#anyways now I'm a man and my brother has long hair and earrings and secretly plays with makeup

[moteldogs]

my dad still calls me girl all the damn time but it doesn't even bother me because he just sounds like a faggy old queen now. "girl get it together" you sound fresh off drag race pops

[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.

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

So I bindged watched the entry of Metal Family (a Russian YouTube series) and its absolutely adorable. My favorite characters are Glam and Dee because obviously I'm always gunna go for either the goofy dad type with a tragic backstory and the sarcastic little smartass.

Anyway, I've been hearing around that Dee might have a girlfriend and as much as I like the idea of him having a cool laidback goth gf, I just can't picture it. He probably doesn't like to admit it but I think Dee and his dad have similar taste in women; ie badasses who are slightly batshit crazy.

Meet Sasha, they were put together as tutors for each other, she was failing math while he was failing art.

At first glance Sasha seems like a sweet, giggly, airhead with an affinity for tacky jewelry and thrift store clothes. Which is of course what Dee assumed when he offered his usual method of helping her cheat her way through her classes.

She smiled at him and called him: a pig-headed narcissistic asshole who couldn't smell the rancid shit coming out of his own mouth.

Yeah, turns out she isn't stupid just has really bad ADHD and needed someone to help her study math because her brain finds it too boring and therefore unimportant to focus on.

Their relationship is sort of similar to Glam and Ches when they first met; Sasha being a witty yet odd character while Dee struggles to makes sense of what the hell she's saying sometimes.

Because of her ADHD Sasha tends to switch out hobbies like socks; she especially likes activities that keep her hands occupied, such as knitting or origami. Dee has no idea how she can multy task so many things at once.

She is very forward and can be quite blunt when speaking her mind, though she tries her best to remain polite.

She is a big fan of grunge music and punk rock. Nirvana and Foo Fighters being her favorite.

She is the third oldest of six, so middle child syndrome all the way!

She's a bit of an anarchist and can often be found during the weekend tagging government property or big name brand store. Somehow she never seems to get caught.

Her parents are ex-punks so they aren't really surprised or disappointed with their daughter's antics so long as she doesn't get arrested. (More on her family later)

She knitted Dee a beanie during one of their study sessions, it was black with little cat ears. Now he wears it any time its even remotely breezy outside.

Heavy was the first to meet Sasha since they go to the same school. He couldn't understand how such a sweet girl could be friends with his asshole of a brother. She simply giggled and ruffled his hair, stating how Heavy remind her of her own younger siblings.

After that meeting people suddenly stopped bullying him. It was weird but Heavy wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so he didn't question it. He did, however, wonder why Sasha had a baseball bat in her locker when she didn't even play the sport.

When Dee first invited Sasha over to hang out he made sure that his family would be out all day, because he knew that they would all make it their personal mission to embarrass him in front of her.

That plan backfired very quickly as they returned much earlier than expected and the two teens had been in the living room watching movies and cuddling.

Victoria adored her immediately, insisting she say over for dinner all the while making cheeky remarks at Dee to "make sure to keep her happy so she won't realize that she can do better."

Glam had meant to interrogate her, as he is secretly an over protective father at heart, but he was just so damn charmed by her he didn't have the nerve to do it. Instead he ended up showing her the boys' baby pictures (much to Dee and Heavy's protest).

Her and Ches vibed so well together, it was kind of weird and fascinating to observe. They later find out that Sasha is probably the only person out their that can beat both Glam and Ches in poker.

By the end of it Dee is red in the face with embarrassment and when he escorts her to the bus stop he apologizes if it was all a bit overwhelming. Sasha simply giggled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek assuring him that she really likes his family and can't wait to come over again.

Of course Sasha was the first to confess because Dee still had no idea about his feelings. Thought it was less a confession and more of a statement as if it was something she assumed he already knew.

He didn't, obviously.

Sasha knew that Dee liked her back but she needed for HIM to come to that conclusion himself if they had any hope of starting a relationship. So she remained patient and waited for him to catch up.

Though this did NOT stop her from teasing and flirting with him just a little 😋

She really couldn't help it, Dee was way too cute when he got all flustered and shy (much like his mother in that regards).

So they aren't OFICIALLY dating but they are together, kind of like a trial run (according to Dee at least).

ABOUT HER FAMILY:

Her parents are high school sweethearts that used to ride around town with Victoria and her old crew.

Sasha's mom is a headstrong yet laid back woman that runs the local laundry mat, popular with bikers as it specializes in cleaning leather. Her father is this big, burly, stoic man that works in construction and doesn't tend to say much. They love each other and their children very much.

Sasha has an older sister and brother as well as three younger siblings, twin boys and a little sister. Her older sister is living in England while also going to college to study political science. Her older brother is on his last year of high school and works as a mechanic at a local bike shop. Her twin brothers are in middle school, just a year below Heavy, while her little sister is just starting the first grade.

When Sasha invites Dee over to her house to study he is greeted at the door by her father who looms over him, glaring daggers. Dee may have seen his life flash before his eyes for a just moment.

Thankfully, her mother was much nicer, inviting him in as she called Sasha downstairs. Her younger siblings were very rowdy, asking him questions about who he is and why he was here. Her older brother however, joined along side his father to glare holes into his head.

He was all too thankful when Sasha finally came downstairs to get him, announcing that they would be in her room studying until dinner. Her older brother shouted after them to "keep the door open" and Sasha gave a cheery reply of two middle fingers in his direction.

Dinner was awkward, at least for Dee, but it wasn't terrible. By the end of it, when they were hanging around the bus stop, Sasha (who insisted on seeing him off as he usual does) proudly said: "I think they like you."

"Oh really?" Dee said with a nervous chuckle, he wasn't quite sure but he trusted her judgment. 🖤🖤🖤

[paradox-psyc-hoe-sis]

Overreaction

Loki x reader, Bruce x reader ,(platonic), avengers x reader (platonic).

Word count: 4.9 k

A/n: Heyo! I didn't actually mean for this to be as long as it was, but it turned out to be quite pleasing. Writers block is a bitch so it's taken me a while to write, but I hope I didn't disappoint! Requested by @marvelloonie, thank you for the request! - Aphrodite

Summary: you and Loki have been secretly meeting without the avengers knowing, and when you realise you've fallen in love, you decide it's time to tell the group. After trying to keep you, the groups little ray of sunshine, away from the mysterious asgardian for a while, the group are shocked to find out that you've been seeing each other.

Warninngs: angst, fluff, that's all! Enjoy x

For your entire life, you were always the 'innocent' one. Sure, you were optimised and generally a happy person, but people seem to take advantage of that a lot. That never dampened your mood, though; you always stayed the same happy-go-lucky little burst of sunlight through childhood to adulthood. That's also the reason that upon meeting new people, they never expect your job to be an avenger. Your work never really phased you; most of the people who you killed deserved it, but every now and again there was an odd time where you felt a slight hint of guilt.

Among the avengers, you were known as the little ray of sunshine, too. Pretty much all of the avengers had dark pasts, but not you. You lived a normal life, excelled at school, went to college, and got a normal job. S.H.I.E.L.D discovered you after you got into an accident and were struck by lightning: after you recovered, you found out that you could control lightning. You quickly joined the avengers, and got on very well with everyone. You knew all of the avengers, and were aware of all possible threats, enemies, blah blah, except one. Thor's brother, Loki, had committed several offences in the past, but redeemed himself by helping the team every now and again. You had never met Loki, but the Avengers made it clear that they wanted to keep it that way.

"Hey Steve!" You walked into the common area after a few hours training in the gym. Steve was in the kitchen, passing him as you got a bottle of water, and you looked over to see Natasha, Sam, Bucky and Thor on the sofas. "Good morning guys, how are you all?" You grinned at them as you walked over to sit next to Nat, a slight spring in your step.

"Why are you always so happy?" Bucky grunted as you sat unbeaten him and Nat. Sam gave Bucky a frown, and turned to you. "Don't mind him, he just found out that his favourite TV show has been cancelled."

"Aww, Heroes of Bruin!?" Bucky gave you a small nod, his arms crossed tightly around his chest. You placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, Buck. I'm sure you'll find a better series soon! You can always borrow one of my box sets, you know where they are!" Bucky thanked you, and you sat back on the sofa, taking long gulps of your water.

"Seriously though, y/n. What keeps you so positive?" Steve asked, leaning on the kitchen counter. You shrugged, taking one last sip of your water.

"I don't really know, to be honest. I have a roof over my head, a good job, food, clean water, and friends and family who love me!" You stood up, walking over to the kitchen island and sitting opposite Steve. "Besides, what's there to be miserable about? Yeah, work does get hard sometimes, and life isn't easy, but that's just more drive to stay positive. It's not going to get me anywhere by being grumpy and mean like a certain tin man in this building!" You both laughed, thanking God that Tony wasn't in the room to hear what you just said. From the sofa, you heard Nat starting to talk to Bucky and Sam.

"...but there's nothing else we can do about it other than get in contact with some of our aliases and-"

"What's going on?"

Cutting in, you stood up from the island and walked over to the sofa.

Nat turned to look at you while Sam and Bucky continued to read from the iPad she held.

"There was a break in at a Hydra base a few days ago. The person who broke in stole Hydra's files about us, and some files about them. My best guess is that it's somebody who's against Hydra but also against us." Nat took a long deep breath, and turned back to her iPad, still talking to you. "We need to get in contact with non-avengers who have fought with us in the past, see if they have any idea. Steve and I are going to S.H.I.E.L.D. tomorrow, Thor will be returning to Asgard to talk with Loki, I don't know what else we can do."

You perked up at the mention of Loki, and suddenly came up with an idea. "How about I go with Thor? I've always wanted to see Asgard, and it's better than just having one person go." You saw Nat look up and glare at Steve, who did the same, before they both turned to you. Steve sighed, and looked away; clearly, there was something on both of their minds.

"That's a good idea about somebody going, it's better to be safe than sorry. What about Clint? D'you think he'd want to go?" Steve was looking at Natasha when he asked, and you felt a but left out. Instead of becoming angry, you just smiled and turned to face Steve. "What about me?" You asked, still smiling widely.

"Uh, y/n? I don't really think you should go..." Natasha remarked next to you, and you ever so slightly frowned.

"What do you mean?" You kept your voice gentle and upbeat, thinking of reasons why it would be perfect to go.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but there's some bad people on Asgard. We know you could handle it, but people like Loki are...dangerous, and I for one don't think it's in your best interest to make friends with people like him." You could tell by her tone that she felt guilty, but that didn't stop her from speaking her mind anyway. You didn't really understand what she meant; you're around dangerous people all the time, you can easily handle another one.

"If you don't think it's a good idea for me to go, then why is Clint an option?" Like magic, clint walked in at the exact second you said that. Looking up at him, you carried on speaking. "We have the same skill level at fighting, anyway! Besides, I have superpowers too, I can easily protect myself and Thor if need be."

Clint looked at you and Natasha, a puzzle expression plastered on his face. Nat gave him the run down, and he seemed slightly underwhelmed.

"There's no reason why y/n shouldn't be able to go to Asgard."

"Yes, but she's going to asgard to get in contact with Loki." Natasha's expression looked stern, her eyes piercing through Clint's.

"...oh."

"C'mon guys, what're you hiding? I'm sure I can take it, what's the harm in me going to Asgard?" Despite being slightly irritated, you still smiled and laughed a bit at the end of your sentence, making sure the rest of the group knew you were still just as happy as you were after returning from they gym, 10 minutes ago. Clint, Natasha, Steve, Bucky and Sam all gave each other quick glances before Bucky groaned and sat up.

"Listen, y/n. The reason why none of us want you to go to Asgard is because we want you to stay away from Loki. Although he's fought along side us in the past, he's a terrible person. And you're so...so happy and innocent all the time, we don't want him to..."

"You don't want him to corrupt me." You finished off Bucky's sentence, speaking quieter, thinning to yourself. There was suddenly a sort of dark cloud above the room, and an awkward silence prolonged for at least 20 seconds. You could sense how guilty everyone felt, but instead of exploding, you burst into a fit of giggles.

Everyone frowned as they watched you almost fall off the sofa in laughter. Once you calmed down, you wiped your eyes, and almost bust out laughing again at the confused faces of everyone around you. You sat back, smiling ear to ear. "Why would you think something like that?" You asked the room, taking a sip of water. "Honestly guys, I've been with you bunch of Serious Sally's for almost a year. I think it's safe to say that no matter who I spend my time with, I'll never stop being the 'happy and innocent' person who I am. Besides, we're only going to be on Asgard for a day at most, what could go wrong?"

—————

The next day, you were on Asgard. You were so thankful that Nat had finally let you go with Thor, and now you were stood outside of a tall golden palace, behind a beautiful view of Greek-style hills and mountains. You were speechless, to say the least.

"Brother Loki should be here any minute..." said thor, looking over at a clock tower. You couldn't make out what time it was - the numbers were Asgardian - but it was about 12 before you left. Before you could think anything else of it, something appeared before you two. It was Loki.

"Nice to see you again, brother!" Thor exclaimed as he went in for a hug. Loki barely hugged him back, and pulled away, turning to face you.

"Well well well, who's this who you've brought along with you?" Loki asked Thor, yet stared at you with a slight smirk. "Loki, this is y/n. She's a friend from work." Loki took your hand and bowed down slightly, and placed a kiss on the back of your hand; a kiss which you couldn't describe as chaste, making eye contact with him the entire time. He rose and let go of your hand, fingertips brushing slightly. "Pleased to make you acquaintance, Lady y/n." You were tongue tied, but before you could even begin to formulate words, Thor started talking. He rambled on about why you were here, and if he knew anything about the break in, but you weren't listening to a single word. Instead, you never took your eyes off Loki.

His shoulders were broad, sleek black hair running just past them. He stood with confidence, taller than Thor but thinner. Despite this, you could still see defined muscles from underneath the Asgardian clothes he wore. His eyes were a cold shade of blue, resembling ice. While Thor was still talking, he looked over at you, catching you staring at him. You maintained eye contact, your cheeks turning a childish shade of pink, and he winked at you before turning back to concentrate on his brother. The corners if his lips were slightly upturned, and a few strands of hair fell into his face as he nodded along to whatever Thor was saying.

"Well, I haven't heard any news, I'm sorry I can't be of any help. Do you both want to get lunch?" You turned to Thor, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, brother, but I must go and talk to the others and see if they've heard anything. But, it won't hurt if you and y/n get something to eat?" You and Loki both turned to face each other, and you smiled wider than ever.

"I'd love to."

You and Loki walked in silence to the dining hall, passing many Asgardian maidens on your way. You felt slightly underdressed; all asgardian women wore long flowing gowns, whereas you were dressed in high waisted denim shorts and a red turtleneck. Once you arrived at the dining room, you were confronted with a grand gold table topped with all kinds of food. Cheese, grapes, wine, and some sort of Asgardian meat that you couldn't recognize. It felt magical, yet you felt out of place. As you furthered towards the table, Loki took out a chair for you to sit down in. Thanking him, you sat, and his fingertips brushed against your clothed shoulders. Butterflies swarmed in the pit of your stomach, and you quietly giggled at yourself for becoming so flustered. Once Loki was seated, you asked him a question.

"So, Loki," you began, looking around at the feast laid out for you, "what do you get up to on Asgard?" As you spoke, he poured crimson wine into a goblet, and you felt obliged to do the same.

"Surprisingly, not much." He spoke with, what resembled, an English accent. Every consonant was sharp, every vowel curved on his lips. "Every now and again we have to meet with people from other worlds, like you. Thor doesn't come and visit very often, so the mass amount of paperwork that has to be done is left to me." He rolled his eyes yet bore a smile, to which you laughed.

"Trust me, I know what it feels like. Ever since Tony and Steve got into that disagreement about where the files should be stored, I've been in charge of all paperwork. I don't mind it though, there's some sort of satisfaction in the orderliness of it all..." you looked up at him and grinned, being able to physically feel the awkwardness between you both. Although, he could look at your smile forever; the way your y/e/c shone in the light, dimples in you cheeks becoming more pronounced by the second, your lips curling ever so slightly inwards as a sigh escaped from them.

"I'm sorry, I've never really been one for small talk. Asgard seems wonderful, though. The landscape is impeccable, and everyone just seems so...perfect, I guess!" Speaking quieter, you leaned in the get closer to Loki, sat opposite you. "I feel like I could spend the rest of my life here." He knew you meant it, being able to feel the pure excitement you radiated. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you sat back and pointed towards one of the golden dishes beside you, holding some fruits and vegetables.

"May I?"

"Of course, go ahead."

As you spooned a kind of salad onto your plate, Loki rubbed his stubble dotted chin. Loading your fork and taking a bite, you felt a wave of peace flow over your body. You had no idea what you were eating, but it was damn good.

"What part of midgard are you from, y/n?"

"Midgard?" You spoke through your mouthful of salad and swallowed. "Oh, right, Earth. I'm from Brooklyn, New York, but I live in Manhattan." You took a sip of wine, cringing at it's strength. Noticing this, Loki let out a laugh.

"Asgardian alcohol isn't for the weak, I'd take it easy if I were you..." you knee he was joking at the last part, so you laughed with him. The moment was sweet, but you can always have too much of a good thing. After Loki filled his plate, and you took a few more mouthfuls of salad, Thor strode in looking pleased with himself.

"Hey Thor, what's up?" Thor sat down at the table and picked up a bunch of grapes, popping one into his mouth.

"I just checked the comms," he swallowed, "Nat and Steve have all the information we need from S.H.I.E.L.D., so we can go back to midg- uh, Earth, sorry. Ready to go?" You looked at Loki who gave you a small nod as he put his cutlery down, and you stood up with a smile.

"Ready than I'll ever be!"

Thor and Loki stood up and walked towards you, and you went to shake Loki's hand. His hands were cold, icy to the touch, and his slender fingers certainly overpowered your small ones. He leaned in before you could break away, whispering in your ear. "Come back soon, I'd love to see you again."

You blushed, nodding, and he gave you a sly wink. Sooner or later, you were back on Earth, missing Asgard more and more by the second.

—————

Two months later, and you were head over heels for Thor's brother. Once you returned back to earth, Tony made it very clear that he disapproved of your trip. He sat you, Thor, Clint, Nat and Steve down in the conference room and screamed at all of you, acting like a very strict father. He had no idea what had happened on Asgard, but he let it slip that all of the avengers had an agreement - never let y/n meet Loki. Obviously, that was out the window, and it resulted in a conflict between Steve and Tony, as per usual. However, all of the avengers shared one common thought, and it was that you should never go back to asgard again.

"She's met Loki and had a look around Asgard, now there's no reason for her to go back."

"What if he's done something to her mind? We can't let her go back."

"We can't let Loki back into the facility when y/n is around, we can't handle anything else happening at the moment."

You often heard Steve and Tony talking about you in the other room, but you ignored it. 3 trips to asgard, 2 secret earth dates and 1 sleepover later, you and Loki decided you were serious; you both liked each other so much, and you wanted to tell other people. However, you had no idea how you were going to tell the avengers. You almost got caught a few times, but luckily, you were quite good at covering yourself up.

"Yo, why are you texting Pizza Hut?"

"Stop looking at my phone, Sam! Besides, I was actually ordering us a pizza, but I guess I'll just go and make myself a sandwich instead..."

"No y/n I take it back!!!"

It was a quiet day in the avengers tower when you decided to share your secret. You, Steve, Tony, Nat, Thor, Bruce and Clint were in the conference room having just finished a meeting. Before anyone could leave, you asked to talk to them for a bit. Despite being happy and confident in telling your friends that you were in love, your palms were sweating and you felt slightly nauseated. Nat must have noticed, and asked if you were okay.

"Everything alright?"

You stood in front of the table, toying with the hem of your skirt behind your back. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at your colleagues sat in front of you.

"I actually have some news to share with you all. A couple of months ago, Thor and I went to Asgard, and I found out about your weird pact thingy forbidding me from meeting Loki. Well, it happened, and it went well! Despite you all feeling very strongly about it, I did enjoy myself. Honestly, I heard you all talking about me 'never returning' and not being able to see Loki again, and it did sorta hurt..."

Steve bowed his head down slightly and Natasha avoided eye contact; you didn't want to guilt trip them, so you continued.

"...and that's okay! You're allowed to be protective of your friends, and I understand why you'd want me to be cautious around certain people. But that's not the point: the point is, I'm an adult, and although I may not be as old as Steve," (Tony chuckled at that) "I'm still an adult. I went to college, I have a job, my own apartment. I'm old enough to know right from wrong, which is why I may or may not have seen Loki 6 times in the past two months..."

"What!?" Natasha looked furious, and everyone had their eyes on you. Steve looked disappointed, Tony didn't look surprised, and Thor seemed quite amused. Bruce and Clint didn't look phased, to be completely honest.

"Please listen to me, I'll explain everything." Everyone eased up slightly as you took a deep breath, standing closer to the table. "I've been back to Asgard four times, and Loki has come to earth twice to see me. I know you would all freak out about him coming to earth, but I made him wear that patch that Tony built which dampened his powers. Whenever he was on earth, he was just a normal person. We got to talking and decided to see each other more often, and we've become quite close."

"If you say that you and Loki are friends, I will jump off of this building." Natasha remarked, crossing her arms. She was definitely the most protective of you, seeing you as a little sister.

"You're not going to like this." you muttered, sighing.

"Loki and I are in love and we've been seeing each other for two months!" You spoke quicker than lightning, grinning at the end, and sprinting out of the conference room. As you ran to the common area, you heard shouting erupting from the conference room, mainly coming from Nat, Steve and Tony. You knew they wouldn't take it well, but you didn't expect it to go down this badly. You heard the commotion from the conference room slowly make it's way closer to the common area, so you bolted towards the bedrooms. You didn't live in the avengers tower, but practically everyone else did.

Hiding in Natasha's room is too obvious, she's the avenger who you're closest to. Hiding in Thor's is also too risky, as he has asgardian technology; as far as they're concerned, you might try and get in contact with Loki. Tony's room? Too stinky. Clint's room? Too stinky². Steve's room? You looked up to that man as a brother, and you certainly were not interested in whatever sort of magazines and movies that he kept in there ( ;) ). That left one other person's room: Bruce's. Quickly sliding into his room, you crawled under the poofy duvet on his bed. Luckily, Bruce's blanket was practically three duvets thick, so they wouldn't be able to tell that you were in there.

Bruce's sheets smelled like lavender and vanilla, with a very vague scent of aftershave; you loved it. You could probably stay there for hours, and even fall asleep, but the faint musk you smelled on his sheets reminded you of Loki. His aftershave always smelled like bonfires and liquor, a scent that you could fall in love with over and over again. You must have laid in in Bruce's bed for 20 minutes before you heard footsteps outside the door. You were never one to do this (run and hide from something difficult) as it seems childish, and the gang already treats you like a child enough. However, you didn't know how you would recover from this one. You heard doors open and close nearby - they must be looking for you. The door to Bruce's room suddenly opened, and you held your breath in an attempt to be quieter. You heard a deep sigh, and somebody sat on the end of the bed. You could just tell that it was Bruce, and you felt safer with him here.

"Listen, kid-"

"Bruce, you're my favourite, but call me kid one more time and I will smite you."

He chuckled and apologised, continuing to talk. "Sorry, y/n. I know how you feel. Frustrated, confused, low on hope." You poked your head out from underneath the duvet and moved over on the bed, sitting up. You motioned for Bruce to sit next to you, which he did.

"I've been through this sequence over and over again," he said, laying down next to you, "yet I never seem to break the cycle. But there's a difference between you and I, y/n. When I'm feeling like this, I show it. I'm not talking about hulking out, but about how I hold myself. I'll be visibly down and depressed, everyone can tell that I'm going through something. But you, you hold it in. You smile and laugh through every emotion you have, and I can't help but admire you for it."

You both turned your heads to look at each other, Bruce giving you a small smile.

"When you're sad or angry, you continue to smile. All of the other avengers get tricked by it, thinking that you're truly fine, but you don't fool me. I can see, every time you cover your emotions, I can see the fire behind your eyes. Or how you tighten your grip when you feel stressed. Although you may be smiling and laughing, I know what's going on behind those eyes. You do a good job, y/n, but maybe bottling it all up isn't the best option. Maybe that's why you fell for somebody who is the completely opposite, like Loki. Because you'd never dare to show your negative emotions outwardly and indulge in the feeling of letting everything out. Now that you've found somebody who you can share these emotions with, you feel like you can be yourself. What I'm failing to say, is perhaps you could let your emotions show a bit more. You don't have to complain or mope around the tower like Tony, but maybe let people know when you are uncomfortable, or confront people who make you upset."

You had closed your eyes about half way through Bruce's speech, and when you opened them your eyes brimmed with tears. He didn't say anything, but instead, Bruce held his arms out and took you in an embrace. You hugged him back, feeling warm and safe, not knowing how to express to him how much he meant to you.

"How did the others react?" You asked into his chest. Bruce was hesitant to reply, and didn't know whether it was best to tell you the truth or let you see for yourself. With a content sigh, he replied.

"I'm afraid to say they didn't take it very well. Natasha blames herself, Steve's a bit frustrated, and Tony...Tony said he feels 'stabbed in the back by his greatest friend', but I think he was being a bit too over dramatic."

"Why do they hate him so much?" You asked, pulling away from Bruce and sitting up on his bed.

"It's complicated." Bruce said, rubbing his forehead. "He's been with us in the past, but there have been multiple occasions where we've had to lock him up. We still don't know whether he's with us or against us, and now one of our best teammates is in love with him." You nodded, knowing what he meant. You knew you had to clear things up with the rest of the group, and you'd start with Natasha.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I'm sorry for hiding in here and messing up your covers, I'm going to go and talk to them and apologise." Before you got up from the bed, Bruce pulled you in for one last hug, planting a friendly kiss on your forehead. "Never apologise for falling in love."

—————

Never apologise for falling in love.

Never apologise for falling in love.

Never apologise for falling in love.

In your head, you repeated what Bruce had told you in his room. You were walking towards to common area where you knew the rest of the avengers would be. Bruce went in there first to calm everyone down, and you told him you'd be in there in a few minutes to tell everyone the news. Walking into the room, all eyes were on you. You became conscious of what you looked like, your face was probably red and puffy from crying.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say, y/n?" Steve asked in a harsh tone. He seemed extremely intimidating, and you suddenly felt small and worthless.

"Take it easy, Steve." Bruce said quite calmly. "Let her do it herself."

You smiled, a genuinely happy smile at Bruce. Despite having little to no confidence whatsoever, you were actually happy. Bruce had made you feel so much better, you had a boyfriend who you loved, and you wanted your friends to know whether they approved or not.

"I want to let you all know that I didn't do this on purpose. I didn't mean to bond with Loki, and I should never apologise for falling in love, and I'm not going to apologise. It's my life, and whether you approve or not, I'm going to continue to see Loki. However, I would like to apologise for how I acted. I shouldn't have run and hidden, and I could've broken the news in a nicer way. Do any of you have anything you'd like to say?"

There was a gloomy silence as the rest of the group contemplated what to say. Trying to alleviate the room of the awkwardness, Thor opined. "Well, I approve of your relationship, Lady y/n. I'm glad you've found someone!" Everyone looked at Thor, then back to you as you sat down on a chair. Steve opened his mouth and closed it a few times, he clearly was lost for words. Natasha was the first person to speak, coming to sit in the chair next to you.

"We overreacted, I'm sorry, y/n. I'm sure you could understand what we felt, but we support you. It'll take us a while to get used to it, but we all want you to feel comfortable. We love you, and if you love Loki then there is nothing we can do about it other than accept you."

The day ended with a group hug, lots of individual hugs from Natasha and Steve, and you & Bruce watching Star Wars after everyone had gone to bed. You were going to see Loki the next day, and you knew it would be the best day ever.

[irepookie]

Infinity Chapter 4-

Meet The Family (PT.1)

Summary: QUEEN AU where Rog (aka Rowan Queen) is a young single dad struggling to make it into music industry.

Warnings: not really. Just fluff, sappiness and swearwords here and there

Disclaimer: I don't own the pictures. The boys are based on Queen, but Piper, Gina and Callie are mine

John: Rick Lincoln (Cause he is John Richard Deacon born on August 19th 1951™™™™™)

Brian: Terry Garrett (Cause my uncle used to have a black puddle named Terry and I had no choice)

Freddie: Len Mars (Yea I couldn't help myself)

Chapter 4- Row opens up with the boys about the raisin.

“I'm a dad”........

"Okay, let's... let's get over this again: A daughter?" Terry, the band's guitarist couldn't believe his ears.

"Yes, Terry. A daughter" Row repeated for the 19th time from the other side of the phone.

"A baby." Len said, taking another sip of his tequila.

"No, a 30 year old alpaca." Row said sarcastically. "Yes, a goddamn baby. Fucking gorgeous, just so you know"

"And you're gonna keep her." Rick, who had been quietly plunking his bass' strings, added. "Are you sure?"

"It's done. I've already kept her. And it's not like I'm rescuing a shelter dog. She's mine. Period."

"Sorry, was just trying to... Wrap my head around it"

To be honest, Row still couldn't quite believe it (that he was a father). Not even now, as he tried to convince his best friends while holding his girl with the other arm.

"And is your mom okay with it?" Terry asked

He scoffed, clutching his Lil raisin close at the thought "My mom has no say in this".

"But she knows" Rick said.

He sighed "Yes, she knows. And she was a bitch about it, okay? She can disown me for all I care". It's not like there was much to inherit, anyway.

There was a general sigh from his three best friends.

"And what are you gonna do?"

" 'bout what?"

"Um, I don't know, man. About School? Maybe about your life in general?"

"School ain't something I'm worrying about".

"What a surprise" Rick rolled his eyes.

"But you're still in the band right?" Len said

"Oh, of course. Of course. You guys are gonna be the only ones keeping me sane"

They chuckled

"But we ain't gonna babysit for you, huh?"

"As if you knew anything about babies"

"Well, the same as you." Terry said

"Just what I was saying: nothing at all" Row grinned

"Her future looks bright, then" Len half teased.

"Incandescent, in fact" Row could pretty much hear Terry's arched eyebrow.

The youngest member could only roll his eyes and try not to take it as an insult. He knew this was a lot to process all of a sudden and that in the inside, beyond the sarcasm and teasing, they were happy for him.

"Whatever, guys" he replied, as Pips began to frown. He sighed, knowing that meant smelly treat was on its way "Gotta go. By the way, she just told me she thinks you guys stink" he grinned, before hanging up.

The other three men exchanged a confused glance, and stayed in silence for a minute, until Len broke it:

"I say he'll go completely nuts in seven days".

"That long? Nah, I think less than 24 hours after they leave the hospital." Terry said

Len smirked "Bet?"

"I'm a bit tight at the moment, pal"

"Then not money. If I win, you'll be my model for the midterm design project. It's 30's fashion. For ladies, of course".

"Ok. But if I win you'll do my chores for a whole weeks."

"A whole week?!"

"Seven days, if you prefer it."

They shook hands "Deal. Rick? Join us?"

"I actually rather believe that they'll be alright" Rick got up and stretched.

"Well of course they will. Eventually. Row always figures things out." T said

"The fun part is to watch him go crazy in the meantime" Len chuckled "Like when he first moved in and left a fork in the plate when first using the microwave"

They laughed, remembering how their friend had called them at 9 PM in panic, screaming the microwave had exploded.

"Let's just hope for the best. I mean he seemed quite sure of himself this time. And who knows, maybe being a dad is the best way to grow up." Rick defended

"Yea, well a bit radical, don't you think?" Len said

"Like sock therapy. If smokers quit when diagnosed with lung cancer, maybe Row settles down now he has a baby"

"I just still don't get why he didn't just put her in adoption" T said

Rick shrugged "Would you if you were in his shoes?"

"Absolutely"

"That's exactly how Row would've answered, say, a week ago. That's what we all answer. Until it really happens. I think it's one of those situations where you can't really picture until you live it."

"But this is Rowan Queen we're talking about. Rowan <<Made out with both Jones Twins at the same party Cause I didn't remember which was which>> Queen. I mean, he does know that a kid is gonna freeze his sex life for indefinite time, right? What the hell was going through his head?" Terry said

"I can't believe you think that." Len interjected "I mean, I'm the one who's never gonna be a dad here, and the one who failed biology, but even I get it. He met her right? Before any decision was made, he met her. Once you meet your kid, you're tangled up forever. And you might think you're not but if you give them away you'll never get rid of a feeling of remorse."

"Wow, Lenny, that was deep"

"Yea, where'd you get that from?"

"Just common sense."

"Funny, considering you're the one who's started the bet" Rick grinned

"One thing doesn't prevent the other. And out of the two of us, I'm the optimistic! He gave him one day, I gave him seven! I trust him"

"Well I'm not sure if I do. I mean, I love him, he's a great guy, a great musician, and everything else, but he's not reliable. Remember his first job as a waiter? I'm still waiting for the fish and chips I ordered last April"

The other two chuckled "I once lent him a t-shirt, and I swear I saw Liz Michael's wearing it" Len said

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, well, we can't do anything about it, T. It's his life"

"But this affects us too, one way or another. This affects the band. And he didn't even consult us"

"Well what did you expect him to do? Call and go <<Hey guys, are you fine with me having a daughter? No? Okay, just checking. Bye>>?" Rick imitated a phone with his hand, doing a decent impression of their friend's high voice.

"A head's up would have been nice"

"Terry, just chill for fucks shake. I mean, this is unexpected, but Row's our best friend, our brother, and we have to support him. Because, if he's a dad, that's makes us her uncle's. And it'll be fun having a little niece we can spoil" Len smiled at the idea.

"Spoil? With what money?" Terry, always realistic, put his hands on his hips

"With the upcoming tour's, of course darlings" he twirled majestically around the room

"First, that's in four months" Rick reminded

"If it does happen at all"

They still had one last song to arrange And record. Plus, they didn't know how Row was gonna make it work now he had a baby. But nobody addressed that concern out loud.

"Oh don't be so goddamn negative, fellas! C'mon! We're uncle's! Row's made a very important, life-changing, mature decision, and we should be proud of him. So" he went to the fridge and returned with three beers "I say we toast for him and the lil Queenie"

The other two grinned and accepted the cans, opening them.

"Oh, I say we Split a fourth beer in his behalf, cause parents shouldn't drink while breastfeeding" Terry mocked, earning a laugh

"To the Queens" Rick raised his can "For our little bro to take this seriously and not fuck this kid up"

"To the Queens" Terry and Len crashed theirs as well.

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Meanwhile, in the hospital...

"Goddamn it, raisin! How can someone so small produce so many colors of something so stinky?" Row exclaimed, holding his breath as he clipped the fresh nappy on his daughter "We only feed you milk! Like... Like white milk! How can you turn a white liquid into rainbow pudding? Holy shit" he held the dirty one at arms length and threw it in the bin "It's a damn good thing I love you, cause I won't do this for anyone else" he told her, lifting her up to his chest again before walking around the room

"You gonna be a good girl for me for the next eighteen years? Huh?" He kissed her chubby cheek "What am I saying? You're my daughter, of course you're gonna be a trouble maker. But we'll get along, you'll see. I ain't gonna be like my parents. Don't worry. I won't be a bloody pain in the ass like mom, and I will never ever do anything my old man did. That I can promise. But I gotta admit I do want you to be like Gina. Yea, she's a control freak sometimes, but let's face it: she's gotta be the strongest person I've ever met. You should've seen her kicking the bastard out the house. She took no shit."

He smiled somewhat proudly at the memory, and for a second forgot how mad he was at her for turning her back on them.

"You wanna be a badass gurl like her? Huh? Yes you do. Yes you do" he cooed, craning his neck so he could brush his nose with her little button one. Her fist chose to close around the nearest strands of blond hair on reach, which he found secretly adorable.

But a part of him did wish he had mom's support. After all, despite the rough patches through his teens, they had always had each other's back; through thick and thin. She had have to raise him all alone, and although he hadn't even begun with Pips, he already knew it hadn't been easy. She may be stern, and a bit inflexible when it came to negotiating allowance. She could come across as rude if you caught her in the wrong mood (which many neighbors had) but above all she was a good person and a good mother.

And looking back, he hadn't been such a great son. He could have been more responsible, less handful and more obedient. Less rebellious, too. He could have thanked her more often for the thousand things she did everyday. For the meals. For all the jobs she had taken to provide for the two of them. For the surprise birthday gift she had got him with the money she had been saving: a real drum kit. For helping him move out her house into that one room crappy appartement which would be Pip's home.

But still she had rejected Piper without a second thought, regardless of her anger towards him; Pips was her granddaughter, she had done nothing wrong and as her father, Row doubted he would ever forgive Gina.

He sighed, untangling the hand of his hair and bringing it to his lips "But you don't have to worry about all that. Just concentrate on staying strong and growing up. And I promise I'll focus all of me on being the best dad. That you'll never miss a mom cause you don't need one. You've got me and I swear I'll be enough. Even if I'm still young: I'll have it all more fresh won't I?" He grinned "You're the one person who's never judged me yet, and I don't wanna let you down"

That a was vow. And he was determined to keep it.

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

This one goes to my mega-paragraphist @definitely-darcy who's got my engine going through the usual inspiration blocks, and who's reviews help me improve. She's made me believe in this fic, and encouraged me to keep going despite the one digit notes.

Xx- Pookie

[feyreofthewildfire]

Wasteland - Nessian Fanfic

Hey lovelies!!

This is not an update to We’ll Go Together (woah), but a response to this post by @modernbookfae that got my wheels turning. Personally, when it comes to writing WGT I get most excited about writing from Nesta or Cassian’s point of view, so a Nessian centric story was not far behind that realization. 

Disclaimer: this fic got WAY out of hand. I'm a cat laser kind of writer, in which I don’t plot (at least not extensively) and instead word vomit all over a Google Doc. I somehow managed to shove one of my own OCs in here as well. I apologize for what you’re about to read.

Please enjoy anyway aha.

(Inspired by the song Wasteland by Against the Current) 

Candy coated lips You’re the sweetest kiss But a bad trip

Nesta burns.

Not with strength and fervor as she once had, but with passion and some sort of affection towards that damned overgrown bat. Her hands clench into fists as her chin threatens to fall, the parasitic and festering feelings that have been settling within her since she’d met the commander now the cause of her fall from grace.

Her heart is a fortress and he’s decided to lay siege—or she thought he had. Perhaps it had all been a game to him. He’d barreled through her defenses and instead of finding and cherishing her as she had desperately, fruitlessly hoped he would, he’d walked straight through the other side and left her there—heart wide open like a gaping wound, a ravaged wasteland of broken bits and pieces hidden behind walls erected even stronger than the ones before, giving the perfect illusion of constructed poise and grace.

It’s been two weeks and they have yet to speak. She’s retreated into the library, burying herself in books and characters that don’t exist, if only to rid herself of the reality she so feverishly despises, if only so that she doesn’t run into the blonde Third.

Nesta is almost ashamed of the way she avoids Morrigan—of the way she avoids everyone. But her dreams—no, her every waking moment, is haunted with the corpse of her father, with the sound of metal crunching through bone as she severs a sovereign’s neck, with the emptiness inside her where power once rumbled, with the sound of Cassian’s screams as Hybern destroys his wings.

It seems that every part of her is haunted.

Nesta knows that she is not needed in Velaris, not essential to the happenings. It’s only been a week since their return and she has yet to do anything. Elain no longer needs her, having found contentment in the garden she begins to grow behind the House. Feyre has become the queen of an empire, needing no one and nothing but her mate.

She supposes it could’ve been argued that Cassian needed her not so long ago, but she knows it’s not true anymore. He has his brothers and Mor.

So when Vassa asks her to leave with her to Scythia as Emissary after her curse had been broken, she leaves with the queen immediately, only remembering to send a letter to Rhysand at the last moment.

For the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels free.

She takes residence on the same ship as Vassa on the way back to the continent, though she’s given a wide berth when she deigns to go above deck during the day. She is not afraid to put her hair up, to show off the delicate points of her ears and the immortal beauty she’d been cursed with.  

When she truly feels alive is when the night comes.

Maybe it’s some remnant of her time spent in her youngest sister’s home or just the fact that it’s the only time she can speak to Vassa thanks to the queen’s busy schedule. The sound of waves over the sea calms her, the slight breeze caressing her face. Were it not for the scrutinizing stares, were it not for the mask she’s forced to wear, she’s certain she’d go above deck during the day.

Then they dock in Scythia and her fantasy, her adventure is over.

Nesta barely speaks within the walls of the Palais, all too aware of the wandering eyes and ears that poison every corridor and room of every castle she’s ever been. The joy she’d secretly found in the open sea is stifled in the dinners she’s forced to attend and small talk she’s forced to make.

Still, when she does change an opinion of an important advisor, she can’t help but feel important—she can’t help but feel needed. She is an emissary, after all. Her work is truly done in the homes of royalty, far away from the place she supposes she calls home now, if for no other reason than her sisters are there.

The only thing anchoring her back to that place is her sisters and the reports she sends to Rhysand. Letters come in every so often from all three, most commonly from Elain. The tales her sister weaves of the happenings in the House never fail to make Nesta smile, even if it’s only the smallest uptick of her lips. Elain is happy and cared for—more than what Nesta could’ve wished for not even two years ago.

Then she meets General Fionn.

He’s young, born of nobility and ancient traces of Autumn Court blood that gives him the smallest power over flame, carefully hidden away in fear of losing his position. His smiles are pretty and his words are smooth. It’s easy to banter with him, given the fact that he only laughs at her insults and poisonous words. It’s easy to find some sort of ally within him.

When she wakes up from a nightmare of Elain being tortured by Hybern, she asks him to train her.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding and agreeing. They have to run it by Vassa and Rhysand first, but the Queen and High Lord seem oddly nonchalant about the message their training sessions will broadcast to the world.

In three weeks she’s worked up into swordplay, her movements graceful and violent—strong and swift, laced with the High Fae elegance that had seeped into her veins from the Cauldron. Her immortal strength gives her the ability to knock Fionn over with nothing more than a shove, and she has to remind herself to hold back so that she doesn’t kill him on accident. While it would be interesting, it would be a shame to lose a friend and create a diplomatic disaster.

They move from swords to every weapon imaginable in the next two weeks and, occasionally, when they’re alone, she helps him with what little Autumn Court lingers in his blood. She’s by no means a qualified teacher, but he becomes surprisingly proficient at wielding the small bit of fire in his veins under her guiding hand.

When she pushes him against the wall in the armory and kisses him, she tells herself it’s because she feels something for him.

Their training sessions become more playful after that. Nesta has already learned how to use every weapon under the sun with decent proficiency, and they just spend hours sword fighting and sparring to pass the time.

She’s not sure when she begins to wear her hair down, or when her smiles become polite rather than serpentine, only that she’s convinced herself that she’s found home in a pair of human arms and distracting pet names.

When she pins him to the ground for the thousandth time, she doesn’t realize a smile’s bloomed on her face until Fionn’s eyes widen, a certain kind of reverence filling the blue orbs framed by thick lashes

So she kisses him again, unknowingly superimposing hazel over blue.

Then one of the other queens invades Scythia and he’s torn away to the western border.

He gifts her his favorite dagger and kisses her twice before leaving, bestowing upon her promises and promises of what they’ll do together once he gets back.

They send letters as fast as they can. Nesta has learned how to send letters through whatever magic allows such things to teleport long distances, though has to wait the three days it takes for his letters to get back to her through horseback. Scythia has the finest cavalry on the continent, and the messengers are well-trained and ride well, also giving them the fastest communications on the continent.

The gaping hole in her heart left by the commander across an ocean has begun to heal over, the wasteland behind the walls beginning to return to what it was once again. Every letter that arrives from Fionn and Elain gives her strength, gives her what she needs to rebuild herself and perhaps one day be able to look Cassian and Mor in the eye without wanting to hide away.

Perhaps she can find love outside of the small world she’s always found herself trapped within—her small world where love was nothing but a myth, a far-fetched tale told to the daughters that would be sold off like cattle one day.

Then the neighboring queen attacks the camp in the night and slaughters every soldier.

She doesn’t receive a condolence letter, she’s by no means his family or next of kin, but she thinks that perhaps receiving one would’ve helped with the grief, with the pain.

She doesn’t know if she was in love with Fionn or maybe just who he resembled, but the agony that ripples through her is enough to make her swear off soldiers, any man who walks into battle arms open and swords wielded, ready to greet Death as the old friend it is.

She shoves the training clothing to the back of her wardrobe and shoves the swords and daggers into a miscellaneous drawer, reverting back to braided updos and serpentine twists of her lips. It’s safer this way, she tells herself.

The walls around her heart reinforce once again.

Not a week later she’s convinced the last advisor to her side, gaining the support of the Queen’s entire court as she was sent to do. The next day Rhysand is standing in the courtyard, ready to winnow her back to the Night Court.

If he has something to say, she’s glad that he doesn’t say it. She’s wished all her farewells and her belongings have been packed up, ready to be sent back the moment she arrives in Velaris.

It’s only been three months, she knows this, and yet the place she’s supposed to call home is utterly unfamiliar.

Her heart has become a wasteland once again, torn to pieces by the man she’d chosen to give it to. Her words are more biting than before, her eyes more often narrowed then not. Every rise and fall of her chest reminds her of Fionn, of the merry laugh that always fell from his lips and the crisp apples he tasted of.

Then Cassian finds her.

He’d been off in Scythia helping with the incoming war, showing solidarity in the alliance formed between Prythian and a kingdom on the continent. He’d been her replacement after her job had been done, forcing neither of them to see the other.

She hadn’t even known he’d been arriving back, or she would’ve locked herself in her bedroom rather than sit in the exposed library.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The words drip with sarcasm, with an anger barely reined in. His place leaning against a bookshelf seems casual enough, though the crossing of his arms and clench of his jaw tells another story.

Her eyes flicker up towards him, finding that he looks exactly the same as she’d last seen him. His hair is pulled back and his Siphons gleam in the low light, a sword strapped to his back that makes her sick to her stomach.

“Commander.” Her voice is void of any emotion, the words monotone. Her hands clench around the book she’d been reading, the only sign of her distress.

He nods to the dagger strapped to her waist. “You know how to use that?”

She tenses, all the insults she wants to throw at him falling away. “It’s not mine.” She dismisses, standing from her place on the armchair and swiftly beginning to walk away, book clutched against her chest.

His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to block her path. The intricate sewing of the leathers nearly makes her sway where she stands. “Whose is it then?” He bites back, none of the careful, begrudged concern she’d come to expect in his eyes. There’s nothing but sheer will and fire in them.

She almost throws up at her own analogy.

“That is none of your concern.” Her voice raises for the first time. She will not fall apart in front of this good-for-nothing bastard. He had treated her as nothing, and she will do the same. She no longer owes him anything. She had been willing to die for him—willing to leave behind Elain. She’d laid her own body over his, looked Death in the eye and blinked.

He had made a proclamation about regrets, about having more time and yet when it had been given to him he hadn’t used it. He’d avoided her and fallen back into old habits as if the war hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t been granted immortality and great power only to have the latter ripped away from her, as if he hadn’t had his wings shattered twice and expected death, gone running onto the battlefield arms wide open and a grin on his face.

“I heard some rumors about your time in Scythia,” He starts, unwilling to let her go, to leave her be. She doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. “I heard that you made friends with one of the generals there.”

Something inside her snaps.

“And why do you care?” The rise and fall of her chest quickens, “Why does it concern you? Why does my every move have to involve you, Cassian? I did my job. I followed every rule in the book and made a few of my own. Rhysand approved all my decisions. So why do you care?”

She’s not sure she’s ever said his name aloud, not without some insulting title following it. Her heel squeaks on the wooden flooring as she turns and struts away from him, careful to recollect the poise she’d lost in those moments.

A hand gently catches her wrist, the grip loose enough that she could rip herself away quite easily. But she doesn’t. She’s not sure why. A shaky breath falls from her lungs as she turns back to see Cassian once again, some sort of devastation laced in the strong planes of his face.

“I care about you, Nesta.” He answers her, an incredulity to his tone as if he can’t believe that she doesn’t already realize that little fact. “I care more about you than any of the shit that happens as a result of this war. I heard about what happened and I guess that was my shitty way of being concerned.”

She can only stare at him as if the answers to every question she’s ever asked lie in his features. There are so many things she wants to shout at him, so many things she wants to scream, and scream, and scream about. She wants to ask why he’d left her, why he’d avoided her and then sought her out once again like a child who’d had their forgotten toy taken away.

She’s so tired.

“I appreciate your concern, Commander.” The words are cold, formal, ones she’d spoken a million times in Scythia, usually followed by a contradicting retort.

But this is not a war room, and she does not owe the bastard anything. Not one single part of herself does she owe him.

When she walks away this time, he doesn’t stop her.

I Don’t Wanna Wake Up (Companion Fic)

[little-red-and-his-wolves]

hi hi~ I'm glad to hear you're doing better :D I hope things keep going well for you! I really like your writing, and I was wondering, if your prompts are still open, would you be up for 12, 13 or 27 with Dean and Stiles, or Sam and Stiles? I just love how you write their interactions >///

Hi! Thank you so much. This really made my day. Things are up and down most days, but there’s been a steady improvement I think so I’m just going to…keep working on it. 

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer, but I wanted to do your prompt. I hope you enjoy!

“I’ve been buying the wrong underwear.”

It’s things like that, said while staringat another man’s ass, that Sam never needs to hear his brother say. He’s notsure why Dean says it now or why it prompts a lazy eyeroll from Stiles wholooks vaguely exasperated, but he is sure he never needed to hear those wordsuttered in his presence.

“If you weren’t so set on boxers being theone true underwear for men,” Stiles says grunting as he tries to shove open theattic door, “then you could just buy a pair of fucking briefs and call it aday.” His shirt rides up again revealing the apparently tantalizing, to Deananyway, waistband of his briefs.

“Well, if they’ll make my ass look half asgood as yours then I just might,” Dean returns still staring blatantly atStiles’ backside, and Sam fights the urge to put his head through the wall.It’s just flimsy drywall and old to boot; he could do it.

Stiles scoffs, looks down at them fromunder his arm. “It’s not just the underwear,” he says seriously. “It’s thejeans.”

Even Sam has to admit, Stiles’ jeans arenice. No holes, not faded, no bloodstains. They look new. You could pretend tobe a respectable civilian in those jeans.

Dean’s frowning thoughtfully. “They look abit tight for my tastes,” he says and Stiles snorts. “Bit clingy.”

“That’s the point,” Sam says thenimmediately regrets drawing attention to himself. Dean turns to look at him,lips parted slightly in surprise like he somehow forgot Sam was in the room.

“How would you know?” Dean asks soundingjust a slight bit scandalized. Like the idea of his baby brother knowinganything about fashion is offensive to his very existence. “You’re not gay.”

Sam furrows his brows, reminds himself it’sa terrible idea to get involved in this conversation, and then does it anyway.“Neither are you!”

“Neither am I,” Stiles inputs drawingDean’s attention once more. “Doesn’t mean we can’t know fashion.”

“You don’t know fashion,” Dean counters.“We both know Lydia dressed you.”

“Is that a subtle hint that you want her totake you shopping?” Stiles snarks giving Dean a more than obvious once overgaze lingering on the faded jeans and stained flannel. “I can arrange that thenext time you deign to swing by Beacon Hills, you know.”

Dean shudders and Sam is once againthankful that he has yet to meet this fear-inspiring Lydia. “No, thank you.”

Stiles hums running his gaze over Deanagain. “Shame,” he says. “I bet you clean up real nice.”

The innuendo is clear. Very clear. Deanblushes, blushes, and Sam contemplates the oven in the corner of theroom as an acceptable way to escape.

“Sam would too,” Stiles remarks and theself-conscious flush staining Dean’s cheeks deepens in irritation.

“Hey!”

“What?” Stiles says innocently and Samfeels a flush of his own warm his face and neck. “I have eyes.” He turns toSam, flashing a Cheshire grin. “You’ve got that adorable sasquatch look goingon. All floppy hair and sweet eyes. Plus, you know what they say about men withbig feet—”

“You getting anywhere with that door?” Deanasks sharply, and Sam sighs when Stiles just smirks.

“Maybe if you’d stop distracting me.”

“Maybe if you’d stop making eyes at mybrother.”

Stiles laughed. “What’s the matter, Dean?Jealous?”

“Hardly,” Dean bites out, but he’s lying.Sam can tell. He may as well be wearing a flashing, neon sign announcing it.“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Me thinks the man doth protest too much,”Stiles drawls in a terrible accent; Sam can’t even begin identify what it wasmeant to approximate.

Dean flushes even more turning an odd shadeof red. Dean’s face or a ripe tomato? Scientists can’t tell. Sam snickers tohimself.

“Besides,” Stiles continues voice slightlymuffled from being shoved up in the ceiling, “we all know you’re secretly inlove with me.”

Dean sputters, mouth opening and closinglike a landed fish as he stares back and forth at Sam and Stiles’ ass. Samshrugs when Dean looks at him for a longer than normal period of time. DespiteStiles’ word choice it’s not much of a secret. Pretty much everyone knows.Dean’s about as subtle as a bomb.

Finding no help with Sam, Dean looks backto Stiles. “I am not in love with you.”

“Ahuh,” Stiles hums not turning from thedoor. A sharp crack sounds and Stiles curses before muttering, “Fuckingfinally,” and crawling up through the small opening.

Dean lurches forward as Stiles’ ass slidesout of view. Sam casts his gaze heavenward asking for strength before followinghis brother up the ladder. He sneezes almost as soon as he’s in the roomwrinkling his nose in disgust at the dust just floating through the air.

There’s nothing here.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Dean commentsglancing around.

“Not as disappointing as learning you’reafraid of admitting you’re in love with me,” Stiles says absently kicking a fewboxes and causing a whole new plume of dust to puff into the room.

Dean scoffs. “Now, listen here, I am not afraidof admitting—”

“Yes,” Stiles says looking over hisshoulder, “you are.”

Dean gapes like a fish, but Sam can’t tellif it’s Stiles’ words that have struck him speechless or the fact that Stilesis standing in front of the small window. Even Sam can admit Stiles looksdownright angelic framed in that light. He quickly shoves that thought awaythough because, no, he ain’t about to go down that road even hypothetically.

“I’m not in love with you,” Dean says finallyfinding his words again and unfortunately sounding a bit like a broken record.

Stiles snorts. “You drove half-way acrossthe country because I asked you to.”

“You’re family,” Dean defends. “I’d do thesame for Sam.”

“We share a bed,” Stiles points out turning,and Sam abruptly finds the empty boxes up here a lot more interesting.They’re all dusty and old. And, look, that one there has a family of miceliving in it.

“I share a bed with Sam!”

Sam jerks his attention back. “Notanymore,” he protests and is routinely ignored by both.

“Well, hopefully you don’t take yourbrother stargazing,” Stiles says stressing the last word enough for Samto know he doesn’t actually mean stargazing even without Dean’s hardcore flush.

“Of course not!”

Sam’s pretty sure he knows what stargazingmeans. He wishes he didn’t know, but he does. There’s a spider studiouslyworking its way over an Office Depot label. He focuses on that.

“Besides,” Dean hisses. “We haven’t hadsex.”

Stiles’ eyebrows climb towards his hairlinewhile Sam’s eardrums try to shrivel up so he can’t hear anymore. He does notwant to hear more about his brother’s sex life, and he especially does not wantto hear about his brother’s sex life, or lack thereof, with Stiles.

“Dude,” Stiles says, “this is not the darkages. Sex does not equal love.”

Sam doesn’t want to get involved enough tocorrect Stiles.

“You’re one to talk anyway,” Dean sayscrossing his arms defensively. “You’re the one who dropped everything to cometo Nebraska and I didn’t even ask you.”

“To save your life, yes.”

“And you’re a cuddler,” Dean continues.“And you like stargazing.”

Stiles raises one eyebrow crossing his ownarms loosely. “Yeah, that wasn’t in question. I’m not the one afraid ofadmitting that we love each other.”

Dean’s eyes go comically wide as he asks ina voice just above a shrill whisper, “How can anyone not be afraid of…of love?”

“It’s like being afraid of sex,” Stilessays casually with a shrug. “It’s about trust and shit.”

“I’m not afraid of sex,” Dean says andStiles rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t say you were! It was an analogy.”

“You’re the one with intimacy issues.”

“I do not have intimacy issues.”

“Can we go somewhere high? Sam says loudly eyeingthe small window. It’s pretty small, but he might fit. “Or higher?”

Both Dean and Stiles stop arguing to lookat him.

“Why?” Dean says blankly, and Sam wondersif dumping bleach in his ears would scrub this conversation from his brain.

“So I can jump off it.”