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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 💛

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think by now it would be.”

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

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Except for us,” Tyson chimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

“What on earth are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better not get caught.”

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

“Tys?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is phenomenal, Miss Winters.”

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Father, what are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” her father says gruffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s nothing,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Operator,” the woman says flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. But Bednar is gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles kindly. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tteokdoroki · 4 years

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⤷ 𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 : WRITTEN CHAPTER

⤷ CHAPTER SUMMARY: a million unspoken words have built up between you and your best friend katsuki bakugou, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you, even when you’re warn down and somewhat broken... he knows that sometimes even pro heroes need saving.

warning(s) for this chapter: please read ! this chapter contains lots and lots of angst yo :(, soft baku and some mentions of emotional distress.

author’s note(s): hey there my loves ! yes yes this is a third written chapter and it is the final one. its a little sad at the beginning but don’t worry. it gets a lot softer! please enjoy super soft bakugou :(

previous | part thirty two - love him more | next

word count: 2.4K.

pushing the door open, katsuki bakugou braces himself for what lies behind your unlocked door. your usually sun filled apartment on the eastern side of town where the pro had often spent hours admiring and cooking for you was now locked in a dark embrace, the curtains drawn to the point where every room had been smothered in a thick fog of black and katsuki could barely see.

but for him, making his way around your home was as easy as learning his ABCs. he practically lived here, on days where he was too tired to care, nights where you were both beaten up from patrol but you still find the energy to patch him up. there wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t do for katsuki, so he would do the same for you.

vermillion eyes seek you out in the darkness, his trained ears picking up on the small whimpers that spread thinly through the apartment’s silence and with practiced ease the blonde finds the sofa which you’ve buried yourself in.

“there you are shitty girl,” bakugou mumbles into the still air, the harsh pet name coming out softly on his tongue. despite his hot headed nature, you’d always accepted him fully— never driven away by his terrible habit of using curse words every five seconds, or his natural aggressiveness— no. you loved every inch of him just as it were. you don’t shift from the safety of your blankets when he calls you, making him frown. so, as if not to scare you away , katsuki takes small and tentative steps towards you, until he’s resting on his knees in front of you.

“k-katsu...katsuki,” you heave, trembling with the sobs that wrack your body. the sight of the man alone is enough to set you off, not because he hurt you but because he came— he came when you needed him to. katsuki bakugou had never failed you, not yet. “it hurts, i can’t—“ heated arms wrap around you, warm enough that you can feel them through the mounds of blankets you’ve surrounded yourself in.

pain burns in your chest, clawing up your rib cage and choking you from inside out, everything made you think of keigo, how he had loved you without words— only for it all to be a lie. the pain you felt washed over you like powerful waves, making you cling to katsuki tighter than ever before, your grip on him so tight that your nails dug into your palms.

pulling you from your heap of blankets, the explosive pro hero brings you further into his arms, resting his cheek on top of your head. “stop it dumbass, you’ll hurt yourself even more.” bakugou takes your hands, rubbing your palms where your nails have indented as if to soothe you because like he had promised— he wasn’t here to hurt you.

as he rubs at your palms, you force your face into his firm chest— breathing in the familiar scent of burning sugar and sweet caramel, one that never fails to relax you. the smell of keigo is everywhere in your apartment, your bed, your clothes, your blankets. you’re suffocating in every trace of him and katsuki bakugou is like a breath of fresh air. “c-can i stay with you? everything smells like him...” your voice is barely above a whisper, muffled by the fabric of bakugou’s black shirt but you can tell that he’s heard you from the way he suddenly links your fingers.

bakugou kisses the top of your head, the light peck dressing your hair line as he stands and separates himself from you. the gesture is oddly soft for someone who looks angry by nature— but he’s only ever been this way with you. “shitty girl, you don’t even have to ask,” he mumbles, vermillion eyes looking everywhere but you. you give the blonde a watery smile before he disappears into your apartment, presumably to gather some belongings of yours to take with you. he knows where everything is so you don’t bother to move, curling in on yourself.

reality finally sets in, a paperweight of emotions crushing your heart into tiny pieces. everything you’d known for the last several months had turned out to be a lie, every look, every touch and every kiss had been staged.

what did he gain? what did keigo win for breaking your heart? you suppose aizawa is partly to blame for setting this whole thing up behind your back but even he couldn’t be in control of your feelings. when katsuki returns, he’s locked all the doors and turned off all lights that are further into your home. on his left shoulder he carries an overnight bag but some how manages to scoop you up into his warm arms.

you find yourself on a quiet ride to his place a little while later, streetlights like stars in the night sky. bakugou’s house was a short drive from yours, somewhere he’d gotten shortly after his twentieth birthday.

it was a big house with high ceilings and wide open windows— perfect to accommodate for any repercussions of his quirk. there was a beautiful view of the city too, something that katsuki had been proud of when he got the place. he’d spent most of his earnings from his time as a side kick on it, a risky move you wouldn’t put past him.

“i’m running you a bath and you’re fuckin’ taking it. you reek.” katsuki’s sharp words cut through the thick silence as you enter his home. he sets you up in the spare bedroom before heading off to the bathroom to do as he said. his words, despite harsh, have a hidden meaning behind them— either that you smell like hawks and he doesn’t want that infecting his home or that he’s genuinely worried for your health.

you figure that it’s both. when the water’s just right, he helps you get in ( although his cheeks are stained bright red, matching his eyes ) and washes away the tears and snot that’s built up over the last few days.

there’s a spare change of clothes waiting for you when you get out, your favourite black shirt of his and pair of undies to wear underneath. bakugou always takes care of you, no questions asked. that’s why he says nothing when you slide into bed with him that night, nor the next day when you take food from his plate at breakfast. he’d always been that kind of friend, there for you to the end, no matter what.

the following night you’re curled in his lap, watching re-runs of an old allmight cartoon he was obsessed with back in high school. bakugou’s attention is mostly focused on the phone in his right hand, the left drawing absentminded patterns into your cheek.

you figure that he’s probably warding away his managers since he’d dipped his hero duties to take care of you or updating your friends and aizawa on how you’re doing. nonetheless, you enjoy how he holds you and keeps you close— maybe it’s because you’re reminded of how things used to be be; when you were dating, when you were back in U.A.

yourself and katsuki bakugou had dated from your second year till your last at U.A. graduation had been hard, seeing as this would be the last time you were surrounded by all your friends on the hero course; tears drenched your cheeks as you said your goodbyes to not only them— but to katsuki as well. you’d both agreed that after sharing two years together, secret kisses outside the dorms at night, dates where your friends would tease the blasting hero until the tips of his ears were as red at his eyes; that it was time to part.

romance and feelings would get in the way of being the best of the best and you couldn’t dream of stopping bakugou from reaching what he could practically touch.

you had to let go of him, you couldn’t hold him back.

back then; you were only eighteen with the world of colours ahead of you. you’d promised yourself from then that you would work twice as hard as your friends to rank the highest you could— because while katsuki was your first love, you wouldn’t let that stop you from aiming high as well.

now, almost twenty-two, you could look back with a fond smile at the sweet memories you both had made together. so why did you feel bitter? why did it hurt to be in his arms like this?

was it because you thought, that if you hadn’t met keigo, none of this would have happened? would you be as happy with bakugou as you were with him? you don’t realise that you’re crying until katsuki wipes away your tears before they can hit your cheeks. there’s a knowing look swirling in his eyes as you abruptly sit up to wipe at your face. “s-sorry, i...” you huff frustration laced in your tone. you’re tired of crying, tired of being sad. “god, i must look so stupid!”

the blonde leans in, rolling his eyes as warm calloused hands come up to cup your cheeks. “let yourself cry shitty woman, you just got your heart broken. stop creating lame excuses to torture yourself with.” he chides, thumbs brushing away stray tears that somehow manage to escape. you find yourself nodding slowly, heart racing at the proximity of your best friend.

he’s still the same boy he was when you were tucked away in the safety of your U.A bedroom; brazen, with sharp, chiselled features and hellish eyes that held the worlds jewels. he’s still your bakugou, the man you still hold so much love for.

if you could see yourself now you’d call yourself a fool— for your mouth moved before your mind and your lips end up pressed against against bakugou’s. he stiffens, because this would have been the first time you’ve kissed this way in four years, but he soon relaxes— the hands that cup your cheeks dropping to your waist to pull you closer to him, holding you as if you’re going to disappear at any moment. his lips slot against yours perfectly, like they were moulded for each other and he’s hot against you, tenderly moving in sync with you.

your fingers make their way into his forest of blonde locks, curling in them tightly which makes the man before you groan quietly— you kiss him with unspoken words and hidden truths, all the while, fresh sets of tears burn in the corners of your closed eyes—stinging a path down your cheeks.

he must feel them too because he only pulls you closer, letting his lips do the talking as he kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the chance to. you whine into him brokenly and he flinches with every oncoming tear that paints your locked lips with a salty flavour. that’s what it feels like, your last kiss; as you pour every ounce of passion into the liplock as possible.

you feel the world crumbling away. you love him, you have for years and always will be hopelessly in love with katsuki bakugou but there’s a hole in your heart that he can’t fill and he knows it. gripping his shirt now, you feel your lungs burn with the need to breathe in fresh air and regretfully pull away from your best friend.

when you open your eyes you’re met with the sight of a ruby gaze and flushed cheeks, swollen lips and a sorrowful smile that makes your heart ache. you try to back up, mind hazy with storm clouds of emotion but he doesn’t let you leave him. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have—“

“i’m not,” he says quietly, blunt as ever, gaze flickering to the hands of yours that he now holds.

you hum, watching as he plays with your fingers gently— your heart pounds and your body feels hot, but you find it in you to say your next words. “i love you katsu, you know that right?” he nods, still not looking up to meet your gaze. “i love you more than i should as a friend but—“

“you love the bird man more,” the blonde finishes for you, deep red eyes locking on you. it’s your turn to nod, squeezing his fingers in hopes that he doesn’t pull away or shut you out like he has done in the past. instead, a finger of his finds your chin to tilt your head up towards him— he brushes away the remanence of your tears from salt streaked skin and gives you a genuine, but small, smile. “we’re different to who we were back than, my feelings never changed and maybe i realised that too late. when you were with him i fucking wished he would fuck up so i could swoop in and take my shitty girl back...” bakugou pauses, pondering his next words. things like this were hard for him, he wasn’t necessarily the most open person in the world but for you; he often tried. “but i know now, that seeing you broken like this; because of him... it fucking hurts more than losing you to him.”

“katsuki,” you blubber, you don’t know what to say for now— but whatever comes to mind you know he’ll appreciate it. snuggling up to him, you shove your face into his chest once more and find yourself soothed by the scent of burning sugar that tickles your nose. “thank you.”

bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes at you for what seems like the millionth time that night but doesn’t push you away. instead he pats your head, throwing his gaze to them he side. “whatever, now get off me so i can make us dinner.” a heavy blush dusts his cheeks once more, so you let up with a tiny smile as the pro hero heads over to his kitchen to cook for you both.

you watch him as he goes, shuffling around the kitchen— no one would have guessed that the pro hero ground zero was a phenomenal cook, but it was just one of those things. something special that you knew about katsuki bakugou, your little secret between two best friends. best friends who had been through the world and back, best friends who would do anything for each other.

and so you realised, as long as you had your best friend bakugo, everything would be just fine.

⤷ TAGLIST: ✈️CLOSED

@underratedmage @darlingstudies @iambashfulperson @jqnposts @ih8beefnoodles @miniatureland @ozzy-bozzy @someweirdshitman @bro-vocaine @air-wreckaaa @xxangelofpunkrockxx @hyperkaiperrose @sailor-moons-butt @montechristos @semiathleticnerdykid @headfirst-halo @sasukelore @patricia-ceballos @jadenyukis-bodypillow @leel-lol @bokutosuwus @moonlightaangel @atsumumu @cathy8taffy @sya-arts-blog @rosa-gamer @yuesphere @ela-ena @d3ad-b3at-b1tch @starry-yui @cowward @actuallyazriel @bunny-on-crack @yourlocalbabybird @moon-spirit-yue @chaichai-the-weeb @tuddles-on-ice @gomezuwu @loser-keiji @witcherydotcom @s4kurajima @nishinoya-is-baby @astroninaaa @witches-brewe @skyrina @underoosjae @darlingely @mirukosyn @peachpetalhoney @kayisweird

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jjkpls · 3 years

Text

first love (m)

genre : fluff, angst, light smut

pairing : kim seokjin x reader (f)

word count : 4.6k

warnings/content : mentions of sexual intercourse, mature language, infidelity, separated parents, unresolved past relationship, dad!seokjin, mom!reader

Seokjin doesn't mean to overreact. He knows he shouldn't. Knows you hate it. Knows, because he's been told enough times, that these types of reactions are unnecessary and possibly harmful for a child.

He can't really help it when deep down he knows he was meant to be an actor. Right before his actual birthday, his mother had dreamt of giving birth on a theatre stage, for God's sake.

But his father wasn't into it, given his ambitions, his own growing company and all the promising opportunities he envisioned both for him and for his only son. Therefore Seokjin went to law school, graduated with excellent mentions, followed an accelerated program in business development and managing and joined his father exactly where he was expected.

He isn't exactly complaining.

He likes his job, most of the time, likes the money and luxury that come with it especially and appreciates the work safety.

Now, you can't blame him for being quite the drama queen in his everyday life. All that pent up, buried alive passion for the arts of acting need to express, somehow.

That's what he'd say to you when you used to yell at him for starting weeping loudly in your ear when he'd call you to cancel a date last minute because he couldn't come, instead of just, cancelling it, aplogize, get over it like a normal person.

Or when you'd kick him in the ribs because he'd be all wild gestures and screeching screams when he'd teach your son to ride a bike and he would fall, as he should to learn, making the boy cry even when he wasn't hurt, solely from the projection of his dad's fear.

You're not here to tell him yourself but the glazed, annoyed roll of his son's eyes tells him precisely what you would. Those eyes are the worst. The prettiest he's ever seen. The ones he loves the most. The ones you also wear on your own pretty face.

"Since when?" He has a hand pressed to his chest, preventing a heart attack it seems, gaze wide and alarmed. Timothy sighs.

"A while. They were already together for Valentine's Day-" He explains patiently. That kid is sweet. The way he's slumped over, obviously annoyed to have to be the one telling his dad and having to deal with the consequences but still, he's watching over him with a soft eye, mouth torn in a sympathetic pout. He wouldn't mind his parents to get back together even though he is almost sure it wouldn't be a good idea for the both of you. He's heard tales of dysfunctional families, of parents hurting each other and their children and doesn't want that for any of you. He can't imagine it happen. You two are too good for that. That's probably why you had decided to separate in the first place.

Seokjin is quickly making maths in his head. Not really counting the time but situating himself in that time frame. Where was he at when she was out with this guy? What was he doing?

He may have been in Japan when it started. He remembers a call from you, you were asking him to take Timothy for a couple of days. You sounded embarrassed and he didn't know why but couldn't take the time to investigate, he had a flight expecting him and a conference call waiting to start in a couple of minutes. Important stuff. None of it would have mattered if he had known what you were up to.

"You okay, dad?" Timothy asks, awkward but kind. His mom basically.

"Devastated." Seokjin says with the widest grin on his face. He's not devastated. It'd be ridiculous to be for something absolutely predictable, fair and normal. He's not mad, nor disappointed. You deserve to be seeing people, have them desire you and make you feel good. He wishes it were him but if he can't do that, if you won't let him, he's glad you still can allow someone else to do it.

He's surprised though, he can't lie about that.

Honestly. That's stupid. But he didn't expect one second that you were seeing someone. You never mentioned anything and you didn't look like it. If there's a way you look when you're dating.

He remembers rosy cheeks and short skirts. You were younger.

"You think it's serious?" He asks casually, surprising even himself. His heart is in a turmoil but he showed enough to Timothy, acting like he was half dying, gasping for air and all.

"I don't know. She doesn't want to bring him home yet. Like, introduce him to me. I asked." Timothy, not only is he nice, he is smart. He's thirteen, shouldn't know much about Love and adults' matters yet. He's supposed to still be at that stage when one believes children and adults are two very distinctive race of humans, one that depends on the other and the other having it all figured it out, having reached a certain knowledge and expertise on all things and can't really be wrong on accident.

Timothy knows precisely what his dad would love to hear. And he gives it to him. Not to feed him vain hopes. Not even for this tiny hidden greed to have you back together. Simply because it's the truth and if for once the truth is pleasant to hear, then he should give it. Seokjin's smile only gets brighter. He shares a glance with his son, a glint winking his way and Timothy rolls his eyes, unable to hide the lift of the corners of his lips.

"Anyway, I heard you won that science fair at school?" Seokjin has already left his seat on Timothy's bed. He's rummaging through his leather bag and Timothy knows what it means. He has a present for him. Seokjin always has a present for him. Most of the time, he can justify it by some event or some success Timothy had encountered. The thing is they don't see each other that often, therefore, almost systematically, something new has come about and Seokjin can explain why he's brought a brand new console, a new laptop, a TV for his room or that one limited edition of this way too expensive branded pair of sneakers.

You used to get really mad at that. You'd say that he shouldn't, that he didn't need to bring him all these expensive stuff because what he'd like (it was a long time ago when Timothy was too young to have his own opinion and you would speak for him) is for his dad to be here more often. You'd say he wouldn't have to buy him shit for any other times than Christmas and his birthday if only he could be here for him. His dad would be his present.

It caused a lot of drama, a lot of crying. You had made sure not to scream, not to be too angry but Timothy felt from the way you squeezed him hard against your bosom that you were very upset. His dad had apologized, had said the most with his eyes only for you to understand. Timothy was staring, trying to get it too because he was involved, wasn't he? But that was one of those adults moments he wasn't allowed to participate in yet.

From then on, his dad wasn't late anymore when he'd set dates with him, his phone would be turned off when they were together and he would text him more often.

It was really nice. Because at first, Timothy felt that maybe if his dad wasn't so present it was because he didn't want to. For some reasons. He thought maybe he was too much of a coward or too nice possibly, to leave you two altogether, to disappear from your lives and start another one somewhere else, one he would have chosen and shaped as he'd want. Turns out Seokjin really appreciated his son and the time he got to spend with him. The more time they spend together, the more Timothy is met with awed eyes and whistling lips, impressed as his dad is by his smartness, his humour and hidden talents. He just was very busy. You explained that to him. That he was passionate by his work, that it required a sacrificial amount of time in one's life, and that he shouldn't ever take it personally because even he loved you and couldn't give you that time.

It's the conversation that led him to think that maybe his parents are meant to be, except they won't because... circumstances.

In any case, no matter how often they meet now, Seokjin still brings him gifts each and every time. The difference is that he has to think of a reason, sometimes make one up to not be struck down by your fury.

"Yes, I did."

"Of course, you did! Cause my son is the smartest." Timothy waits for the moment he says that his brain and the magic fuel filling it all come from him. It doesn't come. Instead, a neat white box is held in front of his face. There's a pretty tie made of ribbons glued in the middle, to hide the picture of what's inside, but there's no doubt that this is an iPhone. He rips the tie off and surprise surprise it's the iPhone 12.

"Mom is going to kill you." Timothy says first, before even thanking him, heart pounding from excitement and face split in two by the wide banana grin.

"Probably." He shrugs, unapologetic.

"Thanks, dad!" Timothy doesn't forget to add, eyes shiny and toothy grin even shinier.

He hopes so. That you're going to be mad. You two are too old to have petty fights now. You don't waste your energy in screaming and finding the worst things to say to hurt his feelings. You just cross your arms under your tits, clench your jaws and adopt that pout on your mouth, eyelids low and eyebrows high, the embodiment of condescendence and you look sexy as hell. He smiles and winks at you, calls you by an old pet name and you're swooning even though you try to hide it. No one is charming like he is, and no one charms you as he does therefore he's not too worried.

His son was just going around with this prehistorical device you dared to call a smartphone. With the broken screen, and the non-functioning selfie cam and the safari app needing a good ten minutes to charge one fucking page -this was deliberate as you wanted him to have a phone to call and text you and not go and lose himself on the internet or whatever. He's almost fourteen though and he's doing a great job at school and is such a good kid at home, he deserves it.

"I know and I don't care. I don't need you to tell me my son is good." You are infuriated. The perfect picture of you he had imagined, the only difference is that, you've just walked out of work, you seem to have had a rough day and your hair is a mess. With the wild locks hanging off of your bun, framing your pretty face, you look even better. "I don't want him to have something so expensive on him, first of all."

"His dad is richer than Cresus, what do you expect?" The cockiness dripping from every pore should suffice to make you explode. Of course, it doesn't. He has that stupid side grin. The one he's got you with in the first place.

"And what about- internet and even just the darn AppStore? He's too young to-"

"Are you worried about porn?" He frowns, you flush. That's precisely one of the things you think about. You don't want him to fall upon stuff he doesn't need to see -in your opinion for a good ten years at least- or start taking interest in social medias where creepy fuckers could hang out.

You flush because apparently, it's a word complicated still to hear from him. "I've made a parental software installed in it. And a localisation too. Not that we really need it with him but you know."

"Oh." All tension escapes from your torn face and tensed shoulders.

"Oh, wow, my first love is such a good dad." He mocks, voice high, hardly resembling yours, barely biting back a smirk. He even goes as far as swiping the right side of his bangs back, eyes closed, mannerism insufferable.

"Shut up." More flush. A fist to his chest for punishment. Bad idea. Apparently, he went back to the gym.

"You should be nicer because I have something for you too." He says, eyes glancing mischievously as his hand dips in the pocket of his trench coat. "Well. I don't want it." You cross your arms on your chest again which only serves to push your tits forward to him and he wonders what you're playing at. Probably the same game he plays when he winks and smiles and lifts his eyebrow to you.

"Wait 'til you see it." He sees the moment you realize it's a jewellery box. He reads the instant wild excitement, he catches also the gloomy shadow you try to paint over it because you don't want to accept it. How many times does he need to be told to stop? He won't ever stop.

"You can't buy me, Seokjin." You're eyeing the velour box in his hand, a tiny beautiful red in this large pearly white palm. You want it. You always do. You don't dare uncross your arms though because you know that if you even do something as reckless as taking it in your hand, just to have a look at it, you won't be able to refuse it.

"Of course, I can." More of that smirk. You glare, it makes him wheeze as he does.

You have never ever been able to refuse any of his shiny presents. You're not a gold digger, that's precisely why you felt so guilty all the time, accepting to receive from him things you could never afford for him -or yourself. He's born richer than you'll ever be, he loves to spend it on his loved ones -and on cars and designer clothes- and amongst everything else he loves, he adores covering you in shiny little rocks.

No one has ever worn diamonds the way you do. You look beautiful without them, magnificent with them. They were made to enhance your beauty and you were made to give them sense.

"You're such a dick." You say, tone way too monotonous to still have been in total control of your free will. Your eyes are glued to the shine of the two dainty clear earrings nested in the case. He's holding it open in front of your nose, like a hypnotizing stick. He sees your determination wavers. Your arms have just untied. Your hand is getting close. He smiles already savouring his victory.

"Take them, petal, I don't think your new boy could ever afford them." Your hand freezes mid-track, face falling you look up. He's a bit surprised to see guilt in those eyes. Shame and guilt. Even though, you have the right to see whoever you want. Obviously.

"How-" His head tilts slightly towards the hallway, where the bedrooms and the one Timothy is in, probably playing with his new phone. "Great. Bribing our son into giving you off my personal information."

"I gave him the iPhone after he told me." Seokjin feels the need to precise. His son loves him and he confided for this very reason. He wants to believe. He hopes that it's not because he's worried his dad would have a mental breakdown if he were to learn the news the day his mom would invite him to their wedding or something.

You sigh. You don't know what to say it seems. He doesn't want you to feel upset. He's not going to congratulate you either. He can't.

"Take them."

"He could- he's a doctor, you know." You sound like a petty little girl saying that, fingers aiming for the box but mouth reshaped by contempt.

Thankfully, the mesmerizing glee on your lovely face makes up for this last information.

A doctor.

He snorts, huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Are you really being disdainful over the noblest of all professions?"

"I bet he's not as handsome as I am." Seokjin says, staring away into space in a very Vogue kind of pose.

"And it's relevant because your face saves lives too, right?" You add to his clownery, biting on the smile wanting to take over your face.

"Precisely." You're already putting them on, watching your fingers work in the reflection on the microwave door. He's loving it. One is on, reflecting the light coming from the window, bringing a new sense to your whole stance. You don't look tired anymore. You look very fancy. Sexier than before. Your butt sways a little in excitement when you take a new look at yourself, now beautifully decorated and he's reminded of an idea he once had but never got to realize.

He wanted to have a fashion designer make a garter holder made of tiny diamonds. Solely diamonds. It would fit you just right, maybe a bit tight on you, would dig slightly in the meat of your thighs, enough to look fucking sinful and not too much so it doesn't hurt. He was quite young when he had the idea first and was probably not rich enough to make it happen.

He now owns a few palaces perched on the last stage of skyscrapers in three of the most expensive cities in the world and he would sell one in a beat if it meant he could get that for you and see you wear it for him.

You'd probably end up accepting it and then wear it for your new boy so that's out the question.

He doesn't hesitate when he reaches a hand forward, slip his fingers through the tie holding your hair in a bun and slide it off. You don't even flinch, he's still allowed to do that.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You whisper with a smile, both for the compliment and for the present.

"You went to the hair salon." You nod, forcing yourself not to show your surprise. He doesn't need it to throw himself some flowers, "See? I noticed." He adds with way too much pride for so little.

"Your lenses work, congratulations." Sarcasm is the only answer to his stupidity, you both have figured this out long ago. "Is he nice?" Seokjin can't help but ask. He doesn't want to know too much about him. Kind of hopes that it won't be necessary as the guy won't last too long. But he can't resist his curiosity.

"Yes." You say without much of a hesitation. "Last week, he took me to this nice French restaurant in Songpa." You tell, eyes looking away, a bit pensive, mindlessly playing with one strand of your hair. Your face is taken over by that air. Seokjin realizes then that you really like him.

"I used to take you to very nice restaurants all the time, remember?" He's just messing around now. He knows it's not that relevant. Knows it won't get him higher in your regard,

"And I would spend half the date with the waiter while you'll have yours with your phone. I do remember." Especially given you don't recall your common past the same.

He does remember now that you mention it. His memory has been awfully selective and mainly, what he could picture when he thought about those times, is how beautiful you looked, how much he wanted you and felt like even sitting right next to you, he couldn't satisfy that need, was missing you even if you were right there, and the mind-blowing sex too. The later probably happening because he owed to make it up to you because indeed, his job was on the dates too and you hated that. He remembers the late mornings, the lazy ones, you'd make him carry you on his back because your legs and your hips hurt too badly.

"Ouch!" Toppling over, hand on his bosom where it actually really hurts, he yelps in agony, pretending to have been shot. You giggle and slap his shoulder, pester him to stop when you both hear Timothy ask from his room if everything's okay. You'd think he would know by now that his dad is just a clown whose shenanigans shouldn't be taken seriously.

"Are you seeing someone these days?" What a shame, Seokjin really thought for once he'd be solely cool and collected and handsome. Instead, he can feel his ears start to burn in embarrassment, walks a few steps back, pretending to want to throw a glance through the window when really, he'd do anything to not have see you notice.

"Someone?" He huffs. "Some three, actually some four or five. You know how the ladies get with me-" He sounds dumb as hell. It suffices to make you laugh. You've always laughed at his antics. Even when you were going through complicated times, like the pregnancy and the soon to follow break up, he'd try to dry your cheeks and lighten your gaze, heartbroken as he was to see you like that, and it would always work.

"And I know how bad you are with maths." He nods, doesn't look at you, simply stares at the shiny tip of his italian shoes. "You should call me sometimes, Jin." You don't need to tell him, he knows. You say that to him almost every single time. It's just you being kindhearted, the way you've always been. But first, he hates the idea that somehow, to some degree, it's a pity hand you're holding out for him. And secondly, he knows he'll fuck up if he calls.

He won't be able to talk about his job or politics or what's on the dumb tv these days. He'd probably start by asking what you're wearing and end it all by serenading you. What a bad idea. "You don't ever call, only Tim. Which is fine but-" He is lonely, he does miss you, but he's not that stupid. "I miss you too, you know." You look awfully sincere when you say this. There's still a sad shade to your eyes and he suspects it comes from you worrying about him rather than you simply wanting him more in your life. Maybe it's there for both reasons. He can't be mad at you for caring about him still, can he? Ultimately, it's sweet. It's not your fault he tends to be a loser in his very personal life.

He wouldn't know who he is trying to comfort when he strides forward and place a kiss on your cheek. The other one he's cradling in his palm feels warmer the longer he touches it. He doesn't let it go once he backs up and away. You're looking up to him with your eyes looking all round and childish. Quiet and in expectancy. You look like you do when you would wait for him to kiss you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and he smirks.

"Expecting me to kiss you?" He asks with an eyebrow raised high. Pretend judgment in his tone, even remonstrance. As if. "How scandalous, when you already have a boyfriend." You know he's just kidding and he can tell that. He wouldn't play with that if he wasn't sure. He doesn't want to hurt your feelings, make you feel wrong or bad in any way. He loves you too much for that. You could let him kiss you and he wouldn't hold you accountable for it. Therefore he does. Because he's dying to since the last time it happened a couple of weeks back. And when your own lips welcome his, with that much willing and tenderness, he suspects you've had too.

He doesn't allow it to go too far. He thought you would stop him, at some point, but you don't. He's the one pulling away when his tongue, instinctively, means to reach out for your own. He knows what comes after that, and what comes after that and after and after. And even if you transpire guilt and shame, he can sense in the way your eyes stare into his that you would have let it all happen.

He's not lacking in desire, he hopes you know that. Honestly, since earlier, and that random flash of the diamond garter holder, his brain is half clouded by the thought of your thighs and his face buried in between them. You used to make the most delicious sounds, pulling at the root of his hair and chasing your high with your hips. Also now that he's met your mouth again and he envisioned what could happen if he just let go, he can't help but think about that dresser in your room. The gigantic thing you wanted him and Timothy to put together as sort of a father and son enterprise to bound or whatever - he ended up paying a guy to do it for them and they played Mario Kart instead but you don't need to know that. Point of the matter is, that massive dresser has a massive mirror on its door and that massive mirror sits perfectly in front of your bed. And all he can think about is how bad he'd like to fuck you on your bed while you'd watch yourself in it. He'd pull back your hair, hold in tight in his fist like he knows you love so you could see your own cute face while his cock would reshape your cunt to its fitting, all this with the pretty little shiny earrings adorning your ears.

Fuck, what a concept.

And it is to say that right now, he knows, you'd let him. He's not that wicked though. He feels your too weak to resist him today therefore he's not even going to chance it. He doesn't want you to do something you'd hate yourself for afterwards.

"I should go, I still have documents to send for a new contract before-" He takes a look at the expensive watch heavy on his wrist, you roll your eyes. "Half an hour ago, great." He offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries before he's off to the hallway, giving you his broad back. "I'm going to say bye to Tim."

"It's just- like that, Seokjin." The words are pretty badly chosen. They don't mean much. Seokjin still gets it though. He can picture you behind him, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head to the side. It doesn't mean much.

"I know, petal. Don't worry." He throws over his shoulder, faux lightness in his tone even though his heart feels raw. It doesn't mean enough, is more accurate. This kiss like every single one of your shared looks and words and bickering and touches, they all mean that you still fit perfectly good together. However, it's not enough because somehow, someday, you came to the conclusion that you were not meant to be. He's confused as to why and how he agreed with you then. Here's the main reason why he never calls you.

When Timothy looks up from his new phone, wearing your eyes and his smile, he feels a whole new range of pain affected to his sensitized heart. How can you not see that you're meant to be?

A/N: Happy Lunar New Year :) this little thingy was inspired by Arsène Lupin and the relationship between Assane and Claire for those who watched it! I don’t know if i translated well the alchimy and unfightable attraction and connection they still have even after having seperated. ANYWAY, hope you all are doing fine, hope you liked this, LET ME KNOW what you thought, tell me about your day, your resolutions if you have any, what’s the weather like where you at etc lmao xoxo

PS: stay tuned for a new upcoming series i’m quite excited about ~~

#btswriterscollective #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #seokjin angst #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #seokjin scenario

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xxnatxx · 3 years

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Chapter 3 - A Daily Thing

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TW: slight mentions of sex, cursing.

So there he was,

19, with a newborn baby boy, and no baby momma to help him raise Ren.

For 6 years Bakugou managed to somehow juggle his work life, social life, and private life with his son incredibly well. Though he obviously struggled being a single dad, he of course had his friends to help him out with Ren, as well as him parents who were more than stoked to have a grandchild who looked just like Bakugou.

And now, Bakugou is 25 and Ren is 6 years old and about to enter first grade! He hasn’t gotten his quirk yet, and though he looks just like his hot headed father, his personality is quite opposite of his. Ren was a sweet boy, who was often times shy and quite emotional, but he had his fathers big heart and perseverance. Bakugou didn’t really know how he ended up with such an angel, given that he himself had a pretty explosive personality and his birth mother, Olivia, had a pretty nasty one. But of course, he absolutely loved Ren, and would without a doubt do anything for him

He and Ren lived in a pretty modern and spacious apartment, and when Bakugou would head off to his newly opened agency, Ren would stay with his grand parents. Ren never really questioned why he didn’t have a mom like the kids in the movies and tv shows, all he knew was that Bakugou was his dad, and taht was enough to keep the little boy happy as ever. And Bakugou knew that eventually he’d have to explain to Ren the truth about why he doesn’t have a mom, wether it be in 5, 10, or 15 years, he didn’t really know what he was gonna do when the time came, but he didn’t like spending time dwelling on it, he’d rather spend his time with Ren teaching him how to be a good, humble person, because unlike Bakugou at his age, Ren is actually a pretty decent human.

7: 05 AM

Bakugou is roughly shaken awake from his dream by Ren, who’s whispering-screaming,

“Dad! Dad! It’s time for school, I have school today remember!” he excitedly says as Bakugou scoops him up and ruffles his spikey blond locks saying,

“Wow, you’re really starting 1st grade today huh buddie”

“Yup! So cmon dad lets go” he says pulling Bakugous fingers with his dainty little hands, wanting him to help him get dressed for his first day.

Bakugou would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he had a partner to help him care for Ren, because even though he didn’t like admitting it, taking care of a child is hard, especially on your own. Maybe if he has someone, they could help out with Ren when Bakugou couldn’t, help guide Ren, and also, give Bakugou some comfort as well. Since Ren was born, Bakugou hasn’t been with anyone, no dates, no one night stands, nothing. And he honestly did think about finding soemone one day, but it just really wasn’t something to get his hopes up for. Ren was all he needed.

8:15 AM,

It’s now almost time for the children and their parents to start tricking into the classroom to officially start the first day of Kindergarten. And you were beyond nervous. First job since graduating college, and after earning two degrees, it was finally time to start your dream job as a children’s science teacher.

You’d always been pretty good with kids, and given that you had an ocean quirk, a science teacher was just something that came with lots of interest to you. Of course, you were also beyond excited to meet your kids, but one thing you had forgotten about was meeting the kids parents as well. Kids at this age are usually pretty sweet and innocent, (though some are a little tricky to work it) but parents, were often times judgemental of their kids teachers, which is understandable, but it still made you nearly shit your pants to think about.

15 minutes later, a few kids and parents start to trickle in to your ocean themed classroom, and so far, things were going pretty well. You were introducing yourself to both the parents and kids, guiding them to their assigned seats, trying to make everyone feel as comfortable as possible. Most kids are being quite energetic towards you, one even running up to you and hugging your legs, telling you how excited he was to start school. Another kid complimenting the light blue dress you were wearing, which somewhat color coordinated with your classroom decor. You were so flattered to see that your new students were fond of you and more outgoing than you thought they’d be. Well, all except for one certain blond 6 year old.

After a majority of the kids and parents had come in and began filling the room with chatter, you were still waiting outside the door for one more student by the name of Ren, to begin class. While you’re talking to another teacher that had approached you previously, you hear slightly heavy foot steps coming up behind you. As you wave goodbye to the teacher you were conversing with, you swiftly turn around, catching the piercing red eyes of a somewhat tall man. His natural attractiveness caught you by suprise, and you let out a gasp that only you could hear as you observe his chiseled features. He looked as if he was constantly on edge, yet he still had this dewy radiant skin and beautiful blond hair tied that was tied in a half up-half down messy bun. He seemed to be around the same age as you, but could honestly still pass as a teenager if he wasn’t so buff and built. You quickly notice that he’s wearing a hero costume, it hadn’t registered in your brain that the man standing a few feet in front of you was actually Dynamight, the #5 Pro-Hero, until you look down scanning his costume. That’s when you notice the little boy with the same blonde hair and ruby eyes that was securely holding onto his leg with both arms, peeking over at you.

“Oh, hello there, I”m Mrs. L/N, are you Ren by any chance? I’ve been waiting for you to get here” you say gently putting your hands on your knees to peek down at the boy who seemed to be quite nervous.

Looking back up at the stunning pro hero you say,

“So then that must make you his dad, right? It’s nice to meet you guys” with a kind and gentle smile, speaking in the most genuine voice you can, to hopefully put the small boy at ease.

Instead of responding, he simply stares back at you, completely still and completely quiet.

Bakugou has never really found anyone he’s met attractive to the point of having a crush on them. Nor did he want to, since he told himself he’d be forever alone until he had Ren, he just never really cared for crushes, feelings, or relationships. But now, he’s starting at your bright E/C eyes, noticing how the warm smile on your face has yet to fade, and how the genuine kind energy you radiate is enough to put even his incredibly reserved son at ease. As he begins to subtly observe your delicate features, he feels the depths of his stomach begin to flutter. But why? Why is it that all of a sudden, he’s feeling something he’s never felt before?

After a few silent seconds, Bakugou notices his son begin to step slightly in front of him, and pulling on his pant leg as if urging him to respond to your question. As he meets your eyes again, he sees you patiently waiting for a response,

“Yes, sorry, i’m Ren’s father, nice to meet you” he says as firmly as he can, hopefully to regain some of the confidence he lost when you first spoke to him.

“Thank you,

So it seems you guys are the last ones to get here so let’s head inside and i’ll lead you to your seat, Ren” you respond looking down at the small boy who now seems to be a little less visibly anxious. They both follow you into the classroom, where Bakugou and Ren immediately notice the interesting room decor you have scattered across your room. There’s green bean bags and blue stools in one corner of the room, right next to a bigger-than-average fish tank that’s filled with odd colored fish, both big and small. Along with seaweed, bubbles, sand, and various ocean animals that have been painted on the walls to make it look like the underwater ocean.

You lead them to Ren’s seat and walk up to the front of the class to begin your introduction to the class as a whole. Everyone who isn’t already looking at you, turns your way as you begin to say,

“Okay, so it seems like everyone’s here’s now which means it’s time for me to officially introduce myself to everyone. But first I’d like to give a big welcome to everyone, I’m so glad I can be your teacher this year and hopefully, you guys can have fun learning about science since I know it can be a little hard to grasp sometimes,

Bakugou can’t help but be mesmerized by you as you speak, he’s never come across someone who’s been this kind that hasn’t completely irritated him. And Ren seems to like you as well, his previous teachers were both quite loud and obnoxious, which resulted in Ren not being able to be very comfortable around them. But seeing how Ren’s already sitting at the edge of his seat, eager to hear you talk more about yourself, he thinks it’s gonna be a pretty good year for Ren in school.

You continue speaking, now beginning to talk about your personal self,

So, my name is Y/N L/N, you guys can call me Miss. L/N, Miss.{First letter of L/N}, or Miss, really just whatever you feel most comfortable with. I graduated from XXX College last year with a degree in Children’s education and another degree in Marine Biology, I have a dog named Bubbles, my favorite color is F/C, I’m 25 years old and I love to cook” you say to the class, still having the same smile and glimmer in your eyes as before.

“So if you guys want to ask me any questions about myself to get to know me a little better, you can raise your hand and I’ll answer” as soon as you finish speaking, you see a bunch of tiny little hands eagerly wave in the air,

“Me me me! I have a question!” one little girl in a high pitched voice says.

You lightly giggle at everyone’s response, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou. And For a split second, your eyes meet as you scan the room for the little girl who’s lost in a sea of hands, and the feeling of rumbling in his stomach returns, at this point, he has to admit, you’re absolutely beautiful. And you’re smart, enjoys cooking like him, and are the same age as he is. These things only make the feeling in his stomach grow bigger.

“Yes, what’s your question honey” you say when you finally spot the little girl in the back of the class.

“So what’s your quirk, do you have one?Because I do! ” she excitedly asks.

The class awaits your response as they redirect their vision from the girl to you, and you say

“I do have a quirk actually, it’s called Ocean, I can basically manipulate water, communicate with, control and summon ocean animals, breathe underwater, and so on, and it’s actually why my room is decorated the way it is and the reason I have a degree in Marine Biology!” you respond, and your response earns you a series of responses from the kids such as,

“Woooaaahhh”

“That’s such a cool quirk! No fair!”

“Why aren’t you a hero then Miss. L/N?” one student asks, which leads Bakugou to then wonder,

Yeah, why isn’t she a hero? With a quirk like that she could end up being a pretty high ranked hero, so why an elementary school teacher instead?

You respond by saying,

“Well, I actually was gonna be a hero at some point, i even have my hero license and went to a hero school, but I realized before I graduated high school that I actually wasn’t very passionate about being a hero, but I realized I much rather enjoyed science and working with kids. So, I decided to study in college instead. And now i’m here.” finishing yourself off with a smile.

“But now, we’re gonna play some games to hopefully get to know each other a little better....” you continue speaking, explaining different games and such, but Bakugou isn’t even listening. It’s official , you’ve intrigued him. He can’t help but want to speak to you again even if it’s just about Ren and school, but when he begins to feel this way, he quickly shuts the thoughts that overtake his brain down. You’re Ren’s teacher first of all, and though it wouldn’t be illegal to date you, it’s still a little weird. He’s also not looking for a relationship, not now and not ever. So before he can let whatever he’s feeling develop, he tells himself to not take interest in you. If he’s never taken interest in anyone before, why should he start now?

Parents have to either drop off their kids at the front of the school, or walk with them to their classroom at the elementary school. Usually, Bakugou would’ve just dropped Ren off at the front and driven off to work, but now, he might just have to start walking him to class. He had already declared to himself that he wouldn’t take interest in you, and simply push his atraction to you away until he no longer got knots in his stomach with every glance you gave him, every conversation you guys had, just any interaction really.

So every day, he’ll go in to school walking Ren to class, and causally bring up some sort of school related thing to you as Ren waltzed into class, which would eventually lead to a few minutes of casual conversation. This was as far as Bakugou would let himself go though, it was just a simple little thing that would fill him with enough satisfaction to last for the rest of his lonely life.

It was just,

a daily thing.

taglist:

@unicornlover25, @sam-i-am-1025, @nightlygiggless, @aphelionsyzygy, @bigdaddyriotsbitch

#bakugou x reader #bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou fanfiction #mha #bakugou katsuki #dad bakugou #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader

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thatringboy · 3 years

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Me to me: Nooo don’t make an Inazuman oc you already have two OCs from Liyue and Natlan who you said you’d revamp and besides, you’re probably going to lose interest in this one soon Also Me, getting way to invested in Inazuma lore: HEY EVERYONE COME MEET MY NEW OC HIIRAGI YORICHI, A HYDRO SWORD USER WHO’S AUTISTIC LIKE ME

Link to picrew used for profile

Buried Beauty

“My duty is first to the people of my homeland, then the Kanjou Commission. Make no mistake, Baal must be stopped, but not at the expense of the people.”

The firstborn son of the Hiiragi Clan who’s name means “first gift”. He grew up in Sumeru Academy, but has returned to Ritou to take up his father’s yoke over the Kanjou Commission

General Information

Name: Hiiragi Yorichi

Age: 28

Affiliation: Hiiragi Clan

Birthdate: January 17

Starsign: Capricorn

Constellation: Thesauros Sepultus

Weapon: Sword

Vision: Hydro

Voice Claims

CVA: Zhang Jie

JVA: Tasuku Hatanaka

EVA: Kyle Phillips

Voice Lines

Good Morning: Hmm? Oh, yes, greetings Traveler and Paimon. Sorry, I didn’t see you there… I’m not much of a morning person

Good Afternoon: Did I miss lunch again? Eh, oh well. Traveler, wanna run by Miss Ryouko’s to get some food?

Good Evening: If I don’t get back soon, Chisato will certainly send someone out to find me

Good Night: Can you get back on your own? I’m afraid that I must return to Ritou for the evening

When It Rains: Quickly! The rain will cover our tracks!

When It Snows: Huh? Wow it got cold fast! Better go find some shelter before I accidentally freeze us

When It’s Sunny: Be careful, our enemies can see clearly in broad daylight

Favorite Food: Mmm, I could go for some Mondstat Grilled Fish right about now… I had it once during their Ludi Harpastum Festival that my Senpai took me to one year and I’ve just fallen in love with the flavour!

Least Favorite Food: Is… is that cabbage? No no, there’s nothing wrong, just don’t expect me to eat any. Why? Well… I don’t like the texture at all! Eating it feels like slime going down my throat which closes up my airways and then that sensation makes my brain feel like someone shoved a wet blanket between my ears and wrapped it around my brain! Please… never make me eat cabbage…

About: Vision: My Vision? How did I get mine? Well, since you asked so nicely, it appeared to me in a dream during the end of the first year of the Sakoku Decree. I had cried myself to sleep because of the anguish I felt coming from those who had their Visions stolen - those who I had sworn to protect as a Clan Heir - and I cursed out Celestia for allowing this to happen. In my dream, I appeared before seven giant thrones all glowing with elemental magic. In the blue throne sat a woman who gave off so much power that I could not gaze upon her. Yet, her words always resonate in my heart: “Your loyalties may change, but never change your principles. Do no harm to others, but do not let harm fall upon you and those you love.” When I woke up, the Vision was tucked under my pillow!

About: Kanjou Commission: One day, it will be my duty to oversee the Kanjou Commission. Am I ready? Probably not. Do I have a choice? Also no. I just want to make everyone proud… but how can I do that when father has already deemed me an embarrassment to the Hiiragi Clan simply because of who I am?

About: Sumeru Academy: The Academy? I grew up there! Fourteen years I spent roaming the halls absorbing all of the knowledge I could! *Sigh*… maybe if the Travel Ban gets lifted, I’ll show you around my old stomping grounds!

About: Ritou: I’m friends with some of the guys at the Outlander’s Trade Association. What do you wish to see? Want to head by a jewelry shop? Get some food?

About: Interests: Wanna know a secret? Deep down, I’m an alchemist at heart! Anything alchemy related, I’m sure I can be of use! It’s my special interest! Did you know that the luminescent spines of a firefly can—wait wait no I’m sorry. Father says that people get bored of my ramblings, my apologies for wasting your time…

About: Swords: You may have noticed that my sword technique is different from the samurai of Inazuma. That is because I learned how to use my blade at the Academy. I forged this blade myself when I turned twenty. Would you like to hold it?

About Ayaka: Miss Kamisato? I’ve met her once and she seems nice, but I still feel uneasy around her. But maybe that’s just me

About Raiden Shogun: You want to know why I refer to the Shogun as “Baal”? Well, that’s because I didn’t grow up in a place that calls her the “Raiden Shogun”. I’m used to my peers referring to her as “Baal” and I’ve yet to drop the habit. Also, I don’t have much respect for her, but don’t tell anyone that

About Ayato: Never met him, but his description gives me the creeps! Never appears in public, leaving his little sister to do all the work? The nerve of that guy! O-oh… that sounds like me? Ehe-he… oops

About Yoimiya: Oh Miss Naganohara! She makes the best fireworks! She and I are actually a lot alike. What, you don’t see it? I guess that comes from me spending a lifetime hiding my inner enthusiasm while she never quite grew up. We should go to the next firework festival to see her, I’m sure she’d love that! But… from a distance please. The popping noises from the fireworks hurt my ears

About Kaeya: The Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, huh? I’m curious to see how the pieces fall into place… what was that? Oh, it’s nothing… just gossip from some old colleagues

About Diluc: Diluc? Who’s that? Owner of the Dawn Winery? The Ragnvindr Clan? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. The Darknight Hero? Of course! Why didn’t you just say that?! Yeah I know who you’re talking about now! What? He’s got a Vision too? I guess that guy’s just full of surprises

About Childe: So, that weasel is actually a Fatui Harbinger? Why am I not surprised... O-oh when did I meet him? After I graduated from the Academy. Did I sound too surprised about his identity? Sorry, when I knew him, he used a different name

About Albedo: Ah… the son of Rhinedottir. His master actually attended one of my lectures when I was younger in secret. I think they were using an alias during that time but I spoke to them in private. It was interesting to learn different things about ancient alchemy techniques from another land. I think Albedo is currently an alchemist in Mondstat, right? I’ll visit him when the Travel Ban is lifted to exchange notes

About Klee: Klee, daughter of Alice? Eh, I haven’t heard good things. I’m not a big fan of explosions... but that doesn’t mean that she’s a bad kid! I’m sure if I met her, we’d be friends

About Lisa: Minci-Senpai! We worked together a lot at the Acadmia! Why did I call her senpai when I’m older than her? Well, because she’s the Grandmage!!! Everyone knows how smart and powerful Minci-Senpai is! Once, she tasked me with finding ways to preserve pure Electro organisms. So, I coated the inside of a jar with Hydro Slime condensate so that her Electro roses can continuously be charged by the Hydro energy… Sorry, I’m getting carried away

About Mona: What, do you think that all Hydro users who practice magic know each other? Well, I do know Miss Megistus, but you can’t assume that! I met her and her master once during a lecture on fortune telling with the use of elemental abilities. Now that I have a Vision of my own, I will see if I can implement their techniques into my own practice

About Sara: To be perfectly honest, I’ve never met her. We may be the heirs to our Clans and our respective Commissions, but I’ve never had a conversation with her. Naturally, as a Vision holder and she as the spearhead of the Tenryou Commission, I am her enemy. However, as the heir to the Hiiragi Clan, I must keep up formalities. Besides, my dear sister Chisato is being courted by another member of the Kujou clan, Kujou Kamaji, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. You won’t turn me and my Vision in to her, right?

About Cyno: Ah, Master Cyno, one of the smartest members of the Academy. I owe a lot of my development to him. I don’t think I would have finished my Thesis paper on the eighth nation without his guidance

About: Names: You know, my name means “first treasure”, but despite such an endearing name, my father has yet to reveal my face to the public and claim me as his heir. He was also the one to send me away when I was a boy to Sumeru because I was not like other children. Was I meant to be gift to my family? To the other nations? Was I an unwanted gift? … Oh, sorry about that. I don’t usually get dark like that! Tell me, Traveller, what does your name mean?

About: Politics: Ugh… Sakoku Decree this, honor the Commissions that, I don’t understand any of it. If I’m ever left in charge, I’m sure that I could handle the bureaucratic side, but the people side? I get overwhelmed when talking to people I’m not comfortable with. I shut down mentally, fumble over my words and eventually I end up having a panic attack and Chisato has to pull me from the room. My father thought that I would have grown out of those outbursts when I got older, but I’ve only found a way to mask my behaviors. But you’re different, you haven’t looked at me like a child nor spoken less of me simply because I’m different, why is that?

About: Family: My mother passed away while I was gone, my father Shinsuke is the head of the Kanjou Commission and my younger sister Chisato is his main assistant. When my father gets upset, Chisato is always the one who has my back and in turn, I’ve begun escorting her secretly to Kondo Village to meet with her secret lover, Kujou Kamaji. I guess that’s what siblings do for each other, we protect each other from everything because no matter what we go through, no matter what arguments we have, we always will have each other. Ah, Traveler! I didn’t say anything to make you upset, did I?

About: Khaenri’ah: … You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? What do you think I know about that cursed place? Yeah, I wrote my Thesis paper on Khaenri’ah, but that was a while ago and I’ve learned my lesson. Now, the only connections I have to that place are hearsay from lecturers, rumors at the Academy and the plucked plume of a proud peacock.

About: Time Gap: Huh? Oh yeah, I went to Sumeru when I was seven and studied there for fourteen years. Uh… what did I do for the missing five years of my life before returning to Ritou? Ehe-he… I don’t think I’m allowed to say everything, but I can tell you this: that’s the time that I met a disgraced Knight, a bloodthirsty child and learned how to wield a sword. I was able to travel with them while writing my Thesis paper. Ah… how time flies when working with like minded people

This is the most thought I’ve ever put into an OC, I hope you like him!

#Just casually throws in that Yorichi is part of the same information gathering organization as Diluc #I really like Yorichi and I hope the rest of you do too #genshin impact #genshin impact oc #hiiragi yorichi #hydro character

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multitunes · 3 years

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Inuyasha Chapter 343-345 Miroku's "Fiance" an "Error from the Past"

In the anime, Miroku had asked a 13 year old child to bare his children—while he hadn’t seemed to have been completely serious, it was still a very odd thing even to Sango and Inuyasha who grew up in that era.

However, the chapters that episode is based on doesn’t actually reveal the age of the girl named Shima nor does it illude to her being incredibly young. These chapters are actually about Sango's jealous towards Miroku's supposed "fling" or "past girlfriend". [Edit: I mixed up the chapters. In the episode I mention, Miroku actually asked an 11 year old to bare is children named Koharu. It is never suggested that he slept with her like Shima, but it's still incredibly gross for him to ask a tiny 11 year old that. And she WAS tiny in her flashbacks, he knew but he said that anyway.]

The only timeline we are given is that Miroku met Shima 2 years ago. Now, I and others in the manga refer to her as girl since she is clearly a teenager much like how Kagome is referred to by girl. I do not have access to the Japanese version, but I am assuming that they used the pronoun "onago" for her which apparently refers to girls under the age of 20 or perhaps 19. I would like to double check with my Japanese friend, but I don't have the Japanese version. However, as the chapter goes on it becomes very very clear that Shima was a teenager 2 year ago and that she wasn't obscenely young in that time like she was portrayed in the anime.

Notice how Kagome and Sango react to Miroku upon hearing this compared to how they physically recoiled in the anime. Here is just as he always was: a womanizer but not a man who preyed on a little girl. Miroku is apparently 18 in present day and would have been 16 2 years prior, but even in the anime, it was creepy for him to have said such a thing to a young girl. Here there is no such reaction.

Sango acts very aggressive towards Miroku throughout the chapter because she expresses jealousy over his "past girlfriend" showing up. She expresses this explicitly by the end. At this point, the parents of Shima and trying to get Miroku to marry Shima hense Sango's displeasure since Miroku had started going "steady" with her some chapters earlier and had even promised to marry each other (He had yet to give up his womanizing completely however, so their relationship is still on the rocks. Yes, this is one of my gripes with his character and their relationship, but this is focussing on whether he had canonically hit on a 13 year old child).

Moving on, the demon bargain with the father for healing Shima (apparently but it's not clear if he had did anything but make do on the promises of the father to "give anything" for his daughter's health) had been on the terms that Shima was a pure girl to become his bride. The father suggest marriage will stop the demon's advanced but Miroku doesn’t agree that it would solve the problem.

To stop the demon's advances, Shima confesses to having had "joined" with Miroku 2 years ago that is to say that she is not "pure". Since she was obviously not wed and her insitence that she was not pure, it is clear that she confessed to having sex with him. This shocks the demon and infuriates Sango yet she hides her fury behind saying that it was a mistake of his back then something that she would have expected considering Miroku's history.

However, as it turns out, that was a lie on Shima's part as an attempt to get out of marrying the demon. Buuut as it also turns out, Miroku just couldn't remember if he had had sex with her despite trying to play it off as expecting Sango to trust him.

Now it is abundantly clear that Miroku has in fact slept with multiple girls in the past since one can't just forget if they are a virgin or not, he just couldn't remember if he did in fact sleep with Shima.

I can feel the presence of weirdos coming to say 13 is old enough to have sex, but this is wrong for so many reasons that I don't even have the energy to describe right now. (Btw, most places in Japan the age of consent is 16-18 except for two islands which are uninhabited https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/what-is-the-age-of-consent-in-japan.html) I will however describe why it seems like Shima was at least Kagome's age those 2 year prior meaning that she is about Miroku's age during this chapter.

The reason I speculate that she is ~17/18 and was ~15/16 is because Kagome is 16 and a modern girl. Had Shima been younger and implied to have been significantly younger than 16, Kagome would have likely expressed shock as she did in the anime [edit: rather in chapter 147 about Koharu, so obviously Shima is considered old enough by Kagome unlike Koharu]. This is the same Kagome whom Rumiko didn't even have kiss Inuyasha until she returned after she graduated. There isn't anything in the chapters that make Shima seem incredibly young like she was in the anime, at least from what I can see from an English translation. I also doubt that the Japanese version refers to Shima as being such a young girl as she was in the anime since the context is that of jealously on Sango's part rather than disgust over bedding such a young girl.

So that's my analysis of that...but there's one little tidbit I'd like to point out 😏 Chapter 343 is called "Fiance" and it actually opens with Sesshomaru and Kagura. This chapter is actually when Rin proclaims that Kagura must be in love with Sesshomaru. Just a little tidbit that was an interesting coincidence considering this this is the first time Rin makes such an observation about Kagura. Quite an interesting chapter name for Rumiko to have Rin make that remark.

Also Kagura is very clearly trying to get Sesshomaru to help her kill Naraku for her freedom which is why Jaken lements over how simply minded she is, but as we would find out much later, Kagura did in fact have affection for Sesshomaru and he did of her during her passing.

#inuyasha #sesshomaru #Miroku #Sango #Kagura #Rin #anti sessrin #sesskagu #Sunrise why did you make Miroku into a child predator #Why did you make this story weird #It didn't have to be weird

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trnquilgalileo · 3 years

Text

Soulmate Headcanons!

Yangyang x NASCAR mechanic! Reader

(There is a timer counting down how much time you have left before meeting your soulmate)

- Ever since you were young, exposed to the smell of rubber burning on asphalt, the feeling of the wind whipping against your skin; your life had been filled with speed.

- Unlike Yangyang, while who loved to go fast liked it even more to go at his own pace. Whether it be fast or slow he didn’t enjoy being pushed to do what others wanted.

- which is what this timer on his wrist represented. A push to do something he frankly didn’t want.

- Yangyang was and is, a free spirit.

- But let’s turn back time for a second, to when the boy was a snot nosed child.

- His parents had just immigrated to Germany from Taiwan

- He’s in a new environment, in the different part of the world with a different culture and language

- And boy is he scared.

- But he perseveres, growing up in Germany has been an experience, and with his moving parents just a few steps away, communication had never been a problem.

- Nor has the culture, Yangyang especially loves the appreciation for meats.

- So what were the concerns of young Yangyang?

- The fact that the person he’s been crushing on for over a year knew what they were going to do with their life, while he still had no clue?

- Y/N was someone who he held on a pedestal

- top of the class, an aspiring STEM major and really fucking cool according to Yangyang’s brain.

- they were what Yangyang wanted to be. Someone who had direction.

- But he had other things to do then entertain a crush.

- Like for instance, Basketball.

- Only to tear a tendon and have to get surgery. And we all know what happened after the boy went under surgery.

- You on the other hand spent your nights sleep deprived. The monster energy drink in your hands doing nothing in your hands but fuel your caffeine addiction.

- You had just scored a job in a street racing ring. While it wasn’t legal, it helped you practice what you wanted to do

- tune up cars.

- with your head under the hood of a car, your palms tracing over the rubber and the smell of gasoline. You couldn’t be happier.

- You didn’t mind the eye bags and lack of sleep. This was something you enjoyed and looked forward to, compared to the seconds counting down on your wrist of course.

- Yangyang enters SM easily. Too easily for a first try. Which...was surprising to say the least.

- No one really expected it.

- Just like how he didn’t expect the training to be this tough. The sleepless nights, the dancing nonstop, and voice training.

- the dark thoughts flooded his head daily, swirling and swarming. Clouding his vision.

- Is this? Really? What? He? Wanted?

- More importantly, was this, becoming an idol, dancing on a stage, important enough to suffer this much.

- He placed his head in between his knees. The unfeelingness in his chest contrasting the roaring screams in his head.

- His vision blurred as it teared up. But he just wanted it stop.

- the climbing feeling of the climax hitting his chest as it squeezed his heart. His breaths becoming shallow quickly.

- The ticking of the seconds passing by, just like the constant click of the timer on his wrist.

- His mind automatically raced to you. His ideal.

- Someone who was stable, who seemed put together, organized. Someone who knew what they wanted.

- His mind raced once more.

- Was this really what he wanted? Was this what he thought was necessary to succeed? But more importantly could he do it?

- Another click on his timer went by.

- The answer was yes.

- Yangyang debuted later that year in a Chinese group called WayV.

- Two years had passed.

- You on the other hand had graduated with honours. And we’re now the head mechanic for Toni Breidinger, the first Arab American Female driver in NASCAR.

- But since the new list for the next series hasn’t been released yet, your lovely boss had let you go on vacation.

- only for your friend to call you for help. In China.

- So here you were on a music video set for some group named WayV. Apparently there was no one available to drive a race car that had broke down a week before.

- so your lovely friend had ringed you up and even payed for your lovely flight.

- You had just spent all night under the roof of annoyingly bright red that you had come to love.

- You smirked as the managers praised your abilities, and with your limited Mandarin that you had picked up you thanked them.

- Yangyang couldn’t believe his eyes, his crush stood before him drinking a bright pink monster energy drink. The car that he was supposed to be riding in was parked in front of them.

- It looked brand spanking new.

- “can you stop staring?” Xiaojun mumbled, “you might make it obvious.”

- “I know them,” Yangyang whispered back. “We went to school together in Germany.” He ignored Xiaojun’s look of surprise and continued to gape at them.

- He shouldn’t be feeling like a little kid right now.

- Your eyes shifted over to a boy who stared, his mouth wide open. You raised an eyebrow and eyes him, he...looked...familiar...

- the timer stopped.

-“Yangyang!” You grinned, snapping your fingers. Your feet quickly travelling towards him. Fast.

-“Wow!” You gasped, “Who would’ve thought? C-pop?”

- Yangyang’s alarms were screaming. “Wow,” he gave a nervous smile, slowly sinking into himself. “Who would’ve guessed, mechanics!” He laughed.

- Your eyes softened before nudging him. “You’re doing great.”

Extra!

- It took Ten pointing out that your timers had stopped. The shock on both of your faces was something forever immortalized in WayV’s minds.

- You guys went out on a few dates before deciding romance wasn’t really your thing and kept it casual. Which worked with both of your schedules, only finding time for when you guys both had that rare, and I mean rare days off.

- But you enjoyed each other’s company nonetheless. Never really putting a label on both of you guys, because you both knew, that you belonged to each other.

- which not only confused SM but the world which is something you both found hilarious.

Note: I realized that my soulmate aus were geared towards girls more, so I’m trying to fix it by making them neutral. I’m not going to change the other ones because I’m lazy but I’m trying to be more inclusive. Also I know nothing about cars lmao.

#wayv yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang #soulmate au #soulmate headcanons #Yangyang Headcanons #nct #nct headcanons #nct soulmate au #wayv soulmate au #nct au #wayv au

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fanfictiondreamscape · 4 years

Text

First Kisses (Haikyuu - pt. 6)

Title: First Kisses (Haikyuu - pt. 6) aww crap the final part-

Genre: floof. Mega floof.

Pairing: Ushijima/Eita/Tendou/Shirabu/Goshiki x Reader (all separate)

Notes: Sadly, this is the end of the Haikyuu boys series! I hate typing that up, but it’s the truth. And I can still do some of these for other fandoms if you readers like these. Also, I think I’m going to make a directory once I get some requests posted (following this, of course). Would that make things easier for people to find the request rules and masterlist? Probably - why would I even bother asking that question?

Also, I apologize for the amount of cursing in this. I’ve been trying to cut back on it when writing, but it slips sometimes. Again, terribly sorry!

Anyway, read on if you wish! I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Masterlist

Ushijima Wakatoshi

ushijima is a simple and straightforward man

so, it can be easy to assume that he’d want someone that is very straightforward and simple as well.

that doesn’t immediately translate to them being stoic and constantly stone-faced, though.

someone that can be considered blunt (to a fault), yet still remains very sociable and charismatic.

yep, they’d be somewhat popular for their aura.

otherwise, i imagine that he’d want to the kiss to happen in private.

but, something would happen during it that’d kind of ruin that.

like, imagine that the two of you are on a date.

something very easy-going, maybe even a study date.

there’s definitely some small snacking going on, though.

so like,

the two of you would be reviewing your notes.

the both of you had been at it for a bit of time, too.

you were getting tired, you could tell that he was too, and you were determined to fix this.

so, your plan?

you discreetly pull your bag over to your side.

while he didn’t notice the initial action, he was pulled from his study-coma due to the sound of a zipper.

he didn’t look over his shoulder until you had tapped his bicep

(that felt absolutely beaUTIFUL MY GOD-)

you had a simper on as you waved a small gift card to the nearest fast food restaurant,

“are you getting hungry, too? i’ll pay.”

he glanced down at his unfinished work, and while he did have second thoughts

he did realize that he was hungry when his stomach rumbled.

it embarassed him a little, but he knew that he could trust you enough to be vulnerable

(as vulnerable as he felt being around you)

his lips twitched up into a small smile, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

you grabbed his limp hand and pulled him from his seated position

while the normal person may have shied away, you’re dating the tall guy

so his height led to him towering over you

and you found the whole scene to be adorable

(as did he, but he wouldn’t say that - he still had a filter of a kind)

either way, the walk to the random restaurant was spent in comfortable silence

(aside from the grumbling stomach sound.)

(seriously - both of your stomachs were growling obnoxiously loud, and it left you surprised as to why not a single person had even given you nasty looks.)

(just some odd food for thought - holy shit. food.)

ANYWAY

when you reach the place, you order your food

it couldn’t have taken any longer to come out

and you were getting a little impatient

a little habit you had whenever you were starting to become agitated was making him melt,

you were starting to scrunch your nose up and mess around with your fingers.

you were also starting to pout.

(yeah, that even sounds adorable. to him, the view is an absolute masterpiece.)

when the food comes out, though

your face lights up from the previous expression, and the way you just glowed in the sun-

holy-

he would die from a cuteness overload, and it’d be your fault.

so, you may have momentarily broken ushiwaka.

good job!

either way, you two got the food and had made quick succession of walking back to your work to sit and relax.

and yes, while the food was greasy and slightly disgusting, it was quick and allowed you more time to do your work.

though you were unaware of his actions when eating, he was almost too aware of yours.

you were actually going through the food somewhat cleanly, but the way that you smiled when you made eye contact with the food

(if that would even be possible)

either way, your lips curled up in the most sweet expression, and

holy-

“you look cute.”

you paused.

‘did he really just say that?’

you blushed, of course

you blinked, you stood and you came to

“r-really?”

he nods, you blush brighter, and he decides that he just has to do it now.

“can i...”

his ears are turning red as he’s speaking.

“can i kiss you?”

you nod, and he awkwardly reaches up to cup your cheek

you turn even redder and he leans in

but he pauses, and you finish the motion for him.

you both are shocked by the actions that both of you had just done

but the feeling of each others lips together?

yeah, that’s forgotten.

you both get a little closer, a little more rough.

there is a lot of control in it, though that doesn’t negate any of the messiness that comes with something like this.

two teenagers that haven’t had a real relationship or kiss, just doing this for the first time?

yeah, this is gonna be a bit of a tough ride.

but as tough as it is, it still manages to be very loving.

the two of you indulge in the moment since, honestly, both of you have some trouble with your emotions.

it doesn’t last though.

and it’s not because of you two, no-

it’s because of tendou.

the boy barges in on you two, flips his shit, and jumps the gun immediately.

you laugh, ushiwaka smiles (see above, absolutely precious)

and everything just slowly gets a little more comfortable between you two following the kiss.

overall, very awkward and very inexperienced.

but still very loving and controlled, with the passion still coming through.

and the scenery?

couldn’t be more perfect.

private (somewhat), intimate, and most definitely quiet.

perfect for the both of you.

(plus, you got to tease the living crap out of the giant guess monster afterwards due to his reaction.)

(jokes on him, he talks a big game in this area, but he can’t own up.)

Semi Eita

boy here is a savage

and a borderline tsundere

so, i find that he might be attracted to someone similar to him in that sense

very competitive, very passionate, and very hot-headed

but definitely better with their emotions than he is

they’d be more open to letting their emotions out, but they’d also radiate bbe

(read: bad bitch energy in spades)

which i also think would mean that the first kiss would happen in an area that would be very emotional to the two of you

possibly a first date spot, possibly a spot where you two just share some huge memories (aside from the first date spot)

but it also wouldn’t happen right out of the gate

nor would it be completely happy

like, imagine this

sooo

gym.

the volleyball gym.

you two had your first run-in with each other there

you both also had your first date with each other here

(just, i imagine that there would be something super attractive and glorious about the gym, possibly a skylight or something under the stars)

(seriously. can’t leave school grounds? picnic in the gym under the stars, people will think you’re helping me train.)

and to top all of that off, that was where tendou and goshiki pushed you two into each others arms and made you confess to the other.

(yep, you guessed it - you’re a manager, and a 3rd year)

and, with you being a third year-

here you are.

you two are nearing graduation,

you’ve been dating a for around a couple months,

and you both wanted to relive your memories before you break away from the high school that you’ve attended since you were younger

so, yeah

a very emotional day and following.

so, the both of you had just gone to the cafeteria, the old dorms rooms that were looking barren

seriously, the rooms that the third years had been in were getting cleaned before graduation

which just so happened to be up and coming within the business week.

yeah, cue the tears

(oh wait, you already cried a fair amount a while ago and you’re saving the remaining ones for graduation.)

either way, you were pretty down about the whole thing

as was semi

and the both of you just needed the comfort of each other

just visiting the places that brought you joy over the years.

the gym was the final spot, and it was one that the both of you had silently agreed upon visiting.

the stars were out and the time was brushing 10 pm

you two had gone through the motions throughout the day, but now?

you both wanted nothing but to imagine a night under the stars, much like the past dances

so you did

you had pulled your phone out of your pocket, set it right up on full volume

and played a slow song

semi had wrapped his arms around your waist, yours around his shoulders

the comfortable aura from the both of you made you both calm down

and allowed the both of you to get lost in the moment

you were able to ignore the looming feeling of sadness that would most definitely follow

so, that being done, you got lost in each other under the stars

you were eyeing the way his eyes seemed so drawn into yours, the eye contact being so intense

the way your bodies just molded together

the way the music made the atmosphere lighten up

just...

an overall perfect moment.

and here, here is where that perfect moment was taken advantage of.

“can i kiss you?”

you paused for a second and blushed, but!

“yes, semi, you can.”

you leaned up and kissed him.

he smirked when you did it, but responded nonetheless

and, in typical semi eita fashion, it was very passionate.

you were just as driven as him, so your response was equal to his

there was no making out or any trace of a french kiss, but

it was super sweet and loving, despite the snarky attitude the two of you carried.

it lasted a fair while, and since it was under the night sky

and was also in an area that was secluded, especially at that time of night.

so yeah, when you two pulled away, you both went on with your action of slow dancing under the stars for the second time.

so, overall?

very sweet, as well as passionate

and yes, while i did hc them to happen during an emotional time,

the two of you would take the comfort you feel from each other, and manifest that into the kiss

(and its also an emotional moment for people that act like semi and his s/o’s headcanon).

but, again,

very long, passionate, loving, and romantic

(holy shit, who would’ve guessed-)

and it was everything you could have asked for while slow dancing with each other

under the moonlight

with the stars reflecting the other

beautiful. just beautiful. and perfect.

Tendou Satori

tendou is a tease, right out.

he’d want a s/o that can dish out what they can take.

and that includes any jokes, “insults”, and pick-up lines that are thrown to either of you.

so, someone witty (and a little sarcastic)

also athletic.

for some reason, i can just imagine the two of them just running around for the hell of it

like racing each other into grocery stores or the mall, maybe even the gym

and like, measuring up enough to tie on race wins.

they’d definitely be shorter, but their stamina would be nearly endless

but the kiss i feel would come up out of the blue.

possibly in the hallways to tease the living crap out of each other in the middle of an “insult” battle

so, basically just imagine the two of them are walking from lunch

and they were going at it

semi, reon, and ushijima were starting to get annoyed, but they found of the things you were throwing at each other

still doesn’t make it any less annoying

(honestly, they were just staying close to see who would win or call it time-out before they reached class.)

“so what, tall-ass? at least i don’t have to duck when walking.”

“yeah, and you? i don’t have to worry about jumping whenever i have to avoid you when you’re biting ankles.”

“oh, this again?”

i think you get it.

either way, things were taking a turn for the more impulsive

you had begun to target his shonen, he had begun to target your movie genre obsession

yeah, when you both hit those targets?

things were getting bad.

so, being the parental figure that he is, semi had tried to break it up

and he did...

“guys, calm down. i don’t want to have to separate you in the damned hallways.”

you two quieted down for a bit and laid off the borderline offensive banter

“thank you.”

but semi’s attempt only lasted for a few seconds.

“okay, but seriously, you still aren’t caught up on the last volume, what makes you think you have the right to-”

“one more word, and i’ll kiss you.”

the five of you were still walking, but 80% of the group straight was caught off guard.

you, despite being part of the 80%, still refused to back down when you were still shocked

“oh really?”

“yep. keep going, i dare you.”

“you don’t have the guts.”

“you sure about that, doll?”

“oh, damn straight i am.”

“keep it up.”

“gladly.”

this continued on for a while, pushing to an end when you two reached the hallway for your classes

but tendou was determined.

and time was still plentiful.

so when you spoke next, well...

“okay, just face it you won’t-”

and he kissed you.

straight up, in the hallway, in front of the eyes of many students.

and he wasn’t shy about it in the slightest

tendou went full messy on you, you responding similarly.

the shock of it definitely wore off quickly for you.

it was filled to the brim with passion

and yes, while it was a ‘shut up’ tactic,

it worked wonders for the both of you, seeing as this type of stuff would have been expected of the both of you

didn’t make it any less loving though

(at least, after the initial force.)

so, if you know what i mean, this lasted for a while.

(translation: make out session)

yep, you two straight up shared tongue in the hallway

(and you may have been pulled closer to him and laid against the wall as the people started to disperse following the action and it’s suddenness)

just, quite literally, a surprising mess.

and it took a few to get you two away from each other

(literally, semi stayed behind to try and pry you guys apart but was dismissed when a teacher had come by the scene.)

(yep, you two got pried apart and given a warning)

10/10, would do it again.

overall, though-

again, 10/10, would do it again

seriously.

that kiss is passionate, messy, and borderline sexual

BUT

that doesn’t mean that it is any less loving

(see above for author here’s repetition of the same sentence)

plus the breathlessness that comes with the whole experience

holy shit, yes

plus the scenario in which it happened as well as the setting?

oddly perfect for the two of you

casual, comfortable, and open

(yeah, i can’t imagine the kiss happening anywhere but at school don’t @ me)

Shirabu Kenjiro

first things first, this boy is a hardass.

but he’s also the only member of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team that didn’t get in on an athletic scholarship.

so, that being said, his s/o would most likely be someone highly intelligent

like, if he’s in class 4, they’d either be in the same class or a higher one

either way, highly intelligent

i also have the feeling that he’d have to have run-ins with them near constantly

think like, team manager?

they’d would also be very introverted and responsible

he already was drawn to their intelligence, what else could be asked aside from basic college-prep class student other than responsibility?

and the introversion is simply because the man is a man of action, i’d reckon

otherwise, for the kiss.

well, it’s in the library.

the two of you had decided to study together before the exams

you both got in on academic scholarships, so you both had to keep the grades up.

it didn’t necessarily help that the two of you also had little time on your hands because of volleyball practice and games.

(stress runs high in this household, y’know?)

either way, you find a way to work around the stress and go on your merry little studying way

(AKA ‘hope-to-god-that-i-don’t-absolutely-lose-my-mind-before-exams’ way)

besides the point, you had been wanting to kiss him as of late.

seriously, you two had been together for a good few months now

and you both wanted to take things slow

but the perfect moment had come and go many, many times

and you were starting to get a little POed.

‘does he not want to kiss me?’

‘does he not like kisses?’

‘does he not like me that much?’

yeah, you are intelligent but you are also pretty insecure

(and also very pretty, but since people find your straight face kind of terrifying, not many of them talk to you - not like you care, after all.)

and while none of that is true, from his perspective, of course

shirabu is just shy.

yep, that’s all it is.

he’s seen the moments, he’s wanted to take the chances

but things just haven’t worked out for him.

it’s always at the worst times, and frankly-

it was getting annoying for the both of you.

for different reasons, of course

but annoying nonetheless.

either way, you two came to the library to study, not make out in the surprisingly hidden area that you had chosen-

ANYWAY

you both got down to business quick.

flashcards, notes, textbooks, you name it

you needed it, you had it

and the both of you had an amazing grasp on the subject matter

so you both went about your normal study process

(that had been modified to match the library)

things had been going smoothly for a while.

there had been a few slip ups, on both ends, but there was still a few more days beforehand and you both planned to tear into the study material as they continued

so you’d both be fine in the long run.

you still weren’t happy with it, though.

it’s not a surprise that you two had decided to take a small break to hone and get some water.

and while shirabu took the water and small snack route, you took the opposite

you had shoved your face into your notes and reviewed what you got wrong, even going to the extent to annotate the notes you already had with extra information from his notes and the subject textbook.

shirabu had been watching you as you concentrated,

eyes grazing over the information with intensity that only intrigued him

(holy shit, i sound like i’m preaching something, why am i like this-)

the way your bright eyes practically glowed with drive

god, it drove him wild.

and whether it was the stress coming to a head, or just the look in your eyes-

hell, maybe even the lack of care that you had for your health-

he just had to kiss you

(distraction, aid, or not)

he knew that now was the perfect time, that this moment would be the best time to do it

so he knew he had to suck it up

and that he did.

he was still hesitant in his approach, though.

“s/o, look at me.”

“hmm? whaddaya nee-”

straight up smooches you midsentence.

the uncharacteristically bold move shocks you, but he makes it quick

(or at least quick enough to distract you from overworking yourself)

and as quick as it is, my god-

it is passionate.

veyr rough, very forceful,

but he was careful not to hurt you.

either way, the love and lack of hesitance came through.

and safe to say, the messiness was very prominent as well.

on one hand, though, you stopped pushing your head so hard to study

and you also managed to take the hint.

“so you felt that too?”

“yeah, i did. now stop studying and get some water, idiot.”

you chuckled at him, but did it nonetheless.

you two spent the rest of the time huddled closer together, as well.

(you two didn’t realize the third years peeking through the bookshelvesn watching this though)

(”my god, our little second years are growing up! T_T”)

overall, though

given the preciseness of the kiss, you both felt content with it for the time being

(i know, a short kiss despite the many times it failed? damn.)

but yeah, given the circumstance, it worked for the both of you.

the library setting, too, holy-

just, overall a great kiss

short, sweet, a little messy, and very shy

(just like your relationship lol)

(sidenote: you two got teased relentlessly by tendou, but semi shut it down quick.)

Goshiki Tsutomu

can we cover this first?

this boi is awkward.

yes, he’s driven. yes, he’s capable. and yes, he is intelligent.

but that doesn’t negate awkward.

this is why i think he’d have to know his s/o before dating them.

they would be aware of his little quirks and habits, as would he.

but they’d have to be much more sure of themselves in other areas in order to help push him forward

he does the same, of course, but he’d have an odd time handling it.

so yes, they’d have to be sure of themselves and, possibly, even motherly

patience and tolerance would be key to support this boy.

that being said, i have a feeling that he’d try to make the first kiss happen with a cliche romantic build up

i mean, he’s not stupid, but he most definitely is unaware of how to deal with romantic endeavors.

(that is actually kind of adorable, but hey - he’s oblivious to things like this, so tell him.)

otherwise, he started the date off in a typical manner.

he had walked up to get you at around 5 pm

you had the okay to skip dinner with your family/guardian for the night, you were prepped and ready in your flowing outfit \

(vague for personal reference)

he had also come prepared, dressed nicely and clean

holding your favorite flowers in his hand, possibly even some small candies for you (that are also your favorite)

just overall, you could tell he had paid attention to the things that you liked

(no duh though, you two have been friends for years).

either way, he had everything planned.

and it started off with a picnic at the park.

what else would he hold the candies in?

you thought the basket he was using was a little oversized for candies alone

and you were right.

he had everything that he could bring (and knew wouldn’t rot) with him.

what he didn’t know is that there was none of the food he had originally packed in the basket

and the blanket he had prepared wasn’t there

(his mom had taken the basket he was supposed to use and he took the one she had - potluck problems).

safe to say, you both didn’t really like the food in the basket

and worse yet? the food was nasty with a capital N

yeah, that part of the plan was bust.

your alternative?

McDonald’s.

some small amount of money for some small amount of fast food?

good enough.

not for goshiki, but hey - what can you do?

otherwise, his next plan was fairly simple.

he’d planned to meet his mother at the amusement park later that night to trade off the basket and enjoy some rides with you.

(and his plan included the ferris wheel)

anyway, since the ‘meal’ didn’t last long, you settled for walking through town.

and you did, but...

it rained.

and the both of you got soaked.

it didn’t last long, thankfullly, but boy oh boy...

goshiki was starting to get a little depressed.

you noticed, and reached for his hand.

if things weren’t working out, you’d find a way to replace it.

right now, it was calling your older sibling to come and get you from where you were and taking you to his flat

(it was the closest)

either way, he had come by and two had decided to change into off-hand clothing that had been stored there

(you left some clothes there for when you wanted to see your brother and fell asleep, your brother had some old clothing that fit goshiki)

either way, the awkwardness settled

your brother left you two to your own devices as he had some quick college assignments to complete.

so you two decided to watch a tv show you both liked while you waited.

eventually, it happened as such.

your brother had left his room after it was complete and, to keep some secrecy, pulled your brother aside to tell him the plan.

he agreed, and goshiki’s first kiss plan held a chance.

eventually, as 7:30 rolled around and it started to get dark, your brother told you two to get your stuff and get in the car

“we’re going to the carnival - y/n i’ll pay for whatever you need.”

you both just went along with it.

when you arrived, goshiki walked off for a little bit before running back to you and taking your hand in his.

your brother had already bought a good amount of tickets for you two to use, so you were in the clear.

you two had ran around, going on a rollercoaster even!

(you were smiling, goshiki was crying - good times)

but when night fully came upon the sky, he knew he had to act fast.

and, luckily, his luck didn’t screw him over.

the line to the ferris wheel was short, the sky was getting darker by the second, and he could see people setting up fireworks from his crappy vantage point below the hill.

‘perfect timing.’

and indeed it was.

you had been seated next to him and the ride had begun, and the fireworks had been set off.

the lights were reflecting, and the pressure of the night just hit him square in the face.

“hey, s/o, i’m sorry about today.”

“what do you mean?”

“the picnic, the walk...it didn’t work out the way i wanted it to and i’m sorry for that.”

you laughed, making eye contact with him.

your bright eyes made him blush and your smile made him melt.

it didn’t help that the neon lights and the fireworks were reflecting in the depths of your eyes.

he knew that the time was now, but he was afraid that if he took the bold chance, you’d push him away.

you, on the other hand, had a completely different idea.

when he had directed his attention to the floor of the compartment you two were in, you had reached for his chin and pulled his face to meet yours.

you straight up kissed him.

this shocked the boy, but he went along with it and cupped your cheek in his hand as you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled yourself closer to him

it got more passionate, and much more messy.

hell, you didn’t even realize how breathless the two of you were until the loudest firework went off right as you two reached the top.

you pulled away from each other then

and while the two of you were bright red, you still cuddled up closer to the other for as long as you could before you both had to go home.

but, just in general, holy-

this boy’s whole attempt was the cutest thing, and the kiss?

same way.

honestly, it was shy and so timid,

but it held the messiness of the whole thing still-

it was still immature, no matter the whole ordeal.

otherwise, both of your romantic fantasies were met to the highest standard when you had kissed on the ferris wheel just-

mwah!

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luzarya · 3 years

Text

Without Water

Summary: Yuu walks through a desert, when they find a source of water; then another. Eventually, they end up meeting a duo.

[Post Apocalypse- kind of scenario.]

Ao3 link: here

warnings: small mention of death

word count: 2,462

It was difficult.

Life was hard- and barren. Nothing that the eye could see for miles on end, except for the rare flora and the occasional anima; and Yuu was one of the few that survived the onslaught of weather and environmental changes. Finding sources of food was hard, but there was enough for Yuu to make-do.

They haven’t seen another person in years.

It was lonely, at first, but Yuu had grown to get used to it. They didn’t know where they were- no, they couldn’t remember. The city had become submerged in water, forcing many to flee into the nearby desert. At this point, it was likely too far away.

Yuu didn’t know where the next nearest city was. Nor how long since it had started. The days were blurred and Yuu’s sense of time became nonexistent.

The overbearing heat made it difficult to travel, but thankfully, Yuu had plenty of water, after stopping by an oasis that, oh so conveniently, was placed. In fact, it was a bit too convenient.

Just as Yuu would be half-way done with their flask of water, another oasis would spring up. This was not to say that they were incredibly close by- in fact, Yuu was careful to preserve their water supply, but with each instance of bodies of water so close, it made Yuu wonder if it was okay to drink a bit more water.

Yet, every time the thought ran through their mind- they disregarded it. No matter how convenient these sources were, they weren’t eternal, nor would they be convenient forevermore.

Plus, another need plagued Yuu’s mind- hunger. Water could only stave off hunger for so long, and if Yuu didn’t find an animal to feed on soon, they would soon run out of the rations that they had prepared earlier from their last kill.

Yet, Yuu carried on, their eyes looking, hoping, for food to appear.

Nothing.

Yuu shook their head- of course, it would make no sense for an animal to appear right in front of them just when they desperately needed it. Life didn’t function like that, although Yuu sure wish it did.

Yuu took another sip from their flask- it was halfway empty, and if the number of oases had indicated anything, it was that another should arrive soon. And certainly, like they had predicted, they could see one in the distance.

...With two figures around it.

Yuu slowed down their walking, but the two figures never left. In fact, once one of them noticed Yuu, they beckoned for them to come closer, waving their arms around.

“Hello!”

Yuu quietly cursed, resuming a normal pace. The figures, now close enough to see two tan teenage boys, one with white hair and the other with long brown hair, waited for Yuu to arrive. The long-hair individual seemed annoyed, whereas the white-hair boy seemed rather excited.

Yuu noticed a few bags nearby, taking the hint that perhaps that the two were resting. Yuu wondered, had they been any slower, would they still have met?

“A new person!” The white hair boy ran over, taking in Yuu’s appearance, “I haven’t seen anyone for days!”

The long-haired teenager sighed, and said, “It’s only been a few months since this whole mess started.”

...A few months?!

“Is that so, Jamil?” The white-haired boy said, now pondering if there was truth to his words, though, despite the pondering, Yuu could tell it wasn’t serious. Yuu glanced at ‘Jamil’, who scowled.

“Yes,” Jamil replied, his voice straining to hide the hostility towards Yuu, but they still nonetheless picked it up. Though, the white-hair individual didn’t, his face still smiling like before.

“I’m Kalim al-Asim!” The white-haired teenager said, then gestured to Jamil, “And this is my best friend, Jamil Viper!”

“I’m not your best friend.”

Kalim momentarily pouted, but carried on, “So, what’s your name?”

Yuu hesitated for a moment, but they relented.

“The name’s Yuu Kishimoto.”

Yuu stayed with the two fellows, as they shared their food with Yuu. From what Yuu learned, Jamil was the rather resourceful fellow, having been able to create the dish- roasted meat with a bit of spice, all from scratch.

Kalim was rather overjoyed with Yuu’s appearance, as he had yet to see another ever since the disaster began, although he was a bit saddened that he wasn’t going to see all of Yuu- since their attire was made so that nearly every inch of their body was covered. So far, they could only see Yuu’s mouth as they ate the food.

Soon enough, night befall, so Yuu set up camp. It was a flimsy tent, but it did keep the sand and rain out, so Yuu didn’t complain. Not that they had much room to, since it was the only thing they could find, after all, the panic caused many shortages of many necessary supplies. Yuu was lucky that they had already owned a few things that had aided their survival thus far.

Kalim and Jamil had their own camp, as the two spelt together. Yuu briefly questioned why, as Yuu noticed that Jamil often had to have great restraint. The boy was quite good at hiding his intentions and emotions, acting as neutrally as he could, but even then, Yuu would find the smallest of hints that indicated Jamil’s distaste, usually towards Kalim.

Though, that was not to say that Kalim was not without fault. If Yuu could describe him in a single sentence, they would say “He’s the blazing sun that shines too much; a pile of sugar, too rich to handle within a few bites.”

Kalim radiated too much positive and optimistic energy than Yuu could ever handle, already draining them of the little energy they had in the few hours of meeting them. If not for Jamil’s good cooking, Yuu didn’t know if they could have survived a few hours alone with Kalim.

Though, for the moment, Yuu was glad to have found some company.

Morning came, and Yuu half-expected for Jamil and Kalim to have left them all alone in the lonesome of the desert, yet to a pleasing surprise, Yuu saw Jamil making breakfast when they left their tent.

“Morning,” Yuu politely greeted, refilling the flask with the water.

“Morning,” Jamil replied, yet never taking his eyes off the meal he was making.

“So,” Yuu awkwardly began, “Whatcha making?”

“Just some eggs.”

“They’re not… fertilized, right?”

Jamil shook his head, “Didn’t see a hen nearby. Looks like a bird just laid them and went on with their business. Fresh too, thankfully.”

“That’s good to hear,” Yuu sighed with relief, a hand over where their heart was. “Do you need any help?”

Jamil pondered for a moment, until it seemed like he came to a conclusion, “Are you knowledgeable with your spices?”

“Hm? Well, I suppose..?”

“Then get me…”

Jamil instructed Yuu to get the spices as he continued cooking. It wasn’t an extravagant meal, but with Yuu’s help, Jamil ended up getting more ingredients to add to the breakfast.

Fortunately, an animal had wandered by. It was small and quick, yet Yuu was quicker, surprising Jamil with how fast they captured the small creature. Nonetheless, the contribution aided, and now, they had enough food for everyone by the end of it.

The aroma of the food was strong, no doubt, if there was anyone even remotely close, they would have certainly noticed. Yet, it was only the three of them.

Kalim left the tent, stretching his arms, yawning as he did so. He walked over with a bounce in his step, and gave the food a once over.

“Ah, it looks so good! Thanks Jamil!” Kalim greeted, already taking a seat and a plate.

“Yuu had helped a bit,” Jamil stated, as he, too, grabbed a plate.

Yuu followed suit, placing the meal onto their plate, removing the mask that they adorned to eat the meal. Though, it was the type of mask where the bottom was detachable, so, Kalim and Jamil could only see Yuu’s lips and the color of their skin- yet even with the glimpse of skin, it wasn’t guaranteed that the same pigment would be seen all throughout the skin.

Although, if one thing did stand out, it was the lip piercings. They were a neon blue, contrasting their skin.

“I didn’t know you had lip piercings, Yuu!” Kalim exclaimed the moment he saw them, nearly straining Yuu’s ears.

“Ah,” Yuu replied, as if remembering that they had them, “Yea. Had them for a few years now. Thought they looked cool so I got ‘em.”

“Did it hurt when you first got them?”

Yuu paused, trying to recall the faint memory, yet to no avail, “I think it may have? Just a bit. I’m not scared of needles, so I suppose this was fine.”

“I see,” Kalim’s curiosity seemed to be sated, at least for now. He didn’t prod any further, instead opting to eat his meal. Even while doing so, he radiated an immense amount of positivity.

Breakfast then was silent, not a single word said afterwards.

Perhaps Yuu would come to like traveling with them… if they allowed Yuu to do so, that is.

They did.

Granted, it didn’t take much, as Kalim was the one who insisted. It looked like Jamil couldn’t refuse anything that came out of the white-haired boy’s mouth- that if, if you could call him that. It burned in Yuu’s mind about their age. Yuu was on their way to college, just barely graduating from their respective school, yet, Kalim and Jamil gave off the vibes as being younger, yet there was a certain edge to them.

It was odd, though Yuu supposed it was due to their age, being in a weird limbo of being a child and an adult, yet nonetheless, they were still a teenager. Either way, the edge they felt, it was rather odd. Kalim reminded them of the more youthful years, those that were peaceful and filled with happiness, yet, Jamil on the other hand, Yuu could sense a resentment, akin to teenage rebellion and anger, but much more intense.

Yuu didn’t want to bear the brunt of Jamil’s emotions, no matter how good he was concealing them, so for now, Yuu would act in the middle, never swaying towards one nor the other.

Plus, Yuu was certain of one thing- these two individuals were much stronger than them.

Yuu could feel a headache coming on. They let out a quiet sigh, thankfully no one picked up on. Kalim filled the silence with whatever he could think of, yet Yuu was only half-listening.

For now, Yuu decided it would be best to focus on walking and staying near them.

It has been hours, and if it was something that had certainly surprised Yuu, it was Kalim’s unique magic. It did explain all the sources of water that they had encountered, yet Yuu would have never imagined that such an ability belonged to Kalim. Yuu briefly wondered what Jamil’s unique magic was, if he had one, though Yuu was certain that the teenager had one.

After all, those with magic usually develop their unique magic by this age, don't they?

Soon enough, the three of you reach your destination. It had surprised you that there was anything out in the desert at all.

“We’re here!” Kalim shouts, lifting his arms in the air in celebration. Yuu stared at Kalim, then glanced at Jamil for an explanation.

“This used to be our dorm,” The hooded man explained, “We had momentarily left to search for-”

“Survivors!” Kalim cut in, grabbing your wrist, “There have been only a few others who had traveled this desert, though most of them had died. You’re the first we found alive!”

Yuu momentarily blanked out from the statement- just what exactly did he mean that Yuu was the only one they found alive?

“Eh?” Was all that escaped Yuu’s mouth.

Yuu could hear Jamil sigh, as the three of them neared the fence, “As he said, you’re the only one alive so far. Every other person we’ve found out there is dead. It’s probably because of Kalim’s unique magic that you’re alive,” Jamil then glanced over at Yuu, “alongside your hunting skills.”

Yuu had to take a moment to process Jamil’s words, and once they did, they soon found themselves on the other side of the fence, Kalim quick to drag Yuu further into the area, looking back to see Jamil hide a set of keys.

As Yuu was dragged, they saw more people busting in and about- more people than they had seen in the past few months. They could glance a few gardens the further Kalim dragged him as he babbled off about something, what it was, Yuu didn’t know.

“-and that’s everything!” Kalim stopped, Yuu nearly bumping into the teenager. Yuu blankly stared at Kalim for a good moment, before saying something.

“Pardon me, but uh… I didn’t quite catch that?” Yuu saw the boy’s expression morph to a pout, before Yuu began again, their words picking up speed, “I’m just a bit overwhelm and hearing that I’m the only one alive that you found really makes me feel really-”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Kalim quickly smiled, as if he then finally comprehended what Yuu was going through, “You’re probably tired after all that! We’ll host a party to celebrate your arrival!”

“Oh, there’s no need-”

“Nonsense! You’re the first,” Kalim replied, “So we must celebrate!”

Yuu didn’t quite like the idea, but it seemed like there was no way to dissuade him.

It came quickly, and as quickly as it came, the celebration ended. Yuu ended up helping out Jamil with all the preparation, despite Kalim’s insistence that they shouldn’t lift a finger- to which Yuu had yelled that they should, since they were the cause of it.

Jamil started to tolerate Yuu a bit more, it seemed, as throughout the preparation and the cleanup, there was a comfortable silence, only speaking when needed.

Jamil was the one who showed them to an empty room, of which Yuu was thankful of, as well as allowing them access to their bathroom, since it was past curfew once they had finished cleaning up.

Yuu never once revealed their appearance, and they speedily left Jamil’s bathroom before he could even glance at them. The only thing that he had heard was a quick “thank you”.

Thus, Yuu sat on the bed, the room empty save for them. A mirror stood in the middle, as Yuu recall the past two days. Funny, just as they were to be without water, they were saved.

Yuu could only hope that they were able to find a new sense of normal.

#twst x yuu #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #yuu twst #luzarya writes things yuh

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julessworldd · 4 years

Text

Punk Duff x reader

Summary: Duff brings his long term girlfriend on tour with Guns and during an interview, Duff gets asked what he would do if some model came in his dressing room. The reader gives me the cold shoulder for a bit.

Word Count: 1358

Duff said the tour would be something that I’m not used to, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I partied with him and the boys way before they got on tour with Motley Crue, ran from the cops with Axl and Slash, got into a bar fight along with Duff when a biker gave another biker a drink that was a ‘Blowjob’. Like I said we’ve had crazy times together, what's gonna be different besides that they had to work.

This was a tour with Motley Crue, bad boys of Hollywood, famous ‘Terror Twins’ running around. The boys had been nice to me and bought me a couple of drinks at a bar. Nikki had grown a liking to me and he looked out for me when Duff was on stage or had an interview. Duff and Steven were currently doing an interview for MTV, I sat on the old, lumpy couch in a back room. The door opened and I smirked, “Hey Baby” “Uh, baby that’s different. Hey yourself” Izzy said shutting the door. “Oh it's you, forgot you had an interview” I sighed, throwing my head back on the couch.

“Sorry for not being prince charming, princess” Izzy pushed my knee playfully. “Do you know what’s going on after their interview? I’m starving, Iz” I asked. “Not sure, Y/n” Izzy said, lighting a cigarette. I nodded and moved my foot away from Izzy’s space. “What would you do if she did come into your dressing room, thou?” Steven asked as the door opened. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t do what that interview was suggesting to do. How many pictures of Y/n and I do they need that I’m not single?” Duff rolled his eyes. I raised my head from the couch and stared at him. Izzy must have sensed it, “You guys wanna get something to eat, Y/n said she was hungry earlier” Izzy asked standing up. “Yeah, I could eat,” Steven said as Izzy walked towards the door. Duff was quiet and looked down at his cowboy boots. Izzy held the door for me as Steven and him raced to the car, Duff trailed behind. “Hey, can we talk? I hate when you’re mad at me”

“Duff, I’m not. Nor am I upset, let's go get lunch, okay?” I sighed, turning on my heel, walking to the car. “Babe” Duff groaned. We stopped at diner, that looked decent or could be where teeangers stop at before being killed. An older waitress sat us down in a booth towards the back, per Izzy’s request. I was gonna sit with Izzy, but Popcorn had already plopped down next to him. Great a weird lunch with Duff. Duff stood letting me in and sat down as a young, pretty, blond haired girl with a preppy smile waitress started asking what we wanted to drink. Steven was shaking the table from bouncing his knee from his energy that built up. Normally, it would be fine, but I laid my head down on the table. “Hey kid, you okay?” Izzy nudged my calf. “Fine, Iz” I sighed wrapping my arms in front of my face. “She okay?”, The waitress asked as she sat our drinks down. Duff looked over and finally noticed me, “Hey Y/n, you good?” I stayed silent and hid in my arms. “You guys ready to order?” The boys had ordered and I told her I wasn’t hungry, which was a lie but after, hearing what Steven asked Duff just ruined my appetite. Believe me, I would munch down on a bacon burger with extra fries and would still get some Duff’s. Steven went to the bathroom and Izzy went out for a smoke, leaving Duff and I alone.

“What’s wrong? You were hungry before the interview, Baby” Duff asked, turning to me. I stared at the booth in front us, watching our waitress clean a table. Trying not to scream at Duff in public, I dug my nails in my hand, the universe wasn’t strong enough to hold my tongue. “What the fuck was Steven talking about a chick coming into your dressing room before at show? Are you cheating on me?” I said turning to face Duff. Duff was shocked and just stared at me, “No, I would never cheat on you. Interviewer mentioned that a model was a fan of Guns and apparently she has a thing for me. And if she did come into my dressing room with you in the room or not, I would tell her to get lost. I only have eyes for you, always have. I was wanting to tell you before we got here, but you stormed off and attached to Izzy” Duff said while holding my hand. I grabbed him by his chin to look in his eyes, to see if he was lying. No lies in his green orbs, I smiled, “I’m sorry for thinking you would cheat on me, Duff. I know you would never, but I got worried that you would get tired of me and would get a groupie or something.” I said letting my hand go, but he laid it on his cheek as he nodded. Duff leaned in and dipped to my lips, it got pretty heated, forgetting we’re in public. Izzy cleared his throat as our waitress stood at the table with their food, watching us make out. I pushed Duff off and turned back around in the booth. Duff just smirked at me as she walked away, clearly blushing. “It’s not funny, McKagan” I whined. “Yeah, it was hot,” Steven said as he ate his burger, he spit it out as Duff kicked his calf. I shook my head knowing his little crush on. Slash had too many and confessed that Steven thought I was pretty and got sad when he realized Duff and I were together.

The boys were getting ready for their show, Duff was putting on a Misfits tank top. “Do you ever stay mad at him?” Izzy asked, making me jump in fear. “Have a few times, Stradlin’”, I said looking at Duff. Rest of the boys were outside waiting on Axl and Duff, “Hey, I’m sorry for being a pain in the ass earlier. Just that I haven’t got used to the whole you being famous and women finding you attractive.” I said as Duff pulled his last cowboy boot on. “It's okay, I drug you down here from home when you barely graduated from school. I’ve asked you to do a lot of stuff for me, and put you through a lot. I should have let you decide if you wanted to move to LA or if you wanted to go to college. It bothers me that I didn’t ask you what you wanted” Duff wrapped his arms around my waist. “There was nothing in Seattle for me anymore, hell half of our friends were on heroin and couldn’t tell what day it was. I’ve not regretted one time, running away with you. It makes me happy seeing what you love and wanted to do since you were 14. Sure, it gets hard not having you home, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, Punk” I said, looking up at him. Duff grinned, “I love you too, baby” I stood up and kissed him as Axl opened the door. “Hey Doll, I need your boyfriend for a bit. Then you can have him again and in a week have a pregnancy scare” I rolled my eyes, “Fine Ax, you can have him, I guess”

Duff grinned as he finished his beer. “You’re still on your birth control, right?” “Yes, babe I am” I snickered. “Good good.. Be back later” Duff kissed me before running to the guys. “Crazy fucker” I smiled watching him do what he loves in life.

#duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan imagine #duff #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses imagine #little nikki sixx mentioned #Duff being his sweet bf self #Izzy being the big brother and looking out for her

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drjackandmissjo · 4 years

Text

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

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