#anyway summer and adam are found family and them losing each other is one of the foundational motivations that drive them on their paths

[constantvariations]

Nitpick November

What is the meaning behind the designs on Adam’s back and gloves?

On a similar thread, why would you give a character a rose motif... and not have them interact with the other character(s) with a rose motif? And identical color schemes? That have massive impacts on the same two characters (Blake and Yang)? Why does Adam never interact with the Rose family???

I know Mr Oum himself said they had no relation but... why? The drama would have been amazing

[lovenliterature]

I am in my first year of life and I am dressed in dark green because my mother dislikes pastel tones. Strangers frequently assume I am a boy. She does not correct them.

I am 6 and I am adamant that I would prefer to do judo than ballet. My parents do not disagree.

I am 8 and I have one dress I will willingly wear. It is covered in poppies and it feels like summer. Otherwise I am always to be found in trousers. My mother says they are better for climbing trees, anyway.

I am 11 and playing football after school because girls cannot play football in the normal team. My mother and I often go down to the park so that I can practise. She recalls my father saying he did not want a boy because he did not want to play football. That year each team in our tournament scores the same amount of goals. I save one more than the other two keepers. I am told it shows that girls can do just as well as boys.

I am 12 and a staunch feminist. I am terrified of my developing body. I am so worried about not having my period and being behind everyone. It arrives and I wish I could turn back time so desperately. I go for the male roles in as many productions as I can. Sometimes people remark that I play a boy well.

I am 15, experimenting with names and labels in the safety of online anonymity. I finally cut my hair, as I have been longing to do for months. More than one classmate mistakes me for a boy despite my skirt. I laugh it off and tamp down the twin flames of terror and joy rising in my chest.

I am 16, in love and happy and learning that female is not who I am. An elderly woman asks why I have a girls name written on my hoodie, comments that she thought I was a boy. I don’t think about it too hard, for fear of what I’ll realise. Later, I make an offhand comment about it to friends and one of them makes an attack helicopter joke. I realise that to be trans is to be mocked.

I am 17 and breaking down. I say it out loud for the first time and it feels like my world falls apart. My mother is nothing but supportive and educates herself. I am terrified.

I am 18 and hiding from the reality of coming out. I lose my partner and I will never stop wondering if me coming out set that in motion. I tell my family and they are nothing but kind. We decide not to tell my grandparents. I use my new name for the first time. I start university and no one ever knows me as anything different.

I am 19 and tired. I am losing time and my body is not working right. It feels like it never will. I nearly die. A psychiatrist says there are few measures he can recommend that I am not already taken. He says starting testosterone would likely help.

I am 20 and I have ownership of my name. I have appointments with medical professionals that range from kind and insightful to invasive and woefully uninformed. I begin to grow facial hair. My voice cracks and drops and I’m finally passing more, though not consistently. My body feels more like a home than it ever has.

I am 21 and in legal limbo. I exist in two genders, two names, two nationalities. I may have to travel to Germany to declare my identity in a German court and spend another few thousand pounds on doctors letters. I put off that problem for another day. Grandpa is dead, we are in a pandemic and I’m due to move countries in less than 6 months. Some things will have to wait.

I am 22 and experiencing my gender in German for the first time. It’s exhilarating and bittersweet, tinged with the pain of still having to show the wrong passport to prove my nationality. I translate an autobiography of a trans man from German to English and I realise that this is what I love. I feel more accepted here than I have in the UK. I think, maybe, I could make a home here.

I am 23 and in my final year. I have taken courses that give me the chance to study gender and prove my knowledge of what I want to continue studying. I begin my first job and wind up in the Daily Mail in a mildly transphobic article. I stand by my tweets. Fuck JK Rowling.

I am 24 and the transition milestones are coming thick and fast. I email enquiring about a top surgery date only to be told it would be over half a year. I research another surgeon and contact that in the hope of a consult within a few months. From initial contact to surgery is six weeks. I feel like I have whiplash. I’m so grateful for my new body. After being told that Germany does not accept the new UK birth certificates, I am contacted to say this has now changed. I have a lot of paperwork to do. I get my forms in order and receive a shiny new green birth certificate. I change my NHS number to male. A few months later, I pick up my German passport and for the first time ever, I have documents to prove all the facets of my identity.

I am 25 and back in Vienna, a city dotted with rainbow zebra crossings and traffic lights featuring gay couples. There is a trans zebra crossing near my apartment. It makes me feel a little bit more at home every time I see it. Someone puts up stickers with “cinnamon rolls not gender roles“ near my school. Some of them stay up. I discover I will have to see an endocrinologist here and possibly go through the whole process of diagnosis all over again. I am exhausted. I commission a trans artist to draw my first ever tattoo to celebrate my transition. I am growing up. I find a trans community who switch between German and English as easy as breathing and it feels so, so good to be seen. The vitriol in the UK gets more and more brutal and I do what I can - I educate, I advocate but mostly, I keep myself alive. That has to be enough for now.

[nugnthopkns]

find somewhere to grow

word count: 23.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think by now it would be.”

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

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Except for us,” Tyson chimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

“What on earth are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better not get caught.”

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

“Tys?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is phenomenal, Miss Winters.”

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Father, what are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” her father says gruffly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s nothing,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Operator,” the woman says flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. But Bednar is gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles kindly. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[loversamongus]

On Pink Clouds | Zuko x reader

a/n: so I watched Sleeping Beauty again the other night because that is my favorite Disney princess movie don’t @ me okay anyways I love the Once Upon a Dream scene when they’re twirling by the water and then at the end when they’re dancing on clouds and I couldn’t stop thinking about how Zuko would probably be a good dancer too and this is what happened enjoy. Also sorry what, did you say you wanted an Anastasia “maybe we should stop spinning” moment, too? You got it.

words: 1.9k

fic taglist: @spiritvines​ @protect-remus​ @emeraldpotato

The air was getting warmer. Which isn’t saying much living in the Fire Nation. But the air was getting heavier, the days getting longer, the sun shining brighter. The first day of summer was arriving and the palace was bustling with preparations for the annual Summer Solstice festivities. 

While this time of year is usually exciting, you could do without the superficial and overly posh advisor meetings that came with it. Discussion about educational reforms and foreign policy, your personal passions and areas of expertise, were suddenly sent to the back burner and replaced with talk of exquisite feasts and which foreign dignitaries to invite. Financially responsible as ever, you tried your best to argue for more budget friendly decorations considering the nation was still recovering from 100 years of war, but your older and more traditional colleagues remained adamant that it was in the nation’s best interest to host a genuine, all-out festival. 

You brought your complaints and concerns to the fire lord himself. Ah, the perks of being best friends with the fire lord. Of course, these complaints and concerns were usually filed off-the-record while enjoying what limited downtime the both of you had. After the final advisor meeting for festival preparations, you met Zuko in his room where a seamstress was finishing up his fitting for special Summer Solstice robes. Silently, you made yourself comfortable in an armchair and only quirked a mocking eyebrow in his direction.

“Not a word,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m not saying anything!” You threw your arms up in protest. The seamstress took out the last pin on Zuko’s sleeve and packed up her stuff before shuffling out of the room. “Although,” you continued. “If Advisor Ji were here, I’m sure he would say that ‘you look absolutely ravishing, Your Majesty. The very picture of a traditional Fire Lord.” You followed your impression with a gagging sound so that Zuko wouldn’t miss your resounding disgust for the uppity old man.

Zuko offered his arm to you which, standing up, you gladly took. “And what battle did you get into with him today?” he asked with a smile while leading you down the hallway.

“Ugh, we were confirming the seating plan for the feast tonight because Agni forbid we sit this old noble family next to that family, it just simply isn’t done.” Your free hand waved animatedly as you gave the recap of the past meeting. “But the worst part was, I had said weeks ago that we should consider opening up the feast to people from all walks of life in the Fire Nation, not just the nobility. Like the orphanage.”

You heard Zuko try to stifle a chuckle. “Oh come on! Just imagine those cute little innocent faces munching into all the food and running through the palace hallways and their faces lighting up with the fireworks! They would have so much fun, and isn’t that what the festival is all about?”

“Well, actually, it’s a tradition that was started—“

“Not you, too!” You turned sharply to look him in the eyes. “I am so sick of you old, rich people talking about traditions and manners—“

This time, Zuko couldn’t hold back his laughter. You watched with your mouth still slightly open after being interrupted as he tilted back his head to laugh. “I thought it was a great idea to invite the orphanage, which is why I personally invited them to the feast tonight.”

“You did?” you responded quietly but your lips turned into a bright smile.

“Yeah. I figured Aang could use the entertainment.”

The two of you continued to talk about the festival as well as the abhorrently outdated opinions of some of the advisors all the way to the turtleduck pond. The sun was getting lower on the horizon and once it was fully set, the feast would begin. Despite the setting sun, it was still a hot day, so you took your place sitting beneath the tree near the pond to get some shade. Zuko sat closer to the edge of the pond and took out some bread from where he had somehow stashed it in his robes. Leaning against the tree, you looked up at the sky and sighed.

“I love this time of day,” you said absentmindedly. The sky was illuminated by a soft golden glow and the clouds looked painted with a myriad of pastels. “Look at the clouds today, Zuko. They’re pink.” Zuko looked up for a moment and then glanced back at you to smile before feeding the small gaggle of turtleducks.

With the night’s festivities looming over your heads, the pond was the only place to get some peace and quiet for even just a moment. You’d need it anyways in order to gear up for the feast. The palace would soon be packed with Fire Nation nobles, the Avatar and his friends, and now the orphans and their caretakers, all waiting for the young Fire Lord to officially kick off the festival. Large crowds were never your favorite, which was why you had planned on retiring from the feast after dinner was served.

“But you have to stay for the dancing,” Zuko practically pouted when you told him this plan.

“No, no. I don’t dance. But I’ll tell you what,” you sat up from the tree you were leaning against. It was your favorite spot to get some shade as Zuko fed the turtleducks little pieces of bread. “I’ll stay long enough to watch you dance. That’s sure to be a sight to behold.”

Zuko scoffed. “I’ll have you know I am a pretty good dancer.” A turtleduck quacked. “See? He agrees.”

You laughed a little and reached for a piece of bread to offer to the little suck up. “What, did little Prince Zuko have to take royal dance lessons when he was little?”

“Yes actually!” Zuko rolled his eyes as if it was such an obvious answer. You half expected him to let the conversation go at this point and continue feeding the turtleducks. He could only handle your teasing for so long before starting to lose his temper. But he stood up abruptly and held out his hand. You placed bread in his open palm questioningly.

“Not the bread!” His voice revealed a hint of frustration. “Give me your hand. I’ll show you.”

You huffed and moved to cross your arms. You had just said you didn’t dance after all. Zuko’s pride certainly wouldn’t get you to dance. You were about to tell him that he was just fooling himself if he thought he could get you to dance when you felt his hand close on your elbow, pulling you up from your seated position.

“Zuko!” you whined.

“Would you just do this for me, please?” It was posed as a question but his apparent annoyance made it feel closer to a command. “And then you can leave early later if you still want to.”

He didn’t even wait for you to respond before he began straightening your shoulders and back. He took your left hand and held it out to the side and with a finger, tilted your chin up before resting that free hand on your waist. All other protests immediately seemed to die in your throat.

“Now, I lead. Think you can handle that?” He smirked and then began to step forward. After some hesitancy, you stepped backwards with him. You found yourself inching up on your tiptoes to better manage the height difference. But when he stepped again, and again, you felt forced to look down to see where you should be stepping next.

He stopped and adjusted your shoulders again. “Hey. Just look at me.” He gave your hand a squeeze and you looked up again. You couldn’t remember a time you’ve been this close to him. You could practically see each one of the thousands of golden flecks in his eyes. And you knew he was strong, being a master firebender and swordsman and all, but his grip on your waist felt so gentle and safe. He gave you a small smile before starting the dance again. This time, you moved a little better in time with him.

“See? It’s just little steps here and there. Ready to try a spin?”

Before you could say anything, you felt that gentle hand on your waist push you out a little bit while his other hand guided you under his arm. The sudden movement was not something you had expected and so your feet got tripped up a little. Zuko, however, caught your waist again and repositioned you upright before you could completely tumble over.

With a small laugh, he joked, “Okay, maybe we tried that too soon. We could just spin together instead.”

You started dancing again, taking small steps in slow circles around the pound. You were grateful that these steps felt much easier than the spin you had just been forced to attempt. The movement was repetitive and once you felt you’d gotten the hang of it, you went back to counting the flecks in Zuko’s eyes. You also made special note of the small wisps of his hair that had fallen out of his top knot, no doubt from the spinning.

“You okay?” Zuko checked in with you. Suddenly you realized you had not spoken since being pulled up to dance with him. You shook your head to free it from your thoughts in order to respond.

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out. “I feel like I’m on clouds.”

“Pink clouds?” He smiled.

“Mhm.” The peace and calm you had felt when you looked up at the sky earlier settled in your chest. With a few more trips around the pond, you and Zuko held small conversations here and there. Your replies always seemed a bit hesitant though, mostly because you were concentrating on the steps. Without a doubt, however, you felt relaxed and at ease in his arms. You supposed that turtleduck really did know Zuko was a great dancer.

You lost count of how many spins the two of you did but you did become aware of the sky darkening as well as the spinning in your head.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy,” you said softly. Zuko shifted so that he didn’t lead you into another spin. Instead, you both settled into the small pattern of steps you had started out with before coming to a complete stop. Regardless, you still held his hand and he still held your waist.

“Probably from all the spinning. Maybe we should stop.” His gaze held yours for the entirety of your dance but only now did you notice the seriousness, an intensity, in his eyes. You urged yourself not to let your eyes wander anywhere past the tip of his nose.

“But we have stopped.”

“Y/n, I—“ You felt yourself begin to lean in with him.

“Fire Lord Zuko!” A man, coming around the corner onto the grounds of the turtleduck pond, interrupted. “Fire Lord Zuko,” he repeated again, this time followed by a bow. “The feast will be beginning shortly.”

Zuko did not turn to face the man but he dropped his hand from your waist. His hand still held you and his eyes remained fixed on your face. “Thank you,” he responded in his most regal voice. “I’ll be there soon.”

The man bowed again before exiting back around the corner. The spinning now gone from your head, you cleared your throat and stepped back from him. Zuko held your hand tighter in response.

“You’ll stay for a dance?” he asked hopefully.

“Okay.” You smiled.

[seizethecarpe]

Know By Hart || Solo

Timing: Current Summary: No matter how practiced he was, Dave had never been good with grief. Triggers: Somehow… none. Contains grief.  Author note: Before you read this, I want us all to remember that I’m completely innocent please file your complaints to the local mime ungulate 

In 2004, José De Nueves had walked into Dave’s life. He’d had an easy smile and slightly glassy eyes. It had taken a rusalka, a Swedish fortune teller, and three drinks for José to hold up his hair and reveal in true depth the feathery scars that framed his face. He grinned with two teeth missing as he’d explained the tendril like creatures he’d hunted for one night. “Made me the perfect soldier,” He’d said with a laugh as he downed his whiskey glass. “I don’t give a fuck about anything.”

When Dave had followed his scent to a crypt a year later, he’d found a spawn chewing on José’s drained neck, a stark reminder of how the smallest mistakes could make even the routine hunt a death sentence. He’d wondered that night if José had even cared as they’d ripped his guts out in front of them, felt anything at all as they’d dragged it out of him until his intestines had torn all over the cemetery lawn. Or if he’d screamed and begged for his family anyway, right at the end, his soul returning to life only when it was too little, too late.

Unsure which fate was worse, Dave’d raised a glass in the man’s memory, and chose to forget. 

——- 

In ‘11, there had been Jasmine. Her honey warm skin highlighted the feathery scar that tucked under her jaw. Her bar, her spare room and her bed had all been Dave’s home for a little. But she’d always been clear that when push came to shove, he wasn’t her priority, he wasn’t human enough to risk her life for. All the same, they’d talked for hours under the thick cover of clouds as they waded up mountains to find the monstrous beast contaminating the local springs, they’d talked through her thick cigarette smoke, outside the fading wooden sign of her bar. They had talked more than Dave had spoken to anyone in years. She bared his soul, little by little, and in turn one day she told him about the nest nearby that she sent her friends too when they had lost one thing too many. Dave had listened intently, harder than he’d listened to anything, until the glass in his hand had shattered. 

Not too long, she’d warned. You could lose too much of yourself too fast, and end up more ghost than man. The next day Dave had hiked five miles, peering into the edge of a dried out lake, and saw the silvery creatures there, languidly floating through the air with a dozen tentacles. Dave thought of José, all light gone from behind his eyes, and Jasmine whose grief sometimes sounded wrong, like an untrained actor on the stage. Dave turned and left, hungry tendrils chasing after him fir half a mile.

Two years later, Jasmine had insisted she was retired at forty two, but there hadn’t been another slayer for a hundred miles, so she had come when he’d called anyway. Some cruel unnatural winds had extinguished their fires, and when the aipaloovik wrapped its arms around her and pulled her underwater, Dave made just one attempt to get her free before he told himself there was nothing he could do. 

The white polyps she’d told him about haunted his thoughts longer than she did. A quiet, gentle what if. 

——-

Last year, Dave had met a boy wearing a grin like armour and who considered his enhanced healing another weapon in his arsenal. Dave had saved him from drowning, the kid had saved his life with the penance for the murder of Winn Woods. And then the saving had happened again, over and over, until it became as routine as the wise cracks and eye rolls. 

He loved you. It rattled around in his head. When he’d seen the words on his phone in what had obviously been a final goodbye, Dave hadn’t let them ring any more true than the promise that they’d go fishing with beers. Now, the caster’s voice was stuck in his head, sneaking up on him when he was elbow deep in the bowels of his van’s engine, as he garroted a fish to eat in his human form, when he covered his body with slime to slide into his seal pelt. Sixty feet of ocean above him and he still wasn’t safe from Nell Vural’s voice. Thanks for that, Adam.

It was worst in the mundane moments, like folding laundry, because his mind churned while his hands were busy. See, Dave found it easiest to associate with hunters because he always knew they were destined to die. Everyone agreed there were things no one talked about because there was the deep undercurrent of knowing that Dave probably broke most of their codes, but as long as they didn’t know, it could go ignored. It was an emotional barrier that suited everyone just fine. Until now, apparently.

Dave smoothed his fingers over the edge of a shirt that had seen better days, folding it down as tight as he could before putting it away in a drawer that clipped into the wall of his van. His van was a mess, fishing gear scattered across the floor, seaweed drying on a bucket he hadn’t cleaned out, photos hanging skew on the wall. He wasn’t ever perfectly neat because how humans took care to keep their possessions perfectly in line was alien to him (the sea was never tidy), but he damn well knew he could do better than this. 

Humans considered it a sign of intimacy to show someone their living spaces. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone in here that he wasn’t giving a ride elsewhere. Adam hadn’t known him, not really. Hadn’t seen the emptiness in Dave’s heart, that the fire that kept him going ran on fumes. Who the hell was he to speak of love, when Dave hadn’t let him deeper than his second skin? That there was so little left in Dave worth loving. 

He looked down at the shirt he was folding, the collar pressed down skewed and the sides lined up at angles, and realised at some point he’d picked up the wonkyphoto from the wall, and the cracked, bloody compass Nell had given him that Dave had put on his bedside table and not looked at again. In the photo, three toothy sharp smiles were yellowed with age, teenage boys tussling in the sand. The photographer’s shadow stretched across the sand beside them, and even twenty five years later he could see the impatience behind the boys’ expressions at the doting woman behind the camera. The brass of the compass offered no such warmth, and filled the interior of the van with the scent of the last blood Adam had ever spilled. He flicked it open, and saw it pointing south west again. How could he forget, his home wasn’t a house but an underwater grave.

Fucking ironic, that each grief pointed so sharply to the other, blurring the lines of his most defining pain. Dave didn’t know how long he stared between one and the other before he returned to folding his shirts, and putting them away. He hung the photo back on the wall, and carefully put the compass away along with the rest of his fishing gear, tucked into fabric so that the scrapes it had taken in Adam’s final moments would be its last. When he was done with the laundry, Dave’s mind was set. 

His grief had always been a call to action.

--------

In the hours of hiking since Dave had set out, White Crest becoming a distant blip on the horizon, Dave hadn’t changed his mind. More doubts should have crept in, but they hadn’t once, his mind clear of thought and feeling already. Just one step past the other, past the purple heather fields and overflooded lily pad ponds, under canopies drooping with pine needles and summer chirping birds. 

White tiny flecks began floating past his face through the trees, which slowly grew as he walked deeper into the heather moors. White floating tendrils extended out, brushing against his clothes and hair. The deeper he walked into the cloud, the more the air felt like water, as if the trees had become kelp forests and he was swimming through clouds of chrinoids. The only thing that made the masses of them different than a mist was that Dave could not feel his way through it. They pulsed around him like Jellyfish, glowing under the setting sun.

In the densest part of the mist, he turned instead to an ethereal white creature at his side, as large as an old TV. Its mass of white tentacles fluttered against Dave’s skin curiously. Shame prickled in his veins, flinching away from those delicate touches. The sick, sinking feeling that this was wrong finally set in, worse than most vices that people leant on for their grief. If Adam could see him- but Adam couldn’t. He wasn’t a single damn person’s role model, and didn’t owe anyone his grief. Not even for a good man whose connection to him had been skin deep and yet reached him to his core. Dave swallowed, and turned back to the town for the first time since he’d made this choice, but all he saw was the clouds of white as he weighed the same thing as so many others had before him. 

Grief had always been a call to action. He stepped a little closer, and didn’t flinch as the tendrils brushed against the side of his face, then latched on.

The tendrils were as gentle as a kiss. He’d expected it to be like the time he’d gotten tangled up in an octopus, suckers bruising his skins for days, but if he hadn’t felt the white static encroaching on his mind, this wouldn’t have been unpleasant at all. Tendrils which hadn’t attached traced over the planes of his face, lulling his eyes closed. Peace spread from those pinpricks deeper into his mind, and he could see the appeal of staying here for eternity. Let them clear him out, until there was nothing left except his mission. 

Dave sighed quietly as he felt himself become lesser. He pulled away, and the tentacles let him, and Dave couldn’t even feel the absence of whatever they had taken. That was good, feeling the loss would have been too close to more grieving. The flickering tendrils of the hartvlinders trailed after him as he hurried away, through the clouds of gentle creatures until he burst out into the dying of the sunlight. 

Dave tested a memory like he might tongue at a broken tooth. Deep in a swamp with the rotting corpse of a giant fish clogging up his nose. Dave gave a countdown before lowering Adam into the cleanest water they could find, working quickly to wash off the last of the acid gunk. Adam had been weak kneed and badly burned after his adventure in the monster’s stomach, but he had shut his eyes dutifully and held his breath as Dave washed the worst of the acid out of his hair with exceeding care. As soon as he was out of the water, he’d cracked a joke filled with post hunt exuberance, one after the other while they waited for their stamina to return, until holding back his grin made his cheeks hurt. They hurt again now, hot tear tracks prickling his face. Dave sagged against a tree, and then down onto his knees. Something was gone, he was sure, but not this. The hartvlinder hadn’t been so goddamn kind as to take away his newest, sharpest grief. Or even what he’d really wanted gone: the regret of words left unsaid, the guilt of outliving another kid, the shame of envying a good man for a life where he’d completed his mission and saved everyone.  

Dave would have to learn to wear it until it became another ropey scar on his heart, another line on his death-weighted net. 

[yellowmagicalgirl]

A Ring, A Blade, An Ornament, A Wreath

Ilia would like to one day propose to Blake using Faunus customs, but she doesn't know which ones.

Years later, Blake makes an assumption about the type of proposal Ilia would like.

This was originally written for the 2021 Rare Pairs Exchange over on AO3. It takes place both pre-canon and post-Volume 8 due to a time skip in the middle.

CW: References to past character death as well as canon-typical anti-Faunus racism.

AO3

FFN

In Mantle and Atlas, they used rings to propose. It was a human tradition, yes, but it was one perpetuated by Faunus as well. Ilia still remembered her parents wedding rings, woven out of discarded wires. They weren’t much in terms of expensive materials as proof of being able to provide for each other, but they had been handmade proof of her parents’ love for each other. She hadn’t gotten them back with the rest of her parents things when they had died. In a best-case scenario, her parents’ rings had been thought to be debris from the cave-in. It was more likely that humans had taken them, though whether out of mockery of Ilia’s grief, wanting to claim some sort of repayment with precious objects, or mockery of the materials used Ilia would never be sure.

Ilia and her parents had been cowards, and she didn’t want to emulate them or the human-supremacist society she had grown up in. She especially didn’t want to emulate them when she proposed to Blake. She promised herself that she wouldn’t give Blake a ring… after Ilia figured out how to confess her feelings to Blake, of course.

Faunus had many different proposal traditions, but theirs had been stamped out as they tried to assimilate with humans. The scholars of Menagerie were trying to piece together older cultural traditions, and Menagerie had many different proposal traditions as a result. Ilia wondered what type of proposal Blake would prefer. Out of all the traditions Ilia had heard about, she found she preferred the ones where she would have to make something for Blake. It was what her parents had done, and it felt purer than all those stuffy girls at Ilia’s prep school daydreaming about getting an expensive gem-encrusted ring of fine metals.

One of the traditions Ilia liked was one that had originally come from one of the deserts of Anima that she liked most. It had started with some of the Faunus tribes that had inhabited the area and then having spread to humans because it was a useful tradition, only to become frowned upon as one of the pre-Mistrali kingdoms tried to colonize the area with religious fervor. And yet, the tradition had survived to make it to Menagerie, with happy couples giving each other small, intricate blades no bigger than a hand.

Ilia had made Lightning Lash herself, so maybe she would be good at making a blade for Blake. Granted, Blake had made Gambol Shroud all on her own, so it wasn’t like she needed a blade from Ilia. Then again, the blades didn’t look like they were useful. Well, maybe they were useful for things like cutting small, thin vegetables or spreading butter, but Blake deserved a blade she could defend herself with. Not that she needed Ilia’s help with that, since Blake had always been an amazing fighter with a strong, defensive semblance.

Perhaps Blake would prefer the traditions originally held by the Dacia, a nomadic Faunus community that originated in southwestern Sanus. They used hair ornaments, worn at the end of braids. Granted, Blake didn’t braid her hair, and she didn’t wear any hair ornaments aside from the bow she used to hide her ears whenever she would go into a human settlement for supplies. Ilia didn’t like that part about Blake, how she hid and tried to blend in with humans. Still, Blake was doing a lot better than Ilia had in that regard. Even when they went to get supplies, Blake wouldn’t stand back when they saw a non-passing Faunus being harassed.

Ilia sighed. Blake was so cool and beautiful, and she was wasted on Adam. Maybe Ilia would finally tell Blake that when Blake came back from the train mission she and Adam were going on tomorrow morning. Maybe. Ilia wasn’t sure how she would be able to do so.

New Mantle had become rather prosperous compared to the refugee camp it had been eight years ago. Granted, it helped that the Grimm were finally defeated less than a year after the fall of Atlas. Ilia had felt strangely sad, hearing the news that the cities she had grown up in were both gone. She had hated both of them, symbols of her own cowardice as a bystander, and yet they had both held good memories, no matter how tainted they were. Her parents’ graves and the house she grew up in had flooded; her prep school would have been smashed with the impact. And all that strange anguish she had felt at losing places she hadn’t planned on ever returning to had only gone up exponentially when she learned that Blake was dead. Or, more specifically, she had fallen. She was technically missing, as no one expected to ever find a body.

Blake hadn’t been Ilia’s first love, but she had been Ilia’s greatest love.

And then she came back. She had changed; she was the first Faunus with magical powers who was not a maiden or a bearer of silver eyes.

And finally, finally, she was looking at Ilia the way that Ilia had always hoped Blake would.

Things had changed in the years since. Ilia and Blake were dating, and Salem had been defeated. The world was not at peace, but it was far closer to it than it had been during Ilia’s childhood. The two of them had settled down together in the outskirts of Vale, but right now they were visiting friends. Tonight, they would be meeting up with Neon, Coal, and their daughter Irida for dinner, but that was hours from now. Right now, they were walking through one of the street markets. They had grabbed a light lunch from one of the Atlesian-Vacuan stalls and were now looking for a trash can to dispose of the paper wrappers.

“Oh hey, look!” Blake said, pointing. Ilia turned her head, expecting to see a trash can but instead she saw a stall.

A ring maker’s stall. The rings were done in the style of Atlesian engagement rings. It was a temporary stall, which made sense. The spring equinox was coming up, and it was an old Mantle tradition to propose at the start of spring and marry at the start of summer. Ilia still remembered being so shocked when her prep school classmate talked about having attended a winter wedding; the tradition hadn’t carried to the city in the sky that promised freedom from Grimm, hunger, and the bitter cold.

Blake looked at Ilia, smiled, blushed, looked away again, and took a breath. “What’s your ring size?”

Ilia blinked and then dropped Blake’s hand so that Ilia could put both hands in front of her mouth. “I, are you –“

“No, no, not yet. I’d do something at least a little fancier than just picking out rings together and calling it a day. But, we’ve been dating for years, and I think that it’ll be time, soon. And, since you grew up in Mantle, I thought you’d like to follow the ring tradition.”

“I mean, if you had asked me a decade ago, I would’ve been insulted by it. Now, I’m not too sure. How did your parents get engaged?”

“My mom’s family is from Mistral, so my dad proposed to her with Mistrali traditions. And, since it’s a woven wreath of flowers, and our family name is from a flower…”

“Oh, no, he didn’t.”

“Yeah, he proposed with a wreath of poisonous flowers. Obviously, my mom accepted his proposal anyways, but I wouldn’t want to recreate my parents’ proposal.”

A woven wreath of flowers, though not of conventional materials. Made by Ghira’s own hands to show his love for Kali.

“How would you feel about a non-poisonous wreath?”

Blake smiled at her. “You still haven’t told me your ring size.”

[tetsurouskuro]

Close

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: smut, cursing, alcohol mention, college!au

word count: 4,234

a/n: i started to listen to nick jonas song close and this idea just popped into my head and i had to fucking write it!!!! i think i need holy water!!!!! i’m not very proud of the smut scene... anyway enjoy!!!!

Synopsis: You and Shouto meet at a party he’s throwing and can’t keep his eyes of you. There is an attraction but you’ve been hurt before and Todoroki Shouto screams fuck boy.

-

Being the most popular guy in college was not something Todoroki Shouto wished for. It wasn't his fault that his dad was one of the wealthiest man in the country. Everyone wanted to be friends with him, a lot of girls wanted to bed him. He didn't mind it, he didn't give it any thought. He had a handfull of friends he was close with. He had fucked many of the girls at campus, everyone of them being a one time thing. Todoroki Shouto didn't do relationship. He had seen what that kind of relationship had been like for his parents. Things were good with his dad now, but even then Shouto just didn't want to end up like his dad. Todoroki Enji's parenting had put a strain on the young boy a few years ago and Shouto was reminded everyday about that when looking in the mirror, at his scar. His dad, though, wanted Shouto to marry into a rich and wealthy family. Enji wanting the youngest Todoroki to take over the company when he was ready to retire. But Shouto wasn't ready to do that, in fact he didn't want to so for now the young boy wanted to have the time of his life; drinking, fucking and enjoying life in general which is what he was doing. He was throwing a hell of a party and having a big mansion to thow it at helped a lot.

“Oi, half and half bastard. Team up with me at beer pong” he heard one of his closest and longest friend call over the loud music. Bakugou Katsuki walked towards Shouto, arriving throwing his right arm around Shouto's shoulders and walking him towards where the ping pong table was set up.

“What if I say no?”

“There is no answer like that, idiot” Bakugou laughed at his friend. “Shitty hair and Pikachu is on our team as well. It's girls against boys, so it's us four against Mina, Uraraka, Momo and (y/n)”. Shouto's eyebrow quirked up in question, who is (y/n)?

“Who's that?”

“Doesn't matter. She's hot though” both boys smirked at that as they kept on walking, finally arriving at the ping pong table. “You idiots ready to lose?”

“Like we'd lose to you, baka” Mina replied back. Shouto smiled at her and then turned his head slightly to the right and his heart did a doubble pound. His breath taken away, making him feel very perplexed. Never had a girl, a woman made him feel like this ever before. His gaze locked onto you. His heterochromic eyes scanning your body. Your long legs, how that little black dress hugged your curves so tightly. Your breast being very round; he wanted to squeeze them. His eyes continued to travel upwards. Your plum lips, especially your bottom one; he wanted to bite it. Soon his eyes landed on yours, (y/e/c) one's staring at him in return. He was maybe 9 feet away from you but to him it felt like miles away, he wanted to be closer to you.

Shouto's mind was playing tricks. It was shocking to him how a woman, like you, could make him want to be close to a woman. For the first time he wanted to talk to a woman first, not the other way around. Shouto cleared his throat, composing himself and spoke with a lot of confidence. “Shall we begin? It won't take long”.

The game began with Shouto throwing the ball, it bouncing one time on the table then into a red plastic cup. He turned around, high fiving Bakugou and the rest of his teammates, then turned to look at you, smirking.

“Don't get too confident” you spoke, making Shouto get goosebumps. Even your voice sounded like sex to him. He was in for a long night.

“Oh, I'm always confident, (y/n) was it? I'm Todoroki Shouto. Owner of the house”.

“Oh I know who you are, I just don't care”.

“Uuuuuuuh” came from three mouths; Bakugou, Kirishima and Kaminari. Shouto just let out a soft laugh and gazed into your eyes. You raised one of your eyebrows and smiled at him.

“The game is just getting started and I never want it to end” Shouto spoke while still having his eyes locked onto you. You blushed at his comment. One of your hands pulling some of your hair that had fallen over your face, placing it behind your ear.

“Well, it's gonna end soon 'cause you're going to lose”.

-

The game ended with the boys winning. You hadn't stopped looking at the very hot host of the party. The way his hair fell on his forehear, making him flip it up again. The way his heterochromatic eyes gazed into yours, making your body shudder. You had noticed how he was always watching you throughout the whole game. How you threw the ball. How you laughed when one of his teammates missed making Bakugou lose his cool, but mostly how he was watching you move. You knew he wanted you, and you wanted him but you couldn't. You needed space. Space away from boys that were after just your body. When the game had finished, you had excused yourself to go fetch a drink and on your way out of the massive crowded kitchen, you bumped into a rock hard chest.

“I'm sor-” you started to speak but when you saw who you had collided with, you stopped.

“No problem at all (y/n)”.

“It's just very crowded so... um... sorry” you let out a little laugh as you watched his face. Shouto could only smile as he stepped aside so you could continue to your destination, but as you started to walk he called for you. Making you turn around to face him, once again.

“Meet me upstairs at the balcony, I'll be right there”. You didn't have time to say no as he quickly dissapeared. You, being polite followed his orders and slowly moved to find where you could find the stairs. When you found them after looking for about a minute, there was a sign that said no one was allowed upstairs. Letting out a sigh, you didn't want people to watch as you “disobeyed” so you turned to walk away, but yet again, Shouto was there. He smiled at you, moving towards the stairs, lifting up the sign that was hanging on a rope so you could duck under and start walking up. He followed you, being just one step behind you.

When you finally reached the second floor you saw a long corridor and lots of doors on either side of it. Shouto walked ahead of you and you followed. He turned right at the end of it and opened a door, stepping aside and waiting for you to walk in first. “After you”.

You walked through the door and stepped out into the summer cold night. Him following suit. You became nervous, a bit anxious even. What did he want? You heard the balcony door closing as you turned your body to meet his. Shouto was holding a beer bottle, taking a sip as he watched you.

“Enjoying the party?”

“I did. But then some random dude demanded that I meet him up here so, I guess it's fine now”.

“Hah. Very funny”, he smiled as he took another gulp. You watched his adam apple as he swallowed. His thick neck, a visible vein, making your body shudder with enticipation. You wanted him, you couldn't deny that but all guys were the same. Right?

“What do you want, Todoroki?”

“I wanna get to know you. Get close to you. You intrigue me”. You took a sip of your drink as you blushed. How could you feel so effected by his words?

“What if I don't want to?”

“Then I'll make you want to” he said and took another step closer to you. As he came closer, you started backing until you felt the balcony rail against you. He was getting closer and you could feel how you started to breathe heavily. Space. I need space, you thought. “I want you, (y/n). Ever since I saw you at the beer pong earlier”.

“Oh, um... sorry T-Todoroki but I...”

“Shouto”.

“Huh?”

“Call me Shouto”.

“Oh, okay. Um. Shouto I need... space”. You let out a breath and then he shocked you with his words.

“Space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close”. Looking at him as he said those words made your head spin. The way his heterochromatic eyes were looking into yours. “I want you close, (y/n). I've never wanted someone as much as I want you right now”.

“Shouto-” his lips crashed onto yours, you having no time to finish your sentence. The people who knew you knew that you were known for never being speechless., but here you were. Speechless. You feel Shouto's hands on your waist as he pulls you even closer, ending up with you sighing, your mouth opening up to him. Shouto takes his chance and pushed his tongue into your mouth. You welcome him and your tongues start dancing with each other. In your right hand were your drink was, you put it on the broad balcony railing and then throw your arms around his neck. Your right hand grabbing hold onto his red and white hair.

His lips then pulled away, but only to travel erotic kisses on your cheek and then town towards your neck. “Fuck, I want you so bad (y/n)”. Opening your eyes, which you don't remember ever closing, you push Shouto away. Trying to catch your breath, before speaking.

“N-no. This is wrong. I can't”. You start to walk towards the door but the man himself is huge and you need to pass him in order to do that.

“I know you're scared. I'm too. I've never felt like this before. This scares me but I know one thing for sure. I want you”. You stoodstood still, not daring to move. Not wanting to move, but you had to. You knew what kind of man he was. He would just fuck and then throw you away. Just like everyone else.

“No. You want my body. Not me. Don't think for a second that you know what I want or feel!” While speaking, Shouto had moved closer to you.

“I know you're scared. But as I said. I want you. Yes, I've fucked a lot of girls at school. That won't change, but I can see in your eyes that you want me too. And if I can't have you. No one can. I always get what I want. And I want you”.

“Well, you can't have me!” Is all you said as you left Shouto on his balcony. By himself.

-

Waking up the next day, the first thing that was on your mind was him. Those heterochromatic eyes. The way his lips curved up into a half smile, half smirk. The taste of his lips. Laying on your back, your gaze at the ceiling and sigh. He was hot, you can't deny that. You wanted him, also can't deny that. Your mind travels to the night before as you remember the way his lips tasted on your neck as he confessed that he wanted you.

“Ugh, damn that piece of ass”, you grunted as you faceplanted your pillow, only to lift it and look at the watch. 12PM. Class begins in 30 minutes. They way your feet traveled to your wardrobe and how fast you were at clothing yourself and putting on makeup amazed you. 20 minutes. 10 minutes to go, you started fast walking towards your front door. Pulling on your shoes and opening it. You practically sprint to campus and towards the classroom.

Arriving at the building you see a bunch of people outside and you can't even miss his face even if you wanted to. There he was. Shouto. Wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt that sat tightly around his front, outlining his abs almost, and a leather jacket. A pair of black sunglasses covering half of his face and a smile printed on his lips. He was talking to a guy you met yesterday, Bakugou. You tried to hide as you entered the building and continued fast walk. 5 minutes left until class starts. Just as you were about to enter the room, you're swept to the side and collide with Shouto's body, just like yesterday. His cologne hitting your nose, arousing you.

“Hi (y/n)”.

“Hi Shouto. I'd love to stay and talk but I have to get to class”. You lied. You didn't want to stay. Your mind was already thinking about him enough. You didn't need more of him. But the way he was smirking at you, made you shudder and think about what that mouth of his was doing and could be doing. Arousing you even further.

“Then I'll be quick. I'm inviting you over to my place to night. Watch a movie and get to know each other”.

“Eh, you what?”

“18 o'clock. The door is open, just walk in and my dad or siblings aren't home so don't worry about them. Oh, and one last thing”, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. One of his hands placing a piece of paper in your hand. His face didn't pull back. You were holding your breath. Waiting for his next move. “I still want you (y/n)”. Pulling away, he rubs your cheek with his thumb, where his lips once were and then walks away. “Don't be late”.

Trying to get your breathing to normal you walk into class. Sitting down, you look at the little piece of paper Shouto placed in your hand. Trying not to smile at the number thats written on it. Just before the class is about to start, you create a new contact and save.

During the class all you can think about is Shouto and his lips. Your mind wanders even further and you start to think about his body. How would his body look like underneath that tight shirt of his. Biting your lip you can't control your body as you send away a quick little text to him.

“What if I don't want to come? Maybe you'll use me again as you did yesterday.” Not long after you get a reply.

“One. I never used you, you could've said no. Two. Don't act like you don't want it. I could smell your arousal when I gave you my note”. Your cheeks turning pink at his answer, you turn your phone on silent and then lock it. Damn that hot and sexy piece of ass.

-

How you ended up listening to Shouto, you'll never know. Walking into his mansion yesterday, you couldn't grasp and take in the beautiful house but now you could. Everything was clean, probably his housekeepers that the rich boy had. It smelled like lemon, quite refreshing. Looking at all the canvases and furniture, it was very modern. Your body turns around to watch some more, your steps going backwards moving further into the house. Soon you collide with something, or someone. Turning around you're faced with Shouto. Looking him up and down you see him wearing the same white shirt as before only now instead of pants he had some soccer shorts on.

“I'm beginning to think you like to crash into me”. His voice oozes confidance, a smirk on his lips. That damn smirk and those damn lips.

“You're just catching me off guard, that's all”. Simple and honest answer. He moves so he is only inches from you.

“I'm gonna kiss you know”. His words leaving you again speechless and as he lowers his head so it matches your height, you forget once again how to breathe and as his lips connect to yours, you close your eyes and let yourself be embraced by this very sexy and hot human being. His arms wrap around your body and your arms around his neck. The kiss starts innocent but as you both sigh into each others mouth, you both also push it even further, making your tongues dance once again. This only lasts for a few seconds as his lips, just like yesterday travel to your neck. He's kissing, biting and licking at your neck making you let out a soft moan. “Can I take you to my room?”

“Yes”, you answer, because you know that you won't be able to hide this anymore. You want that man and he want you. Even if it means for a night. Shouto lips crash to yours agan and he lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. He starts walking while you cling to him like some kind of koala and not letting go. But soon it's over as he walks into a room and he throws you onto the soft mattress, your back hitting the soft bed. Shouto stays on the floor, his arms going over his shoulders as he pushes the shirt over his head and you get a good look at his tone bulky body. His stomach showing that he does work out, the way his abs glisten from the lights that shines in from the sky. Your gaze continue down and you see the V line. His boxer breifs and shorts hanging low on his hips. You start biting you bottom lip and wonder what he will do next.

“Take of your shirt” he demands and you listen. Sitting up you throw your shirt over your head and onto the floor next to the bed. Shouto moves in closer and start leave a trail of kisses. He begins on your stomach and slowly move upwards. His right hand finds your bra clasp behind your back and undo it, his left hand grabbing a hold of your bra and throws it on the floor. He takes a look at your naked chest, you begin to try to cover yourself, feeling ashamed but he stops you. His left hand holds both of your arms over your head and his mouth starts sucking on your right nipple. “Don't hide from me. You're fucking perfect” he speaks. You let out a moan as he keeps on sucking on your nipple and moving over to your left one. When he feels satisfied he lets go of your arms and both of his hands begin to unbutton your pants and drags them down your legs, yoyr hips liftin to make it easier for him. He then starts kissing around your private parts, teasing you. His lips leaving wet and erotic kisses on your inner thighs making you gasp and moan, wanting more.

“Shouto please” you whine, wanting more. Wanting his lips and tongue on your center.

“Shh baby, I'm taking my time” he responds and pulls away. Hooking his fingers on the waistband of your lace thong he pulls them down your legs and then looks at your exposed area. “I'm gonna make you cum with my tongue” he promises and wastes no more precious time and starts to devour your cunt.

“Oh my-” you moan out as you feel how starts to eat you out. Your juices tasting like heaving on his tongue. The way he moves it is like nothing you've ever felt before. His tongue moves and starts to flick on your sensitive nub and then two fingers thrusts inside you. “F-fuck Shouto”.

“I want you to scream my name louder, you hear that, precious?” You can only moan louder in an attempt to answer him. His fingers going in and out of you, his tongue sucking on your clit. He then throws your legs on his shoulders, your shoulders being the only thing touching his bed as he continues to devour you. He adds another finger inside you, making it three. You feel the tension inside you build up, you know what this feeling was. You were close and he had only just started. What is it with this man?

“Sho-uto... I'm... close” you pant and moan as you try to tell him that, not that he really needs to know since that was his plan all along.

“Cum for me precious” and that does it for you.

“S-SHOUTO!!” You come. Around his fingers. On his tongue. This feeling making you feel numb. As Shouto grabs a hold of your legs that's on his shoulders he begins to lower them, but only to flip you over so your front collides with the mattress. His hands then pull your hips up so that your ass is up but your front still touching the soft bed. You hear how he pulls his underwear and shorts off in one swoop. You can hear how he walks and opens a drawer, pulling out something plastic like; a condom. He soon returns and the bed dips, meaning he's behind you.

“I'm gonna fuck you now, precious!” His voice echos in your head. You wiggle your butt and push your hips backwards, wanting his cock inside you.

“Please Shouto”.

“Please what, precious?”

“Please fuck me” and with that he thrusts into you. A sharp moan escaping your lips as you close your eyes and feel him around your walls.

“F-fuck (y/n). You're so tight around my cock”. His hips aren't moving. Them being still as he wants you to get used to his size, and you're thankful. You thought he was big, but the fact that he makes your walls stretch is mindbowing. You start to slowly thrust your hips, an innuendo for him to start moving and he does. His hips starts to thrust inside you, a slow pace at first but he quickly speeds up, just as your moans keep getting louder and louder. His left hand grabs a hold of your hair, holding it tightly and drags it up so you're on all four. “How can you even get wetter, precious?”

“Harder” the word escapes your lips as he listens and starts to pound even harder. The only sound in his room being the slapping of his thighs hitting your butt cheeks, his grunts and your moans. His right hand comes down hard on your left butt cheek, making it sting but it also gives you pleasure. He repeats the same action with your right one. His cock that gives you so much pleasure, hitting your g-spot, making you feel euphoric. You never want it to stop, you want it to last forever, but the same feeling that you only had minutes before comes rising again and you know you're close. Again.

“Cum for me, (y/n). Come around my cock, precious”.

“Mhm, God Shouto I'm so close” you moan out. His thrusts get faster as he continues hitting your g-spot only faster and harder. “I-I'm coooming”. You cum around his cock and as he continues to pound for a few seconds more, he follows suit.

“Fuck (y/n)!!” Shouto grunts out. Your knees give out and you collapse, him following suit, landing on your back. You both breathe heavily as you both get down from your high, him still being inside you. You stay silent, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing to leave. You can't stay here.

“I should go” you whisper loud enough for him to hear.

“Why?”

“Well... you got what you want so I should leave, right? This was a one time thing” you hear him sigh and pulls out of you, but flips you over leaving you shocked and breathless.

“Listen here precious. I'm gonna say this once, only once so listen fucking carefully. Don't think that you know me, because you dont. What I want is you. You. All of you. Your heart, mind, soul and body. Ever since yesterday I haven't stopped thinking about you at all. Your in my mind, all the fucking time so please. Let me in, let me take care of you and... love you because I wont hurt you”. You stay silent for a minute or two, taking in what he said. Letting out a big breath, you smile and reply.

“Okay”.

“'kay? Good” he pulls away so his weight is on his knees, he pulls away the condom and throws it on the floor, somewhere. “You're on the pill, right?”

“Um, yeah” you answer, blushingly.

“Good”, he replies and thrusts into you. Feeling his naked skin aginst your own. He lies on top of you, his forearms on either side of your head. Your arms go around his back, your nails scraping his back. “Now, I'm gonna make love to you”. He kisses you softly and begins to move his hips, you two being close to each other and not wanting it any other way, just as Shouto had said the night before; “space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close” and you were scared, but not anymore.

[oscar-lime]

Evil Oz / Salem reincarnates AU?

I'm not super sure what to call it yet... info under the cut because I've been planning this one for awhile now.

Feel free to ask me any questions about it!

• The rules for immortality are different. Salem maybe ends up in a soul different from hers that is meant to help her learn and grow. Maybe Ozpin has to live forever to learn a certain lesson as well (trust? Honesty? Just based on something he is known for doing wrong... I'm not sure on this one yet.)

• Instead of a merge, the more dominant soul in the body will eventually gain most of the control. The other will start to struggle to be in control at all until they are just a voice in the back of the other's mind.

• Salem took control of most of her lives by force... she hated not being in control. Oscar was her youngest host, and she ended up thinking back on her children... so she is now trying to make sure he is himself, and trying to make sure he ends up the body's main soul for a change. Even a heartless monster sometimes feels bad when she realizes her next life is a child.

• Oscar can control grimm, but it takes time and practice. Salem's magic is also extremely powerful, so he struggles to hold it in now since he does not know how to control it at all. (She just really wants him to hit the point where he can control the hound.)

• When using Salem's power to control grimm, Oscar's veins temporarily turn red/black (it's a gradient of both colors)

• "Hello Oscar, I'm Salem. Now leave this sad little farm and go to my castle." "*loud screaming*"

• Hazel is the one to realize Oscar is the next Salem. He has her inner circle. She gained them in slightly different ways in her past lives.

Hazel: Ozma sent his sister into another kingdom, then staged her death and made it appear to be a murder to cause conflict between the kingdoms.

Tyrian: Salem wanted someone ready to kill and cause destruction when she needed it. So she offered him the opportunity to kill whenever he wanted (as long as he followed her orders and didn't kill any of her allies.. she always provides him with grimm or prisoners to harm) and for her to hide him away from the law.

Watts: He could make whatever he wanted and she would provide the materials, but in return he had to help her with technology anytime she requested.

Cinder: She was offered revenge. Salem explained what huntsman and huntresses truly are to her, and offered to help her become strong enough to take revenge on the ones who ignored her when she needed help the most.

Emerald, Mercury, and Neo all still followed Cinder.

Roman was actually hired by Ozma for that whole thing with the trains, along with Adam and the White Fang. Ozma chose to destroy his school like that KNOWING it would cause conflict.

• Ozma is immortal. His inner circle is not actually aware of what he is planning. He wants to watch humanity tear itself apart.

• Of course even if they learn of Salem's existence and unite, it still benefits him since they would be fighting against her, and he could use the tension to draw in more grimm and doubt between the nations

• Oz is ALWAYS subtly feeding Ironwood's paranoia. He hopes James will cause a war for him amongst humanity.

• STRQ originally, like every other huntsman and huntress, believed they were doing good. They had no idea Ozpin had been manipulating all of humanity and the academies just to do his bidding. Some "criminals" are truly innocent. They just stood against Oz in someway so they were wanted dead or alive. If he gets them alive he makes sure to make them regret even daring to stand against him... and of course he doesn't want word spreading.

• Raven left when she found out Ozma's true intentions.

• Tai just settled down with his family and is staying out of it. He figures he has time before the world ends, Ozma can't work that fast right? His kids would totally have time to grow up. (He was heartbroken hearing them say they want to go to Beacon)

• Summer actually discovered Ozma's plans, and was killed for trying to fight against him. She wasn't aware of Salem, so she stood up to him on her own.

• Qrow couldn't believe Oz was bad, not after everything he'd done for them. So he stayed around. Ozma has his inner circle tricked into believing he is saving the world.

• Oz still gave out his magic. Two watchbirds are very helpful after all. The maidens are human, the potential they have to cause chaos and destruction is amazing! Plus then the relics are hidden, so Salem CAN'T summon the gods.

• Jaune died. Pyrrha found out something was fishy when she was supposed to be getting the maiden powers, so she got out of the transfer machine with her semblance when she and Jaune realized. She started out fighting Ozpin, but Jaune ended up taking her place because he had the big shield and told her to go warn the others about what was going on.

• So after the fall the group still travels on, just now they want to get the relics AWAY from Oz and to a safe place. They join up with Oscar + Salem's crew eventually

The lamp is the reason Qrow turns against Oz. When they ask what he is hiding the backstory reveals how he began to hate humanity with time, and the joy he took in watching them fight and destroy each other. Qrow is shattered by the truth since he was supposed to be the one hunting the kids down, but he then decides he has to protect them... and apologizes for not believing them.

Oz still has the upper hand though. Salem only has the fall maiden (the one with the hardest to find relic anyway), some henchmen, and a bunch of children. Oz has humanity already starting to argue and nations not trusting one another, plus the academies at his command. Atlas is going nuts because Ironwood is much more paranoid since Oz has been feeding into that.

• Leo did actually still have connections to Salem. His family was sent to live in her castle for their protection, and in return he snuck her team into Beacon. She gave the orders in her old vessel from her castle. But she made her way there around the fall because she wanted her team out safely. It's not always easy for her to find new minions after all, and she didn't want to lose the fall maiden.

• She had a team in the school to try and figure out what Oz is planning, exactly how he tricks the students, and where the relic might be hidden.

• Leo ends up killed by Qrow (poor bird man), as he is one of Ozma's most loyal followers before he turns and considers what Leo did a horrible betrayal.

The Atlas arc goes EXTREMELY different. Penny is sent to actually hunt down RWBY and co at first, but when she sees it's them she doesn't fight them very hard. She doesn't want to take them... they get away, and encounter her again when they head to Pietro for Maria's eyes. She prepares to fight them, but Maria and Pietro quickly stop both sides. After a long explanation of everything, Pietro and Penny are on their side (since Pietro already could see something was fishy just from his work on the inside)

The happy huntresses recongnize the main cast as fugitives right away and absolutely love them. They weren't sure what these kids did, but placed more blame for the main groups criminal status on authority instead of the kids. The group was happy to have allies to stay with and work with behind Ironwoods back.

Monstra pulls up (Atlas was raised, unfortunately) and RWBY, NOPR, and Qrow are like "Yeah that... that is our ride."

There was definitely still some bloodshed in Atlas. Qrow almost convinced Clover of the truth... buuuut then Tyrian happened and Qrow had the same reaction...

Now the group can't leave Atlas because Mantle is struggling and Qrow and Robyn got arrested.

Oscar is kidnapped by Ozma. He is trying to learn what Salem is planning, where she is hiding the relic of knowledge, and where she is keeping now her two maidens. Out of Oz's inner circle, he chooses to trust Glynda to do the right thing since for obvious reasons, Hazel is not torturing him this time around.

Oscar's outfit is different this time. Orange is his main color, so he keeps the orange. Maybe he gets some sort of cape, but with long sleeves for the cold he tosses over his farmer outfit. He could be influenced by Salem since she is a part of him without realizing and maybe change the gloves to red, and have some red (or red and orange) on his cape. I'm not sure the exact colors yet. Basically though his little cape thing is a jacket that just... doesn't really go past the sleeves. It was the only thing I could think of that wasn't just another hood, and the cape seemed fitting because of Salem's subtle influence. (Oscar does not want to kill people, Salem has no problem killing people. She will forcibly take control of him if she feels he is in danger.)

Silver eyes work a bit differently here. They are basically angels, and their power works best on grimm. However, if they begin to truly believe a human is just as bad as a monster or see them in the same light (even without realizing) they can do a bit of damage to them as well (Maybe turn a bit of them to stone, blast off part of them, badly burn them, etc.).

[toribun]

αγάπη

words:: 4,6k

Pairing:: idol!/soulmate!Jimin x soulmate!reader

Warnings:: swearing, talk about social anxiety, some bad talk about chimchim, a mention about becoming lesbian, future angst, future smut.

a/n :: my first language is not English. So this likely contains a gazillion spelling mistakes.

CHAPTER 1

You feel the sand and salt in the wind. The wind has picked up since you first came outside to sit on the floor of your terrace. You sat with your legs crossed and the envelope in your hands.

It was heavier than you had imagined.

Your tailbone was starting to ache from sitting on the stone floor for too long. You started to regret not buying that outdoor chair you liked from the marked in town. It was way too expensive though, and probably wouldn’t be used that much either. You preferred to sit inside with the air conditioner on anyway.

You didn’t know how long you have been sitting here, but it was long enough for the little neighbor girl to eat up her ice cream and run down to the edge of the beach. She couldn’t be more than five or six years old.

The situation was not something you could avoid anymore as you have done for the last twenty years. You were lucky really. Some got their soulmate announced before they could even talk. You thought about all the helpless parents of little girls losing their daughters before they had even gotten a chance at truly knowing them. You thought about all the little girls that would forget about their mommy and daddy, only to know their soulmate's family. Being raised by a family that isn’t theirs.

You were one of the lucky girls. But you still couldn’t help feeling sorry for yourself as you opened the mailbox to find a letter from TISO. You have been having nightmares about that specific letter for as long as you can remember. You were quite young to be getting a letter from them. The average age was around thirty years. Then again there were babies being matched up, you were just younger than average.

A couple of weeks ago you came over a news article about a soulmate couple in Brazil that got their letters at the age of fifty-seven. Making them the oldest matched soulmates in recorded history.

When you reach the age of forty TISO stops taking you in for the yearly meetings, and you are considered to be one of the unlucky ones. One of the few that has a soulmate that died before getting to meet them.

However, even though TISO stops taking you in for the yearly meetings doesn’t mean that they stop looking for your soulmate.

They still look but makes it quite clear that the chances of your soulmate still being alive are slim.

The science of soulmates is ancient. Dating back as far as the 11th century, as far as we know. But many people strongly believe that Adam and Eva were the first soulmates and that it has never been humans existing without a soulmate. Thousands of years later humanity has grown and humans living in the late 18th century figured they needed a system where humans where in charge of helping everyone find their soulmates.

It wasn’t an option anymore to let people do it on their own when the chances of one succeeding were so little with the growing population.

Country’s all over the world began to work together to fight the growing crisis of humans that fail to find their soulmates.

And after many years in the making, the scientists finally made a breakthrough. They found that you can find similarities between the soulmate's blood patterns, brain activity, and even things like pain reaction, reflexes, and responsiveness to sensibility.

And so TISO was born. One huge building in each and every capital in the world. The headquarter located in London, England.

To this day, only upgrades in the technology have been made as changes in the organization. The mission that TISO stands for and how they check for matches is still the same as when they first started.

The system requires us to come in once a year on the same date to give an interview, get blood taken, do a full medical exam, and take pictures. And with that, they set to work.

You have always dreaded the day you would open your mailbox to find that letter. Not really seeing it as a blessing as so many others do. You didn’t want a letter. You wanted to be able to travel wherever you want, live with your family and loved ones, and be free from the responsibilities of having a soulmate.

As a woman, you are forced to move in with the male as soon as possible after receiving the letter. The reason is that males have a connection with their soulmates even before touching them. Women don’t get that connection before they touch their soulmate. Having gotten to know your soulmates is out there starts a reaction in males’ body. Making their body temperature higher. After a couple of days of no physical contact with their soulmate, the males start getting more out of control and are forced by TISO to go into self-isolation for the safety of others.

However, as a woman, you can request being given extra time if you live in another country, have a sick family member, or have another valid reason to ask TISO for more time. Though it considered one of the most disrespectful things to do as a soulmate, especially when the male is suffering the consequences of the woman’s choice. So, a lot of women don’t request more time, simply too afraid to be judged by society, her soulmate, and her soulmate's family.

You were currently on your terrace in Greece. You have lived here in the summer months working with your aunt in the family-owned beach bar for the last three years. You were getting tired of your own country and needed an escape. Working as a bartender in a beach bar the whole summer didn’t sound so bad at the time. Though you quickly understood how wrong you were after only a week of work in the scorching sun.

Luckily you are now only given the night shifts so that you can avoid working in the sun all day. Your body simply not built for weather like this. You didn’t grow up in a country with a hot climate, and it strongly shows. On the few occasions you had gone out in the sun in the middle of the day, you always ended up with a sunburn on the tip of your nose and the tips of your ears. Your cheeks were also victims of the sun, becoming bright pink and making you look like you were constantly blushing.

You never imaged that you would get the letter when staying here. You always imagined that you would get your letter at home on a cold winter day. When everything else was as depressing as the letter itself. You thought that you would be a closer distance to your mom. So that you could read the letter with her.

It’s funny how things never end up happening the way you imagine them.

The beige-colored envelope that laid in your lap had your name on it in beautiful calligraphy letters. TISO’s logo was printed on in the left corner. The black, white, and gold logo are so familiar to you. The envelope looked expensive, or at least more expensive than the ones you usually buy at the post office. You took a look at TISO’s logo again. This was the letter, it was no questioning it.

Your hands were beginning to shake as you lifted up the heavy envelope and put your thumb under the right side of the opening and pushed it up. You dragged your thumb from the right corner all the way to the left. Then put your hand inside to drag out the pages inside.

The first word that catches your attention is the word “congratulations”. It was printed on in big, black letters on the very first page of the fairly thick stack of papers. It was almost mocking you.

Who was in charge of designing the letters sent out, because it really wasn’t necessary with those big letters.

What a waste of ink.

Your move from the floor to sit down in the stairwell instead. The wind coming from the ocean is tossing your hair back and forth.

You could see your aunt's bar at the end of the beach. And your uncle’s car parked the small parking lot behind it. Your uncle almost never drove that car unless he brought friends with him. Always saying that the gas prices in the small island are ridiculously high and that he would never pay for it unless it was absolutely necessary. Though you didn’t understand how driving friends to the beach bar was considered necessary for him.

Your small and simple house was only a notch up from being on the beach. Whitestone walls and two floors. Still, you could barely fit the bed on the second floor, and it was honestly a miracle that you had enough space for the couch on the first floor.

The small town you spent your summers in was located on a hill with a long sand beach at the bottom. The house you rented was owned by an old lady living in the house just a few meters up from you. She would always pinch your cheeks whenever you visited her, making you blush. She lived alone now. She had two daughters but both of them got matched young with a soulmate living on the other side of the world. She barely got to see them as both of their soulmates had important jobs and didn’t let them travel alone. Her soulmate died just a couple of years before you got here. It seems like a sad way to die, no soulmate or family around. You find yourself wishing to only give birth to boys. You didn’t want to end up alone like her.

You took a look at the beach. It was filled with tourists sunbathing and swimming in the ocean and lots of kids running on the white sand. You could only imagine how hot that sand must be now. The clock was half-past eleven in the morning. It had to be at least thirty-seven degrees Celsius outside. You have burned your feet on that sand more times than you can count. You could feel the sand in the air as the wind picked up again. You looked down at your hands again and began reading the first page.

“Congratulations (y/n) (y/l/n). We are pleased to inform you that we have made a match between you and your soulmate”

“In the next pages, you will find all the information you need. If you have any questions regarding this letter you can contact us via our mail. We do appreciate that you only use our helpline number for emergencies. Thank you for your cooperation.

TISO”

You flip the page and felt your stomach drop to the bottom of the ocean. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Name: Park Ji-min (박지민)”

“Birthplace: Busan, South Korea”

“Currently lives: Seoul, South Korea”

“Languages: Korean”

He lives in South Korea and only speak Korean.

Well, fuck.

You continued to read. The information listed everything from blood type, hobbies, bank account number, social security number, family members, and occupation. The next ten pages were just filled to the brim with so much personal information. It honestly is a little scary to have this much information on paper about someone you don’t even know. It made you feel like some FBI agent going undercover. You felt like you were reading a file on the target for the mission. They shouldn’t be allowed to send this much personal information about someone over the fucking mail. It made you a little nervous. Thinking about the letter that includes all of your information, just traveling around the mail on the other side of the world. If the letter you got has his bank account number, that means that the letter he got has yours as well.

You thought back to all the money that you had used on food the last months. You remember telling yourself that you deserved all of that fast food because of your hard day at work. It was a horrible excuse honestly. And now you must suffer the consequences. He probably thinks you weigh a thousand kilos now and are just wobbling around Greece. You face palmed yourself and let out a groan of annoyance.

You flipped through the words on the next few pages. Not really bothering to read everything as attentively. The letter was making you uncomfortable. It felt wrong to snoop around in someone else’s business. Even if he was your soulmate. You know you would not be happy if someone snooping through your personal shit. But then again that probably exactly what he was doing on the other side of the world right now.

How much was the clock in Korea if it was almost twelve in the morning here? Surely it must be night. You hoped it was so that you can have a few more hours to mentally prepare for the image of him reading and judging every decision you have ever made.

Oh God, what a fucking disaster.

You came to a page viewing all of his bank transactions for the last 3 months and his income. You started biting the very tips of your fingers to try to calm yourself down. If your horrible way of spending your money wasn’t enough of an embarrassment, he just had to be a fucking millionaire. that’s just fantastic isn’t. Here you were working your ass off by making cocktails all night to rude tourists, just so you don’t die from starvation. While he was on the other side of the world bathing in money. He was probably a butthole. Most rich people are.

Why does he have to be rich, it makes this whole situation a thousand times worse. You know that asking TISO for more time now was useless. You and everybody else on this planet know that TISO favored the rich and famous. Always giving them special treatment. They tell people like you that it’s nothing they can do to speed up the process of matching soulmates, but then tell people like them that they will do it for an insanely big amount of money. That’s why so many rich people have kids that aren’t theirs. They just bribe TISO and get their son's soulmates as young as possible. It truly disgusts you.

Has he given any money to TISO? To speed things up? You were not that young but then again you were not that old either.

You turned back to the second page where the information about his occupation was.

“Occupation: singer, producer, songwriter, dancer”

“Works for: BigHit Entertainment, Co”

Before you could process any of the information you just read, your phone started ringing. The number was unfamiliar to you but was a Greek number. Even though you had spent the whole summer here for three years you didn’t have that many friends here. It was a small town and most of its inhabitants were forty years and up, making it I bit hard to find someone to just hang out with. You could’ve tried to make friends with some of the tourists but they would all just travel back to their home country’s after two- or three-weeks tops. The few people that you had befriended on the small island is already in your contact.

You let the person calling to voicemail, but as soon as the ringing stopped it started again. You had a small phone phobia, not really feeling too comfortable with talking to someone you didn’t know the face of. Texting was more your cup of tea. Is was less of a commitment, and nobody would question you if you used a little extra time to answer a question. If you just stopped responding to think while talking to someone on the phone, they would think that you were crazy.

When the person called for the third time you decided to pick up. Maybe it was just someone calling the wrong number or maybe your aunt or uncle’s phone died and they needed to call you. Maybe they borrowed a phone from a customer. Or maybe one of your friends have switched number.

“Hello?”

You said into the speaker of the phone. You tried to sound as confident as possible. What if it was a seller? Oh no, you hated phone sellers. You always become nervous and then end up buying shit you don’t need.

“Hello, am I talking to (y/n) (y/l/n)”

it was a woman on the other end. Her voice is quite dark pitched for a woman. She had a small accent you notice as she said your name. It sounded almost like a French accent, not anything like the Greek accent you have grown so used to over your stay in Greece.

“Yes, that’s me. Is there anything I can help you with? Do I know you?”

God, you sound so nervous (y/n), she is gonna think you are a ten-year-old girl that stole her mother’s phone. Honestly is it possible to get higher pitched?

“Oh, that’s great, I was afraid I called the wrong number for a second there. I tried to call you two times before but you didn’t pick up”

great thank you very much for making me feel great about myself.

“Y-yeah, sorry, I.. um... I was on the toilet”

you are really nailing this phone call (y/n), why don’t you just say you masturbated in the shower while you are at it.

You fucking idiot.

“Sorry for disturbing you then miss (y/l/n). I am really happy you picked up the phone. I have some things to discuss with you. It’s quite important you see”

she was talking fast. It almost seemed like she was excited. Is it okay to ask someone to talk slower? Or is that considered rude? Maybe she will think I am bullying her because of her accent.

“Mm.,” you said. Slightly dragging the m out and then taking it up and down to sound interested.

“Okay so, I am a manager working under BigHit entertainment. I am calling you because one of our employees just got his soulmate letter with your name on the first page. I would like to congratulate you and would love to have a meeting with you as soon as possible to discuss your move to South Korea”

I just had to stop her there.

“Umm excuse me, but you are not allowed to contact me at the moment, there are rules against that. None of you are allowed to have any contact with me before the move. I would love for you to spread the message to the rest of the company you are working for, thanks”

It is true. TISO doesn’t have a lot of rules for us to follow but there were a few basic ones that everyone knew. One of them is that no contact is to be made between the newly matched soulmates before they are actually able to meet face to face. That also includes friends or family of the soulmates. It protects the female's time with their family and loved ones before she had to move. You could actually report them for this shit.

“Well, actually I am allowed to. You see I don’t know your soulmate personality and are not related to him in any way. But anyway, I am truly honored to be chosen to take this call today miss (y/l/n) you should know that.”

Before I can ask her why she continued on.

“I am not sure you are aware of this miss (y/l/n) but your soulmate is really important for our company. And that makes you important for us too. We would like you to know that we will do anything and everything to make this time as comfortable as possible for you until you are safe in the arms of Jimin. We will take care of everything that needs to be done so that you don’t need to be stressed for the next few days. Remember that Jimin’s bond with you has now started, meaning that you need to be were careful with what you do in the next few days. We don’t want him to be getting more nervous than he already is”

She breathes out. Then in again.

Is there an off button on this human?

“Our CEO has already booked the flights for you and has hired a moving crew to help you pack everything ready. Your plane leaves in two days. I am going to personally be picking you up and taking care of you the whole journey. You have nothing to worry about now miss (y/l/n) you are now officially a part of the BigHit family, we will be taking care of you from now on. Jimin is very excited to meet you and is now making sure that everything is ready for your arrival. He has been waiting a long time for you miss (y/l/n). The whole company is so glad that he finally received his letter.”

She sounds so excited, but at the same time, it almost felt like she is reading an IKIA manual or something. It’s just so much, how could she possibly remember what to say without a script.

She has to be reading from a script.

She started to talk again.

“I am on my way to the airport at this very moment miss (y/l/n) and will be at your house with the moving crew and security guards tomorrow morning. You can save this number to your contact as Mrs.Kim. If you need anything or have any questions you can call this number at any time.”

I try to pick up enough courage before opening my mouth to speak.

“Umm... listen Mrs.Kim. I don’t mean to be a party pooper but I would really appreciate if you don’t come. And also, if you could tell your boss that’s I appreciate his effort and all that, but I get free airplane tickets from TISO before the move. So, him buying extra tickets really Isn’t necessary. And also, I plan on contacting TISO about getting more time with my family before the move because I haven’t seen them in a while... So yeah..”

Mrs.Kim let out a surprised breath.

“You can’t possibly mean that miss (y/l/n)”

You interrupt her. Why does she have to be so formal? It made you feel old.

“Can you please just call me (y/n), it is no need to talk so formally with me...please”

You could image Mrs.Kim nodding her head. Maybe You were wrong but it helped you to calm down your nerves a little bit to have a face to the voice you are talking to.

“(Y/n), it is really important that you don’t do that. You have no idea what that would do to our company. We can’t have a soulmate to one of our biggest idols asking for more time away from them. Do you have any idea who bad that would be? It would be on the cover of every magazine and newspaper in the whole world. Not to mention how much it would blow up on social media. (Y/n) you have to understand that we are moving as fast as we can to make sure that you are safe. And to make sure that nobody is able to hurt you in any way before your arrival in Korea. You would have already been on a plane here right now if we had gotten to decide the whole process.”

Magazine and newspaper? Who the hell is this guy you got matched with?

“What do you mean for my safety? And what do you mean it’s going to be the cover of magazines? What the hell is going on”

You raised your voice at the end, looking to the neighbors to see if they were looking at you. They were all inside now, abandoning the heat of the sun for the air conditioner. You should do that too, but you were worried that your legs might fail you if you tried to stand up now.

“(Y/n) don’t you have any idea who Jimin is? He is an idol (y/n), a really successful idol. He is a celebrity, and every fan he has around the world has been waiting patiently for this moment to happen for many years (y/n). That means that the first thing the media is going to do when the new match is made public in TISO’s archive eighteen hours from now is going to find you. They need pictures, backstory, family, and everything else they can get their hands on. Doing this alone isn’t an option we are willing to give you (y/n). So, you can contact TISO if you want, but I think you already know that our lawyers have a million reasons to give to TISO on why it is a horrible decision to give you more time.”

The guy is famous. Your soulmate is famous and you have a fear of cameras, not even letting your closest family take pictures of you. How the hell are you paired with a guy that has a camera up his ass twenty-four seven? It doesn’t make any sense.

She was right though. You would never win against their lawyers.

“O-okay. When are you going to be here again? I wouldn’t contact TISO... I promise”

Your voice was back to normal, as you tried to focus on not fainting by how stressed you currently are.

“I am going to be there in thirteen hours. Just calm down okay? I am bringing a full security team with me, you are going to be safe. TISO doesn’t publish any private information about you, just your name, and confirmation on who your soulmate is. If you lay low and don’t talk about this to anyone, we should be fine. Can you do that (y/n)?

“Yes,” you answered.

Mrs.Kim told you once more to relax and that I had nothing to worry about before she hangs up the phone.

You stand up to move inside again, picking up all the papers laying on the stairs. Your butt has fallen asleep and your tailbone hurts beyond imagination. You didn’t realize how long you had been sitting outside, too caught up in the phone call you just had.

You didn’t know what to think or do after that conversation. You had promised that you wouldn’t contact TISO and even though you wished you could, you knew that Mrs.Kim was right. You had no chance of winning a lawsuit against them.

You knew you couldn’t travel back home to your parent’s ether, you were not allowed to travel anywhere except to him after you had received that letter.

You would have to be with him for the next two months too, no travel or working for more than four hours a day. This period was known as the resting period. This is the time when the soulmate bond is the most fragile. The newly matched couple need to bond before they can go back to normal.

And after you had settled in South Korea in the resting period, you would need permission from your soulmate that he allowed you to travel unaccompanied.

You knew it would be a while before you could travel back home again. And if this ‘Jimin’ guy was one of those possessive soulmates, then maybe you would never be able to travel home again.

The thought made you sad. You shouldn’t have started working here in the summers. You should have just spent as much time with your parents as possible.

And with that in though you called your mom. You had to warn her about what’s about to come.

[fictorium]

I don’t if you’re still taking prompts but would you consider: 40. “I never stood a chance, did I?” I always wondered about what it would have been like if Mon-El had said this to Kara about Cat

40. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

Cat could ignore the invitation. In an average week she turns down at least twenty, from brunches to club openings, and doesn’t feel bad about any of them. She makes a point of showing up for her designated charities, for anything Carter asks of her, and the occasional time Adam requests her presence. 

But the housewarming of her former assistant? That shouldn’t even be on Cat’s radar, but she’s between assistants and Kara is one of the few contacts whose missives have been marked as enough of a priority to always break through the noise. It’s been glaring at Cat for what feels like a month, although in reality there’s been only a socially-acceptable week between invite and event. 

The worst part is that Kara isn’t even moving house. She’s still in that converted-whatever downtown that Cat had valued and safety-assessed by her own realtor just to be sure that Kara’s living situation didn’t pose a risk to Cat’s security. Which was a ridiculous pretext, rendered even less necessary by the revelation that Kara is Supergirl. Which, if anything, makes her home more regularly invaded but inherently well-defended. 

No, apparently someone is moving in. Someone called Mike, of all the generic things. Cat has dated a Mike or two in her time and always found them to be lacking, even though it wasn’t technically the name at fault. He’s being welcomed into Kara’s home and her life, presumably a first step on the way to engagement, marriage, and whatever babies might be possible between the anatomy of a Kryptonian and whatever this ‘Mike’ is. Cat finds herself hoping he might be a cardboard cut-out, knowing Kara he’ll have the personality of one while she makes up for his considerable faults. 

So. Absolutely no reason for Cat to attend. To even acknowledge. And yet she clicks the stupid button and confirms her very stupid attendance, because really, what will it cost her after all these months to show up with a nice bottle of something and leave after fifteen minutes? Miranda taught her that trick back in Gotham. 

It’s exactly what she expects, from the moment Cat first steps out of her town car and surveys the apartment building door, propped open with a crate of empty bottles, presumably so no one is responsible for letting visitors up one by one. The music--cheesy and poptastic and full of those infuriating summer beats that get wedged in Cat’s head no matter how much she tries to avoid it--wafts down the stairs to meet her. 

She could be at a launch event hosted by Bruno Mars right now. Or at dinner with Hillary and Huma. Instead Cat is picking her way up a staircase populated by people she’s fairly sure she’s still technically employing, some of whom scatter in habitual fear. At least that never gets old. 

Then she’s at the apartment door, wide open of course, and the space is similarly populated with people Cat vaguely recognizes, including someone her brain has filed away as some kind of federal agent, talking to that Will boy who used to be in her IT department. 

Before Cat can think better of it, suddenly the crowd seems to part and Kara is there, completely with a brand new beaming smile the moment she sets eyes on Cat, right in the middle of her living room. Amongst the fairy lights and the way everyone else in that room fades into the background in an instant, Cat begins to wonder if Richard Curtis is now directing inside her head. 

“You came!” Kara glides over a little too fast to be human, enveloping Cat in the kind of hug she wants to collapse into. Just like every other one they’ve shared. “I thought you must have clicked yes by accident, or your new assistant did, but I hoped you really would come.”

“Do you hang on to all your guests this long?” Cat says, regretting it the second Kara pulls back. 

“Sorry, it’s just been a while since I saw you.”

“I’m aware. Your apartment is... interesting.”

Kara just smiles even more at the half-compliment. “I’ll get you a drink. Don’t worry, I kept a bottle of something decent and a clean glass set aside for you.”

The relief at not being offered punch in a solo cup passes through Cat like a tidal wave, and she accepts the tumbler with at least a triple-shot of Scotch gratefully. The first sip fortifies her. 

“I know this isn’t really the best place to talk,” Cat says as something by Justin Timberlake takes over the speakers. “But I wanted to bring you something. For the housewarming.”

“Well, it’s not really for me. You see--”

“Still,” Cat interrupts. “It’s a milestone for anyone. I wanted you to have something more permanent than wine or some awful condiment set that you’ll only open during a power cut.”

She fishes out the small gift bag from inside her purse and hands it over. Kara scans the crowd. “Do we need to open it together, or can I...?”

“Really it’s just for you,” Cat says, downing the rest of her drink. It’s a decent single malt, and she shouldn’t have rushed it. “You can open it later.”

“No, wait,” Kara replies, and with a boldness borne of not being under Cat’s thumb every day, she actually takes Cat by the forearm and steers her through the space, past some curtains which mark off the bedroom area. It’s even more of a twinkling-light, pastels and faded woodwork paradise, but it’s so utterly Kara that Cat aches to see it. Without thinking, she strides across and sits on the end of the bed.

“Go on then.” Cat hasn’t even taken her coat off yet, though it’s a light one. She watches out of the corner of her eye as Kara unpacks the box inside the bag, pulling out the silver ornament with a gasp. 

“How...” Kara moves into Cat’s sightline, refusing to be ignored or deflected. “Do you know what this is?”

“I did some research. Got a message to another person from... where you’re from.”

“But the only way you could do that is through... James wouldn’t. Ms Grant, did you ask Lois Lane for help?”

“I might have used her to relay a message to Superman, yes. He sent me a drawing, I sent it to the designer, it was nothing. Really.”

“Lois will never let you forget you needed a favor,” Kara replies, holding up the delicate silver ornament on its white ceramic base. “And I should be denying any knowledge of this shape, of these branches.”

“It’s a ring tree, Kara. Somewhere to keep your jewelry together now that someone is invading your space. It used to drive me crazy when things were knocked off my nightstand, or moved from beside the sink and... anyway. A practical thing.”

“In the shape of the last ever tree to grow on Krypton. The ones my family takes its name from. Oh! Look, the crest. Etched right into the base.”

“Sounds like a really thoughtful gift,” says a male voice from somewhere behind Cat. She turns to see a generically handsome male, human at first glance. “Kind of thing someone who really cares about you would get.”

“Mo--Mike!” Kara rushes to him, setting the tree carefully on her nightstand. “I was looking for you! This is Cat Grant, she’s--”

“I know, I worked at CatCo for a hot minute there. Her face is kind of everywhere in that building.” Mike comes around the bed to shake her hand, his look appraising. Cat merely stares him down, refusing the handshake.  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Cat. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Most of it terrible I assume.”

“Oh, you’d think. Everyone else has horror stories, but not Kara here. No, to hear my girlfriend talk, you’re the sun, the moon, and the stars all rolled into one.”

Cat glances at Kara, who’s blushing furiously. 

“That doesn’t sound like most of my former assistants,” Cat says.

“And I thought, all the times she talked about you that way, that it’s just some one-sided admiration fest, you know? Girls always have these crushes, and I’m the first guy to encourage that, you know?” His leer is as predictable as it is unwelcome.

“Mike, don’t.”

“Then you show up here and the two of you look at each other like something out of one of those movies Kara loves. Like time has stopped, for everyone but just the two of you. Then you sneak in here for special private drinks, and it turns out there’s a real thoughtful gift too. The kind of thing a real thoughtful girlfriend might choose.”

Kara tries to pull him aside then, but Mike never takes his eyes off Cat.

“I never stood a chance, did I?”

A better woman than Cat might not answer. But one look at Kara’s panic, at the darkness that flits across her face because she thinks she’s going to lose Cat all over again, and the decision is made for her.

“No Malcolm, I don’t suppose you did. Oh, I could tell you I’ve been oblivious to Kara’s little crush this whole time, but as you so shrewdly observed, those feelings are reciprocated. I left to give Kara a chance to get over me, to prevent either of us embarking on what could be a very tricky relationship for both of us. And yet. Here I am.”

“Cat?” Kara comes to her then, wonder on her face. “What are you doing?”

“Reclaiming what I believe is rightfully mine. I mean, honestly, Kara. I give you more than enough leeway to pursue things with James, an almost worthy contestant, and you end up with this punk instead? I’m almost insulted.”

“But... but...”

“Oh for God’s sake, how much plainer can I make it?” Cat gets up then, shrugging off her coat before pulling Kara close. As fluid motions go, that was Simone Biles-worthy. No time to dwell on the grace though, because there’s the small matter of kissing Kara right on her stunned mouth, provoking a groan of defeat from the manchild. 

Kara kisses back. That’s enough for the moment. Cat hits pause and pulls back, having made her point there’s no need to be cruel. 

“Kara, why don’t you tell Mike there’s been a change of plan? And that I’m sure I can find a studio apartment somewhere for him to set up home. By way of consolation, of course.”

“Shove your apartment,” he replies, yanking the curtain aside to rejoin the throng of people outside. Some of whom have clearly been listening, since the music is noticeably quieter than before. A dark-haired woman darts to Kara’s side, and they have a brief, whispered conversation before she turns to address Kara’s party for her. 

“Okay everybody, party’s over! Let’s move.”

When the crowd don’t react, the woman pulls an FBI badge from her pocket and a gun from its holster, pointing at the ceiling. 

“Federal agent, moving you all out. Get going, people!”

“Thanks, Alex,” Kara says as people start rushing out. “I don’t know how much you heard but--”

“Enough to warn this one that the badge and the gun will be after her, if she ever hurts you.”

“Agent Danvers, I presume?” Cat stands her ground. “I hope you know I would never. Not on purpose.”

“Oh come on!” Mike protests by throwing his hands up. “She still doesn’t like me, and you get a one-line shovel talk? I really do give up.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara says. “For what it’s worth, we did have some fun. After you stopped treating me like a piece of meat and pursuing me in some kind of game after I warned you not to.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Kara repeats back to him. “You sure you’ll find somewhere to stay? This was a bad idea.”

“I’m fine.” Mike heads out, and Alex follows with a mouthed ‘call me’ to her sister, leaving Cat and Kara alone in the apartment, strewn with party debris on every surface. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Kara asks, reaching for Cat’s hand. 

“Why don’t I help you tidy up?” Cat says, and goddamn if she hasn’t lost her mind completely. She hasn’t completed a simple domestic task since the late 90s. 

“Uh, no need,” Kara replies, disappearing in a quiet whirlwind that has the apartment spotless three blinks later. 

“Oh. That’s impressive.”

“I hoped you’d think so.”

“Well, nothing left to do now...” Cat says, looking around. “But make out on that freshly-cleared couch.”

Kara laughs, open-hearted and light, taking Cat by the hand to do exactly that. 

“You kind of ruined my party, Ms Grant. And broke up my relationship.”

“Are you complaining?”

Kara shakes her head. 

“Well then. Shush, and let me make it up to you,” Cat says, situating herself on Kara’s lap and appreciating the flex of muscular thighs beneath her. “The night is still young, after all.”

This time Kara kisses her first, and Cat is more than happy to accept that invitation, too.

[sweets-fanfics]

Homecoming 11

Title: Old lives revisted

Wordcount: 2986

Warning: Mary is in it and I hate her so there’s that.

A/N: Just some fluff and giggles.

Tags: @rollyjogerjones

----------

 You ride around looking for any sign. Hell, you even went to where they were going to be meeting and only found a small amount of blood.

 You were stressed and finally just sat on the side of the road to try and think of a plan. Maybe Dutch had been right about holding back and making a plan. You raked your fingers through your hair.

 “Maybe I got too excited, He’s probably fine.” You saw to Suzie as she rubs her nose on your shoulder. the sun was starting to rise slowly. You took it as a sign to give in for the night and head back. But as you began to climb up something in the back of your mind made you turn around and look at the horizon.

 As you did you saw the outline of a horse with someone laying on it’s back. You squinted your eyes a bit to get a better look. “Athena…” You called out with a bit of hope. The horse looked towards you and began to trot towards you.

 You ran up quickly seeing Arthur passed out. “Arthur.” You call shaking his shoulder. You see a bullet wound in his shoulder. “Honey, please wake up.” You beg softly.

 He grumbles a bit under his breath, “Y/N… did you sneak out again?”

 “Nows not the time Arthur, let’s get you back to camp.” You grab Athena’s reigns and lead her back to camp.

 Mary-Beth and Karen come running with Dutch close behind. “Arthur?” Mary-Beth asks as Arthur falls off of Athena on to his back on the ground.

 “Arthur! My boy, what happened?” Dutch asks.

 “Ah, Dutch, I told you it was a trap.” Arthur groans. You hitch Athena and Suzie up as Swanson and Dutch carry Arthur to his tent.

 You tried to enter the tent but Miss Grimshaw pushed you out. “Y/N, go get some clean rags we can use.” She ordered in a calm voice.

 “Okay…” You peeked over her shoulder at Arthur who just gave you a small thumbs up. You hurried over near the food supplies looking for anything to use.

 “Is Arthur okay?” Karen asks. She spots the clean rags right away that you were too stressed out to see.

 “Uh… yeah… I just… I don’t like even the idea of losing people.”

 “I don’t think anyone does.” She sighs.

 “But I just got this family…”

 You didn’t realize you said that out loud but Karen smiles and pats your shoulder. “Go check on him.”

 You rush back to Arthur’s tent where Grimshaw is sitting next to him. “Oh good,” She stands and pushes you down into the chair she had just been in. “I’m going to go see if I can get some food for him. You stay here and if he starts bleeding again you call.”

 “Okay… Thank you, Miss Grimshaw.”

 She leaves and closes the flaps of the big tent giving you two some privacy. Arthur is still conscious as you grab his hand and rub your thumb on the back of it. “You can go to sleep if ya want.” You suggest to him.

 He strains a bit and looks up at you, “But then I wouldn’t be able to see your pretty face.”

 You smile and kiss his forehead, “I won’t leave your side.” You promise. He laid back still not going to sleep but just sitting in the comfortable silence. “Wanna get married?” You ask suddenly making him look back at you.

 “You don’t wanna marry an old ugly outlaw like me.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand.

 “Oh, Arthur you ain’t old or ugly.” You smile, “And I do. But if I asked too soon…”

 “No that’s not it… just what made you say somethin’ like that so suddenly?”

 “I thought you were dead when I found you on your horse. It was a wake-up call… and it made me realize that I want to have a future with you.” Arthur weakly scooted over and pulled you next to him. You curled up placing your head on his shoulder. “I think we should get married, and have a nice little cabin with a perfect view of the sunset.”

 You hear him hum in amusement, “That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea…” He kisses the top of your head, “However, I thought the man had to ask.”

 You laugh, “We are coming into modern times, Mr. Morgan. I believe it’s okay if a lady asks first.”

 “Well then, I guess I should accept.” You smile at him and lean forward to kiss him on the lips. “I should tell ya though, I’ve been engaged before.” You look at him curiously, “She broke it off cause her daddy didn’t like me.”

 “What a horrible reason. What was her name?”

 “Mary.”

 “Oh.. I had heard some of the girls gossiping about her,” You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Arthur Morgan, I’m goin’ to marry you even if my daddy tried to rip us apart. Even if he was in my life before the last couple of months I’d still stand my ground.” Arthur smiled and kissed your nose before leaning back and hissing from the pain.

 “Well, I’m gonna have to get better first.” When he looked at you you were staring off into space, “You okay?”

 “Can ya keep a secret from my brother and father?” You ask in almost a whisper.

 “Of course.”

 “I was almost engaged for a time.” Arthur gives you a look of amusement and shock as your cheeks turn pink. “Before Henry’s riding accident I lived in Saint Denise for some time on my own. I was working as an understudy for a shop in the city that makes wooden instruments. I was making money so Henry could finish his degree.

 I met a man he was the son of this man named Angelo Bronte, he’s this mobster who has a hand in most of the businesses in Saint Denise. Anyway, I had met him when he came into the shop because his guitar strings had all been cut and he needed help restringing it. My  boss there let me help him and after that, he would try to have some excuse to come into the shop every day I worked. Like… buying new strings or lookin’ to want to buy a new instrument. Anything to talk to me. Of course, I wouldn’t tell Henry cause he always had some strict no relationship rule in case someone would recognize our real last name.” You chuckled to your self a bit as you took a breath.

 “Sorry, anyway, the boy’s name was Luca, he one day came up to me as I was finishing my workday and he grabbed my hands and said, ‘Y/N I want us to run away and get married,’ I was so confused since we had hardly held hands and he suddenly wanted to get married. I had told him I couldn’t abandon my brother, but he seemed so adamant. We made a plan to meet at one of the bridges in the middle of the night. I went and I waited for a few hours… But he never arrived.” You sigh, “The next day on my way to work I saw him exiting the church in a black tux with a lady in a wedding dress. He looked so happy. He must have found my face or something, cause he looked at me but pretended he didn’t even know me.” You shake your head at how naive you were.

 “He sounds like an asshole,” Arthur mumbled. You smile and kiss his cheek. “I definitely won’t be ditching you for some other lady. You are all I want.”

 You lay your head on the pillow next to his, “Let’s keep the engagement a secret for now… I don’t know how to tell Dutch.” You turn and look into his perfect eyes, “Will you sleep now?”

 “Only if you stay next to me,” Arthur mumbles, clearly falling asleep.

 “I’ll never leave your side.”

  ------------------------  

 (A couple of months later)

     You’re sitting on the dock with your feet dipped into the water when Arthur sits in the chair that’s next to you. “Hello there, Mr. Morgan.” You smile.

 “What are you up too?” He asks.

 “Avoiding my father,” You admit. He and Molly had been in a screaming match for the past couple of weeks. Which had only escalated to Dutch blaring his music loudly throughout the camp.

 “Ah, they still arguing?” Arthur looks back as Dutch and Molly seem to have their backs to each other.

 “He asked her if she could be more motherly to Henry and me.” You roll your eyes. “We are not going to be like them when we are married.”

 “I don’t think we will have the same problems as them, However…” You look at him as he hands you a letter. “I got this from Mary today.”

 “What did she say?” You ask before looking down and noticing he hadn’t even opened it yet. “Arthur, I don’t have to read this…”

 “No, go ahead. It’s probably her begging for my help again… Or telling me how bad a person I am.”

 You narrow your eyes as you open the letter and read it. “She wants to meet you in Saint Denise…” You look back up at him, “You gonna go?”

 “Will ya go with me, I don’t want to go by myself.” He stands and extends a hand towards you.

 “Of course.” You smile and accept his hand as he helps you up. You shake your feet to dry them before slipping your shoes back on. You had on your Green skirt and white blouse since the summer heat had been making you not want to wear pants. “Let me grab my bag and put my hair up.”

 “You gonna do that braid crown thing?” Arthur asks following you.

 You giggle a bit, “Yeah, probably. It fits better with my hat.” Hosea had gone out and got you your own hat. It was a black stalker hat with a blue band around it. It was pretty big on your head so you had started putting your hair up to make it fit a bit better.

 You had moved into Arthur’s tent over the months. When Dutch asked why you had said you just wanted to keep an eye on him while he’s recovering. Which wasn’t completely a lie.

 Arthur sat on your shared cot while you effortlessly braided your hair. Arthur loved watching you do your hair, he said it’s like watching an artist complete a masterpiece. You would call him crazy but still, turn bright red.

 When you finished you turned to show Arthur the finished product he smiled standing up. He came up with your hat in hand and kisses your forehead before putting the hat on you. “Let’s go, miss.” He says taking your hand.

 The two of you walked past Dutch as he leaned on the post of his tent. “Where are you two goin’?” He’d been getting suspicious of the two of you. Of course, you don’t think he could catch on about the engagement but you could tell he thought something was going on.

 “Saint Denise. I need some new rosin for my bow.” You say with a sweet smile.

 “Rhodes doesn’t have it?” He asks.

 “No music store in Rhodes. We’ll be okay.” You wave him off as you both take only Arthur’s horse.

 Bear who had become almost full-grown is sitting standing ‘guard’ but his tail starts to wag as he sees you, “Bear, stay here and be a good boy.” He whines a bit but follows orders.

 “You sure have trained him well,” Arthur comments as you two ride out of camp.

 “I needed somethin’ to do when you resting.” You feel his arm around you tighten a bit as he picks up speed. “I trained him to growl at Micah on command.” You admit with a smirk.

 “Miss Van Der Linde you are a force to be reckoned with.” Arthur chuckles.

 “Soon to be Mrs. Morgan.” You smile proudly.

 “Well as much as I wanna, I can’t call ya that yet.” You shrug defeated.

 “Fine… if I must, I’ll be patient.”

 You can feel him chuckle, “Thank you.”

 You love the comfortable silence that always sits with you and Arthur. The camp can get so hectic and loud that little moments like these always made you feel better. The two of you ride in silence as Arthur stirred Athena towards Saint Denise.

 “Where did it say to meet her?” Arthur asks you.

 “The saloon.” You answer as he brings Athena to a stop. He hops off and hitches the horse before helping you down. “Nervous?” You ask him.

 “Eh… not really.” He takes your hand and you can tell he’s nervous by his sweaty palms.

 You squeeze his hand making him look down at you. “You got this cowboy. I’ll be your back up.”

 He smiles and the two of you enter the building. Arthur looks around a bit before stoping his gaze on a particular woman who is sitting alone. She was really pretty and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t compare. The two of you walk up to her making Mary lookup. “Arthur,” She begins to smile but then sees you at his side. “Who is this?” She asks.

 “Mary Linton this is my fiance, Y/N Van Der Linde.” Arthur introduces. You blush a bit not expecting him to call you his fiance.

 “Oh…” She says not really looking happy. Still, she reaches forward and shakes your hand. “Nice to meet you.”

 “Same to you miss.” You say softly.

 Arthur begins to pull out a chair for you when Mary speaks up again, “Actually… I’m sorry miss Van Der Linde, but I need to speak to Arthur privately…” You and Arthur look at her then each other.

 “Oh…” Is all you can get out.

 “Y/N can stay,” Arthur announces but you cut him off.

 “No, Honey, it’s okay. I do have to go to the music shop anyway.” He looks at you a bit nervous but you just smile at him, “I’ll be safe.”

 Arthur sighs a bit before kissing you on the cheek, “I’ll come to get ya if this is fast.”

 “You got it, cowboy.” You turn to Mary, “It was good to meet you, Mrs. Linton.”

 She doesn’t say anything as you exit the saloon. You sigh a bit frustrated that she didn’t want you there. But you trusted Arthur and knew he wouldn’t be dumb.

 You walk down the streets towards the music shop however when you get there you see it’s all locked up. You peak through the window only to see everything inside with a layer of dust.

 “Once the owner passed no one wanted to keep it open.” A painfully familiar voice says behind you. You look over your shoulder to see Luca smiling at you. He’s in a fancy suit and looks to be on the way to somewhere. “How are you, Lovely Y/N?”

 “What do you want?” You ask hoping he hears the annoyance in your voice.

 “I was on my way home and I saw a beautiful girl who seemed lost.” He smiled at you but it didn’t have the effect it used to have on you.

 “I’m not lost. I just wanted to see if they were still open. So go home to your wife.” You begin to walk away but you hear him following after you.

 “My father made me marry her, Y/N.” He pleads to try to hold one of your hands. You pull it away and give him a dirty look.

 “You made me stand at that bridge for hours like a moron.” You say starting to feel angry. “It was clearly a sign we were not meant to be because I have found someone who I am happy with.” He looks heartbroken. “So go home to your family. And pretend you never knew me.”

 “Y/N wait,” He begins to call again.

 “Y/N, There you are,” Arthur says trotting up on Athena. “Ready to go home?” He asks politely as he gets off the horse and kisses your cheek. He looks up at Luca and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

 “Your… the someone.” Luca says a bit dejected. Arthur definitely stands above Luca. Arthur seemed like a giant compared to him. “A… cowboy really?” He asks making you roll your eyes.

 “Oh, he must be Luca,” Arthur says as it clicks to him. He holds out a hand for Luca to shake. When he grabs it Arthur yanks him close and whispers something in his ear that you can’t hear. When Arthur pulls back he smiles at you and starts leading you to Athena. “Was good to meet ya.”

 “What did you say to him?” You ask as he helps you up.

 “Nothin’ just introducing myself.” Arthur shrugs. You turn towards Luca and see him practically running away.

 “Gonna tell me what you and Mary talked about?” You asked as he rode you home.

 “Sure, She asked me to talk to her daddy who still doesn’t like me so I turned her down. Then she asked me to run away with her,” You felt a pinch of jealousy but tried not to make it visible, “Of course I told her no again, and then I asked her not to contact me anymore.”

 “Why?” You ask.

 “Cause I know she was just using me and I don’t need that in my life. All I need is you.” You feel him kiss the top of your head. You lean back into him and you know you’re safe in his arms.

[seriouslyhooked]

Dear No One (Part 1/3)

Short CS holiday story, broken into three parts, where Emma is unlucky in love and decides that for her Christmas wish she’d like to find the right person for her. In an attempt to write what she wants into existence, Emma writes a letter to the man she wants to find someday and then shenanigans ensue. Rated T/M (basically I haven’t decided yet how smutty it’s getting) and based off of the song ‘Dear No One’ by Tori Kelly. Available on FF here and AO3 here.

A/N: Hey everybody! So this little fic started off as a super fluffy idea I had at the end of the summer. I actually posted about it on tumblr, and a few of you begged me to write it, but I warned you it might be hard. Even then I knew that this was a story I needed a little more time with, and as such, what was once a mixtape contender is now its own separate story. The chapters will be short, but I want to jump back and forth between Emma and Killian’s POVs so I felt separating it out was best. It’s also now taking place during the holidays, because I have Christmas fever and I don’t care who knows it. Anyway, this chapter begins with Emma realizing that her Christmas wish is that she wants to find love. She tries to take a first step to finding it, and it might not go exactly her way... Hope you guys enjoy the fluffy, adorable premise, and thanks, as always, for reading!

“Okay Ruby. You got us all together because you said you had something to share. Then you spend all night deflecting. What gives?”

It was the question on everyone’s mind since they walked into Ruby and Graham’s apartment earlier tonight, and Emma was glad that Elsa had been brave enough to ask it. Ruby had made it clear to each of them that tonight was special and big and important, but when they arrived she never brought up what was actually happening. Instead she’d plied them with wine and food and Christmas cookies, as they gathered together listening to holiday music in the ambiance of her friend’s festively decorated home. But while that was lovely (and much needed after Emma’s grueling work week), it was odd and more than a little suspicious.

“Well, if you insist on knowing…” Ruby allowed her words to trail off as she lifted the fingerless gloves off of her hands. For anyone else the article of clothing would seem ‘extra’ or ridiculous. It wasn’t that cold outside. Okay it was – because New England in winter was brutal – but inside it was nice and toasty. But that was part of Ruby’s style. She was all leather and red and black and wearing biker gloves to a wine night wasn’t unheard of. But when she revealed what lay underneath – a huge and absolutely beautiful diamond ring – her friends all gasped at once.

“Holy crap, what a rock!” Emma blurted out, forgetting herself for a moment as she took in the piece of jewelry that had to cost more than she’d make in six months.

“What she said,” Mary Margaret, Belle, and Elsa replied at once, and once their shock wore off all four friends were on their feet and celebrating with Ruby. They were so happy for her and for Graham, and it was truly a magical thing. For Ruby, who was a long-time bachelorette with no intention of tying herself down, this was BIG. It was epic, and it spoke to Ruby’s love for her boyfriend – nay, fiancé – that she was planning to get married and have that typical, happily ever after.

“When did it happen?” Elsa asked at the same time that Belle inquired. “How did he do it?”

“Last night at dinner. One second we’re sharing this to die for tiramisu, I mean like wow wow wow so good, and the next he’s proposing.”

“She would manage to slip a dessert review in even at a time like this,” Emma whispered to Elsa and the two of them laughed together.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t the tiramisu talking?” Belle asked, her tone a bit sheepish. “Not that you don’t love Graham, it’s just…”

“I love dessert more than life itself, I know I know,” Ruby said as she shook her head. “But no it wasn’t that. It was him. I love him, you know? I try to picture what life would be like without him and I can’t. He’s it for me. He’s my person.”

“Heck yes he is!” Mary Margaret said happily, no doubt reveling in the fact that she and her husband David had introduced these two lovebirds a little less than a year ago. “God this is wonderful. There’s so much to plan, so much to do! This is going to be amazing! And to have the proposal at Christmas time? It’s like magic. Real live magic!”

The friends all agreed that this was indeed very special, and the night’s conversation shifted from what it had been before to musings on what Graham and Ruby’s wedding and life together would look like. It would obviously be different than everyone else’s, but the through line that all of the friends had was experience with finding the one. Mary Margaret had David, Belle had her long time boyfriend Will, Elsa had her new beau (who Emma was certain would be a fiancé soon enough) Liam, and the only one who was single and without that kind of experience was Emma. She had never been in love – at least not a love that was made to last forever – and as happy as she was for all of her friends, she couldn’t help the feeling that came later that night when she’d returned to her flat and was alone once more.

It wasn’t jealousy, per se, because jealousy implied something ugly and resentful. What Emma felt was a longing. She wanted something like what all of her friends had found. What they had was love, true love. The kind of love that lasted and thrived. It was a love built on partnership and connection, and it was a beautiful, magical thing. All her life Emma had wondered what such a love would be like and she’d never found it. She’d often believed that was her fate. She was a girl who came from no family. She had started out in this world with nothing and no one, and maybe she was meant to always be that way. Perhaps it was too much to have been blessed with friends who felt like family. Maybe romantic love wasn’t in the cards for her…

‘Emma, that’s just crazy talk and you know it!’

She swore she could hear her friends’ voices all saying that to her as she felt herself falling down the rabbit hole of loneliness and she almost laughed at how deeply they were ingrained in her. They had somehow become the voices in her head, the little bits of conscience that brought her back to reality, and the hopeful part of her heart that did want to imagine that love would find her in the end. Shaking her head at her brain’s antics, Emma responded aloud though she was still by herself.

“I know, I know. I have to believe good things can happen. I got it.”

And she did get it. The problem was Emma didn’t know how to help love find her. She was probably doing this all wrong. She wasn’t exactly an approachable kind of a person, and she definitely wasn’t doing anything to attract a man right now. She was closed off and protective of herself and her boundaries, and as much as that had served her in the past, it was standing in the way of her maybe finding happiness. That was a hard pill to swallow, but it was even harder to imagine what might be a good first step towards changing.

A memory came into her mind at that moment, one from when she was still a young girl in the system. As a kid she’d seen counselor after counselor. Some of them were interested in helping her, while others were bogged down with the masses of other children that they helped. But her last one, the one who saw her as a teen and who fought for her the hardest, helping her get through school, get into college, and start on a path towards a real life, had been adamant that good things came when you wrote your dreams down. Making a plan was all well and fine, but sometimes life and the ways of the world were less defined. Mrs. Hubbard had always told Emma to write what she wanted into existence. It was a way to find the truth of what she wished for, and to get it out there, hopefully helping her move forward.

Though part of her thought this was a little ridiculous, Emma decided she had nothing to lose. She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, curling up on the couch with a cup of cocoa in hand and she sat there, thinking about what she wanted. Should she write a list of what made the perfect man in her opinion? No, that sounded less personal than she felt was needed in this moment. Emma wasn’t looking for a picture perfect Prince Charming who met all sorts of criteria. She wanted someone to share her life with, someone to lean on, someone to feel connected to. In saying that, she didn’t know exactly what factors or traits would make someone the right fit for her. She had some ideas of course, but it was foolish to think she could have those answers in full. Love had eluded her this long for a reason, so she quickly dropped the idea of a list and moved onto something very different.

“Okay then, I’ll write a letter,” Emma said, happy with the idea until her brow furrowed at an obvious hiccup in this plan. “A letter to who? I can’t exactly write ‘Dear No One.’”

But even as she said the words, her fingers had moved on their own, writing out exactly that. Emma shrugged at it, finding she didn’t hate it as much as she thought she would then continued on, writing comlpletey from the heart.

Dear No one,

We’ve never met before, and honestly I have no idea who you are, what you do, or where you’re from. You are entirely a mystery, but even with that said I know you already. You are the man I could fall in love with, the man who could bring me to a new place, a place I’ve never been before.

Truth be told there are days I think I just don’t need you or the love that you might bring. I like being independent and answering to no one. I like making my own path each and every day. It’s what I know and what I’m used to and I fought so hard and for so long to not just survive, but to thrive. I have made my life up until now. I have built the world I live in and I am damn proud of how far I’ve come from where I started.

But sometimes – honestly more and more often these days – I find myself wishing that you were here. I want someone at my side, someone who cares about me and who wants me just as much as I want him. I want the kind of man who takes my hand wherever we may be and it feels so good that I can’t let go. I want the kind of love that greets you each morning and puts you to bed each night. I want to think of you too much. I want distraction and excitement. I want all sorts of firsts, but most importantly lasts. Because I’m not interested in fleeting or temporary. If I’m going to do love, it’s gotta be all in. I want to be yours and only yours, and I want you to feel the same.

So far this letter has been all about me. I want, I wish, I need… but I know that you have wants and wishes too. If you’re the right man for me, then hopefully I already embody those things, and if I don’t hopefully they’re changes for the better. I’m praying you make me more hopeful, more adventurous, and more willing to take the risk, because loving you – choosing you – will be the greatest risk I’ve ever taken. I’ve never let someone in enough to have that, but I could, for you.

I know that love is never perfect, because life is messy and can’t be controlled. Things won’t always be hearts and rainbows, and I promise that I won’t run. The old me probably would have. At the first sign of trouble I high tail it out. It’s the best way to protect yourself. Staying at a distance and building walls keeps you alive, that’s what life has always taught me. But I will stay for you, to fight for this and for us, no matter what comes.

When we find each other, and I hope it will be soon, I want you to know that I will be ready. But for now, I’m done looking. If we’re meant to be, it’ll happen. We’ll find each other, as all great loves do, and we’ll take it from there, one step at a time.

Take care of yourself in the meantime, and I hope you find reasons to smile and to laugh and to feel happy each and every day. It’s what you deserve.  

Wishing you were here, but waiting until it happens…

Emma

When the letter was written, Emma read it and read it again, finding that she liked everything that she’d crafted on the page. It was honest and truthful, and yes, sappy as could be, but that wasn’t her fault. Of course it was going to be sappy! Emma was hoping for true love – and that kind of love always seemed to be just a little bit cheesy. She smiled in spite of herself, putting the letter on top of a stack of papers and leaving it for now, knowing if it was going to work she had to, at some point, leave it alone.

As she went through the rest of her night, eventually falling asleep, Emma found her dreams continued to build off that letter. That night she knew she had visions of the man she wanted, but come morning it was all just a little vague. Dark hair, piercing eyes, a smile that made her knees weak. These were the things she remembered, but it wasn’t a definite person. At least not yet. Still, this mysterious man, a man who’s face she still hadn’t seen was with her through her whole day. From getting coffee at Belle’s bakery in the morning, to work at the office, and back home again, the feeling of him was still there. And after everything, Emma found herself wanting to reread her letter. She didn’t want to change anything per se, she just wanted to see if it stacked up as well in the morning light… there was just one problem. She couldn’t find it.

“Oh shit,” she said aloud, her nerves starting to fray as she looked at the table where it had been and realized there were no papers there. She ran back through her morning, half remembering her pre-coffee existence and she had a trickling sense of fear. She’d needed the papers underneath the letter for work. Oh God had she really been so stupid? She rummaged through her bag, eventually dumping the whole thing out frantically searching for the letter, but it was gone. Emma prayed that maybe she’d moved it last night, and she searched every room she’d been in, in every nook and cranny. She dug inside the couch, behind the chair, beneath every sheet and pillow on her bed, but nothing. It was gone.

Resigning herself to this cold, terrifying reality, the one that had her letter – her honest but completely embarrassing letter – out somewhere in the world, Emma sat down on the couch and hid her face in her hands, sending up a last resort prayer.

Please don’t let anyone find it! she silently begged, but luckily the universe didn’t hear that request. Instead, it was already on its way to granting Emma her Christmas wish.

Post-Note: So there we have it. Just a cute, quick fluffy chapter that isn’t super original, but packed enough holiday love story promise for my muse. I hope that you guys have enjoyed and I’m eager to see what you think. I’m hoping to get the next chapter posted in about two weeks, and then the last chapter the week after. Hopefully I can manage that since school is starting to wind down for the semester. Anyway thanks for reading and I hope you have a great rest of your weekend!

[narirose]

Out of Sight, Out of Mind - Chapter 9

A few minutes later the three Alteans, one Galran, and one (very short) human walked into the kitchen. Now with all ten people in the kitchen, it was a bit crowded. The summer home may have been large, but the kitchen was still part of the original home, so it was smaller.

Keith poured Lance a cup of coffee before he left with Pidge and Hunk to go to the dining room. As he refilled the brewing pot, he asked his mother how she was doing.

“Well, it definitely is weird coming back to Earth after such a long time, but I missed it. Your father used to go pick up food at restaurants, and then he would take me on dates. We could never go to a public place, because of my appearance, but he would take me out to the desert. That’s part of how I found the blue lion.” She paused, chuckling to herself, “Haha, he was such a romantic.”

Keith looked at her with a small smile. Krolia talked so fondly about Keith’s father even though she hadn’t seen him in more than 20 years. She had really loved him. He hoped he would one day be able to feel the same way about someone. To be able to trust another person with his life. He could imagine how nice and safe that would feel.

“Anyway, how are you doing, Keith? I know you’ve been stressing about something, I can feel it.” “Oh, nothing. I was worried about something, but I figured it out.” ”That’s good.” She took a hot mug from Keith. Krolia sipped at the caffeine-infused beverage and sighed. It was one of the things she missed most from Earth. After everyone had a cup of coffee, they moved out to the dining room. Shiro and Allura carried plates of pancakes as Coran followed with a stack of empty plates. Thy gathered around the small circular table and dug in. Lance grabbed a bottle of syrup and passed it around the group. The paladins and Krolia watched as the three Alteas tried their first pancake. Allura and Coran mainly just liked the sweetness of the syrup, but Romelle just enjoyed the texture of the food. It was much different than space goo.

The paladins spent the next few hours reminiscing about their favorite memories from the Garrison, and then they talked about old memories of their family. It was bittersweet, but they all listened to each other's tales about their childhood. Shiro talked about his parents and grandparents and cousins. He had never had any siblings, but his cousins had lived close, so they were basically his brothers and sisters. Hunk talked about how his dad taught him how to cook, and about their family bakery that he and his cousins worked at, as kids. Pidge told embarrassing stories about Matt as he pinched her arm. He had a bright blush across his face. Lance told them about his siblings and his mother. He told stories about their movie nights and how they helped him get into the Garrison.

When Keith’s turn came, however, there was silence. He had never had a family, so he told the paladins about his say at the orphanage. He told them about the sweet woman who ran it, and about how he hated the woman's uptight daughter. He then told them about how he met Shiro, and how he had beaten the stimulator game and then had immediately stolen his car. Shiro laughed at that and mentioned something about how at the time he had already known Keith would be a great pilot. He then talked about how it was living with Shiro. Keith only stopped when the story came to Adam. He knew that if Shiro wanted to tell the rest about Adam, he would.

--- --- ---

It was now around 6 in the morning, when Shiro’s parents arrived in the dining room. The group of 1 ten had loaded the front entrance with The paladins were wearing their armor when they arrived at the Shirogane's, but they had quickly changed into their civilian clothes. They were now carrying their armor in black cases. Keith and Shiro had also grabbed a few items from Shiro’s old room and packed them into a box.

“Takashi, are you leaving today?” His mother asked. “Yes, HaHa, I’m sorry, but I’ll come back as soon as possible. As soon as this war is over.” “Oh, please come back soon then,” She said in a worrying tone. “And don’t lose any more limbs in the meantime.” She hugged him tightly and kissed both of his cheeks before his father hugged him. “Be safe.” Is all he said before he grabbed a box a went out the front door. The paladins shuffled out the door and slowly got into Black. Shiro stayed behind. He wanted to have a private conversation with his parents.

“HaHa, ChiChi, I'm sorry. I promise I’ll be back soon.” Tears stung his eyes. He missed his parents of course, but what he was about to say next would be difficult. He hadn't said the name in years. Only thought it. “Adam?" He whispered. "What happened to him? Have you seen him? Talked to him? Please don’t say he-” Shiro was cut off as he was engulfed in a hug. Both of his parents held onto him as he cried. “He’s fine. Adam’s okay. He still comes. Every year. Every February.” Shiro’s sobs turned into whimpers as he realized that Adam never forgot. Still remembered him. Was still alive. “You better get going,” Naomi whispered as she handed Shiro the final box. “Thank you. I’ll be back. I swear. And I love you, HaHa, ChiChi.” They had one last hug before Shiro turned and walked up Black’s ramp.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[thedefinitionofbts]

Young

Alternatively “Wings of My Words” (你曾是少年)

Pairings: Jung Hoseok x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life, Tennis Player!Hoseok

Words: 10K

Description: 

He was someone you weren’t supposed to trust, someone who could break down your walls and leave you more vulnerable than you ever thought you could be. He was everything you knew you should stay away from, so why didn’t you think before falling?

Well, that’s simply because like every one who came before you, you were once rightfully and unapologetically…

Young.

A/N: Loosely inspired by the song “Young” by *cue Hobi’s voice* “their friends The Chainsmokers” and S.H.E’s “你曾是少年” (trans: you were once a youngster)

They say that when you reach your late-twenties you were supposed to have settled with a job, perhaps be on your way to marriage, starting a family, and have a relatively clear blueprint of the next ten or twenty years of your life. It’s when you’ve reached that period when musings like the meaning of existence, love, and the pursuit of happiness were things that you didn’t have time to contemplate because work life was hectic, you always had too much on your plate, and those youthful days of dreaming have long passed.

But that’s just what they say.

And it’s those moments where you’re sitting in a coffee shop, reading a book as the people on the streets outside go about their day, when the endless loneliness of your late-twenties, a time when you used to think by now you’d know what future you wanted to head towards and you should have life figured out and the path paved, hit you the hardest.  

You weren’t expecting anything in particular to happen today, but life in actuality is full of surprises.

“Y/N?”

The sound of his voice cuts through the background noise that you have consciously blocked out so you could enjoy the book gripped between your two hands, and you initially think you are just hearing things because the rhythm of the musical noise and the tone of the words escaping that person’s lips is so familiar it makes you actually believe you’re in a dream because the last time you heard that voice echo those exact syllables was ten years ago. But at this point, you have nothing to lose, so you look up from the words on the page just to make sure.

And it’s that defining moment in every cliché movie, the one where the main characters see each other for the first time in years, and they share this tumultuous past that the audience exists just to hear about.

Ok, maybe not that dramatic, but close enough.

And he looks just as good as the first time you set your eyes on him. He’s dressed differently though, draped in attire that makes him look more mature. His jawline is even more chiseled than you last remembered, raised eyebrows giving away the fatigue of age enhanced by the subtle wrinkling of his forehead. But his eyes…his eyes have not changed, even though they are looking at you in the most astonished way possible.

His hot cup of coffee is still gripped in his hand, and you can almost see it tremble slightly as you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, swallowing and averting his eyes, most likely regretting calling out your name.

“H-Hoseok?” You manage to mutter just before he is able to utter an apology for disturbing you and running off.

  …

It was your first day of school. Scratch that. First day at your new school. You were already in your junior year of high school, when your dad decided to switch jobs and move your whole family to a new town, ripping you away from everything you knew: the close knit group of friends that you had been with for years, the relationships you had already begun to build with your teachers (for the purpose of getting good letters of recommendation for college), and the dreams you had worked towards reaching in tennis.

A small town up north with no indoor tennis courts.

How the fuck are you supposed to play in the winter? Junior year is when coaches recruit players for college, and every tennis player knows even a day without practice could negatively effect your game. It was absolutely vital that you got enough court time, something that will soon turn into an impossible feat. 

“Just focus on your studies from now on. There’s no use playing in college anyways.” Was what your dad had said to you, after you had dreamed of becoming a professional tennis player since you were 10, but soon realized being a professional athlete was not in the cards for you, not in this universe at least. Hence, at 15, you decided to change your plans and play in college instead; thinking at least you could get into a top school on a full scholarship that way.

Well, not anymore.

And the fact that the girls’ tennis team at your new school sucked balls (figuratively and probably literally too) made your point even more valid. Who were you even going to practice with? It’s not like the shitty town had a tennis club with experienced coaches or good players for that matter.

But enough of the details.

Point is things weren’t looking too bright for you. At least you managed to make a couple of friends pretty quickly, word got around about you leading the girls team to their first ever championship and also taking over the valedictorian-to-be spot with your perfect grades. Seolhyun, the girl who apparently held that spot before you came along, wasn’t too happy about it judging from the glares she would shoot you whenever you passed by her in the halls. But that’s to be expected right? You were no stranger to cutthroat competition and innate female jealousy, heck, you survived a number of years in the junior league where saying that it was a dog eat dog world was putting it nicely.

Your new group of friends, Jisoo, Jenny, Rose, and Lisa were four of the most popular girls in school, and they were pretty adamant about inviting you to be a part of their clique (something about anyone who could get Seolhyun jealous was worthy of joining them). And yeah, schools in small towns are cliquey, which you found out pretty early on. You didn’t want to join them at first, being the type to stray away from rumors and avoid high school drama like the plague, but you figured sitting with them at their “popular” lunch table was better than eating alone in the corner for the next two years.

“What’d you get?” Lisa voices, nodding to Rose, who was scrutinizing her test paper that the teacher had handed back last class.

“87” Rose huffs. “I was this close to an A” She says, rolling her eyes and folding the paper and tucking it away in her backpack.

“Still pretty good” Jisoo shrugs.

“Y/N, what did you get?” Jenny queries, turning towards you.

You look down at the perfectly preserved paper in your hands, not a single red mark to be found. No surprise, in fact you’d be disappointed in yourself if there were.

“100” Lisa voices, peeking over at your test.

…

All was going well in your new school. You were on your way to making it through the last two years of high school with virtually with no more bumps in the road… or so you naively thought.

It was everything about the way he carried himself, the way he dressed, the way he interacted with his friends and other students whom he clearly held an air of superiority towards that screamed stay away, especially for a star student like you. You needed to focus on getting into your dream school, now that tennis wasn’t a valid option any longer; a perfect SAT score combined with a commendable GPA was the ticket to getting where you were supposed to go.

No slip ups. And absolutely no distractions.

He was someone you definitely didn’t want to get involved with, and you knew that. You fucking knew it like the back of you hand, and it wasn’t a source of alarm, not at first, not at all, and certainly not obvious in the least. Something as impossible as falling for him was never a worry, never an imminent concern, and didn’t even show up on your radar until he called your name for the first time.

Being the No. 1 singles player on the girl’s team and winning the seasonal championship for your school last fall season (which would not have been possible had you not joined the team despite their crappy record), it wasn’t a surprise that the coach of the boys tennis team asked if you wanted to help out in the spring as a student assistant coach. Especially since the boy’s coach was a close friend of your fathers. They had played on the same team back during their university days, and he had helped you train last summer, so it was only natural that you would repay the favor. They were short on hands anyways.

Spring was boys tennis season. And today was the first day of practice and of course it would be raining outside in a town with, you repeat, no indoor tennis courts, meaning that there was no way you could play outside on the actual courts in risk of slipping and sustaining an injury that would have you out all season. The coach had decided to just have the team gather in the gym where he could go over logistics.

Everything was moving along smoothly until you decided to walk past the area where everyone was playing around to get to you phone, which you somehow accidentally left in your backpack. Very unlike you. And thinking back, it was perhaps because of your unlucky fate that it just so happened to be today that you would make your biggest mistake in high school…or so you thought at the time.

“Y/N, watch out!” You hear someone shout as you watch a fluffy yellow tennis ball zoom past your eyes. If you were a single step further along your walk to your backpack, you would’ve been hit smack in the face, earning you a bruised eye and who knows how many comments the next day.

You turn to see where the ball came from, only to have your eyes land on a boy wearing a backwards cap, decked out in Nike tennis apparel, and sporting a cheeky grin as he waited for you to turn and face him.

“Careful there” He says with a wink as you continue to stare, wondering how he knew your name when you didn’t have a clue who he was.

The flutter in your chest that the 17 year old you had not experienced in the past caught you by surprise as your eyes met his in that infinitesimal second that felt like a fleeting eternity. It snuck up on the you who was foolishly defenseless and unassuming, and it converted a seemingly harmless and deceptively casual encounter into a serendipitous moment you would look back on and remember for years to come.

…

A few days later, you see him again. And you start to wonder why you had never seen him around before. It was like after the day you became aware of his existence, there was no way to ignore the fact that he went to your school and he was, no matter how much you tried to ignore the thought, “pretty cute” as described by your 17 year old self. In your defense, finding a human being of the opposite sex attractive was not something out of the ordinary. But it was completely new to you because before this, you had never considered any of the guys in high school to be even remotely datable, based on your standards, which everyone you had discussed the matter with voiced that they were too high.

But to each their own, you would argue.

He was wearing his cap backwards again, a signature of his you assumed, a style that conveniently revealed his smooth forehead and even smoother facial skin. Wow, he didn’t even have pimples. But he did have this douche-y smirk plastered on his face as he spoke with his guy friends. One of which looked like some emo dude who didn’t give fuck and another who was tall which you recognized from literature class because he was always the first to raise his hand to answer questions. The entire scene was somehow attractive to you, and you knew from then, you were doomed.

“Who’s that?” You asked while eating lunch with your group of friends.

Jennie turns her head in the direction that you were looking. “Oh, you mean Jung Hoseok?”

“Hoseok?” You repeat, feeling the syllables roll off your tongue like you had finally found what you had been looking for, as if you were finally getting a taste of water after a long period of perpetual thirst.

“Yeah, he’s No. 1 on the boys team. He’s held that spot since freshman year, a real player. Figuratively and Literally.” Jennie says.

“What do you mean?” You inquire, finally dragging your gaze away from the magnetic source it was being drawn towards to turn to the girls, who were all looking at you now.

“Y/N, don’t tell me you’ve never seem him making out with a different girl every week.” Rosie replies. “He takes PDA to the next level. ”

You raise an eyebrow, grabbing another glance at the expensively dressed boy who was still busy talking to his group of guy friends.

“He may not look it, but-“ Rosie

“May not look it?” Jisoo cuts her off mid-sentence. “Have you seen the way he dresses? That button up shirt and slacks scream douche bag. Nobody dresses that nicely for school unless they were trying to impress people.”

“Preppy and rich. He’s a tennis player, what do you expect?” Lisa shrugs.

“I’m a tennis player” You defend, instincts kicking back in and siding against stereotypes against all tennis players in the world.

“We know, but you’re different” Jennie says, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, Hoseok just does it to get girls” Jisoo explains. “When was the last time he’s been in an actual relationship?”

“Ha, like never” Rose scoffs.

“Isn’t he with Seolhyun?” Lisa asks.

“They’re just playing around, last I heard” Jenny says. “Saw them making out in the hall by the band room this morning. Made me want to gag and tell them to get a room instead of trying to make everyone want to gauge their eyes out.”

…

Spring rain was finally letting up which entailed the beginning of actual practice. And yeah, you would think that after everything your friends warned you about, you would do everything you could to stay away from this Hoseok guy, but that wasn’t really plausible, now was it? You, being the student assistant coach for the boys’ tennis team, and Hoseok, being the No. 1 singles player.

You don’t want to sound like a broken record, but you were powerlessly and undeniably fucking doomed.

On day 1 of practice, the coach decided to make everyone play a game as warm up. One in which two teams of 3-4 people line up on opposite sides of the court, playing with only one shared racquet. A person was to hit the ball and then pass the racquet to the next person in line. First team to mess up loses.

You stand behind Hoseok as he hits a forehand and turns to hand you the racquet. There was nothing unusual about the interaction, nothing particularly noteworthy about the motion, and no big deal, that is until he decided to make it one with a very immature comment.

Hoseok takes a step closer to you. “Was I too rough?” You look up at him, swallowing the saliva that had built up in your mouth because of how close his body was to yours. You could practically feel the heat radiating from his chest, which is well worth to point out, was bare, as all the boys had conveniently removed their shirts because it was, quote unquote “too hot”, while you were still wrapped in your hoodie being the type to get cold easily. “Sorry, I’ll be more gentle next time” He winks and runs back in line. The boys behind you burst out in laughter.

Very mature.

“Y/N, why don’t you and Hoseok go play a match on court 1” You hear your coach shout over from the next court over. “Our first meet is this Saturday, and I want you to make sure he’s ready. 

No choice. You had no choice but to do as you were told.

But what you did have control over was showing Hoseok that playing with him was completely against your own will, despite that tiny bit of excitement churning in the pit of your stomach that you were choosing to ignore so you could put on a bitch face and show him you were not going to fall for his antics. 

“Go easy on me ok?” He says after you guys decide who was to serve first.

“As if” You scoff, grabbing the newly opened can of balls away from him and walk to the baseline to begin.

“Yeah, beat him Y/N” Taehyung shouts from the other side of the fence separating back-to-back courts. Taehyung and Jimin were doubles players, partners for life on and off court. They were safe to say, your favorites on the team so far.

Hoseok smirks as he watches you get in the zone, ready to kick his ass, in which 45 minutes later, you do.

“Game, set, match” You shout as you hit a winner straight off his serve.

Hoseok sighs and walks towards the net smiling to shake your hand. You can’t help but notice how large his hand is compared to yours, and how long and slender his fingers are. His grip is firm and when you were about to pull away, he holds his grip a millisecond longer, just enough to notice but not enough to suspect he had mischievous intentions or ulterior motives, if you will.

“Good match” He says, still smiling at you, and for a moment the thought that his smile is seemingly brighter than the sun crossed your mind, but it’s gone the instant you hear the other boys whistling and cheering.

Again. Very mature.

…

The next time you see him, he’s with his friends again. And you were just by yourself, minding your own business while walking to your next class, when you just so happen to run into him with his posse. They sure looked like they were having a good time, joking around and laughing in the hallway. And you think you can get by unnoticed, like Hoseok wouldn’t see you, or at least he’d pretend he didn’t know you while he was with his friends. But no, apparently that’s not how things work in this world.

“Y/N” You hear the familiar voice call just as you were about to make your getaway.

Looking up, you see that annoyingly friendly smile again. One that for some damn reason doesn’t look as douchey when it’s directed towards you, and it dangerously makes you forget the player that he is (in the non-tennis-wise sense), the warning that is written in his preppy attire and jock-like attitude.

“H-hey” You manage to reply but immediately regret as your shaking voice escapes your lips. What the fuck happened to the confident side of you that kicked his ass in tennis the other day?

Hoseok chuckles. “See you at practice” He waves and is off before you can turn your head and watch him walk off with his friends.

At least you didn’t have any classes with him, but there was no way to hide anything from your friends, especially with how fast the latest gossip flew around at your school.

“So what’s up with you and Hoseok?” Jisoo asks as she sits down next to you at the coveted “popular” lunch table.

“Me? Hoseok? Nothing” You say, almost a tad bit hysterically. How the fuck does she know? You sure as hell didn’t tell any of them you were helping coach the boys’ team.

“Namjoon told Jennie that Hoseok’s been talking about you lately” Jisoo continues.

“I heard my name” Jennie says as she walks up to the table, lunch tray in hand.

“We were talking about Hoseok” Jisoo explains. “Y/N, we warned you about him, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. And there’s nothing going on. I beat him in tennis a few days ago. He’s probably just bitter about it.” You shrug, hoping they would just let it go because talking about him made it worse. You didn’t even want to think about him, or be reminded of the way talking about him made you giddy and want to think about him more. Fuck.

“That’s not the story I heard” Jennie raises her eyebrow.

“Story?” Lisa says, rushing over to the table and almost spilling the contents of her tray all over the floor. “I want to hear a story!”

“It’s about Hoseok” Jennie takes a moment to inform Lisa. She then turns back to you. “Namjoon said Hoseok recently cut ties with Seolhyun.”

Rose, Lisa, and Jisoo all gasp at once.

“…and that has to do with me because….” You trail off, praying that you sound skeptical and nonchalant.

“According to what I was told, shit went down like this.” Jennie, puts both of her elbows on the table and takes a deep breathe. “Seolhyun thought she had Hoseok in the palm of her hands. Aka, she assumed they were together. Officially. Which we all know doesn’t apply to Hoseok, but I guess little miss former-almost valedictorian and prom queen thought she was good enough to tie him down. She had told everyone that they were dating. But then just the other day, Hoseok suddenly decided to walk up to Seolhyun to confront her about it, after not caring about the matter for weeks. ” Jennie crosses her arms. “And Hoseok said, quote ‘were we ever a thing?’”.

Jisoo gasps. “He said that to her after every one in the school has already seen them making out in the halls and assumed they were together? Unbelievable.”

“Seolhyun cried didn’t she?” Lisa says with a bored expression. Jennie nods, a fake sympathy conveyed by her sad pout.

“But what does that have to do with me?” You cut in, failing to see your own involvement in this type of high school drama that you swore you never wanted to be a part of.

“It’s simple. It just means he found his next target.” Rose answers.

“And it’s you.” Jennie adds.

…

Normally you wouldn’t get up early on Saturday mornings, but the SAT was in a month, and you had a mock test to complete. You tried not letting your mind wander off as you stared at the long, and might you add, dull paragraph in the critical reading section that was displayed in front of you. It wasn’t a big deal. You had been taking these so-called practiced tests every Saturday for a year now, and luckily have seen steady improvement. It was unlike you to be distracted while reading, especially not to the point where you had to go back and re-read the same section because you weren’t paying attention the first time you skimmed through. This was very alarming. And as much as you tried not to think about “other” things, for the first time in your high school career that just didn’t seem possible no matter how hard you tried.

“It was an unusually difficult section,” You explain as you watch your dad check your answers, only to shake his head every time he marked one wrong.

“And what happens if you get unlucky and face an unusually difficult test?” He asks, looking up at you sternly past his reading glasses.

“I’ll put in extra preparation this month” You assure him, and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as he nods, satisfied with your discipline. 

The boys were playing against their first school this afternoon, and coach was expecting you to go and “cheer them on”. The underlying meaning of it being, review their match playing strategy and figure out what they still needed to work on. Oh, and might you also add that he specifically requested you to “examine” Hoseok’s match because cause quote “the No. 1 singles player is the person who carries the entire team.” 

Again, no choice. But that didn’t change the fact that Hoseok’s match was probably the most exciting to watch because although you had beaten him, he was still the best on the team, and for someone who grew up in a small town with no access to indoor tennis courts, meaning he could only play for half of the year, he was pretty darn good.

You cheer for him, clapping every time he won a point, classic etiquette in tennis, but even if it wasn’t, that burst of a shout after he hit a backhand down the line was not controllable, and you felt your cheeks flush when you realized how loud you were, only emphasized when Hoseok spotted you in the crowd and smirked.

He wins. 6-2 6-3. Easy.

“Can I have your number?” Hoseok asks as he walks towards you and sit down next to you in the grass. You had moved over to check out the other matches going on, trying to avoid him, but again, things just don’t work out the way you want…or do they, because deep down you secretly wanted him to come over and talk to you.

Sure. “No” You force yourself to say.

Hoseok shrugs. “Coach gave it to me already. Told me to hit you up for extra practice this season.”

That motherfu-

“Then why did you even bother to ask? And is he even allowed to do that?” You make an offended face.

“Didn’t want it to feel like you were forced against your will, but it seems that it is.” It was the first time you saw the look of disappointment on his face, but you knew, you fucking knew this was all part of his plan to get you to feel sympathetic. It was just another trick in his bag of goodies.

“You don’t say?” You retort.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to. I just tell coach we’re both too busy with school.” He turns and stares at the courts distantly, and you almost feel guilty about being so cold to him. If you really thought about it, he’s never done anything to you, per se, you’ve just been heavily influenced by third party sources, and it’s unfair to assume based on rumors. Or you were too weak to control your inner desires. Fuck.

“I’ll do it,” You say after a sigh.

“Wait, what?” Hoseok turns and looks at you confused.

“I’ll practice with you” You say, turning to face him, and you think you’re imagining the way his eyes sparkle a little as he registers your words, the way a little twitch of his upturned lip gives away the delight he was trying to contain, and for a momentary pause in time you let yourself return his smile.

…

So you were right about coach screwing you over when he gave your number to Hoseok, because the first time you spoke with him alone, like actually alone, for a good three hours after practicing with him one-on-one, you fell for him… not that your weren’t already slowly slipping into said black hole before that.

And for some unknown reason, you led yourself to believe he wasn’t what everyone made him out to be. And no matter how many times you told yourself you were being a blind idiot, his full body laugh and suggestive smiles tore down whatever barrier you were trying to build between him and your dumb ass.

“You totally could’ve gone pro,” He says as he takes a sip of water from his bottle.

“I didn’t have what it took, mentally or physically.” You say, staring out at the empty park you guys were practicing by.

“Ok, I get the physical part.” He eyes you up and down, while you glance over and scowl at him. “You’re pretty small.”

“Gee, thanks” You mutter.

“What’s the average height for a female professional tennis player? 5’9? 175cm?” He looks at the sky; fluffy clouds drifting over to momentarily cover the sun.

“Yeah” You respond. “Can we not talk about me being short?”

Hoseok chuckles, his perfect smile making another appearance. “Sorry.” He sighs. “So what about the mental part?”

“I’m bad at dealing with my nerves. I choke.” You reply. It was true. Choking during a match is when a player gets so nervous, their legs feel like marshmallows and they can’t perform nearly as well as they should be able to. It’s when you muscles tense up and you make a ton of mistakes you normally shouldn’t, and lose to people you know you’re supposed to beat.

“Hey, we all do that” Hoseok says. “Getting nervous just means you really want to win, and it’s a necessary motivator.”

“Not when it’s an extreme case of the nerves,” You correct, turning towards him. “But whatever, it’s in the past. Tennis isn’t really my thing anymore.”

There’s a short pause and it’s in no way awkward or uncomfortable.

“But you’re still really good. Like really good. I can only imagine how good you were when you really trained intensely. ” He smiles. And you can’t refuse the warmth that spreads through your chest at his comment. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard such kind words about your tennis skills. Not just kind, but sincere words from someone who really understood why you had to give up your dream, a person who knows you’re still amazing even though you didn’t make it, an earnest appreciation for the hard work you put in for so many years. 

You don’t know if that conversation is what led to the events that came after. Namely Hoseok asking you out on a real date and you somehow (or rather predictability at this point) agreeing, him driving you around town and chatting with him while sitting in the passenger seat like some country song, secret flirty glances during all subsequent practices which you thought no one noticed, and even studying together on weekends at the coffee shop by your house.

Snowball effect. That’s what it was. 

You also blame the raging teen hormones.

And on top of that, the infamous “first love”, the one that everyone talks about because it’s exhilarating and unforgettable and unapologetically so. Feelings you never even imagined existed were constantly churning in the pit of your stomach, and even though you knew it was precarious, having been warned of the risk you were taking with someone like him beforehand, you didn’t care. Not when Hoseok held your hand as if he would never let it go, not when he locked his lips with yours as if you were his last love, and certainly not when day in and day out the thought of him was what made you happier than you’ve ever been.

“You’re No. 1 in our class?” He asks, flipping through your test papers all marked with perfect scores.

“Honestly, high school is not that hard” You shrug.

Hoseok’s mouth hangs open in awe. “Teach me your ways,” He says, making a motion to get on his knees and bow down to you.

“Pls” You roll your eyes before laughing.

“You probably get this a lot, but how are you so perfect?” He comments, gazing into your eyes in a way that makes you swallow nervously and your heart pound like crazy.

…

“Just friends?” Jennie huffs, crossing her arms and shaking her head. You had confronted her after the rumors of you and Hoseok dating spread like wildfire.

Not surprising at all.

“Hoseok doesn’t date remember?” You lie, knowing perfectly well that you and Hoseok were most definitely not “just friends”. Especially not when you were planning on having him meet your parents next weekend. Yeah, meeting your parents. The same parents who specifically stated they didn’t want you to date in high school and especially not in the all-important year you were applying to college. But it was getting hard lying to them about where you were going on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons, and it was impossible to explain why someone was now driving you home after tennis practice so you don’t have to take the bus for an hour every day.

“Which is why you need to cut ties with him!” Rose jumps in before Jennie could say anything.

“I think I can handle it guys” You say, trying to quell the annoyance that was building up. You were beginning to hate the way they spoke about Hoseok, about how he’s this douche bag who plays with girls’ hearts, when in reality he’s nothing like that and everyone had just been blinded by nasty rumors.

Of course, it was everyone else who was blind and not you.

“We just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Jennie says, reaching over and caressing your arm when she noticed you were getting a little worked up.

Thinking back, you probably should’ve taken her warning more seriously. But then again, maybe it was good that you didn’t.

It was safe to say that your parents did not like Hoseok. Did not like as in, they’re going to make it blatantly obvious that they disapproved of him more than you failing a test, and that said a lot.

“I’d advise the both of you to stop this nonsense and focus on school.” Your dad had said the moment Hoseok sat down at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry?” Hoseok says, confused as to why a supposed introductory dinner was starting out on such hostile footing.

“Hoseok, was it?” Your dad continues, ignoring the alarmed looks from you. “I heard you play tennis. How are you grades? Do you plan on entering an elite university?”

Hoseok clears his throat. “My grades are average. They’re not stellar, so I’m planning on attending a middle tier school.” He answers, and you can sense the tension in the room, like it was this puff of smoke that was clogging your lungs.

Your dad chuckles. “You are aware of my daughter’s standards, right?”

“I-“ Hoseok begins but is cut off.

“I don’t know how you found the audacity to approach her with your” Pause. “average skills.” He says.

“Dad!” You shout, not being able to believe he was saying this.

Hoseok was containing himself well, you had to give him props for that because god knows how irritated and downright embarrassed he must feel on the inside. And your dad just wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you nudged his leg under the table, the attacking comments just kept coming. 

“Please excuse me” Hoseok says when he finally couldn’t stand the attacks from your dad any longer. He storms out of the house, holding back from starting a real fight because that would’ve led to an even bigger disaster.

You follow after him, but he’s already pulling out his car keys.

“Hoseok!” You shout. “Wait” You grab onto his arm, and he turns around to look at you tenderly. Anger evaporating from his previously tensed expression.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, ok” He says with a weary smile before getting in his car and driving off.

And you think you’re dreaming and the events that went down did not just happen, but you’re tackled by the reality that is a nightmare the moment you walk back in your house. Your dad had left the table, and it was just your mom, cleaning up the untouched food in eerie silence.

“You’re wasting your time with him.” She said, as you willed yourself to hold back the tears that were nipping at your eyes.

“But mom, I can handle school and-“

“I’m not talking about what your father was saying” She interrupts. “I’m purely considering the fact that young love rarely lasts, and he doesn’t look like the kind of person who will stay with you through the storm.”

“How would you know!” You almost shout back, it was the first time you had the audacity to speak to your mom in this way, but the fact that she just labeled Hoseok after knowing him for one dinner made you livid.

“Well, are you the first girl he’s been with?” She asks, voice revealing that she already knew the answer.

No. “I don’t know” You lie. You knew you weren’t.

“Do you believe he will stay faithful to you when you both go off to college?”

I don’t know. “Yes” You murmur, genuinely unsure, so that was technically only half a lie.  

“Honey” She says. “You’re still young, you’ll meet plenty of great people in the future. ”

And you would’ve made an even bigger mistake if you had took her word on that, because we all know the heart will not follow any sort of logic, and fate is not something anyone can decide.

… 

…

“It’s been a while. How have you been?” You say as you watch the familiar, yet unfamiliar figure, pull out a chair and seat himself in front of you.

“10 years. I’ve been decent. Could be worse.” He chuckles. “You?”

“I’m good.” You answer.

“Classic easy way out answer” He grins, and you can still see remnants of the sun in his smiling face, although the fuel that the burning flames had run on had been sucked dry lately.

You find out that he recently found a job in the city, after being unemployed for over 6 months when the marketing company he worked for went bankrupt. It sounded like quite the struggle, but everyone was struggling in today’s economy.

“I got my PhD two years ago, and I’m still a postdoc in my current lab” You explain, trying to sound casual, and summarizing the last 10 years in once succinct sentence. It felt strange knowing the person sitting across from you was once the closest person to you outside of family but now exiled to that awkward place between acquaintance and old friend.

You watch as he nods his head slowly, soaking in the circumstances and most likely feeling the same kind of nostalgic awkwardness that you were. He sighs and takes a cautious sip of his coffee in effort to postpone having to take the lead in this unexpected meeting of sorts.

“Going down the academic professor route?” He queries, raising an eyebrow and curving his lips upward in attempt to lighten the mood like old times.

You chuckle a little. “Honestly, I’m not too sure. I’ve never embraced the thought of being a college professor. Writing proposals all the time for funding and having to be responsible for students who have paid a ton of money for good education.” 

“Ah, right, you’re not too good with pressure.” He nods, understandingly.

And you’re surprised he still remembers.

The Jung Hoseok who you have not spoken to in over 10 years still remembers the first real conversation he had with you that day on the tennis court in the empty park in that small town. That defining moment which lead your two paths to cross, one in which you revealed more of yourself than you had initially intended.  

“How do you like the city?” You ask looking into his eyes that still remind you of so many things you’ve chosen to forget.

“It’s beautiful and exciting. There’s so much to do and it’s so different from the small towns I’m used to.” His eyes glance over at the scenery outside the window, the tall skyscrapers blocking a view that would otherwise go on for miles. “So far I’m liking it, but I don’t know if I’ll be feeling the same after living here long-term.”

“Yeah, it can get hectic. And public transportation is frustrating, especially if you have a long commute to work like me.” You voice, thinking of all the times you cursed at rush hour traffic and the one late night you took the subway after midnight and waited two hours for the train that took it’s sweet ass time.

Small talk.

You weren’t particularly good at it, and it always made you conscious of how awkward you are as a social creature, but you subtly wanted Hoseok to keep you company for as long as possible. Because he’s the one person from your past that you, admittedly, haven’t forgotten despite your not so strong attempts to do so.

It works. For a good hour or so before he finishes his coffee and tells you he needs to head out. You smile and nod, and tell him that it was good to see him, a pleasant encounter that could only be described at fate hard at work again, but you try and not think about it that way because it sounds stupid. Because you don’t know what he’s thinking or if you’ll ever get answers to why things happened the way they did, whether it was for better or worse. You also don’t know if you’ll ever see him again by chance, or if this is actually your last chance to do something. Anything. So thank god you ran out of that coffee shop, summing up every last ounce of courage you had and took matters into your own hands. Closing the distance between two parallel lines with your own strength instead of letting such a destined opportunity pass.

“Hoseok, wait” You call after him, rushing to stop him from not only physically leaving, but leaving the one thing that had been left unresolved for so many years.

He turns, staring perplexedly at your frenzied state.

“I just have one more question.” You say, trying to catch your breath. You bite your bottom lip, maybe it was a mistake to ask, but it’s been long enough right? 

“Why did you do it?” You finally manage to blurt out.

The expression that crossed his face is unreadable. It was a mixture of acceptance, a calmness that almost seemed indifferent and detached, and lingering regret, a pain from an old would that doesn’t go away because a part of your nerves have been scarred. That feeling of being powerless over the things you can’t control, like not being tall enough to be a professional athlete, not being able to see the uncertain future but trying to shape the un-shapeable anyways, or just simple making mistakes because you were young.

…

…

Dating in secret. Or at least that’s what it felt like. It was obvious that no one accepted your relationship. Not your friends and certainly not your parents.

What made it even worse was that this mess you were in, hindered your test performance. You had to re-take the SAT, a fact that made your father very, very unhappy. But for once in your finely tuned life, you didn’t fucking care that your world was gradually crashing down. So what if you didn’t get into your “dream school”? Did that define you as a person? Did that mean you were a failure for life?

You had heard of countless stories where success was not determined by test scores, grades, or what college a person attended. Besides, both Bill Gates and Steve Jobs were drop outs, and look how successful they became. 

It was a new kind of mindset you adopted. One in which compelled you to sneak out to bars with Hoseok at night, get drunk while underage, make love in public places while hidden under the guise of moonlit nights. And it was exhilarating, the way young love, first love, is supposed to be.

Hearing the sound of pebbles hitting your window, you already know who it is. You had been waiting for him, pretending to be asleep when you had told your parents goodnight and rushed up to your bedroom with a stomach full of anticipation. Kicking off your blankets you practically sprint to your window, opening it to the fresh breeze that kisses your face. 

“Ready?” You hear a voice shout lightly from below. You nod, enthusiastically, the same reaction you give him every time he sneaks you out to the bar late at night.

“Where are we going?” You breathe after getting into his car and realizing he’s not taking you the usual route.

“Somewhere I’ve wanted to take you for a while now” He replies, eyes focused on the road and mouth curved upwards in a warm smile. Your eyes trace along the curves of his silhouette, the contours of his figure outlined by the moon and etched in your memory. The way he controls the steering wheel with one arm and rests his other hand gently on your thigh is something you should’ve gotten used to by now, but the way his arm veins bulge with every small movement and the way his fingers dance on your skin never fails to ignite a flame in you.  

Hoseok takes you to an open field, doesn’t sound too appealing at first, but it’s not just any field, it’s a meadow, a field of flowers. And although you can’t see much at night, he insists that the glow of the moon and stars will be enough to see all that you think may be cloaked in darkness.

And he’s right. Or maybe you’re just caught up in the moment because you think you can see fluttering shapes when the wind brushes by, petals dancing in the air, their outline only visible because of the marginally lighter night sky, and the occasional sparkle of fireflies lighting up the black canvas.

He leads you over to a soft patch of grass under a tree, and the you who is normally terrified of the dark, especially in such a remote location feels fearless right then because Jung Hoseok could be leading you to the end of the world and you would gladly follow, no further questions asked. And your young mind chooses to believe that he was all you needed, because the warmth from his hands and the tenderness of his caress makes you wonder how you ever lived without his presence, something that seemed to feel just as important as the fundamental necessities that provided you with life.

When you sit down next to him and lean against his ever so familiar body, he wraps am arm around your shoulder, securing you in his embrace. He looks at you with an endearing gaze, lifting his other arm and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know I was warned to stay away from you right?” You voice, waiting to see how Hoseok would react to your not-so surprising revelation.

“Yeah, which is why I was shocked you agreed to go out with me.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep, sedative breath. “But would you believe me if I told you that you were my first.”

“So you lied about not being a virgin?” You raise an eyebrow, invisible in the dark but laced in your voice.

Hoseok laughs lightly. “No, not first in that sense.” He clears his throat, taking the time to organize his thoughts; running through his next words in his mind before letting them slip past his lips. “The first girl that made me stop thinking about other girls…the only person that makes me want to better myself…oh god, I suck at this.” He sighs, blushing in embarrassment.

You giggle, reaching an arm up to touch his face, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“Don’t worry, I get it,” You say with a smile, head still rested against his firm, comforting chest.

Hoseok was someone who made you want to choose love over bread because for a fleeting moment in time, you wholeheartedly believed it didn’t matter how shitty everything else in the world was, as long as he was with you, you could create a happiness.

“Hoseok?” You murmur after a long period of silent gazing at the nocturnal landscape.

“Hmm?” He hums, shifting slightly to look at you, who by now has raised your head to gaze at him.

“What do you think will happen to us?” 

He sighs gently. “I wish I knew.” He whispers.

“We can go to the same college.” You suggest, a statement that causes him to fall silent.

“Y/N” Hoseok voices, and it’s hard to identify the emotion entangled in his voice. It’s almost stern, but also weary at the same time. “I could never get into those schools that you’re applying to.” He huffs a silent chuckle.

“That’s ok, I’ll just apply to the schools you’re applying to” You say, almost cheerfully, like you were choosing to ignore how naïve your declaration sounded.

He removes his arm from your shoulder and sits up to look at you, placing his hands on your cheeks and rubbing the soft flesh with his thumb, like he was wiping nonexistent tears from your face.

“No, you’re not going to make sacrifices for me.” He says, still staring into your eyes. “You’re going to get into your dream school, and you’re going to be the successful women you were destined to be.” He smiles faintly. “You’ll fly high in your life, and know that I’ll be cheering you on.”

…

It was no miracle that you did get the acceptance letter from your dream school. Apparently not being able to test well under pressure was exactly what was holding you back from achieving the coveted perfect score on the SAT. And it was all thanks to Hoseok that you were able to rid yourself of that hindrance. It wasn’t just the fact that he changed you in a fundamental way, but he had also continued to help you cope with pressure and the expectation that you had been held up to all your life.

As you had voiced before, high school classes weren’t that hard so your GPA did not suffer at all, even though you were spending half of your free time going on dates with Hoseok, living freely without care despite the weight that continued to rest on your shoulders. It seemed like a win-win, and maybe now your parents would at least attempt to accept him. And you think you’ve finally figured everything out, that everything was now, truly falling into place.

You think. But when have you’re thoughts actually reflected reality correctly?

And then you learn that when your world actually comes crashing down, it doesn’t happen slowly. You can’t see everything falling one by one, the tiles sliding down the walls of your reality giving you time to make a run for it at least. But no, crashing worlds are not that nice to the living, it’s not gradual, it just flashes by, demolished in one single swoop.

It happens when you’re walking down the familiar halls of the school you almost grew to feel comfortable in. The band hall in particular. The one where the Hoseok you knew, diverted from the Hoseok everyone else at the school knew…or so you thought.

“Turn away” You hear Jennie shout before pushing you to face the other direction.

“Why-“ You begin to ask but are cut off by a gasp from Rose and Jisoo.

“Oh no…” Lisa murmurs. 

“Guys, what’s happening?” You question, trying to turn to see but the four of them are intentionally blocking your view.

And then you see it.

“You fucking asshole!” You shout down the hall at the two people making out like they were putting a show on for the world.

The girl turns around; face shocked with fear and quickly runs off as you stomp up to none other than Jung fucking Hoseok.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask through gritted teeth, you were feeling slightly dizzy, partially hoping that maybe, just maybe, this was all a nightmare you would soon wake up from. But it clearly wasn’t, because Hoseok’s grip on your arm is tight enough to cause you to lose circulation as he drags you outside. You attempt to rip your arm away, but he’s too strong.

“Stop making a commotion” He says, almost calmly, like he had all of this planned or some shit.

“EXPLAIN.” You order. “And if you’re going to come up with shitty excuse laced lies, I’m leaving” You spit, crossing your arms and staring him down with a piercing gaze.

And that motherfucker has the nerve, the audacity, to fucking smirk.

“I’m not going to sugar coat any of this. It is exactly what you saw.” Hoseok says nonchalantly. He places his arms on his hips and turns his head to direct his attention to the grass blowing in the field like he didn’t just slap you in the face. “You’re better off without an asshole like me.” He sighs.  

“Stop acting like this is a fucking Korean drama Hoseok!” You scream, tearing rushing down your face hot and angry. “You’re not doing anyone favors here. Hoseok, please…” You reach out and grab his arm, desperately, thinking that maybe he’ll snap out of whatever trance he was in. The robotic look in his eyes was scary and you don’t know why, what, how…there were just too many questions.

“I’m not playing around!” He says, finally letting the anger he was containing make its way to his voice. “Look at you, and me, we- we’re a fucking joke. And I know you’ve known the kind of person I am, don’t fucking pretend you actually believed I was someone different.” He huffs a laugh and it’s almost hysterical. “Y/N, look, I can spit out some fake apology right now, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear. Let’s just quietly go our separate ways. Good luck in college.” And that’s the last thing you hear from him as your heart clenches in your chest, limbs going numb, and ears ringing.

You stare as he tears his detached gaze from your puffy eyes, and you almost believe you’re hallucinating when you see the slight falter in his indifferent, heartless verging on cruel, expression. Because his eyelids droop a little, and his bottom lip quivers in a way that makes you want to hug him and tell him you know why he’s doing this and he doesn’t fucking have to, and let’s just forget all this shit happened and pretend we’re still strong enough to stay together no matter what the world decides to throw on us. But it’s just a fleeting thought, one that you don’t have the strength to put in action because you know it would be useless, and you don’t trust your instincts 100%, not when he’s ripping his arm from your grip and disappearing back into the school building.  

And he when he thinks you’re not watching anymore, when he assumes he’s out of sight, Hoseok crumbles, shoulders slumping and hand covering his mouth to muffle his hushed sobs.

Tennis season was over. Graduation was approaching, and you never saw him again, not in the halls, not picking you up to go on a date in town, not knocking on your bedroom window at night even though you foolishly, pathetically waited all summer, unwilling to let go of the fictional possibility that he would maybe, just maybe, come back.

He doesn’t.

Not for the next 10 years at least.

…

…

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your dreams” He replies. Simple, yet complicated because it was something you knew but couldn’t put to rest because it was unconfirmed.  

“So you did do it for me” You whisper, finally realizing you weren’t being delusional in thinking he didn’t cheat on you because he didn’t really love you.

“But I guess if I was really trying to be the hero in all this, I shouldn’t have bothered approaching you in the first place, right?” He forces a smile, but you know him well enough, even if it was the him 10 years ago, to understand that he not only hurt you but himself in the process. “And apparently love is more like talent rather than hard work” He chuckles lightly, looking down at the ground. Talent, something you are born with and don’t have a say in deciding how much of it or what kind you have, and hard work, the part of the path to success that you can regulate. It’s the age-old nature vs. nurture battle, and Hoseok was absolutely right. Love is nature, the talent that is gifted by the heavens, written in the stars. “It’s not something you can control.” 

Walking alongside him for the first time in years, your instincts lead you to Central Park, a gracefully designed natural environment with modern and traditional European architectural elements: a castle by the lake, flower gardens, and grassy fields to layout and bask in the sun. The trees that provided shade made you feel like you were finally alone with Hoseok once again, privately relieving a past you found hard to forget.

He doesn’t voice that he’s sorry, knowing that being sorry doesn’t do anything productive and only induces a sense of pity, but also accepting the fact that he made the decision that he did because he truly believed it was for the best at the time. It’s hard when you’re young and faced with an uncertain future and a relentless environment where people are constantly spewing toxic words and hurtful opinions at you. You get frustrated easily, wanting to make the right choices while at the same time, yearning for your own desires. Hoseok doesn’t know if he would change things if given the chance to go back. He doesn’t know if a slightly more mature version of himself would’ve chosen to avoid such catastrophic events, but one thing’s for sure, he loved you with all his heart, even though he was…young.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Since I’m here in the city now, if you want, we can meet up anytime” He responds. 

“Are you subtly asking me out?” You smirk.

“I’m a little rusty.” He sighs. “But yes, I am.” He smiles. “That is, if you want. Otherwise, we can pretend none of this happened.”

“I would love to” You respond soothingly, causing a familiar surprised look to spread across his features.

“I am in no way questioning your decision, but I can’t help but wonder why? A beautiful and successful woman like you should have men kissing the ground you walk on.” His eyes are wide and his lips are slightly parted, a reaction that makes your chest tingle with bursts of endearment.

“Because you remind me of a past I cannot go back to.” You voice matter-of-factly.

“Is that good or bad?” He nervously glances at you.

“I don’t have a clue.” You smile with a sigh. “I just know that to this day, I still clutch on to it as if it was what my life depended on. And I don’t have the desire or the will power to let it go.” You finish with a shrug.

At that Hoseok smiles, a beam that is indeed brighter than the sun, one that hits just the right notes, showing up at just the right time, and you know that this is right, that this is without a doubt unequivocally perfect, because it brings back something you had been missing for a long time.

And for now, you’re going to put off worrying about the future like the people around you keep urging you to do, and instead embrace the return of the kind of recklessness that is so often associated with youth because the man walking next to you right now is leading you in the direction in which your heart faces and for now, you don’t want to have it any other way.

…

[esculentevil]

This got way longer than I expected it to (then again, I’ve been adding to it literally for months so...); under a cut it goes!

"Walk Through the Fire" by Zayde Wolf feat. Ruelle

Also “Young and Beautiful” by Lana del Rey which I literally wrote a fic about.

And “Famous Last Words” by My Chemical Romance; perfect for survivor!Duil

Fuuu!!! “Poison” by Alice Cooper!!! Jive, how did I forget that one? Thank my mate, everyone; s/he reminded me rofl while we RPed

Rediscovered “Empire” by Shakira and think it’d fit them perfectly~

“Steady, as She Goes” by The Raconteurs has major wait too long vibes which, seriously, is 100% Thorinduil (especially since Thorin dies with his glue blood...); altho I’ll admit this one only occurred to me cuz it’s in my mate and I’s playlist and, like with Poison, we were talking about these two yet again lmfao and also this fanvideo which got me thinking of S,aSG halfway through it so... yea

AND “I Don't Care” by Apocalyptica ‘cause it fits/these both reminded me I love it

“I hate U, I love U” by Gnash ft. Olivia O'Brien: this is literally their love story

Perhaps strangely, I think “Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)” by Eurythmics, Annie Lennox, and Dave Stewart would work for them--especially Thorin

“Gingerbread Man” by Melanie Martinez; partly because of this video; but also because of the climax of the song not shown in that edit (which is a real shame cuz that was sort of the part that sealed it for me and got me to add it to this list): Thranduil is so the icing on Thorin and Thorin’s so the crumbs on Thranduil and they’re 100% loving hard, fighting, breaking, and eating each other into nothing

“I Want To **** You Like An Animal” by Nine Inch Nails; for obvious reasons

“I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)” by Meat Loaf because, legit, that’s just Thranduil on top of that cliff refusing to throw away his people/family

“Say Something” by A Great Big World because acesout is right

“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors because, after writing “Once I trusted/relied on/believed in you and you let me down” and “Once I had hopes that we could build something beautiful together but reality reminded me that I’m old and ugly and not good enough (for you) so I thought it best to let you go when I should’ve held you” in this and reading acesout’s post linked above and realizing it’s true... I just want to see/read them holding onto each other like this v.v They deserve it.

“Rude Boy” by Rihanna and probably also “Only Girl in the World” by her, too; actually, “We Found Love” ft. Calvin Harris and “Diamonds” and “Stay” ... Huh... Rihanna actually has a LOT of songs perfect for them... their whole love story...

“Enemies” by Lauv because the sentiment is so them.

“Fire” by Wang Yibo because this romance is ALL about playing with fire~

“Accidentally in Love” by Counting Crows cuz it’s literally what happened

“Not Another Song About Love” by Hollywood Ending because, seriously, everything about this song is them: they hate everything about each other while also needing everything about each other and wanting each other’s love ‘til it all runs out ‘cause they’re all that each other’ve been dreaming of~

“I'm Not Afraid” by Tommee Profitt ft. Wondra but mostly just the first part/verse; the rest of it strikes me more as Thranduil fighting depression/Sauron’s shadow while knowing he’s not only lost Thorin as a lover but gained him as an enemy...

“Locked Away” by R. City ft. Adam Levine cuz it’s literally Thorin losing it all--from mountain to crown to gold--and yet not getting that Thranduil locking him up IS him sticking with him, by his side, and grounding him through the goldlust

“Baby Love” by The Supremes because Mizugetsu on YT is a folking genius and I always liked this song anyway--also, it just really fits them rofl and their story

“Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer: the “dangerous beauty/love to hate” vibes just work and the simp!Thorin feels--@lady-astria and I were just talking about this!

“Always” by Saliva because there’s nothing unThorin[duil] about it; it’s all them (especially, I think, from Thorin’s POV post-Smaug straight up to BotFA)

“Kiss from a Rose” by Seal because “my power, my pleasure, my shame” period. But also it really does sound like Thorin singing about Thranduil, his lit rose.

So, I really think we should go back with this pairing and I was thinking we can start with, which songs make you think about Thorin, Thranduil and the Thorinduil pairing?

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

RWBY VOLUME 5 WISHLIST

OKAY SO 

WITH ONLY A COUPLE WEEKS LEFT UNTIL VOLUME 5 PREMIERES, I’M GETTING HYPED AS FUCK, SO MUCH THAT I HAD TO MAKE A WHOLE POST YELLING ABOUT EVERYTHING I’M EXCITED ABOUT (POTENTIALLY) SEEING IN THE NEW VOLUME

In hindsight, despite knowing logically that nowhere near all of them can/will pop up in one volume, I have more hopes and dreams than I thought, so I’m putting them all under the cut:

- First and foremost, I am SO excited to see more of the new animation! I’ve seen some people criticize how the Volume 4 fight scenes looked, and I don’t know enough about animation or fight choreography to have an opinion on that, but all throughout V4 I was consistently amazed by how much more expressive everyone is now, and how much more depth everything seems to have, if that’s the correct word. And with the Volume 5 trailers looking even cooler, I’m both very impressed with the animation crew and very excited to see what the new volume will look like in full.

- However, I do agree with what seems to be the general consensus about Volume 4′s main problem, which was the pacing. Splitting the team up was a good move for the story, but trying to tell all the main four’s separate stories and properly dealing with the traumas they all suffered in V3 while also introducing a whole host of new characters who need development too AND devoting a chunk of the volume to Ren’s backstory AND adding more worldbuilding? That’s a case of biting off way more than you can chew, and I feel like the volume ended up suffering for it by having simultaneously too much and not enough. Hopefully, bringing everyone into a central location again will make telling Volume 5′s story easier to manage.

- Character development for Ruby! It feels like she’s started to be shunted to the back in her own show (can Jaune just...go away for a little while? He’s a good side character, but that kind of requires him to stay to the damn side), and there’s definitely a lot more to be addressed with her. 

SILVER EYE TRAINING. Or something of that nature. We’ve gone an entire volume since her powers were revealed, and nobody on the heroes’ side has said a thing about it. Has she tried activating them again? Did she even tell anyone else what little Qrow told her? Anything like that?

Consequently, we’ve learned nothing about them either, and when you’re piling on even more lore/worldbuilding like Miles and Kerry did in this volume with the Relics and the Brothers, that’s not a good thing when we barely know anything about what’s already there. 

And I don’t exactly have a number one hope for this volume, but if I did, Ruby angst (for lack of a better term) would be a fierce contender. Like...Ruby’s innocence was shattered in Volume 3. She watched her school, which was supposed to be a safe and happy place, be destroyed, countless people massacred by Grimm, two good friends (and one enemy) die horribly right in front of her, her sister’s confidence crushed, and her team fall apart. And though she tried, though all she wants is to be the hero and protect people from harm, there was nothing she could do about any of it. What that must have done to her can’t be skimmed over with a few seconds of nightmare, a downcast look, and an “I learned something today” letter, and I’m hoping that the psyche of our main protagonist being explored more will be a higher priority in the new Volume.

Related note: please let Penny’s death be given more than one quick mention, @RT I’m begging you

ALSO I CANNOT WAIT FOR YANG TO FIND HER AGAIN, EVERY SCENE OF THESE PERFECT SISTERS ADDS TEN YEARS TO MY LIFE, IT’S GOING TO BE GREAT

LIKE, I’D MAKE A REUNION JOKE, BUT THE BEST ONES WERE ALREADY MADE

- Team RNJR running into Pyrrha’s mother (or other living family?) in Mistral. With communications down, there probably wasn’t a way for anyone at Beacon to tell her what happened, so her teammates will have to be the ones to break it to her that her daughter was killed in action.

 Oh, and that there was no body. Because she was shot point-blank in the chest with a huge arrow and then incinerated. It was bad, Ms. Pyrrha’s Mom. REAL BAD. 

Pyrrha’s Mom: Well, if that’s the case...Did you happen to save any of her personal belongings, so I could have something to remember my daughter by? These things really should go to the family, after all. Maybe her armor? What happened to that?

Ren and Nora: (look at each other, sweating bullets)

Jaune: UHHHH...(hides new sword and shield behind his back, also sweating bullets)

Ruby: ...I had nothing to do with this! You tell her! (rose petals away)

Yes, I know Miles and Kerry said that Pyrrha probably had more than one suit of armor. Yes, I do think the action itself was sweet. Yes, telling her mother that someone took her dead daughter’s stuff without permission and melted it down to use himself would be an awkward situation anyway.

- Speaking of which, maybe a flashback to Ren and Nora’s reactions to finding out that Pyrrha was murdered?

I mean, think about it: the last time either of them saw her, she’d been depressed and nervous about something, then accidentally dismembered a girl in front of a whole stadium, and was too stunned by it to run from a goddamn Nevermore. Then she disappears during the Battle of Beacon, and in the aftermath, on top of everything else that just happened, someone (probably Jaune) tells them she’s dead. And he can’t fully explain why, because he didn’t know what was going on himself. Ouch.

They were her friends, too. How did they take it? We got nothing, not even in the campfire scene where her death is directly addressed. (Because all that mattered were Jaune’s fucking feelings, rIGHT MILES, GOD DAMN IT)

(good God, I need to stop being so bitter, I’m trying to be happy)

- I CANNOT WAIT FOR MORE YANG, GONNA BE GREAT, I CAN’TT WAIT

I’ve seen a whole lot of people complaining that Yang got too little screentime in Volume 4 and that her recovery story was too rushed, and yeah, I can see where they’re coming from, but I feel like we need to look at the big picture for that because I get the sense that Miles and Kerry are building up to something with that

I am almost 100% sure that Yang isn’t actually doing as well as she acts. Remember that before we see her all peppy and energetic and “It feels so natural,” the last scene was her overhearing Taiyang talking about how he would go after Ruby to make sure she’s safe, but he can’t because he has to stay home and look after Yang

Feeling like she’s a burden now and putting on a brave, strong front and acting like she’s suddenly A-okay so that she won’t be, for the sake of her family, is a very Yang thing to do. She’s had to do that for a huge chunk of her life (remember we don’t know exactly how long Taiyang checked out of reality after Summer’s death), and it’s probably an easy coping mechanism for her to fall back into

Easy -- but dangerously unhealthy, especially considering that she’s driving herself right back onto the battlefield. I think we’re headed straight for a relapse/an even bigger breakdown sometime in the future

But before that, I’d love to see her actually having to adjust to having her metal arm. People’s reactions when they see it, how it lacks any sense of touch, how it’s going to need some amount of maintenance, all that good stuff

And most importantly, the new arm did fine while she was practicing with Tai, but how is it going to fare in an actual battle? How hard of a hit can it take? Can it keep up with Yang’s Semblance? What will happen if it’s not as strong as she thought and she loses her arm again?

Mark my words, that arm is going to blow the fuck up like Edward Elric’s automail, I know it

Also hey perfect opportunity to maybe shine a spotlight on all Yang’s other, non-arm-related issues

- Adding onto that -- holy shit I am so hyped for the Yang/Blake reunion I HAVE TO DO SEPARATE BULLET POINTS FOR IT 

I’m as excited as anyone else for them to be happy together again, but I know perfectly well that that isn’t going to happen right away and quite frankly I will be disappointed if it does

These two have a lot of issues to hash out, both about their relationship and with their own personal problems, so realistically, there’s going to be anger and hurt, there’s going to be betrayed feelings, there’s going to be resentment, and that’s okay

But I’m also hoping that we’ll get to see them work through what’s happened to them, learn to communicate better, and grow as partners by the end of it

AND AS SOON AS THAT’S DONE:

YANG AND BLAKE FIGHTING TOGETHER AFTER MAKING UP. LOCAL PUNK BITCH ADAM TAURUS FOUND DEAD IN MIAMI. 

If not, then I would also happy to see him playing tetherball with Ghira and Kali. He can be the ball.

Seriously, though: please take this moment of your day to imagine Kali Belladonna bashing Adam’s head open with a cast-iron tea kettle. You’re welcome.

Anything to assuage my looming fear that right when everything is looking up for Blake and Company, Adam’s going to just swooce right in and kill her parents

Sun can help too! I wouldn’t be surprised to see him fighting off the Albain brothers and/or Ilia while the power couple Yang and Blake beat the shit out of Adam

And then they can all sit on his corpse and have dumplings together

- Speaking of Sun, I have a very strong feeling that when he finally reunites with his team, he and Neptune will dance again and it will warm my cold dead heart

- SIENNA KHAN BEING THE STRONG, BEAUTIFUL, MAJESTIC TIGRESS FAUNUS WE ALL KNOW SHE CAN BE

- TEAM STRQ TEAM STRQ TEAM STRQ TEAM STRQ TEAM STRQ 

ALLLLLLLL THE TEAM STRQ

MY ANGST-LOVING ASS IS 5000% READY FOR SOME FLASHBACKS

SOMEHOW IT’LL BE EVEN BETTER SEEING THEM YOUNG AND HAPPY KNOWING DAMN WELL THAT THEIR COLLECTIVE RELATIONSHIPS GOES TO ABSOLUTE SHIT BEFORE LONG

It’d be cool to see Tai when he was actually happy and untraumatized

And the twins, too, before they went all Zuko and Azula on each other! What made two kids raised by a bandit tribe decide to go to Beacon? Were they partners? What were their relationships with Tai and Summer like? When the time came, how did they choose between their tribe and their new lives with their team? Did they used to get along better? Were they born into the tribe or adopted into it? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THESE TWO AND I’M SO EXCITED TO KNOW MORE

AND OF COURSE THE MORE I GET TO SEE OF RAVEN IN GENERAL, THE BETTER

BUT EVEN BETTER: I have been wanting to see Summer Rose content for years, and I will die happy if she gets the chance to actually be a good character in her own right instead of another example of the “perfect dead parent” trope

And this would be the perfect way to tie in to Raven and Yang’s story: by bringing up again that Summer was, for all intents and purposes, Yang’s real mother, not the woman who gave birth to her and then Ging Freecss-ed away to go slaughter people

Also I know it has like a 0% chance of becoming a canon ship, but if it turns out that Raven really is working with Salem in some capacity -- 

(which I think she probably is; her loyalty is to her tribe and her responsibilities as its leader, and it would be beneficial for her to be getting information from both Beacon’s side and Salem’s side, so when things really get ugly, she can decide who, if either, will give her people the best chance of surviving to see the dust clear if she allies with them)

-- my Hellbirds-shipping heart will explode if she and Cinder actually share screentime together

I don’t care if their only interaction is, “hi you flash-fried piece of garbage”, (ANGRY WHEEZING NOISES), I’ve made do with rarepairs that have exactly one second of eye contact and nothing else, I will be so happy

- Qrow getting into some AA and therapy because God knows he needs it. Mama Schnee can come too. 

Actually, anything with Mama Schnee being relevant would be very welcome

Whitley proving to be smarter and more manipulative than his father while operating in a self-serving gray area would not go amiss, either. Boy’s got to do something to get out from under the pile of much cooler villains than him

ALSO, I want Winter Schnee to do three things: step on me continue to be badass and beautiful, have more Good Big Sis moments with Weiss, and kick Qrow through a window. Any of those would be lovely :)

- OH I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT THE MAIDENS

With the Spring Maiden being brought up as Team WTCH’s next target in V4, I’ll be very surprised if she doesn’t show up at least once in V5, and now that we know the lore surrounding them, I’m curious to see how they are in the real world

Like, unless you’re Cinder or Pyrrha, you don’t choose to become a Maiden, and the concept of being a regular person randomly ending up with huge, world-bending power and having to live with it until you die and potentially being tracked down and murdered for it is really cool

Do they all choose to become fighters, like Amber, or do they try to carry on normal lives and hide their powers?

Since the power is transferred to whoever was in the last Maiden’s dying thoughts, is it possible that there could be Maiden families somewhere in Remnant, who deliberately try to pass on their powers down the family line, from mother to daughter?

And while we know that you can be too old to become a Maiden, is there a minimum age limit? I saw this one theory that the Spring Maiden is going to turn out to be just a little girl, not even a preteen yet, and I think that’s definitely something worth exploring. Like, take everything I said before about the concept of being a Maiden and apply that to a child, and it’s simultaneously cooler and much, much worse

And the idea of someone like Tyrian hunting down a really little kid, to either be killed or used as a Tykebomb by Salem, is just fucking horrifying; please keep him away from any and all children

Finally here’s something I’ve been wondering since V4 started: can a single person inherit more than one Maiden’s power? Since I’m assuming they all have different sets of abilities. Does Salem intend to find three other candidates to steal each Maiden’s power, or is Cinder supposed to assume the powers of all four Maidens to save her the trouble?

That would be an interesting move for Cinder’s character arc...She’s the girl who wants power, and so she steals more and more and eventually winds up taking in so damn much power that she can’t handle it, and in the end, it destroys her

- Speaking of which: THE VILLAINS. GIVE ME ALL THE VILLAIN SCREENTIME.

- I need Team WTCH content, I know we’ll probably be getting plenty of it but I need it like breath

Tyrian with his hair down? Maybe? 

I’m interested to see whether he’s still traumatized by Salem telling him his kidnapping skills suck, or whether this happens often enough that he’s bounced back by now

As much as I talk about wanting to find out where Cinder’s obsessions came from, I think out of the whole team, I want to see Tyrian’s backstory the most. Just what in the hell fucked his head up so bad and made him so devoted to Salem? The others fear and respect her, Tyrian worships her -- why?

Hazel’s little moments of compassion/morality -- being the only team member not to make fun of Cinder and helping out Oscar purely because he felt like it -- really interest me, and coupled with the fact that he’s definitely probably the one who killed Summer Rose and I could listen to William Orendorff’s voice of a god for hours, I’d love to see more of him

And on the complete opposite end of the "niceness” spectrum, I’m looking forward to seeing Watts be a complete dick for the whole volume probably more than I should

I see all your jokes about how he’ll eventually lose his mustache to Ruby and I’ll raise you the reveal that the mustache was really a gun the whole time. That’s his Semblance, his mustache turns into a gun

(I’m also curious to see how a Kingdom/Academy already influenced by Salem in some way operates. With the knowledge from World of Remnant that Mistral in general isn’t a kind country, and the reveal that Haven’s headmaster is on Salem’s side (willingly or not), the place is giving me real Town With A Dark Secret vibes already and we’ve barely seen it, it’s looking to be really cool)

More interactions between these four in general I’d love, but what would be really great to see would be a flashback to how Cinder fit into the group pre-Silver-eyed-ass-whooping, when she was still confident and could still talk back to them 

I mean, I seriously doubt it will happen but if we get an “Beginning of the End”-style flashback episode showing how they all ended up with Salem, I will flip a fucking table that would be so cool

- But even more than that, I will sell my soul for more scenes with Cinder, Emmy, and Merc, do you hear me RT, those three aRE MY FUCKING LIFE

Personally, I’d love to see just a quiet, normal scene with the three of them, without Salem or WT_H, showing off how their team dynamic has changed now that Cinder’s hurt and vulnerable and they’re all stuck in hell together until Cinder is ungrounded

Seeing more of Emerald acting as Cinder’s voice/caretaker. One more reason I think that this is the absolute best direction they could have gone with Cinder is that her relationship with Emerald has been turned completely upside down. Before, Cinder was in control of everything, easily, and her emotional manipulation of Emerald centered around the fact that she was the one who took her off the streets and gave her food, work, shelter, a place to belong (I’m trying to keep it brief, but I could write so much more on how Emerald’s self-worth is tied directly to Cinder), with the implied message being, “You owe me your life, your happiness; where would you be if I hadn’t chosen you?” Now? Cinder’s life has spun entirely out of control, and she’s forced to rely on Emerald for the most basic things. Where would she be, now, if Emerald decided to leave her? My guess is, Emerald probably has mixed feelings about the whole thing, but this has got to grate on Cinder like nothing else

Cinder moving on from fire and starting to try and master all the other bending disciplines Maiden powers. AVATAR STATE, YIP YIP

Mercury taming those goddamn monstrosities above his eyes, good Lord

But seriously though, let my boy talk again 

(and maaaaaaybe tell us where those metal legs came from? I will bet actual money that it was Marcus, I’m not even kidding)

Finding out just what the hell Salem has been doing to Cinder to heal her injuries (my money’s on that ugly ass sleeve coming off to reveal a monstrous Grimm arm, because hey, Salem might not always have looked like that either and that little Grimm beetle Cinder used to steal Amber’s power had to have disappeared to somewhere) 

Since I’m guessing speech therapy isn’t a part of Salem’s treatment plan, maybe Cinder will start learning sign language so she doesn’t have to rely on Emerald all the time? 

(muffled sounds of Neo parasoling through the sky in the distance)

- And of course I’m looking forward to the eventual Ruby-Cinder fight, but there’s one thing I started wondering about while working on Homecoming...

Does Ruby have any idea what her Silver Kamehameha did to Cinder? She does seem to be under the impression that Cinder’s still alive. Did Emerald and Mercury grab her and get out before anyone could see? Not that she’d care, but does Cinder know that Ruby didn’t deliberately attack her? Is Ruby even going to recognize her when they meet again? Because if Cinder goes through months upon months of obsessing over how much she hates Ruby and how she needs to get revenge, and then when she finally catches up to her all Ruby can say is something like, “Who are you, again?”, she’s going to actually explode and I will die laughing

- SALEM. Just...More Salem. 

Her whole Evil Team Mom/Unholy Grimm Queen thing is something I really like and find unique, but now that we know what she’s like, what I think we need to know more about is what she’s capable of

What other powers does she have besides controlling Grimm and walking like she’s got a hoverboard under her dress? What drew Team WTCH to her, and how else does she keep them in line? She wanted Ruby alive, so what does she plan to do with her when she gets her hands on her? 

Why, above all, should we fear Salem as our main villain? Seriously though, I want this woman to scare the shit out of me at least once this volume

I’d mention whatever backstory she and Ozpin have together but I don’t think about that part as much and I feel like it’s going to be cool whatever it is

However, I am dying for the moment when she finds out that the reports of Ozpin’s demise have been greatly exaggerated. I imagine it’ll happen Lion King-style.

Salem: Why, my dear Ozpin, I’m a little surprised to see you...(turns around to glare death at Cinder) ...ALIVE. (thunder booms in the distance)

Cinder, trying to subtly hide behind Emerald and Mercury: (GULP)

Meanwhile Oscar has exactly zero idea what is going on and is just praying that the scary Grimm woman and the angry fire girl aren’t going to hurt him, pray for my baby boy, he didn’t do shit to deserve this

- And to finish all this off: ME IF I SEE ONE HINT OF A REDEMPTION ARC IN THIS VOLUME:

Really, though, I see a ton of posts about it, but I don’t think it’s going to happen; the only one I could see realistically leaving the bad guys’ side at some point is Ilia, maybe

I’m not going to get into it too much because I’ve typed for too long already and I’m sure you’re starting to get bored with me by now, but yeah, Emerald and Mercury aren’t going to up and run so easily, Cinder doesn’t actually give a shit about other people, Raven is (most likely) going to stick to her own agenda no matter what, Adam will be a punk bitch until the day he dies, and all that

The way the narrative is going, I just don’t think redemption arcs for any of the villains would make any sense, at least right now

- BUT YEAH I’VE GOT MY TICKET TO SEE THE PREMIERE IN THEATERS AND DESPITE MY OCCASIONAL HANG-UPS WITH THE WRITING I HAVE 100% FAITH IN THE CRWBY TO GIVE US SOMETHING GREAT, NO MATTER WHAT

Now, off to go rest my cramping hand...