#and my dad started a graduation speech and i was trying not to laugh and cry at the same time

[dilf-din]

Class of ‘91

Or the one where Tommy Miller graduates

WC: 1050

Warnings: none, just good ol’ Miller fam fluff

Joel shuffled into the crowded auditorium carrying way too much in his limited arm space. His navy blue button down was wrinkled (from running out of time to iron it), and his khakis were sporting a fresh coffee stain from a mishap in the parking lot. Sarah, however, looked like a dream come true. Her pale pink dress had a full skirt that fanned out with a thick, white bow around the waist. Her curls had been freshly washed, finally getting long enough to fall into her eyes when she ran around bouncing. On her feet sat the smallest pair of mary jane’s with a pair of frilly socks that stopped at her ankles.

She clung to her dad’s neck as he awkwardly stepped over the the tangle of feet and legs that stood between them and their seats.

“‘Scuse me, sorry ma’am,” his low voice rumbled.

“Sowee!” her small voice chirped along, drawing more smiles than disgruntled looks from the crowded room.

“There you go, baby,” Joel said gently setting her in a red fabric chair much too big for her. Her feet barely hung off of the edge, and she wasn’t even close to sitting against the back.

Joel shuffled the bag down off of his shoulder, doing his best to not spill any more of his now lukewarm coffee. Around his neck hung a camera with a fresh roll of film. He settled his belonging at his feet, unzipping the bag to pass Sarah her favorite my little pony toys.

“Tank you, dada!” she smiled, eagerly taking them into her chubby hands, immediately throwing them into an intricate story as she babbled and trotted them along the arm of her chair.

Joel let out a big exhale and ran his hands through his messy waves, trying his best to smooth them out. He pulled out the program from his back pocket and thumbed through it to find the small black and white picture of Tommy on the page with the other M names. He sported his signature toothy grin under a black cap and tassel.

Joel’s chest swelled with pride as the lights dimmed, signifying the start of the ceremony. They had made it just in time.

“Dark, dada!” Sarah said loudly, drawing quiet laughs from the families seated around them.

“It’s okay baby,” he shushed her gently, patting her knobby little knee with his giant hand.

The hour of speeches and names being called passed quickly and slowly at the same time, Joel’s time filled with passing snacks and toys to Sarah and doing his best to keep her from dropping anything too loud on the concrete floor during any of the particularly quiet parts.

“He’s coming up,” Joel whispered down to Sarah, as he straightened in his seat and fumbled the lens cap off.

“Jocelyn Means, Josh Merit, Tommy Miller,” the principal droned on as the seniors crossed the stage donned in matching caps, gowns, and smiles.

With the announcement of his brother’s name, Joel and Sarah erupted into a small party of cheers while Joel snapped a few quick pictures from his seat, planning on exhausting the remaining frames on the roll with shots of the family and Tommy’s friends. Tommy shot a grin in their direction, waving at Sarah with the tips of his fingers.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly, with Sarah crawling into Joel’s lap for the last few minutes, whispering, “I love ooh, dada,” into his ear over and over, a permanent smile on his face as he patiently responded to each declaration. When the graduating class of 1991 was announced, the whole place erupted into cheers. Joel stood with Sarah on his hip while she clapped enthusiastically, happy to join in on the ruckus. Everyone started filing out in the lobby and courtyard outside to meet up with their graduates. Tommy had told Joel prior that he would meet them outside. The late May Texas sun was on full display, instantly causing sweat to prick at Joel’s back. Thankfully, he had cuffed the sleeves of his shirt earlier, rolling them to his elbows to provide some sort of relief.

It only took a minute for Tommy to spot the duo waiting for him.

“Unca Tommy!” Sarah squealed, holding out her arms to swing from Joel’s hip to his. He took her willingly, rubbing his nose against hers drawing a laugh from Sarah and adoring looks from some of the other graduates.

“How ya doin’, baby?” he asked his niece.

“I’m good. Dada spilled coffee,” she said fiddling with the tassel of his hat.

Joel let out a sigh while Tommy snickered.

“Can you get one o’ your friends to get a few pictures of us?” Joel asked, pulling the camera strap carefully off of his neck.

“Sure,” Tommy smiled, scanning the crowd before tapping a girl on the shoulder. Her hair was pulled into long braids, and she had a beautiful, bright smile.

“Shauna, this is my brother and my niece, would you mind takin’ some pictures for us?” he asked, flashing her another charming grin.

“Tommy Miller, I would be honored,” she exclaimed with an exaggerated hand over her heart. She took some great ones, although Joel had a feeling his favorite would be the one of Tommy holding Sarah with both of them flexing their biceps.

After an extended round of goodbyes, handshakes, and hugs, the crowd slowly started to filter into their cars.

“What do you say we go get some hibachi, my treat?” Joel queried, clapping his brother on the back.

Tommy smiled at the ground, “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

“If you think that’s too much, you’re really not gonna like this,” Joel said mischievously, fishing a keyring out of his back pocket with a truck key hanging off of it.

“Joel, what did you do?”

Joel shrugged, “Nothin’, it’s just the Adler’s old truck. But it’ll get ya by,” he smiled.

Tommy threw his arms around his neck and into a tight hug.

“Thanks, big brother.”

“We better get going’ now, we’ve got two o’clock reservations,” Joel smiled, leaning down to take Sarah’s hand from where she was currently organizing pebbles at the base of a small tree on the brick path.

“I’ll race ya,” Tommy grinned.

“NO!” Joel jogged after him, toddler in tow.

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller #tommy miller #Sarah miller #the last of us fluff #the last of us fanfiction

[allthingsfangirl101]

Unwanted Customers–Steve Harrington

"I can't believe you guys are moving tomorrow," Steve sighed as he tightened his arm around my shoulder.

"As soon as we get settled, I'll write."

"Promise?" He whispered.

I sat up and turned toward him. "Of course," I shrugged. "Once we get to our new house, I'll write you a letter and send it."

"I hate that you're leaving," Steve said, looking down.

"I wish I wasn't," I whispered. I took a shaky breath, knowing that if I didn't say this now, I'd never say it.

"Maybe you guys will move back," Steve said. "You said your father's job moving you guys was completely random. They could decide to move him back. Or maybe. . ."

"I have to tell you something," I blurted before I could talk myself out of it.

"Okay," Steve said with a small chuckle. "What's up?"

"Well. . . Since I'm moving. . . I should. . . I have to. . ."

"Y/N," he laughed. "We're best friends and you're leaving tomorrow. You can tell me anything."

"I'm in love with you."

The second those words left my lips, time froze. What happened next happened in a matter of ten, maybe fifteen seconds, but it felt like an hour.

His eyes widened.

He slowly unwrapped his arm from around my shoulders.

His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

The look in his eyes told me everything. He didn't feel the same way. As soon as I realized that I had just told my best friend I was in love with him and he didn't feel the same way, everything sped up.

Before I could hear the cliche "You're my best friend and I care about you, but not like that," speech, I stood up and practically ran out of Steve's house.

The whole way home I thought about two things: the look on his face and the fact that he didn't try and stop me from leaving.

                              ~•~

Four Year Later

I dropped the box onto the floor and started restocking. As I was using my OCD to make the shelves look presentable, I heard a voice I never thought I'd hear again.

"You put your mom down as a reference?"

"Why not? She's like super well respected."

"You're such a dingus."

What was Steve Harrington doing here?

I quickly tried to run back to the employee lounge but tripped over the box.

"What was that?" The girl with Steve asked.

"Probably just Y/N restocking shelves," Keith sighed. "She's always dropping those boxes even though I tell her that I CAN STOCK THEM LATER IF THEY'RE TOO HEAVY FOR HER!"

I rolled my eyes as he slowly raised his voice.

"Y/N?" Steve stuttered. "Like Y/F/N Y/L/N? I thought she moved."

"She moved back," Keith sighed dramatically.

I didn't hear the rest of their conversation. I was too busy trying to control my sudden anxiety attack rising to the surface.

Steve Harrington.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the night before I left. And the look on his face when he told me he didn't feel the same way about me is still stuck in my head. I went to sleep with it being the last thing I saw every night for years. Every once in a while, I still see it.

I jumped when the door opened. I looked over to see Keith walking in.

"What was that about?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Robin and that douchebag, Steve Harrington, want to work here."

"Really?" I stuttered. I cleared my throat before asking, "You gonna hire them?"

"As much as I don't want to, we could really use the help."

                                * * * * *

After my lunch break, I walked in and went back to work. I was reorganizing the kid section when someone walked up behind me.

"Is there something I can help you find?"

My customer-service question got cut off when I turned around to see Steve smiling shyly at me.

"Steve," I stuttered. "What umm. . . Did you need help finding something or. . ."

"You moved back," he rushed out.

"I did."

"When?"

"The umm. . . The beginning of summer," I started to quickly and nervously explain. "My dad's job got transferred again, last year, but he convinced his boss to allow him to stay where we were. My parents wanted me to finish my senior year at the same school. We moved a couple of days after graduation."

I held my breath, waiting for him to respond. The longer he stared at me, the more nervous I got. I broke our eye contact and looked at a nearby shelf with my arms wrapped tightly around myself.

"It's uh. . . It's really good to see you again, Y/N," Steve stuttered.

"You too," I said, my voice dropping.

"Listen," he said, clearing his throat. "About what happened the night before you moved away. . ."

"I can't talk right now, Steve," I cut him off. "I have work."

I brushed past him, unable to have this conversation. I've spent years trying to forget about that night. I definitely didn't want to hear Steve apologize and reject me again.

I went home and spent the rest of the night distracting myself. My dad was working late and my mom was at book club. I usually came home to an empty house during the summer. I made some dinner and cleaned up as soon as I was done. My parents hated coming home to a dirty house.

I was reading when there was a knock at the front door. I put my bookmark in and went to answer it. When I opened it, I wasn't expecting Steve Harrington to be on my doorstep.

"You moved back into your old house."

That was the first thing out of his mouth. I wrapped my arms around myself and pretended to look at our yard.

"We got lucky," I shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. "The people who rented it after we left moved out a week before we got the news that we were moving back. My dad called the realtor and they put it on hold for us."

"That's lucky," Steve nodded.

Silence fell between us. We never used to be like this. We never struggled to find something to talk about. Before I moved, we used to be constantly talking. Now, standing in front of him, I felt nervous. And I hated it.

"What are you doing here, Steve?" I sighed.

"I know you didn't want to talk at the video store," he started to quickly ramble, "and I understand why. That's why I left, but I really want to talk to you. I know we left on weird terms."

"And who's fault is that?" I cut him off harsher than was probably necessary.

"Mine," Steve stuttered. "But. . ."

"No," I cut him off. "There is no 'but', Steve. Do you have any idea how it felt? It took every bit of courage I had to tell you what I did. And that look on your face when you realized what I said. . . That look of. . . nothingness? That destroyed me, Steve. It was clear that you didn't feel the same way about me. And I was lucky my family left the next day because I couldn't face you after that rejection."

I was overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu as Steve stared at me. He opened and closed his mouth just like four years ago. I shook my head, struggling to hold back the tears. I scoffed and started to close the door. I gasped when Steve quickly caught it.

He slowly looked up at me, a weird look in his eyes. I couldn't tell if it was guilt or something else.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice getting caught in his throat. "I shouldn't have waited four years to say that to you. I also shouldn't have let you leave without responding to your confession."

"Steve. . ."

"I didn't know," he cut me off. "I didn't know what to think or how to feel when you told me you were in love with me. We were young. And I hadn't even felt that kind of love. But you were so sure of how you felt. I was scared. I had a million different thoughts going through my head and I couldn't voice any of them. And then, all of a sudden, you were gone. I stayed up that night, going over what you said and trying to decide what I felt. I went back through our entire friendship. I overanalyzed every day we spent together. By the time I figured it out, you were gone. I should've called you or visited you or something. Anything other than what I did would've been better. I'm sorry."

"Steve," I stuttered. "I don't understand."

"What I'm trying to say is that I love you."

My heart jumped into my throat. Part of me was so excited I couldn't put it into words. The other part was angry and confused.

"I know how you must feel," he blurted out. "I understand if you're angry. You have every right to be. I shouldn't have been such a coward. I should've realized sooner how I felt about you. And as soon as I realized it, I should've run to tell you."

"Steve," I interrupted him. He instantly stopped talking, allowing me to cut him off. "I just. . . I don't know. . . I still love you but. . ."

The second I told him that I still had feelings for him, he smiled. He took a very careful step toward me. He slowly grabbed my hands, holding them delicately in his. He leaned in just as slowly as he grabbed my hands.

"Y/N," he whispered. "Stop me."

I didn't.

It felt like my heart jumped into my throat when Steve pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was slow and gentle. He didn't push me. He allowed me to set the pace and I chose to take it slow. My mind was spinning as I was still trying to wrap my head around his confession and now from the feeling of his lips on mine.

My lungs were screaming for air, but I couldn't pull away. It wasn't until I started to see spots that I finally slowly broke the kiss. We were both breathing heavily.

"You didn't stop me," he whispered with a small smile on his face.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted.

"I know," Steve sighed, taking a step back. "And I want to give you space to figure it out. I'm not going far. Just far enough for you to think."

He hesitated before turning to leave. I grabbed his hand before he could go. He looked down at our hands before slowly looking up at me.

"I don't need space," I whispered. "Just time."

Steve smiled as he intertwined our fingers. He took step toward me and grabbed my other hand.

"Then time you will get."

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #joe keery #joe keery imagines #joe keery x reader

[sad-brunnettee]

Eddie x Mexican/Latina!reader where Eddie finally graduated and her family throws him a big graduation party.

This is so adorable!!!

Enjoy :)

Word count: 1,306

—-

It all started when Eddie called you one day after school. You were doing some homework that your college professors left you. Groaning you got up and we’re about to head down and pick up the phone. You stopped in your tracks when you heard your mom pick it up.

After a few seconds she told you to go for the phone . You were a bit annoyed at whoever decided to interrupt your concentration. You finally reached your mom who only held the phone towards you with a teasing smile.

It was then that you felt your change of attitude, you knew who it was just by the look on her face.

“Hello?” You spoke while walking as far as the cord would let you. It was your attempt of getting some privacy but you noticed that your mom lowered the volume of the music that was playing.

“I did it!” He screamed and you could hear the smile on his face.

You laughed at his enthusiasm thinking it had something to do with D&D.

“I’m graduating, I told you this would be my year.” After hearing that you couldn’t help but let out a happy scream while bouncing on your toes. You praised him, telling him how proud you were

Once you both hung up you ran to your mom to tell her the good news. Of course she had to make a few phone calls and let everyone know. Claiming your aunts and uncles should also get invited for the celebration.

There were still some days left for graduation but you still had some homework to finish. Running up to your room you did as much as you could in order to have some free time to help with the preparation. Not just that by you also wanted to spend some time with your boyfriend after the party.

Knowing that other families will also be buying graduation decorations you went with your mom to the store and bought napkins, hats, confetti and anything else that ensured you’d have the best to celebrate.

Your dad had also went to the store with some of your uncles with the promise of buying some non-alcoholic drink. Of course you and your mom knew this wouldn’t be possible. You chose some juices for the little ones, water bottles and sodas.

Next thing you know, it was graduation day. You would go with your siblings to the ceremony. While your mom and everyone else added some final touches to the food and decorations.

In order to get good seats you had to be there early. As you got there you noticed a couple of cars parked giving you plenty of choices to choose from. You walked inside followed by your siblings and sat near the front, you wanted to get the best view. Your mom made some posters and your brothers were holding them in their hands. Meanwhile, you had your Polaroid camera ready to start shooting pictures.

You made sure to save a seat for his uncle who had to step out in order to have a quick smoke.

As the graduates started marching you kept on looking for a certain boy. It was then that you saw him walking in front of some of his friends. He kept on looking around and you were sure he was looking for you as well.

“Eddie!” You screamed, trying to get your voice to be heard over the loud music.

He heard you nonetheless and looked at you with that smile that made you fall in love with him all over again.

You raised your camera up and he posed. Putting up a thumbs up while his other hand was pointing at his graduation cap. You were glad that at that moment they stopped moving in line, this allowed you take a clear picture with no blurs.

As they all took a seat you couldn’t help but notice that there weren’t that many graduates. Which made sense why graduation was so early.

Eddie’s uncle finally came back and you told him where Eddie was sitting.

The speech was just as boring as any other and it was hard to not doze off. Eddie must’ve noticed because whenever you caught his eyes he would make funny faces or mouth you something.

Finally they would call the names of the graduates and when it was Eddie’s turn you and your brothers cheered loudly. Once again you lifted up your Polaroid to take another picture.

As the rest of the students were called you sat down and tapped your foot on the beat up floor. Hoping that time would speed up.

“He’s really lucky to have you, I can see how much you love him. I’m glad you could make it.” His uncle spoke while looking forward. For a moment you thought you imagined it, he usually isn’t much of a talker compared to his nephew.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And you meant it. You could’ve been doing who knows what and you’d still set it aside just so you could be here.

When the ceremony ended all students threw the graduation caps in the air but not Eddie. He ran to where you guys were to engulf you in a kiss. Of course you weren’t complaining but you were a bit embarrassed doing that in front of your siblings. They would never let you live that down.

“I’m hungry, can we go now?” Your younger brother pulled on your shirt. While still holding onto the poster he was forced to carry.

You turned to face Eddie “come on, let’s go to your party.”

Looking back to make sure nothing was left behind you walked out. You could hear his uncle, Wayne, giving Eddie a pat on the shoulder while congratulating him for his success.

You all got in your cars and drive to your house. It was now 5:00 and you were sure that almost everyone will be there already. You weren’t sure how many family members were invited but you were sure the party would last a long time.

Luckily, you managed to find a parking space near your house. Eddie and his uncle didn’t park too far behind you. As you all walked towards your house you walked hand in hand with Eddie forming small circles on his hand with your thumb.

The music was loud you were sure you’d go deaf but taking a look on Eddie’s face he seemed to be the happiest he’s ever been. You weren’t sure what his relationship was with his parents but something told you nobody has ever done something like this for him before.

The party was held in your backyard, balloons were everywhere, your aunts were all sitting on the same table gossiping and your dad and uncles were drinking beer. The music coming from your dad’s Sharp VZ-2500, seemed to be playing music only they wanted to hear.

It was then that your mom saw you guys walking in that she started cheering which caused everyone’s attention to turn to you. They all did the same as well and you heard some claps and whistles.

Letting go of his hand you also started clapping, Eddie’s eyes were looking everywhere just trying to take everything in. As he noticed that the cheering wasn’t going away he did a little bow which caused some laughter to erupt before everyone turned their attention back to what they were doing.

Your uncle was in charge of the food and decided on making carne asada, classic. Some of your aunts contributed by bringing: guacamole, pico de gallo and desserts.

To end the night, some of your tias took turns dancing with Eddie and teaching him new dance moves. Seems that his charm worked on everyone in your family, not just you.

#sad-brunnettee #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #Eddie Munson x Hispanic reader #stranger things x reader #request

[maxbegone]

i know it’s super late in the day for this, and honestly i can’t even remember what i’ve shared in the past and what i haven’t, but @morganaspendragonss, @reyescarlos and @rmd-writes all tagged me so i have to share something from the roadtrip au ♥️

“That was my jersey.”

“What?”

“That Jonah was wearing,” TK explains and oh. The picture Enzo sent. “I played hockey for a few years, and Mom kept it. I gave it to Jonah before I left.” He grows solemn. “Mom left him, and now I’ve left him. This whole trip I’ve been trying to fight how guilty I’ve been feeling about it.”

“TK—”

“Please.” He holds a hand up. “Don’t give me a speech. And don’t tell me you're sorry.”

He doesn’t. Not right away, at least, but the words are clawing at his throat and he can’t seem to stop them.

“TK,” he tries again, softer, “I really am sorry about your mom.”

“What did I just tell you?” He asks, monotone, but there’s no heat behind it as he huffs out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know why everyone says that. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ How the hell are you supposed to respond? ‘Thanks, so am I’?” He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his knees. “And how sorry is a person, really? They can barely know you and it’s sorry this, sorry that, I just—” TK stops himself. “Nevermind.”

Carlos just watches him.

“You know, I really thought that I would stay in New York once I graduated. That I’d get a job somewhere in the city and visit my dad as often as I could. Now she’s gone and we didn’t work out, and instead of sitting around not sure what to do with myself or falling back into old habits, I’m being…proactive, I guess?” TK pauses. “You’re right, I’ll still see my brother grow up and I can visit whenever I want. But I just can’t help but wonder if he’s confused about where everyone went, you know?”

“He’s gonna be okay,” Carlos swears, hoping he isn’t overstepping too much.

“No, I know he will be.” TK closes his eyes. And then, in a quiet, raspy voice he says, “He was there, Carlos. With my mom when she died. He’s gonna be so traumatized.”

TK gradually told him more and more the night he showed up at his doorstep. Carlos had known that she had pushed Jonah’s stroller out of the way, that she had seen it coming, but this is the first time he’s said this to him. If his heart wasn’t already cracking in two, it sure is now.

TK doesn’t speak for a while, and Carlos doesn’t seem to prompt him. He just brings up a hand to rub between his shoulder blades after some consideration, hoping it’s as much of an affirmation as any that he’s right there.

The first time he met Gwyn was by accident. TK had been staying at her place for the week while she was away on business, and Carlos had spent more than a few nights. However, TK had gotten the days mixed up and they had woken up one morning to find her sitting in the kitchen with a book and a cup of coffee as the two of them walked in sleep-rumpled and hanging off one another.

Of course the awkward encounter led to a forced introduction, but once they got past that, Carlos learned that Gwyn was a lovely woman — not that he had any doubts. He could see where TK got some of his best qualities from.

When they broke up, it was the first time Carlos realized that he would be missing more than just the person, but the family that came with it. Not that he’s diminishing how much TK had meant to him then. Still means to him.

He pulls himself out of it.

“Is that why you’ve been so excited about this trip?” Carlos finds himself asking after some time, and TK gives him a look. “Or that you’ve been so—”

“So what? Happy? Optimistic?” He stares him down. “Maybe it’s because when you spend the better part of a year surrounded by grief, you tend to start forcing yourself to turn around. Maybe it’s because I didn’t want my brother’s earliest memories to be so sad. Or maybe it’s because, Carlos, despite where you and I stand, you are the only person who really makes me feel good about myself right now. You’re the only person who actually sees me.”

He can’t look away from TK, his breath held as he nervously runs a hand over his mouth.

“Whatever you felt last night was…not not mutual,” he eventually gets out. “So. There.”

TK turns to look back out toward the forest, warm light hitting him in every direction, and all Carlos can do is sit there.

“And maybe it got to a point where I really just wanted to share this place with you, too,” TK adds rather finitely. “It’s as simple as that.”

#911 ls #911 ls fic #911 lone star #tarlos fic #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #my fic #my 911 ls fic #wip wednesday #roadtrip au

[angstykay]

<Marry your daughter > Eddie Munson pure fluff

Okay so I'm just off a 12 hour shift but I came across a wedding song again and thought yes this needs to be a one shot so enjoy ill do a little blurb. In this au you are hoppers child dating Eddie since your freshman year but he's finally become stable and wants to make you Mrs Munson will Hopper agree to this arrangement though.

Eddie with Gareth and Steve

Eddie Munson nervous never but the thoughts of proposing to you made him physically shake with fear. He worked his ass off to afford even a half decent ring ,you gave his pathetic life meaning he wasn't just Eddie the "freak" Munson when he was with you he was just Eddie. He feels a hand around his neck so he snaps back into reality after being in his own mind "you ready to pick this ring up" Steve says trying to contain his excitement , "there's gonna be a hellfire wedding" Gareth chimes in seconds after. He steps out of his van the other guys trailing behind for moral support only they know what his plan is , they step inside it was the fancy side of town none of them in fit not even Steve  they were met with just judgmental stares. "Can I help you" a lady in her mid 30s looks like you just brought the street value down by 10 grand by just standing there, Eddie stands there for a moment just staring blanky at her "uh Munson ". She just stands there waiting on some more detail "Munson " she asks with an eyebrow raised he coughs " I'm here to pick up an order for Edward Munson". Steve and Gareth erupt with laugher so much that Eddie turns around with an annoyed look on his face "OUT NOW".

After what seems like an eternity of waiting the lady emerges "Munson" she looks a bit amused at his efforts "yep right here " he stands there waiting to pay "she's a lucky girl" she says trying to make conversation "no I'm the lucky one if she'll have me" he puts his hands in his pockets swinging side to side. She giggles softly at the metal head looking all nervous "that will be 2,500 please cash or plan I'll do it for you sweetie you seem nice and honest" Eddie smiles at her sweetness after trying to size him up so quickly "no I have it up front " he hands her the money and walks to his van ready to face the backlash. when he open the door they look at him with the straightest faces " how you doing Edward" Steve says trying to mock the him , "knock it off yeah you're saying my birth name well done" he tries not to let they're silly antics ruin this joyous moment then it hits him . Gareth notices the look on his bestfriends face "what's the matter is it the right size did she charge you more ", he runs his hands through his hair.

"I'm gonna have to ask Hopper she's into all the traditional crap after he took her in as his own" they begin to laugh knowing how fucked he is.

Backstory into Yn's life

Your parents passed away in a tragic accident when you were 9 and your uncle was first on the scene , your little eyes still haunt him he vowed to never ever see you like that again so he took you under his wing and you became his daughter. When you started to date Eddie he was so against him wouldn't hear of it but let it slide because it was obviously a teenage fling Joyce told him. She was wrong past graduation and now half way through your college years, he warmed up to your boyfriend he cared nearly enough as he did so in his books he was okayish once he never hurt you.

With Yn and Hopper

*Yn you're late for you shift* you come down with your scrubs on hair pulled up into a neat ponytail fly away's falling down perfectly, El is on her third pack of eggos. *I better run I'll be late again dad * you grab an eggo out of el's hand and kiss his cheek and run out the door into your car. *What's wrong * he asks her EL looks at her empty plate *she took my last eggo* the look on her face so laughable . *Yeah well she takes my money * he rolls his eyes and sits down to read his newspaper to see what the town has to offer today.

Back with Eddie

Pacing in his room back and forth rehearsing his speech looking half decent showered and covered in cologne so he doesn't smell of nervous sweat, * You'll be fine kid * Wayne pops out of nowhere giving Eddie a heart attack dropping the ring box. *Jesus H christ Wayne you trying to kill me * he fixes his hair in the mirror he glances at the time * shit I better run Wayne and ask him for her hand in marriage* he laughs to himself . *I never expected you to settle down she changed you* he hugs his nephew and wishes him well then he sees the ring box and tries to chase after him but he already drove off . *Dumbass * he says to himself when he sees the car pull back faster then the speed of life he throws the ring to his nephew .

Eddie driving saying his speech over and over mixing up words sweat trickling down his face, he's never been this nervous but Hopper scares the life out of him after the night he almost busted him and put a stop to his drug deals. Truth is he only let him off with a warning because of Yn you've saved him more than you know, he's now a mechanic and you're studying to be a nurse domestic bliss and word that terrified him once before. Not anymore that's all he wanted with you.

He pulls up into the driveway and sneaks up the drive way afraid of what's about to come, just as he was about to knock on the door it's pulled open. They meet each other eye to eye he feels so small when he's looking down on him. He stares blankly at him they never talked without you present * she's not here Munson go home* , before he closes the door in his face Eddie stops it with his foot causing an immense amount of pain *I came to talk to you Sir*. Hopper starts to laugh *drop the act what happened is she pregnant * Eddie's face drops but tries to salvage the encounter.

*Well I certainly hope not* he takes a step inside uninvited Hopper does not look impressed, *Eddie what do you want* he says with his arms folded. *Look i'm very nervous to asked you this honestly I had to all planned out but I've gone blank *he gulps *I'm here because I love Yn see in this is a ring for your oldest she's my everything and all that I know is it would be such a relief if I knew that we were on the same side*. You got off work early and see Eddies van parked up so you decide to investigate to see what's going on at home with the help of El of course , yous both sneak up to the kitchen and listen behind the closed door. *Spit it out Munson we do not have all day* Hopper is losing patience with him * Well very soon I'm hoping that I can marry your daughter and make her my wife*. Hopper starts to choke on his water * you wanna what* he clears his throat *I want to marry your princess make her my queen she'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen* his chest moving up and down at an alarming rate almost losing balance. Hopper is staring at him totally baffled not able to speak * I need to let air in so I can take this all in * when the door opened they are met with doe eyes Yn and El.

This is cringy in my eyes because when I read it I hear the lyrics being spoken ....

Atthis moment Eddie wished the floor would swallow him whole ,then he saw you teary eyed completely shocked at what he was doing. Then he finally finds the courage to speak again after what seems like a long silence , *well uh can I * he has a sheepish look on his face. Hopper knows he's backed into a corner he has to say something, he knows Eddie makes you happy and underneath the hard exterior he likes him really. * Well can he* El starts jumping up and down repeatedly you're just standing  there your jaw almost hitting the floor you got Eddie Munson to wanna commit . The guys who said marriage is a piece of paper to get taxed more which was ludicrous in his eyes .

Hopper takes a step towards him placed his hands on his shoulders turned him around leaning down into his ear * now Munson you hurt her I lock you up and throw away the key I have connections boy *. Within seconds you're wrapped around Eddie legs wrapped around his waist he almost stumbles over but catches himself , *how much of that did you hear* he interrogates you.*Listen Yn.....* right then his confidence fails him all he can do is stare into your teary eyes looking stunning effortlessly he clears his throat and gets on one knee pulling out the ring box opening it to find....

 *Will you.....* before he can finish his sentence you chime in with *YESSS* he looks at you * let me finish* you giggle and nod your head *will you marr......*, you but in once more but El comes to her soon to be brother in laws rescue *let the man finish Yn* the excitement in her voice  as it will be her first ever wedding. You cover your mouth to stop anymore words coming out *Yn sweetheart will you marry me I knew you were the one for me ever since I met you I can be myself without worrying about being a freak" he tries to hold  in his tears but there isn't a dry eye in the room even Hopper is tearing up. *Well what do you say* you stand there for a moment really take it all in *Eddie of course I'll marry you * he stands up and puts the ring on your finger  you pull him in close kiss him passionately. El runs over and hugs both of you *now excuse me I have to shower and call my bridesmaids* before you run up stairs you see El looks a little disappointed *El what's the matter* you ask.

She turns her head as she doesn't want to ruin the moment *aww sweetie* you pull her in for a sisterly hug you wouldn't think I'd leave you out of the wedding now* you smile rubbing her hair. she looks at you and smiles *I'm in the wedding?* you pull her in once more *yeah silly every bride needs a maid of honor* she looks confused now. *Maid of honor......* she questions it like you made it up *It's the most important bridesmaid* she hugs you one more time but quickly pulls away , *you smell bad  go shower* she pokes fun at you. 

You peck your now fiancé *I'll be 10 minutes don't go anywhere* with that you run up stairs and quickly hop into the shower. Eddie is now at ease until he feels Hopper's arm wrap around him *welcome to the family son* when he hears son he feels overwhelmed but Eddie does what he does best *always knew you loved me Hops*. The rest of the night went great yous ordered pizza and Eddie wouldn't stop tormenting your dad making him wished he never welcomed him into the family.

I hope yous enjoyed I could do a wedding part 2 where Eddies dad comes into town and throws a spanner into the works I hope you enjoyed and again I do take requests 

The song is marry your daughter Brian McKnight btw

#eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #stranger things #wedding #proposal #fanfiction #stranger things 4 #strangerthings fanfic #eddie munson

[themultifandomgal]

Temptation Pt16

Temptation Masterlist

A few months have gone by and there has been a rise of people going missing, maybe vampires turning others. I sit down at the lunch table next to Edward

"Hey" Jess says more towards Bella

"Just in time, alright check it out. 'My fellow students' right, right" Mike starts

"Wow" Jessica doesn't seem all that convinced 

"We are the future, anything is possible if you just believe"

"Nice" Angela laughs

"Perfect" Erik shakes his head

"Blah blah blah, and you got yourself a speech"

"So basically every other high school graduation speech?" I raise a brow

"This will be my speech when I want everyone to throw diplomas at my head, so thank you" Jess throws the paper at Mike

"You gotta embrace the clichés" Mike says looking at me. Not when you have heard that speech a bunch of times. Edward hears this and laughs at me

"They are the bread and butter of all valedictorians"

"Mm at that is why you are not valedictorian" Angela comments

"Jess doesn't need clichés. The speech is going to be epic" Bella says

"Epic? it will change lives" Alice sits down next to me with Jasper

"I have decided to through a party"

"After all how many times are we going to graduated high school" Jasper jokes making Edward, Alice and I snicker

"A party at your place?" Angela looks shocked that Alice has even suggested the idea

"I've never seen your house"

"No one has ever seen their house" Erik extends on what Jessica was saying

"Another party Alice?"

"I will be fun"

"Yeah, thats what you said last time" Alice leans back, knowing Alice is having a vision Bella distracts the others asking if she needed help with something. Edward reads Alice's mind so he knows what the vision is. Jasper and I kept in the dark for now, but on the look of their face's it's not great.

While Edward takes Bella to the police station to met her dad there, Alice tells us what her vision was as soon as we get home

"Victoria is coming back here, Edward is trying to convince Bella to go to Florida to see her mom"

"When will she be here?" I ask Alice while I'm wrapped up in Emmett's arms

"This weekend"

"Great" I sigh.

That weekend Edward and Bella leave town to see Bella's mum. So here the rest of us are, waiting in the woods for Victoria to appear. I stand in between Emmett and Rosalie

"Are you sure this is where you saw her?" Carlisle asks

"She's almost here" Alice says seeing Victoria in her vision. We all look around the wood, I then smell her sent

"On our left!" I shout, we all head in that direction. Obviously the others being quicker than me with speed, but the trees kinda slowing them down. Emmett and I are next to one another, he goes to grab her, but she ends up flinging him into a tree which pisses me off. Just as I'm about to grab her she jumps over on the the wolves territory making us all halt

"Wait she's on their territory" Carlisle puts his hand out to make sure none of us go after her. I grunt as I chase her, but over on our side

"She'll get away!" Esme yells

"No she wont" Jasper replies as the wolves all come out of the trees. Just before they grab her with their mouth she hopes back over to our side of the territory. Just as I grab her we both flip on to a rock, thankfully I don't feel much pain. I'm on top of her holding her down but as Rose and Thomas come into view she manages to throw me backwards into Rose knocking us both down

"You ok?" she asks me helping me up

"Yeah you?"

"Yeah" she breathes out. Thomas and Emmett run past us, Emmett looks even more pissed than I was. Rosalie and I get up and run to join the others but when we arrive Emmett is in the water while a wolf is snarling and snapping at him

"He tried getting on their land, to focused on catching Victoria" Esme explains to me

"Damn it" I sigh "Emmett!" I call. He speeds over to me

"Are you ok? I wanted to kill her so bad for hurting you"

"I'm fine, the real question is are you ok?"

"Yeah" Emmett pulls me into him "I'm ok as long as you are"

"Just don't be so stupid again"

"I won't, I promise"

"She's gone, theres nothing we can do now. Go hunt if you need to. Kat go home and rest" Carlisle walks over to us placing a hand on Emmett's shoulder.

#twilight x reader #twilight #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #jasper cullen #rosalie hale #bella swan #emmett cullen x reader #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn

[lizlovesmovies]

moments in media that stay with me

stuck in love (2012) 

“I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.” / “I remember that it hurt. looking at her hurt” / “I don’t want to get hurt” “I’m not going to hurt you”

unwind dystology 

“I’m a better person because you’re in my head” / “you think maybe I can believe in that God, too?”

new girl (2011-2018) 

1.02 the boys sticking up for jess / 5.02 cece and schmidt get married / 6.22 “we’re having a baby, cece”

brooklyn 99 (2013-2021)

5.04 “no one gave me the idea. I decided to ask Amy to marry me all on my own on April 28th” / 2.17 “marriage is a contract. but it’s so much more than that. marriage is love. it’s commitment, it’s joy, it’s understanding, it’s patience, it’s anger, it’s reconciliation. it’s everything. it’s like oatmeal, it sustains you”

schitt’s creek (2015-2020)

2.13 the family dancing in the barn together to precious love x james morrison / 6.08 ted and alexis break up

10 things I hate about you (1999)

“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call. but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all”

hunger games: mockingjay

“you love me, real or not real?” “real”

parks and recreation (2009-2015)

7.08 april hugs leslie and thanks her for everything, before moving on to a new job that she’s passionate about, for the first time in her life, something that she learned from leslie

palm springs (2020) 

“what if we get sick of each other?” “we’re already sick of each other; it’s the best”

booksmart (2019)

molly’s graduation speech

rivers and roads (the head and the heart) been talkin bout the way things change/and my family lives in a different state

stick season (noah kahan) and I’ll dream each night of some version of you/that I might not have, but I did not lose

this is me trying (taylor swift) they told me all of my cages were mental/so I got wasted like all my potential/and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad/I have a lot of regrets about that/I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere/fell behind all my classmates, and I ended up here 

cleopatra (the lumineers) but I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant/damn your wife, I’d be your mistress just to have you around 

peace (taylor swift) but I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm/if your cascade ocean wave blues come/all these people think love’s for show/but I would die for you in secret/the devil’s in the details, but you’ve got a friend in me/would it be enough if I could never give you peace

motion sickness *phoebe bridgers) there are no words in the english language/I could scream to drown you out 

us (james bay) tell me when the light goes down/that even in the dark we can find a way out/tell me now cause I believe in something/I believe in us

happy & sad (kacey musgraves) and I’m the kind of person/who starts getting kinda nervous/when I’m having the time of my life

nothing new (taylor swift and phoebe bridgers) how can a person know everything at 18/but nothing at 22

supernatural (2005-2020)

2.20 “why is it my job to save these people?” / dean’s older sibling guilt

the half of it (2020)

when ellie’s dad talks to paul in mandarin, and paul listens, despite not understanding the words, he understands the emotion / paul running beside ellie’s train / ellie and paul’s platonic friendship / “is this really the boldest stroke you can make?”

promising young woman (2020)

her manicured fingernails in the stream, as her body burns and her ashes float along

that 70s show (1998-2006)

1.24 the formans adopting steven, letting him live in the basement, and his becoming a part of their family

maid (2021)

1.10 alex’s “my happiest day” speech, how much she fought and scrapped and saved and sacrificed to give her daughter a safe life / 1.08 “we’re going on a...” “bear hunt” “we’re gonna catch a...” “big one”

the big sick (2017)

love prevails / something as small as noticing her sprained ankle saved her life

ted lasso (2020-)

2.08 jaime stands up to his dad, then stands, frozen in fear, as roy walks up to him. he flinches, but roy is not going to hurt him; he hugs jaime tightly / 2.08 “my dad killed himself when I was 16. that happened to me and my mom″

harry potter and the deathly hallows: part 2 (2011)

neville beheads nagini with the sword of gryffindor, rendering voldemort mortal again

psych (2006-2014)

3.08 gus tells shawn how much he loves him / 3.16 maybe the best things, the richest things aren’t meant to come easily / 8.10 lassiter breaking the dvd before shawn confesses

gone girl (2014)

the cool girl speech 

veep (2012-2019)

7.07 selina sits alone in the oval office

flashpoint (2008-2012)

2.14 lewis calls his parents, tells them that he loves them, then steps off the land mine, “spike, it’s gonna be okay” / 1.07 sam attends the procession for a veteran who committed suicide, sobbing on the bridge / 1.12 ed taking off his vest and telling the danny that he’s tired

the finder (2012)

1.13 walter can’t find something / leo raising willa

the glades (2010-2013) 

jim buys callie her dream house as a wedding present

superstore (2015-2021) 

1.01 “moment of beauty” vs 6.15 in the boys’ room

modern family (2009-2020)

4.12 phil’s little girl speech

shameless (2011-2021)

1.09 “I did a fucking great job” / 10.12 mickey saying “I love you, I love you” to ian / 7.01 lip realizing that he’s an alcoholic just like frank

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #3

Diavolo: My cousin just said to me “on your wedding I’m gonna start my toast with the story of how you were born and grandma cried because you were so ugly.”

•

Diavolo: Me rolling into the therapists office this week with sunglasses and a piña colada: Simeon you’re not gonna fucking believe this

•

Mammon: HOLY SHIT SO TODAY IN CLASS THE WEIRDEST F*CKING SHIT HAPPENED

A bee got into my class and everyone was freaking out, so all of a sudden, this human kid goes “I GOT IT” and fucking pulls out a RUBBER FUCKING BAND AND SHOOTS IT THE FUCK DOWN IN ONE TRY

MY TEACHER JUST STOOD THERE NOBODY KNEW HOW TO REACT

Leviathan: “Son I’m here to talk to you about the avengers initiative”

•

Satan: When I was about ten years old my dad called me into his home office for a moment. There was a bunch of incomprehensible code up on his computer screen. “Press the enter key.” He said. I did. “Thanks,” He said. “I couldn’t bear to do it myself.”

And that’s the story of how I sent out one of the largest spam email campaigns of the 1990s

•

Asmodeus: The Phrase “no amount of skill will protect you from the sheer luck of a chronic dumbass.” Popped into my head and if that ain’t a Big Mood I dunno what is

Lucifer: Life with mammon: a summary

•

Solomon: [lawyer voice] mothers and fuckers of the jury

Satan: DO YOU KNOW HOW OFTEN I THINK ABOUT THIS POST!!!? IM IN LAW SCHOOL THIS POST IS GONNA RUIN MY LIFE

•

Satan: Power move saying “that’s treason” every time someone does something that slightly inconveniences you

Belphegor: Diavolo ghostwrote this

•

Leviathan: Why am I not the protagonist of an amazing story

Simeon: You are though, it’s called your life

Leviathan: Shut the f*ck up I wanna struggle fighting demons not struggle with getting out of bed everyday

Simeon: But those are your demons

Leviathan: I am hereby naming you as the antagonist and now it is my sole job to find you and hit you in the face with a chair for that bitch ass comment you just made

•

MC: In physics the other day my teacher started having this coughing fit and so he says “I think Satan is choking me” and I just went “sorry” and he stopped coughing. Omg I think everyone in my class is terrified of me

Satan: I am still laughing at this from twenty minutes ago

Beelzebub: I just choked on my pizza

MC: Sorry

•

Satan: If everything in the universe suddenly got 100 times bigger at the exact same time, there’d be no way of knowing

Belphegor: Calm down Plato, I only question my existence after 5 PM

Satan: But of you think about it, it’s always after 5 PM

Belphegor: STOP

•

Simeon: Today I awoke to the sound of my father knocking on my dorm room door for a surprise visit. He’s barely outside the door and I pull the door open and say hey, when my roommate, Asmodeus, strips naked pull the door open, kisses me on the cheek, says in an Uber-gay voice “thanks for last night”, and leaves.

•

Satan: Today, I finally had sex with a girl I’ve been dating for over a month. Before we got started she told me not to worry about the birth control because she could handle that. So after we finished I asked her what kind of birth control she used. She said she meditated.

•

Leviathan: Today I was stopped by a cop whilst opening my front door. Apparently my house has been under investigation for being abandoned and a possible drug lab. I live alone with my cats. I knew it was sad, not that it was suspicious.

•

Luke: Today, I made a speech in front of my entire graduating glass and their families, despite my fear of public speaking. It seemed to go well and I got a big round of applause at the end. Then I panicked and instead of waving, I lifted my arm straight out in a hitler salute.

•

Diavolo: *gently places a small mushroom in your hand*

Barbatos: ?

Diavolo: *gently places another small mushroom in your hand*

•

Leviathan: TIL when a male honey bee has sex, it’s testicles explode and the bee dies

Mammon: Hoohoo I got the same problem

Solomon: Call that honey nut cheerio

•

Solomon: It’s weird how there’s no word for people who are attracted to superheroes but theres a word for people who aren’t attracted to superheroes

Simeon: What’s the word for people who aren’t attracted to superheroes?

Solomon: Liars

•

Solomon: No homo. We’re fresh out. We should get a new shipment in on Monday.

Asmodeus: Can you check in the back

•

Thirteen: I wanna be a villain so I can just saunter everywhere, the heroes are always sprinting, always running. You ever see Darth Vader run? Hell no, and I ain’t about to either.

•

Mammon: Me rolling blading into my therapists office this week with sunglasses and pina colada: MC you’re not gonna fucking believe this

•

Lucifer: My boss who is a grown man running a kingdom, just whispered “Oh, this is going to be so fucking efficient,” before spraying Febreze directly into the ceiling fan and proceeding to cough his guts out when it blew back in his face

•

Solomon: Knowledge is knowing that tomato is a fruit

Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad

Mammon: That was deep

Belphegor: Philosophy is wondering if that means ketchup is a smoothie

Beelzebub: That was deeper

Satan: Common sense is knowing that ketchup isn’t a damn smoothie you nasty

•

Leviathan: Some of you know this already but the absolute worst thing to ever happen to me was when a boy threw a cat on me and I tried to catch it and my thumb went up it’s butthole

#obey me #funny obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me thirteen

[authornina]

The Tassle Worth the Hassle: Congratulations Sav!👨🏾‍🎓

***THIS HAS NOT BEEN THROUGH A TYPICAL EDITING PROCESS; ALL SHORTS ARE ROUGH DRAFTS***

Chi kept standing up screaming Sav’s name when it got quiet and he ducked his head like he didn’t know who the hell her crazy ass was. She was doing it to purposely embarrass him. 

“Sit your ass down!” Ivy whispered. “You making us all look crazy!” 

“I love you Dayvion! I’m so proud of you baby!” Chi said one last thing before taking her seat.

The ceremony was long and many people in the stadium started becoming drowsy. Thank goodness they didn’t bring any of their children because no way could a bunch of two and one-year olds sit through this.

After two hours of honoring specific students, and guest speakers, Sav was up. He was graduating Summa Cum Laude and Lake couldn’t have been prouder. He and some other students were sitting on the stage. They’d been chosen to represent the student body because they held the highest distinctions amongst their peers. Of the three who’d held the highest distinctions, they voted and chose him to give the speech. 

When Sav stood up the whole class erupted. He was popular on campus not only as a ladies man but the weed man as well. They absolutely loved him. He was one of the few African Americans that attended the prestigious university, so it was easy to stand out. 

“Why are they goin’ up for my husband like this?” Chi asked, being drowned out by the amount of cheering happening for Sav. 

“Chill, y’all,” Sav said over the mic. “Dean Lee said she not for my shit—” he slipped up and everyone laughed. “I mean stuff today.”

The Dean who was also black shook her head at his use of language, but she knew how Dayvion Porter, which she addressed him as could be. They’d had several run ins over the course of his college career. The young man with tattoos galore, foul mouth and pants off his ass was indeed by measure the smartest one in the sea of thousands of students. She wanted this young black scholar to have his moment even in its rawness. This was black excellence being shown at a PWI and she was proud nonetheless. 

“Ummm…everybody know I ain’t wanna do this.” Sav did not try to sound intelligent or put on for nobody. They wanted him to give this speech he was going to do it as him. Educated and all, he was true to himself. “I told Dean Lee I would be honest and y’all still chose me so here we go…” 

“Fucking right bro!” A white guy shouted from the crowd. 

“I know a lot of us struggled to make it to this stage. Not only the amount of work we had to put in to make it here but the pressure, financial restraints, family issues, our mental incapacities at times…a lot more goes into just getting a degree. Picking something you can actually apply and let’s be honest, make money from in this nut ass world. Shout out to y’all who got art degrees, it’s about to be hell,” Sav said honestly and the audience died of laughter. “I know some of y’all personally who went through some of this. To be honest, ion know what it look like. I couldn’t relate because I didn’t have those problems. Y’all probably thought I’m the made it out the hood specialty case. I had a big brother who not only kept pushing me to finish but made sure I didn’t have not one worry while doing it, so this was a breeze for me actually. I don’t need no college degree, but I did this for one person and one person only. My brother Lake. I wanna honor him with this because a lot of the great people, the ones behind the scenes who never get recognized are the real ones that make it happen. I was able to run a whole business, get married, have kids, live my life stress free. He gave me what I know a lot of people who look like me never get. A peace of mind. A care-free life, the tools I needed to be successful and I thank him for that every day.” Sav was looking right at Lake. “My brother the reason why I get to stand here right now…so this to the single moms out here doing it all on their own that got their kids to this day, to the dads working day and night to pay for tuitions, the grandparents, siblings, aunties and uncles who put their all into a kid to see them do better. If it wasn’t for y’all, I’m sure we wouldn’t be up in here falling asleep and waiting to hear our name called for a degree we couldn’t have gotten without y’all.” 

Although the ceremony wasn’t done after Sav’s speech all the students felt every word he said and so did the families there to support them. 

“Wait…” Dean Lee got up ready to stop them but it was too late all the graduates were up on their feet, throwing their caps in the air. It was like a big party started. It took twenty minutes to get everything settled then the degrees were finally handed out. 

“Dayvion Porter,” they called Sav’s name to receive his degree and it went crazy again. 

“That’s it!” the president of the school got up waving his hands then shouted in the mic. “Everyone please sit down!”                                                       ******* Lake waited patiently, watching Sav bump fists with a bunch of people because he wasn’t about to touch all them hands. He stood in his robe, medals and cords around his neck looking like a true scholar. He admired the hell out of his little brother. Not even for finishing but remaining authentic and true to himself during the process. Sav had his moments but everything he set out to accomplish, had been done. Lake couldn’t and wouldn’t ask anymore of him.

“You proud of me?” Sav asked, coming towards him with his arms out for hug.

“So proud man,” Lake smiled, embracing his baby brother. “I’m so fuckin’ proud.” 

“Thank you, where the fuck everybody go?” 

“Home, they didn’t want to stay around for the crowd and all the traffic.”

“Now you know that’s fucked up. Even my own wife? All this and them niggas dip on me? Take me home to my kids. Nobody better not say shit to me.”

“Chill, I wanted you to take a ride with me.”  

“Ion even feel like it.” Sav’s feelings were hurt. His whole family was worried about beating traffic than his big day. It upset him more because he didn’t even care about it as much as they did.

They had to get all of his gifts professors, the school, students and others got for him. Sav indeed was their favorite. Someone even gave him basketball season tickets. Once they were in the car Lake did his best not to laugh. Sav was really upset. 

“Why the fuck we here?” 

Lake pulled into to the strip club they used to frequent and Sav knew something was up now. His brother wasn’t allowed to be a hundred feet of no strippers per his wife’s rules. Only if she was DJing did Avery let him enter the building.

“Because I thought it would cheer you up.” 

“I told you I don’t feel like shit no more. Them niggas fucked my mood up. Especially, Chi, she really dipped on me. Her fuckin’ muscle head ass better hope ion divorce her.”

“Sav, relax, nigga,” Lake laughed lighting a blunt then passing it to him. “Hassan would be proud of you man.”

“Yea…” Sav put his head back blowing out smoke. “I be thinkin’ bout Daddy a lot.” 

“Me too, all the time actually…I wish he would’ve made it, seen you today. It’s moments like this that make life worth living.” Lake stared out the window. After a few seconds of silence, he reached in the back seat and handed Sav an envelope. 

“What’s this?” 

“I ain’t know what to get a nigga that got it all for a graduation gift.” 

“Aw man…” Sav looked at all the papers and got emotional. 

Lake knew it bothered him that he didn’t know where he came from for sure. He couldn’t do a traditional testing since their father was deceased and had been cremated. But there was sibling DNA test and because Sav, Lake, Vant and Wreck didn’t share the same mother, it was easy to get proof. If he wasn’t Hassan’s he’d have not an ounce of relation to them.  

“Sav even if that shit ain’t say what we already knew it wouldn’t have made you any less my brother. I hope you know that.” 

“Thanks man,” Sav dapped Lake up and he pulled him in for a hug.

“Why the fuck y’all sittin’ in here cuddling and shit?” Wreck was about to get in the back, but Lake had car seats. “Nigga, Avery whip don’t have nothing in it. I swear you and Vant the wives.” 

“Fuck you nigga,” Lake pushed him getting out the car. “Stop takin’ your anger out on everybody. I told you come talk to me, you wanna hide out and shit. Think Daly ain’t tell me the bullshit you been on.” 

“I ain’t got nothing to say, and Daly a nut for bringin’ shit to you like I’m not a grown ass man! It’s fuck everything and that’s on my Daddy.” Wreck walked over and dapped Sav up. “I’m proud of you nigga.” 

“Are you really bro?” 

“Yea! Ion mean to be so hard on you. I apologize. Just…you know I’m dealin’ with my own shit right now, but I love you man.”

“I know, it’s cool, I love you too.” Sav felt bad for his brother. Wreck didn’t know which way he was going. It had spread about Gia breaking up with him. A simple, I don’t want to be with you anymore, was all the reason she gave him. That’s all he got from her. Wreck opened himself up to a woman for the last time. 

“Let’s go in here, I can’t be out for long or A will come lookin’ for me.” 

“Cause you a whipped ass—” 

“Y’all keep saying that,” Lake laughed, cutting Wreck off. “But I’m happy as fuck. I have no resistance in letting love take over me anymore.” 

“And you know what? I am genuinely jealous and that ain’t even me bro.” 

“Wreck,” Lake stopped walking. “I’m for real, come talk to me. Tomorrow, nigga.” 

“Everything already fucked up, bro. Gia will never be with me again.” 

“How?” Sav asked.

“Ion wanna talk about it.” 

“What the hell is taking so long?!” Chi pushed the door open. 

“Fuck is you doing here?” Sav looked at Lake confused. “I did not ask to come here, Chi. Lake brought me. I was on the way home.” He started defending himself immediately. 

“Get in here, Dayvion.” Chi pulled him along and it was dark as hell on the inside.

“SURPRISE!” the lights, loud ass music and cheering all happened at the same time. The whole club was decorated in his school colors with a big ass banner congratulating him. Everybody was holding cutouts of Sav’s head from his graduation photo. 

“You did this for me?” Sav wanted to cry.

“Mhm…” 

“I love you,” Sav kissed her all the way down on the couch. 

“Stop Sav!” Chi laughed. “My dress is comin’ up! You doin’ all this in front of people!” 

“Can I give my brother a hug now?” Dem asked and they let each other go. “I’m proud of you bul.” 

“Thank you.” Sav hugged Dem longer than he did his own wife. Chi was over trying to get in between something that Sav needed to literally survive, to breathe and have good days. They were working through a lot of things and as long as he prioritized her and their children then he could love on Dem all he wanted. 

“I’m so proud of you, boo boo,” Ivy said kissing her baby all over. 

“Ard come on with all that shit,” Vant tore them apart. “We got a surprise for you later,” he whispered making Sav laugh.

“Shout out to my young nigga Sav! Congratulations bro!” DJ AP shouted in the mic sounding like a nigga making everybody crack the fuck up. She was barely six weeks post-partum and came out to party for her favorite person much to Lake’s dismay. “This one for you baby!” Avery pointed at him then played Nicki Minaj Moment for Life. Sav wouldn’t openly admit he was a fan. 

“No, I'm not lucky, I'm blessed, yes, clap for the heavyweight champ, me! But I couldn't do it all alone, we!” Sav jumped on all his brothers. The moment was so nice. “Lake Porter raised me,” he remixed the lyrics. 

Lake looked at Wreck who was visibly sad and hugged his brother and in front of everyone Wreck received it because he really needed it. 

“It’s gon’ be okay, ard?” 

“Yea…” Wreck didn’t want to ruin his little brother’s day so he decided to just put his own issues aside for the time being. Vant handed him a drink patting his back. 

“It’s ard bro.” 

“Put ya drinks up,” Dem held his glass in the air with is arm wrapped around Sav. “It's a celebration, every time we link up, we done did everything, they can think of, greatness, is what we on the brink of!”

“I WISH THAT I COULD HAVE THIS MOMENT FOR LIFE!” everyone sang 

#on us #authornina #nina

[ragingbookdragon]

The Best Of Us

Batfamily x M!Reader

Word Count: 3,035 Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: And here we are with a Batbrother fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

It wasn’t an inferiority complex. Not really. He wasn’t prone to anger or any of the other symptoms listed under it—and he checked. Multiple times. But there was something about being the only non-vigilante in his family of vigilantes that made him feel inadequate compared to the rest. Bruce had the Justice League, Dick and Jason had their own fantastic groups that saved the day, and Tim and Damian were still in school, but even they had their groups too. Hell, even Alfred still had contacts from his days in MI-5. And yet, he had none of the skills his brothers or father had, no extensive martial arts training, master detective skills, or weapon mastery. He was completely normal—or maybe abnormal in this case. And on some level, he resented that he couldn’t be like his family—maybe he did have an inferiority complex.

***

The greatest thing in (Y/N)’s mind about still being allowed to live at home was that no matter what, there was always food around to eat—Alfred saw to it that every growing man in the house had enough to eat—that being said, their grocery bills were outrageouslyexpensive.

He balanced his tablet in one hand, the other hand adjusting the tie around his neck as he stepped into the kitchen, quick to raise the tablet in time to avoid whacking his youngest brother in the head.

“Morning,” he greeted, taking his seat at the table, just after Jason’s. A chorus of tired, ‘mornings’ came back at him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Wow, loving the enthusiasm this morning, guys.”

Jason snorted and propped his chin on his palm, watching (Y/N) for a moment. “I seriously don’t understand how you’re always so chipper in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee that Alfred set down. “Someone has to be the ray of sunshine in this group of gray clouds.” (Y/N) cast a glance at Dick who was shoveling eggs into his mouth. “And it seems like our eldest is busy feeding his bottomless pit.” Dick was fast to shoot him a glare, that he returned with a smile.

Just then, Tim trudged into the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and plopped down in his seat, immediately shoving the plate in front of him to drop his head onto the table.

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” (Y/N) sighed, flicking at his tablet for a moment. “You’ve seriously gotta take a day off to recuperate.”

“What do you think we do during the day?” Dick retorted, taking a swig of milk.

“Okay I think you’re confusing the entire day with the first half,” he reasoned. “When I say take a day off, I mean the whole twenty-four hours.” He glanced at everyone, and the only person who seemed to not be tired was Alfred, and that’s partly because (Y/N) believed he was immortal. “You guys are gonna run yourselves into the ground,” he said. “I just don’t think—”

“We know what we are doing, (Y/N),” Damian interrupted with a glare. “We know our limits better than you do.”

He let out a sigh and shook his head. This conversation had happened many times before and it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m not saying I know them better than you Damian, I’m simply saying that you guys should take a day to relax so that something doesn’t happen on the job that you can’t control.”

(Y/N) glanced at his father. “Dad, c’mon, you know I’ve got a point.”

Bruce hummed and flipped the page of the newspaper. “So does Damian.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and nodded. “You don’t have to worry so much, (Y/N). We know what we can handle.”

He stared at Bruce for a moment then scowled. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he muttered, and Damian was fast to chase his comment.

“I don’t know why you bother either. You’ve never once experienced what we do every night.”

(Y/N) met his youngest sibling’s glare. “Just because I don’t stick my neck out for each person in this city night after night doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like to be exhausted.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you know what it’s like to be exhausted from blood loss because you’ve been stabbed or shot? Or to be exhausted from saving the lives of innocent people? You do?”

“I—” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, then he snapped it shut and looked away with a darkened expression, tasting something sour in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Damian finalized, and in the wake of the uncomfortable tension, a cellphone went off.

Everyone started looking for theirs, but (Y/N) muttered, “It’s mine.”

He picked it up and put on a cheerful voice. “Good morning Angela…yes, I just got the floor plan…” he tapped at the screen on his tablet. “Do me a favor and move the people from table eight to table three. Mr. Robinson is better friends with Mrs. Grace and will certainly give us a warmer atmosphere in that area.”

(Y/N) paused and listened, then he stood from the table and pushed his chair in. “Let me get to the office and we can situate the rest of the guests for tonight…alright, see you soon. Bye.”

He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, then took the black backpack that Alfred was holding to him. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master (Y/N). Have a pleasant day at work.”

He huffed a laugh, but it was anything but amused. “I have to give a speech tonight in front of the entire company and three different magazines.” He glanced at Bruce. “Think you’ll be able to attend tonight? It’d mean a lot to me.” Bruce grunted, his way of telling (Y/N) that he’d try, but to not hope for a miracle.

It was fine, he was used to parentless ceremonies and events. He cleared his throat and shrugged on the backpack, making his way to the garage door.

“See you guys later.”

***

He’d given a few speeches in his short twenty-four years, and while he’d never say he was an expert on public speaking, he did know his way around a podium. That being said, every time he had to do a speech, he felt like vomiting—nerves he chocked it up to.

(Y/N) cast a glance around the packed ballroom, quietly groaning at the massive amount of people. His own table was empty, save for Angela and thank god for him, Lucius. He couldn’t help but frown at the name tags sitting in front of the empty seats.

“Wondering where the rest of the gang is?”

He met Lucius’ eyes and gave a halfhearted smile. “I’d like to think they took my advice and took the night off but…something tells me that the night called to them.” His lips pulled downwards. “I’m not going to act like this is a surprise, Lucius. I couldn’t even get them to show up for my university graduation.”

(Y/N) smiled and stood up, grabbing the notecards beside him. “What makes you think I could get them to show up to this?” He left the table and moved to the side of the stage, waiting for his name to be called. His fingers briefly shifted to his chest, feeling his heart fluttering beneath chest, nerves causing his breathing to come in short bursts. (Y/N) shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting a pleasant smile cross his face as the presenter called his name, and walked up the steps.

The bright flash of photography momentarily blinded him, but he smiled through it. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight at the Centennial Inside Alliance Award Ceremony.” He flashed everyone a million-watt smile. “My name is (Y/N) Wayne, and as many of you know, I am a senior editor for Inside Alliance. It is my pleasure tonight to recognize Inside Alliance’s top writer for the year.”

(Y/N) glanced around the room, making sure to catch the eyes of the hundreds of guests.

“Inside Alliance was created on August fourteenth, nineteen-twenty by a group of immigrant mothers and fathers who wanted to bring knowledge of their homes and cultures to the rest of world. Some of those countries being Germany, Romania, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Israel, and many, many others.”

“The production of their valuable time and extensive care created one of the greatest magazines that is still in business today, that brings attention to the worldwide issues that many groups face, while still connecting to their roots of educating the public on cultures and groups.”

He smiled. “It is with my upmost honor that I congratulate and introduce Miss Flora Janaliyeva, one of our newest and greatest writers that has joined Inside Alliance, and the winner of tonight’s Inside Alliance Award.”

(Y/N) turned to the side and grinned at Flora as she ascended the stairs. Her long black hair was braided down the length of her back and she wore a bright and floral-patterned gown. She reached (Y/N) and he reached with his right, shaking her hand, and handed her the glass award with the other.

“Miss Janaliyeva, it is with honor and congratulations that I give you this award for your excellent talent and recognition of ability from Inside Alliance.”

She smiled brightly and accepted the award. “Thank you, Mister Wayne, the honor is mine.” He nodded politely once more and descended the stairs as she began her speech, quietly taking his place back at the table.

“Well done, Mister Wayne,” Lucius smiled and (Y/N) let out a deep breath.

“I’m just surprised I was able to do that without stuttering or panicking.” He glanced over, smile lowering slightly. “Lucius, are you alright?”

The older man dabbed at his forehead and nodded, though when he breathed, it sounded labored. “I’m fine,” he assured, then reached up to rub at his chest.

(Y/N) shifted. “I don’t think you’re alright Lucius.” He leaned over. “Are you having chest pain?”

“I—yes,” he grit out then met (Y/N)’s gaze. “My chest is getting—tight and I…and I—”

He started to slump over and (Y/N) shot to his feet, eyes widening with fear. “Lucius!” The yell startled the crowd and Flora, who all looked over at the two.

(Y/N) pulled the older man back and pressed his ear to his chest, listening. He pulled away and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance! I think he’s having a heart attack!”

He helped Lucius to the floor and immediately pressed his palms to the man’s chest, starting compressions. His breath came in panicked spurts and he kept looking at Lucius’ face.

“Just hand on Lucius. You’re going to be okay.” (Y/N) kept at it until the EMT’s arrived and they knelt beside them.

“Let us take over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, too afraid that if he did, Lucius would die, but one of the EMT’s placed a hand on his shoulder while the other slide their hands underneath (Y/N)’s.

“Son, we’ll take it from here.”

(Y/N)’s arms went slack, and he let the medic pull him away, watching as they took over and started moving him onto the stretcher.

“Please, save him. He’s—he’s friends with my family I—”

The medic nodded firmly. “We’ll do all we can.”

And all (Y/N) remembered was someone ushering him into a taxi heading for the hospital.

***

The first people that arrived were Lucius’ family who were grateful for (Y/N)’s actions, but the young man could barely grimace as they disappeared into the hospital room, leaving him sitting outside, his head in his hands. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought back to what the ER doctor told him.

***

“Mister Fox is in a stable condition, but you have to understand, Mister Wayne, his heart is very weak.”

“But—but he’ll be okay right?”

“Based on Mister Fox’s past conditions, he’s verging into heart failure. His heart is too weak to keep up with what the body needs.”

“And…and what does his body need at this point?”

“At this point? A new heart.”

***

He sucked in a breath and fought to keep the sob from escaping his throat, just as heard, “(Y/N)!”

His head shot up and he saw his father and older brothers coming down the hallway. (Y/N) clambered to his feet.

“Dad I—” he started, but cut off as he choked on a sob, and Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding (Y/N) as he sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he cried. “I tried my best but—”

“Shh,” Bruce hushed, a firm, but gentle hand coming to rest at the back of his son’s neck. “You did all that you could.”

He pulled back and wiped his face. “But Lucius needs a new heart, and I don’t know what to do. I should’ve seen this coming. He hasn’t been feeling well the past few weeks and I—”

“(Y/N),” his father said firmly, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He met Bruce’s eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”

His libs wobbled and he whispered, “But if I were like you guys, I would’ve seen something earlier. I didn’t and now…” sighing, he added, “and now Lucius needs a new heart, or he’ll die.”

Bruce’s sigh was heavier than (Y/N)’s and it made his chest heavy. “We’ll get Lucius a new heart, (Y/N).”

He lowered his head and lamented, “I’m sorry, dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder then lead him towards Dick and Jason. “Take (Y/N) back home for the night. I’ll stay here with Lucius’ family.”

They nodded and led their brother down the hall, arms firm across his shoulders in a comforting way. They didn’t say anything, knowing that there wasn’t much to offer, but their support was enough for (Y/N), even if he felt horrible.

***

For being the World’s Greatest Detective, his son was evidently the World Best Hider, because it took Bruce a long time to finally find (Y/N). He stepped quietly over to the form sitting on the ledge and took a seat beside him, silently gazing out at the backyard. A bottle appeared in his vision and he focused on it as the smell of whiskey reached his nose.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked but took the bottle anyway.

“Jason gave it to me earlier.” He watched Bruce take a sip. “Figured it fit the occasion.”

Bruce chuckled. “That sounds like Jason’s way of dealing with a problem.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, simply enjoying the calm around the manor and night.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Bruce suddenly said.

(Y/N) sighed and set the bottle down, kicking his legs out off the roof. “Lucius said he hadn’t been feeling well recently. And I just passed it up to getting older.” He looked at his father. “If I’d actually paid attention, then I would’ve seen the symptoms.”

“Do you actually know what the symptoms of heart failure and heart attack are?”

“I…no, not really.”

“Then you couldn’t’ve known.” He looked at (Y/N). “Lucius works in my office every day. If anyone should’ve known and seen it, it should’ve been me.” Bruce shook his head. “But you did everything you could at the awards ceremony, and that saved Lucius’ life tonight. You did good.”

“I could’ve done better.” (Y/N) muttered. “I should’ve. I’m your son and I’m practically useless to the family but—”

“Woah, woah,” Bruce interrupted, brows furrowing as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

(Y/N) turned to him. “I am the least useful person in this family. I mean you and the guys are these crazy intelligent, vigilante master detectives and I’m just me.” He wiped away a tear that fell from his eye. “I can’t speak seven different languages or solve murder cases with a single strand of DNA left at the scene of a crime. Hell, I can’t even throw a punch.” He sighed heavily. “The last time I tried, I broke my hand.”

Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I just want to be like you guys.” He lowered his head. “I just want to be normal and not an outlier in the family.”

Bruce simply stared at him for a long moment, and while he’d never been privy to let his emotions show on his face, he let them this time—shock and shame. Shame that he didn’t see his greatest achievement suffering.

“(Y/N).”

He didn’t look up at first, but then he did. “Yes sir?”

“How long have you felt like this?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Forever?”

His father sighed. “Son, I…I never wanted you to be like us.”

He gaped at Bruce. “What?”

“(Y/N), every person in this family is driven to do what we do because of our childhoods. You’re the only one who doesn’thave any skeletons in his closet.” He stared at him. “We wish every day that we could be like you and not a day goes by that we don’t think that.”

“I…what?” he floundered, absolutely bewildered at the idea that his father and brothers wanted to be the most boring person ever. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It is.”

“No.” (Y/N) huffed. “I’m me. I’m plain and boring, work a nine to five job me. I mean I write for a magazine for god sakes! And you guys save the world!”

Bruce chuckled. “And what we wouldn’t give to be just a bit more normal like you, son.” He shrugged. “You think you’re inferior because you’re not a vigilante, but you’re the one thing that keeps us all sane. You give us the perspective of someone who isn’t what we are. Of someone who’s completely normal.”

He reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “And being normal? Being you?” Bruce squeezed firmly. “I don’t want you to be anyone else.”

(Y/N) gazed at him, and though he felt tears in his eyes, he didn’t blink, didn’t let them fall. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Bruce smiled heartfully. “You do, (Y/N). Everyday. Because you’ve always been the best of us.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batbrother #batbrother imagines #batbrother imagine #batfamily x batbrother #batfamily x batbro #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #alfred pennyworth

[allthingsfangirl101]

Once A Wildcat–Troy Bolton

I fixed my cap, nervously playing with the tassel. Troy and I were heading to graduation together and I was waiting for him to finish getting ready. I looked up when he opened the door.

"Ta-da!" He said as he spun around. I smiled, a soft chuckle leaving my lips when he almost fell.

"Careful, Basketball," I teased him. "Can't give your big speech with a torn gown."

I looked away, starting to play with my fingers.

"You okay?" I heard him ask. My breath got caught in my throat when I saw his feet step in front of me.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Troy used his pointer finger to lift my head. When I looked up at his eyes, he was smiling down at me.

"What's going on, Y/N?" He asked softly. When I hesitated, he let go of my chin and grabbed my hand. I started nervously chewing my bottom lip as he led us over to his bed.

"Talk to me," he encouraged.

"What if we go to different schools?" I forced out. But I didn't stop there. "What if we go from seeing each other every day to rarely talking? I don't think I can do that, Troy."

"Y/N," he sighed as he pulled me into his chest. "It doesn't matter how far apart we are. You'll always have me."

"I don't think you realize how much I depend on you," I whispered.

Troy pulled out of the hug and looked down at me. "Y/N," he whispered.

Before he could say anything, I started rambling. "You've always been there for me. I mean. . . You're my best friend and. . . There are a lot of things I've done in high school that I never would have done without you there to encourage me and stand by me."

"Or jump into an audition last minute with you," he chuckled. When I didn't laugh, his smile dropped.

"Do you remember in kindergarten how you'd meet a kid and know nothing about them, then 10 seconds later you're playing like you're best friends because you didn't have to be anything but yourself?" He asked. I nodded, not sure where he was going with this.

"Singing with you felt like that."

A smile slowly formed on my lips. Troy pulled me back into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

"I know graduating is scary," he whispered as he subconsciously tightened his arms around me. "I know college is scary. And I think it's scary that there is a chance we won't be at the same school too. But believe me when I say this; I won't let the distance come between us."

"But," I stuttered, sitting up and pulling out of his arms.

"But nothing," he said instantly. He reached up and gently cupped my face in his hand. "I will not let anything come between us."

What happened next happened in slow motion.

Troy leaned in and pressed his lips delicately to mine. As soon as they touched, he pulled back. I looked into his eyes, shock making it hard to breathe.

"I promise," he whispered. "Nothing will tear us apart. No matter how far away our schools are. And who knows? Maybe we'll go to the same school."

                                * * * * *

As Coach Bolton drove us to the school, Troy held my hand. Whenever I looked at him, he was already looking at me. We were in the middle of a tension-filled staring contest when Coach Bolton's voice broke it.

"Have you decided what school you're going to yet, Y/N?"

At the mention of college, my heart dropped into my stomach. I let go of Troy's hand and looked at my lap, playing with my fingers. I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the lump that formed.

"I'm not sure," I said shakily. "I've narrowed it down to UCLA and NYU."

"Both great schools," Coach chuckled. "Your dad tells me you were thinking about law school."

"That's the plan," I nodded. "I wanted to get a degree in Communications before applying for law school."

"That's smart," Coach said as he looked over his shoulder at me. He turned back to the rode as he continued, "I know a few lawyers. They got their degrees in English, but I think Communications might be just as helpful. I could talk to them about reaching out to you, if you'd like. That way you can ask them questions and they can talk to you about what they did."

"That would be great," I forced out a lighthearted laugh. "Thanks, Coach."

The rest of the way to school, Troy tried to get me to look at him but I didn't. Instead, I focused on the familiar buildings we passed. I've gotten a ride to school from Coach Bolton hundreds of times. But this drive was different.

We pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. "I guess we'll see you two after. Your parents are coming, right Y/N?"

"Yes," I stuttered. "My mom said they are picking up your wife on the way."

"Oh yeah," he smiled. "And then we were going to go get dinner after the ceremony."

I smiled as he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. I blushed as he hugged Troy.

"I'm proud of you," he said to Troy before glancing over at me. "Both of you."

He sent us a wink before turning on his heel and walking over to where other members of the staff were talking. I held my breath when Troy reached over and grabbed my hand. I hesitated before intertwining our fingers.

Without saying anything, we started walking to the graduate check-in. I was about to go to my seat when Troy pulled on my hand stopping me.

"I wish I could sit next to you," he whispered as he grabbed my other hand.

"Even if you weren't on stage, Valedictorian," I teased, "we still wouldn't be sitting next to each other. It's alphabetical."

Silence fell between the two of us as we stared at each other. I bit my lip when I felt him squeeze my hand.

"I'll see you after?" He asked.

I nodded, knowing my voice would fail me. We stared at each other for another beat before finally letting go. I took a step back, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Good luck with your speech," I said softly.

I was about to walk away but Troy stepped forward. I gasped when he grabbed my arms and pulled me into his chest. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. It took me a second before I kissed him back.

When we broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine. "Nothing," he whispered, "is going to come between us."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Throughout the ceremony, Troy kept glancing over at me. Whenever he did, his smile would widen and his cheeks would turn bright pink. When they announced that he would be speaking next, he glanced over at me. I sent him a reassuring smile, causing him to let out a breath he must've been holding.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face as Troy walked across the stage and up to the podium. I held my breath, my nerves jumping as he started his speech.

"East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean Créme Brulee, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor. It's a place where one person. . ."

My breath got caught in my throat when Troy paused, searching for me in the group of graduates. When he found me, he smiled.

"If it's the right person, changes us all. East High is having friends we'll keep for the rest of our lives, and that means we really are 'all in this together'. Once a wildcat, always a wildcat."

                                * * * * *

After the ceremony, I walked over and greeted my parents. I laughed as my dad placed a flower lei around my neck and my mom handed me flowers. They each gave me a hug and whispered how proud they were of me.

I looked over my shoulder when something caught my mom's eyes. A blush formed as I instantly made eye contact with Troy. His parents followed as he walked over to us.

I gasped as he ran over and pulled me into his arms. I laughed as he picked me up and spun me around.

"Troy," his mom laughed. "Easy, honey."

Our parents started to talk to each other as he finally put me down. Even though I was back on my feet, Troy didn't unwrap his arms from around my waist.

"We did it," he whispered.

"Yes, we did," I chuckled.

My breath got caught in my throat when he glanced down at my lips. He looked back up at me, a small smile creeping onto his face. I held my breath as we slowly leaned in.

We jumped apart when his team came running over, practically tackling him. I sent him a small smile before I walked over to our parents. While Troy talked and took pictures with his team, I listened to our parents' conversation.

Our parents were deciding where would be best to go to dinner when I felt someone grab my wrist and turn me around. I gasped as Troy leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

As our lips slowly started to move in sync, we could hear our friends and parents laughing and cheering. I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against his.

"Things aren't going to change, right?" I whispered.

"I won't let them," he reassured. "Besides, once a wildcat. . ."

"Always a wildcat."

#Troy Bolton #troy bolton imagines #troy bolton x reader #zac efron #zac efron imagines #zac efron x reader

[bellarkeselection]

Cowboy Hoedown

- Kayce's girlfriend decides to party with the guys of the Bunkhouse. But she drinks more than she should and he has to take care of her.

The cowboys of the Bunkhouse are all partying it up tonight. Currently I'm laying on the empty top bunk my brown cowgirl hat over my face. "Y/n, come hang with us!" Jimmy's voice calls out having me lift up my hat. Lioyd and the others were playing cards and drinking eyeing me. Swinging my legs over the bed I jump down getting a beer from the fridge, tipping my hat up drinking it quickly. The gang deals out cards drinking a little before someone suggests a roping game. "Let's spin around on a baseball drunk, then try and run being roped like cattle."

Colby draws out throwing his cards down on the table. Jimmy and Ryan both nod in agreement turning in the direction of Lioyd and I. Lioyd shakes his head no, sipping his drink. "I've got no business getting thrown on my own ass." I get to my feet downing the last of my first beer with a smile. "I'll play, whose first?"

Ryan delt with the baseball bat as Colby handled the roping. Both boys were drunk while I was only starting to feel the buzz and slur of my speech. Being a college graduate at 25, I was still learning how much alcohol I could stomach before I was really drunk. Kayce and I have went out on dates to the local bar, but we always came back early so we could go stargazing in the open feilds of this ranch. When I was around 13 years old my dad took me out to stargaze for the first time, and I fell in love with being able to get lost in the tiny stars in the sky.

Jimmy is up next chugging his beer, spinning in circles with his forehead resting on the bat for 5 circle spins. Next he drops it trying to run away but Colby hooks the rope around his feet knocking him down. "Damn Jimmy, you're sure gonna have a concussion in the morin'" Lioyd chuckled when a loud thud rumbles through the Bunkhouse by Jimmy's fall before the front door opens and my boyfriend enters.

"Kayc - Kayce!" I hiccup tipping back in my chair at seeing him. He eyes the room of discarded beer bottles all around while walking over to his top bunk. He threw his bag up removing his black cowboy hat, sitting it on the bunk.

"Don't throw your hat on the bed!" All the Bunkhouse boys scolded, since it was rumored to be bad luck. Kayce rests his left arm on the bed, laughing at their silliness. "I don't believe in that shit."

I popped open another drink taking a big gulp of it. "Oh here we go. Kayce - watch - your girlfriend." Colby slurs his words giving me the baseball bat. "Watch her do what exactly - Y/n!" Kayce shouts as I do five circles forcing my head upright too fast. Causing me to become light headed and stumble into the table. Ryan launched forward trying to help Colby rope me but ends up roping Lioyd. My legs become jelly as I do three more spins, vision a blurry mess as I collapsed into comfortable arms of someone.

Blinking my eyes a couple times my vision focuses on Kayce. His strong arms are holding me to his chest by my waist, my hands grip his light brown jacket tightly. "How'de Kayc." I smile up into his brown eyes. "Y/n!"

His expression turned serious as he shifted me in his arms to carry me bridal style out of the Bunkhouse for Lioyd to deal with the drunks. I giggled pointing my finger up to the glowing stars in an attempt to make him stop. "Kayc, look. Stop and watch the stars." But he doesn't instead he carries me through the house, kicking open the door laying me under the bed covers in my room. "Not tonight darlin'. I've gotta take care of you."

He hangs my hat on it's hook about to leave but I wine like a fine year old. "Stay...with...me." He rolled his eyes removing his boots, hat and shirt climbing in bed with me. "Why'd you get drunk with those numbskulls?" I lay my head on his chest enjoying his warmth.

"Cause, I never get to - see ya. You're always - workin'." He combs my hair from my face laying a kiss on my forehead. "I'm sorry bout that. I'll make more time for just us, that way you don't get waisted drunk to get my attention."

I smirked leaning up and kissing him deeply. His right hand cupped my face enjoying the kiss, yet he broke it. "As much as I want to keep doing this. Let's wait till morin', when you're sober."

I yawn smuggling further into his chest when he wrapped his around me. "Goodnight honey."

Fully feeling my eyes close I mumbled into his chest. "Night, Kayce."

#yellowstone #kayceduttonxreader #Bunkhouse #luke grimes

[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.

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

[onbeinganangel]

for @skeptiquewrites who sent me a prompt from this list of kisses for me to work with! the prompt was 'we're with family and can't kiss but let's sneak into your old room for a minute' and she asked for a little bit of Perciver. this got a bit out of hand (who's surprised, not me) and it features discussions of coming out to one's family

not beta read and tbh barely edited, this is just straight out of my brain and into your eyeballs since these prompts are meant to be a warmup to working on The Big WIP, so my apologies in advance for any dumb mistakes

harder than i thought

(percy/oliver, 1.3k)

They’ve been dating for almost a year when Oliver decides he’s coming out to his parents and bringing Percy home to Glasgow for the first time. All for his birthday party, because when it comes to one Oliver Wood, it’s always go big or go home.

It’s weird that it’s when Oliver brings it up that Percy realises he’s never been to Oliver’s childhood home. Percy has met the Woods before, of course. Percy and Oliver had graduated the same year, fought the same war, and been generally inseparable way before their relationship crossed the line over from platonic to romantic.

Percy hasn’t been out to his family long either, so it all feels a little fragile, despite it being the surest thing Percy has ever had in his life. Coming out to his family had been slightly underwhelming, after all his overthinking and the practicing of his speech. He had made a big show of clinking his fork against his glass at Sunday dinner, pushed himself up with his sweaty palms flat over the dinner table and announced, as loud and as proud as his shaky voice allowed it, “I’m gay.” His mum had reacted with a casual “as long as you’re happy, love, do you want more roast potatoes? Oh, and do bring Oliver over next week” and that had been only after Bill coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “yeah, we know.” Despite the subdued reaction, Percy had felt lighter for it.

But Oliver has his own plan to air things out with his parents, and Percy will do the same as always until Oliver is ready: pretend they are just friends.

It’s not as easy as it seems. They do it plenty in public, whenever Percy goes to Oliver’s matches or they’re out with friends. But it’s different at home. It’s different because they’re too casual, both at theirs and at the Burrow now.

They wake up tangled up in one other, like one creature with too many limbs. Oliver gets out of bed first and goes for a run and Percy is up and ready to leave for work by the time Oliver is back. It’s way more than the freedom of going on dates in the Muggle world. It’s the way they brush hands softly even while doing the most mundane of things, the way Oliver puts his feet on Percy’s lap when they watch tv together, the way Percy wraps his arms around Oliver’s waist and places his chin on Oliver’s shoulder when he’s cooking or standing in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. It’s the temple kisses, and the forehead kisses, and the knuckle kisses, the neck kisses, the kisses right on top of Oliver’s gorgeous hair that always smells fresh and minty. Percy’s fear is that he’s too used to all of that. And he’d have to survive Oliver’s birthday party and pretend they’re just friends for as long as it takes.

He takes a steadying breath and fusses with the collar of his shirt for the 900th time. It’s fair that he’s trying so hard. Meeting the parents, even if you’ve met them before, is a big deal.

“You ready?” Oliver’s voice comes from the other room.

His worry must be obvious in his face when he steps into the front room because Oliver’s mouth curls into a small frown and he says, “You don’t have to come, you know? I’ll say you’re a wee bit under the weather.”

“Merlin, no! I don’t want to miss your birthday party,” Percy argues. He really doesn’t.

Oliver crowds in on him, lips brushing Percy’s. “We can celebrate properly when we come back home,” he says, voice low, lips parting and puffing hot air against Percy’s.

“Will you behave, please? We just have to survive a few hours without touching. Stop making it harder than it is.”

“Oh, I could make it harder,” Oliver says.

“Bloody hell, you’re a hazard,” Percy says and pushes him away playfully. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Aye, let’s go.”

*

It’s nice. Nice, in the sense that Mrs. Wood hugs him as if he’s her own and asks about his parents and siblings. And nice in the sense that he can point at ridiculous photos on the walls (most of them featuring Oliver on a broom or posing with one, some featuring a rosy cheeked chubby baby) and say stuff like “Circe, is that what you looked like?” just to receive a deadly stare from Oliver.

It’s torture, though. It’s torture because more than once he finds himself reaching for Oliver’s hand or about to call him “love” before he reins it back in. It’s torture to make small talk with Oliver’s dad because Percy is saying “Yes, sir, I’m the Deputy Department Head now” and making jokes about if they ever have issues with their Floo, he’s the man to get in touch with but what he’s really thinking is “will you hate me when he tells you?”

Dinner is gorgeous and followed by a giant chocolate cake with pieces of fudge on top. Percy is fidgety the whole way through, even after a healthy dram of whisky. The quiet gets to him — a side effect of growing up in the loudest household in Britain, probably. But it’s weird, when it’s just the two of them, Oliver’s parents and his gran, and it’s weird because there’s not much to distract Percy and he just wants to hold Oliver’s hand and squeeze, and not entirely selflessly. They don’t touch but Oliver keeps looking at him, those gorgeous big brown eyes melting through every single one of Percy’s defenses and making him want to touch him even more.

He ends up in Oliver’s room and he’s not even sure how. They’d moved to the living room after lunch, with a Quidditch match on on the Wireless that Percy tried to pay attention to. The quiet had started seeping into Percy’s bones like when you walk into too-cold water at the beach.

Oliver pushes him into the small room at the top of the stairs, follows him inside and closes the door. The room is decorated in shades of blue — the walls, the duvet, the cushions on the bed, the shaggy rug — and covered in Quidditch paraphernalia — posters on the walls, more Little League trophies on the desk than he can count, more photographs of Oliver and his broom.

It’s so Oliver that Percy wants to drown in it. In all the blue of it, all the cosiness and that smell — that smell that has never left, despite Oliver not having lived at home for years. Spicy and minty and homey.

Oliver walks past him, leaving Percy at the door, still observing, committing every detail to memory and walks over to the desk, cocking a hip against it.

When Percy looks at him directly again, he’s smiling.

It feels a little like they’re about to kiss for the first time ever, excepted when they had, months ago, had been tentative and shy and had none of the fire this has. Percy crosses the room and lets himself be pulled against Oliver’s warmth. They just kiss for a while, a steady rhythm that tells Percy he’s not the only one struggling with the pretense.

“Not touching you is harder than I thought,” Oliver says against his spit-shiny lips.

Percy smiles and he sees the moment Oliver’s eyes light up and he realises what Percy is about to say, just before he says it. “Oh, Oli, I could make it harder.”

“You’re a bastard, you know?” Oliver says, but laughs.

Silence stretches comfortable, just slightly tinged with a hint of fear.

“You okay?” Percy asks, after a while, as Oliver tucks his head under Percy’s chin, his breath hot and tickly against the skin on his neck.

“Yeah. They’re not going to have a problem. They’re sound,” he says, and Percy squeezes his hand tight, watching the way Oliver’s eyes fill with apprehension. “It’s just hard, saying it, you know?”

“I know. I’ll be here,” Percy says, for lack of a better answer.

“I know.”

#thank you tee i hope you love it!! #i adore these boys #i don't know where all the plot came from!!!! #it was only meant to be a kiss #fucking hell #perciver #m writes #longer than micro

[libra-kirishima]

Mirio and his wife(he dead ass proposed to y/n at UA graduation) How would Mirio’s dad react to being told he’s going to be a grandpa? I wanna get a cavity from the Fluffy sweet content.Oh oh oh and what if they did the headphone challenge where they tell him word for word while listening to music at a high volume.💕🌸😫✨🌿💜 PLSSS

I'm so glad we all agree that Mirio gets married straight out of high school.

When Mirio proposed to you just seconds after you both graduated, it was assumed by almost all of your classmates that it was because you were pregnant. Only Tamaki knew that Mirio had been saving the money from his work-study to buy you a nice engagement ring since your first date. It was only Tamaki who knew that he purchased that ring almost a year ago and had been hiding it in his sock drawer waiting for the right moment. It was also only Tamaki who knew Mirio wanted to propose at the graduation ceremony.

And he did. The very moment after you both launched your graduation caps into the air, he reached under his robe to pull the ring box from his slacks while you weren't looking. The surprised look on your face when you turned back to him was something Mirio plays back in his head every day. You turned to ask him if he'd want to come back to your dorm after the ceremony, and your eyes were met not with the chest of your boyfriend as you'd expected, but a brilliant ring in a velvet box that you absolutely adored. The tears began to flow before he could even finish his speech about how much he loved you, and couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life loving you.

Fittingly, only Tamaki knew that this wasn't a shotgun wedding, brought on by Mirio unexpectedly getting you pregnant. Though the two of you were completely unaware of this wide held assumption. It took Mirio's father asking when the baby was due to finally dawn on the two of you, several months after the wedding, that most people assumed the marriage was brought on by a baby coming. It was that evening that you and Mirio sat down together and made the decision to wait at least until you were both 25 to think about starting a family.

The positive pregnancy test in your hands at 19 was hardly unexpected, but still a huge surprise. You and he had both been so busy that you had gotten sloppy with your birth control, and the moment you both had an overlapping day off you made the most of it.

"Making the most of it' is such an understatement." You muttered to yourself. "We certainly made something." Though as panicked as you were, when you told your husband the news he was overjoyed. Before you could even finish your sentence, he was lifting you up by your waist and spinning you around. All the stress in you melted away as you saw the excitement in his eyes at the thought of him being a father.

"-We'll have to move to make room for the baby. And I guess that gives us the chance to think about what school we want to send them to and how their school schedule will fit in with our work schedules. I don't want you to put too much stress on yourself so maybe Tamaki will help us. I bet he'll be excited to find out. What color should the nursery be? I don't know if you want to decide that before or after we know the sex of the baby. Is it sexist to color a nursery based on the baby's gender? What about purple or yellow? Oh, or maybe green or orange! What do you want to name them? Is it too early to start thinking about that? And how are we gonna tell our families?" Mirio's rambling stops after that final question and his eyes widen. "Oh my god how are we gonna tell my dad!?"

"Do you think he'll take it poorly?"

"No he seemed really excited last year when he thought you were pregnant."

"Then there's nothing to worry about." You reassured him, prompting him to have a seat. He followed your suggestion and sat himself on one of your dining room chairs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind and placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

It was four days later that he came up with the idea. Deciding to take a break from looking for a place with two bedrooms, you busied yourself with something else as he aimlessly scrolled through social media.

"That's it!!!" You heard him shout from your place in the kitchen.

"Did you find a place you liked?" You shouted back. He burst into the kitchen to join you.

"No, even better!" He answered, padding over to you with excitement in each step.

"You decided what color you wanted the nursery to be?"

"No, but I have a really strong feeling that it's a boy and I think we should go with blue and yellow."

"And what if it's a girl?" You asked with a small giggle. He froze and allowed himself to think it over.

"Blue is a gender neutral color." He finally responded. You muttered a soft 'good answer', but it was lost as he continued with "But I swear that it'll be a boy. Didn't you say something about a cancer's intuition?"

"Hey that's serious stuff. Don't joke about that." You argued.

"Exactly!" He insisted. "Wait what did I come in here for?" You shrugged your shoulders, which prompted him to leave the kitchen and return to the living room. Shortly thereafter he returned to the exact spot he stood in the kitchen, lost in thought. You could tell he was retracing his steps. "-so then I got excited and came to talk to (y/n) and she asked if I decided what color I wanted the nursery to be- Oh! I can just check my phone!" You laughed to yourself as he pulled out his phone to resume scrolling. He found what he was looking for and brought it over to show you.

A video of an older couple wearing headphones blasting loud music. They were being told by their daughter that they were going to be grandparents, and you watched as they tried to piece together what they were being told. Once the father figured it out, he leaped out of his seat with joy.

"So that's what you want to do with your dad?"

"Yes, please." He answered. "Next week?"

"No." You answered, pointing your finger at him. He pouted at your response, which you elected to disregard. "You will wait until the second trimester and you will like it."

"You can make me wait until the second trimester, but you can't make me like it." He answered. Crossing your arms, you raised one brow at him with a sharp glare. "Fine, I'll like it!" He sighed, causing you to grin.

To Mirio, the first trimester went at a snail's pace. He was eager to meet his baby boy and even more so to tell others about him. He wanted so desperately for these 40 weeks to be over. At the five month mark, he couldn't drive you to your doctor's office fast enough. Not even trying to hide the eagerness in finding out the sex of the baby.

"I told you he was gonna be a boy!" Mirio told you excitedly as you walked back to your car. "See, Cancer intuition!" You laughed at his enthusiasm over correctly guessing the sex of your baby.

"I think that was just wishful thinking." You joked. "You didn't do anything."

"No, I'm definitely psychic."

"Okay then Mister-Psychic-Intuition. Will he be a Virgo or a Libra?"

He tapped his chin as he thought over your question. You knew he wasn't as into this stuff as you were, but he still devoted a lot of effort into his prediction.

"I think he'll be a Leo." He answered as he drove out of the parking lot.

"Do you want to go tell your dad now?" You asked. His eyes lit up at the sound of your question and immediately changed course to his dad's house. "Great!"

Mirio didn't even knock and wait to be let in. He saw the light on, noted that his father was home, and used his key to let the two of you in as quickly as possible.

"Dad!" He called from the doorframe. In all his excitement, he nearly forgot to remove his shoes. Mirio's dad scrambled to his feet from where he was sitting on the couch, believing that his son was in some kind of danger. "No sit back down, we're going to play a game."

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine, don't worry. But sit down, it's game time."

He sat down, but remained both concerned and confused as his son sat across from him, prompting you to do the same.

"How are you?" You asked him.

"Just fine, thank you (Y/N). How about yourself?"

"I'm great, thank you. Do you have any exciting plans for this weekend?"

"Not really. I have errands to run but nothing else on the agenda. What about yourse-"

"I FOUND THEM!" Mirio shouts from upstairs. You hardly thought to ask where he had gone to, instead making polite conversation with his father. Your husband barrelled down the stairs a moment later, triumphantly holding up his old headphones from when he was in high school. "I thought I left them here!" Mirio wastes no time in running him through the rules of the whisper challenge and putting the headphones over his ears with music playing loud enough to block out what you were saying. Mirio looked at you then back at him with a big smile. He and his dad flashed each other a thumbs up.

"Can you hear me?" You asked. No response. "Okay good start." You then turned to Mirio. "Can I film this?" You asked, although you didn't wait for an answer before you pulled your phone out and opened the camera.

"You're going to be a grandparent." Mirio stated, doing his best to annunciate every syllable.

"Do you want spinach?" His dad guessed. Mirio shook his head.

"You're going to be a grandparent." You echoed.

"Shorts? Do you want to wear shorts?"

"You are going to be a grandfather."

"You want me to what?"

Your husband shook his head and decided to take over.

"You are" Mirio stated.

"You are" His dad repeated. You both nodded encouragingly.

"Going"

"Going"

You both nodded again.

"To be"

"Crazy! You are going crazy." He guessed. Mirio sighed and shook his head.

"You are going to"

"To! You are going to!"

"Be a"

"Be! You are going to be."

"A grandfather." Mirio finished.

"A- a grandfather! You are going to be a grandfather!" You both nodded excitedly. He repeated to himself. "You are going to be a grandfather. You are- I'm going to be a grandfather?" He pulled the headphones off his ears. "I'm going to be a grandfather?"

"You're going to be a grandfather!" Mirio repeated excitedly. You pulled the ultrasound photos from your jacket pocket and handed them to his dad. "In a few months you get to meet your grandson!" He added, voice shaky from holding back tears.

"You're kidding me!" His dad added, holding back tears of his own. "You're not kidding?" You shook your head. He stood up and engulfed you both in a hug, no longer trying to hold back his tears.

"I'm due somewhere between September 13th and September 22nd."

"Although I think the baby will come a couple weeks early." Mirio added with a soft smile.

And just as he predicted earlier that day, he was right.

#did it need to be this long? no ma'am but i did it anyways! #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha imagines #mha x reader #toogata mirio #mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #togata mirio #togata mirio x reader #togata x reader #pronouns used: she/her/hers

[marvelslut16]

Caught red lipped

Prompt number: 20 “did I ask?”

Fandom: Harry Potter

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Potter!reader (yeah I’m basic)

Rating: T

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: mentions snogging. angry Harry if that's a warning. Swearing I think. Some pretty bad writing for this one.

A/N: I’m sorry if this was literal shit. My schoolwork and the vice presidential debate wore me out today and I had little to no energy to write this. Plus I was stuck on which character I should write for. 

You’re five minutes younger than Harry, which has caused him to take on the roll as a protective older brother. Whether it be protecting you from Dudley and his friends, or the Dursley’s wrath, or keeping you out of trouble at Hogwarts- or at least as much trouble as he can since he drags you into his drama. So you obviously didn’t tell him when you started dating his enemy, Draco Malfoy, earlier in the year. 

At the beginning you thought Draco was trying to flirt with you to get a rise out of Harry, until you realized the only time he flirted, or talked to you really, was when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere to be found. You reluctantly agreed to meet him for a butterbeer at the three broomsticks one weekend, afraid he was trying to embarrass you. But to your surprise, and delight, he showed up for the date. You were shocked at how much fun you had, laughing together for what felt like hours, but what made you laugh the hardest was seeing Draco with a butterbeer mustache. 

Ever since then you had been finding moments to steal away with him; sneaking out of your common room to go snog while he was supposed to be doing his prefect duties of patrolling the corridors, or hiding out in the same hidden alcove in the library to do homework together (and snog some more), he even planned a moonlit picnic down by the black lake one night. Your stolen moments with Draco become few and far between as the year progresses; Umbridge creating more rules that stop you from seeing him, Dumbledore’s army eating away at the time you usually reserved for Draco, an his time being spent running around for Umbridge as part of the Inquisitorial Squad.

Draco is far more romantic than you ever thought possible, he’s incredibly caring and kind to you. While you aren’t happy that your twin, your built-in best friend, and your boyfriend hate each other, you stopped caring about a month ago when you realize you’re in love with Draco. 

You and Draco are being careless, not hiding behind the tapestry fully, and giggling a little too loudly for the empty echoing halls. Too busy snogging your boyfriend you don’t hear the slight pitter patter of three sets of feet, two walking normal and one tiptoeing. You’re suddenly pulled out of Draco’s embrace by an invisible force. Seeing Ron and Hermione stare at you with wide, curious, eyes you know Harry is under the invisible cloak and he’s the one that grabbed you. Right after you mentally figured it out, Harry is yanking off his clock and glaring between you and Draco.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Harry tries his best to keep his voice down, as not to alert Filch and Mrs. Norris. 

“Nothing?” you squeak, unconsciously taking a side step closer to Draco. 

“Snogging him doesn’t look like nothing (Y/N),” Harry takes a step towards you, and you step back right into Draco’s arms. “How long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Draco speaks up after a moment of silence, realizing you aren’t going to respond. 

“You can’t date him (Y/N)!” Harry’s yelling now, angry that you hadn’t told him, angry that he hadn’t noticed. 

“Did I ask?” you snap back. “Merlin, Harry, this is why I didn’t want to tell you! I didn’t want the lecture.” 

“I forbid you from seeing Malfoy!”

“Potter-” Draco tries to reason with Harry, but you cut him off.

“You don’t get to control my life Harry!” angry tears start to well up in your eyes.  I love Draco and I want to be with him, end of discussion.”

Ron and Hermione take their leave, going back to patrolling the corridors, more accurately, Hermione drags Ron away to give you three privacy. Draco raps his arms tightly around your waist, bringing your back snug to his chest, he gives you a quick peck on the crown of your head. Harry’s mouth is opening and shutting quickly like a fish.

“I love her too,” Draco briefly nuzzles his face into your neck and shoulder. “And once we leave Hogwarts I’d like to marry her.”

“You’re too young for that!” Harry exclaims. “No one should get married right after they graduate from Hogwarts.”

“Mum and Dad did,” you reason, leveling him with a harsh glare. “If we decide by then we don’t want to be married then I’ll tell you you were right. You can gloat all you want.”

“I’m not asking your permission to date her Potter, because I’ll date her either way” Draco’s voice sends vibrations from his chest to your back. “But I know it would mean a lot to (Y/N) if we weren’t always at each other's throats.”

Draco unwraps his right arm from you, extending it out for Harry to shake his hand in a truce. Harry seems reluctant at first, but shakes Draco’s hand when he sees the hope in your eyes. Not wanting to linger Harry retracts his hand and heads back to the common room where he’ll wait for you to get back and explain how it all started and give you the big brother speech. Once Harry is passed the corner you let out a little squeal and throw your arms around Draco’s neck. When you pull away you teasingly nip at his plump bottom lip, he quickly pulls you back in for another passionate snog.

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

#Draco malfoy x reader #fictober20 #fictober day 7 #draco malfoy x potter!reader #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfo x y/n #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco one shot #draco malfoy one shot