, waiting for them to continue, “Did you and Mr. Osterfield break up?”
“Oh my god, Sam. You can’t ask that!” Hannah gasped from her desk. The classroom seemed to suddenly get very quiet. The color drained from your face and you were thankful there were only minutes left in the school day.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. No, we haven’t broken up. But that’s all I’m going to say because this is a personal matter and not something to discuss with our students.” Sam smiled sheepishly before returning to their desk.
“I’m glad you didn’t break up.” Carter, one of your typically quieter students, commented.
“Me too. You two are better together than Laurie and Amy.” Megan remarked as other students nodded.
Thankfully, the bell rang before you needed to make any reply. “Thanks guys. See you all tomorrow.” You told them while ushering everyone out the door. You headed back to your desk when you heard the door shut. Wondering who and what it was, you whipped around.
“Harrison.”
“We need to talk.”
“We can’t do this here. And now.”
“If not here and now then when? I know you’ve been avoiding me and I can’t stand not seeing you or talking to you any longer.”
You hated conflict. You hated not being able to control your feelings in moments like this.
“Harrison.” You turned around to face your desk. Your emotions were a confusing cocktail inside of you. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to pick somewhere to begin.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry because I know you don’t like being cornered like this, but I didn’t know how else to talk to you. And I’m sorry about this weekend and the things I said and the way I acted. I didn’t mean it. I love you and would never want to hurt you. And I’m sorry I let you avoid me this long as I sat there and did nothing. I should have come to you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m here now, will you please talk to me?” You bowed your head, taking in everything he just said. “Will you at least look at me?”
You turned to face him with tears brimming in your eyes. “Oh Y/N.” he stepped closer, but stopped short in front of you. Unsure if he was allowed to hold you still. Unsure where you stood.
You gave him the answer by reaching out and pulling him in. He quickly wrapped his arms around you.
“I’m sorry too. I should have just talked to you sooner, I’m sorry.”
“Oh love.” He kissed the top of your hair while holding you in his arms for a moment. “Are we okay?” He asked, holding your face in his hands as you stepped back.
You nodded and sniffled, letting your tears subside. “Yeah. If anything, this has shown me how much I enjoy being with you. I don’t want to not talk to you again. You are what matters most. Not winning silly arguments.”
“I couldn’t agree more. How about I take you home and we make up for lost time?”
“Harrison!” You hid your face in his chest and giggled. He just smirked before picking up your chin with his finger and kissing you yet again. “Well, I drove my own car so I guess I’ll take myself home.” You reminded him while you gathered your things.
“Just for today, love.” He said as he took your heavy work bag from your arm. “Tomorrow, I’ll be there with your tea, a blueberry muffin and a ride to work.”
“Back as things should be, yeah?” You both walked to the door of your classroom, turning off the lights and locking up for the day.
“Back as things should be.” He gave you a quick peck outside your classroom door, knowing you could now possibly be seen by students. You weren’t though, they were long gone.
Tom, however, saw the brief exchange and smiled to himself, ‘lesson learned.’
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katsuflossy · 4 years
Text
The Guys With A Jamaican S/0
Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x reader, Todoroki Shoto x reader, Shinso Hitoshi x reader
TW: A whole lot of obscenities, suggestive themes, a threateningly good time
A/n: AYYEEE A WEH MI SEH. My cousin decided to challenge me to make a Jamaican reader and so I delivered (poorly cause I only come to this in a sleepy state) but there’s little to no rep for di island gyals so Imma give some love. Hope you like it biddies!💖
P.S. all characters are in their 3rd year meaning they are 18.
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💥 You were an international transfer student in the support course
💥He busted through the doors screaming about someone messed up the wiring for his arm cannon.
💥 He just kept going and going and going until you couldn’t take it anymore.
💥 “ALL MIGHTION PEACE, BREDDA BILL PAN E SHOUTING NUH!” (1)
💥 Man was shook. One, because he did not understand a word you had said and two, what language did you even utter because it wasn’t complete English and three, did you just scream at him.
💥 Regardless, you took the cannons and fixed them. He noticed the Jamaican flag on top of your work station.
💥 Soon you’re telling him about your country and how proud you are to be a yaadie (what Jamaicans refer to themselves)
💥 He loves teasing you just so he can hear what you’re going to say—bc he in love with da accent☺️
💥 “My yute, if yuh tap revv off mi ear dem ma guh box yuh cross yuh head side.” (2)
💥”Big head bwoy, weh di bumboclaat yuh lef mi alone man.” He’s just so interested in the language.
💥 Give him some ackee and salt fish with fried dumpling. You got him under a spell now.
💥 IN LOVE with Jamaican food. He demolishes some jerk chicken, peppa shrimp, Rasta pasta, the list goes on. All because you guys were competing on who’s curry was better 🤦🏾‍♀️.
💥 Have a crate of beef patty and coco bread? Half of that is for him now. Some spice bun and cheese? Break that like five loaves and two fishes. Because everything’s being shared now.
💥 You’re not allowed to go to ANY party/dance/fete etc. without him because you act all the way up.
💥Shenseea comes on? He gives you one look and presses you against his front.
💥 Doesn’t stop you for whining and grinding but you ain’t going on your headtop around him. You start to go on your knees, head pressing against the ground; he snatches you before you could balance on your neck and stands you straight up.
💥 “For fuck sakes (Y/n) you don’t listen!” “Kastuki, mi a bad gyal, mi neva ago listen.”4 
💥 Basically with your mouth and his attitude, it’s UA’s most catastrophic couple™️.
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(1)  “Oh my God, bro chill on the shouting!”
(2) “ My guy, if you don’t stop talking my ears off I’m going to slap you.”
(3) “Big head boy, why the hell you don’t leave me alone, man.”
(4) “Kastuki, I’m a bad (unruly, untameable) girl, I’m never going to listen.”
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🧊 Total culture shock when he saw you. And then a second aftershock when he heard you SPEAK.
🧊 Just kept staring at you ever since you transferred into the class.
🧊 Then your mouth 🤦🏾‍♀️ had a mind of its own. You turned to him, got all up in his face and said “Big man, why ya pree me so hard? Neva seen a nigga before?” (5)
🧊 He was flabbergasted. Eyes wide, unable to say anything until he physically cooled himself down. Then he gon ask you to repeat ‘cause did he understand a word you said? No.
🧊 But he loves the accent. And by love I mean love.
🧊He asks you to talk to him in patois (“pat-wah”) more so the thing you say is “Guh suck yuh madda.” He just smile, nodding as he continued what he was doing. 💀 this was so rude.
🧊 You call Aizawa “Don” and All Might “Brogad” (6)
🧊 You flirt with him in patois and sometimes he’ll try to decipher what you’re saying.
🧊“Babes.” He looks up from his work and at you. “Yes?” “Yuh know seh mi love you like cook food.”
🧊 The gears in Todoroki’s head are working hard for this one. Unexpectedly, he frowns. “But not all food is cooked. Like sushi...I thought you loved sushi? So you don’t love me?”
🧊 His sad, puppy dog eyes had you rushing to console him, telling him it was just a regular saying and that Jamaicans just love homecooked meals.
🧊Speaking of food. He’s never going to touch cold soba again after having some pigtail with rice and peas, gravy touching every inch of the dish.
🧊He’ll sit at the kitchen, tapping his foot, very happy about whatever you’re making.
🧊 He’s observant too and will bring any and everything to shorten the time it takes for the food to get on his plate.
🧊 “Hey Sho, can you pass the—“ He got the curry seasoning already in his hand, offering it to you. “—um thanks?”
🧊He’ll be on your back as you’re cheffing it up, reggae music blasting through the area.
🧊 It’s a good life for Shoto.
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(5) “Big man, why are you staring at me so hard? Never seen a nigga before?”
(6) Brogad is a highly respected “bro”.
(7) “Go suck your mother.” (basic insult in Jamaica. Would not recommend saying it to an actual Jamaican? It will not end well for you.)
(7) “You know I love you like cooked food.”
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🔮 He met you in his extra secret place he goes to smoke.
🔮All he sees is some black girl lighting her blunt and wondering “how tf did she find this place?”
🔮 He was about to leave, pissed off that he has to find a new place to blow some air until you offered him your own blunt.
🔮 Very cautious about taking a hit because yo shit may have been laced but after that puff? Nigga went to another galaxy.
🔮 “How the fuck yo shit so strong?” “An mek you gwan chat pan mi? Naw, come link me if you want a spliff or two.” (8)
🔮 So it was a smoking buddies-to-lovers trope. He’ll come over to your dorm everyday until his high ass admits he likes you— and your high ass did the same.
🔮Alkaline is his top artist now. You’ll catch him vibing to “Juggernaut” or “Just the Style” on a daily.
🔮 He’s gotten use to you whining everywhere. He’ll sit, reading a book while you’re bumping and grinding to some soca or dancehall.
🔮 Although completely unphased, he’ll smack your ass as you’re throwing it back on him jokingly.
🔮 After you and Shinso became a couple, group smoke sessions were never the same.
🔮 ANY Kranium song comes on; the place will get steamy.
🔮 “Last Night” starts to play while you, Shinso, Kaminari, and Sero were going through that oui’d.
🔮 Next thing they know, you’re straddling Shinso’s hips, giving him that waistline like it’s carnival. He’s whining back; your bodies grinding against each other as his hands palms your ass.
🔮 Meanwhile Sero and Kaminari smoking the last blunt, ready to leave because they already know what’s gonna go down.
🔮 Sero: “They don’t see us?”
🔮 Kaminari: 🤷🏼
🔮Sero: “You see me?”
🔮 Kaminari: “Yes I see you. You see me?”
🔮Sero: “Hell yeah I see you. Both of us looking like two big Barneys we see each other.”
🔮 They just packed it up and left so they don’t have to see anything too drastic.
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(8) “So you can tell on me? Naw, talk to me if you want a blunt or two.”
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