#my roommate looked me dead in the face as i was complaining about my mother and told me it was an abusive cycle

[kalims]

‎˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "it's high-school and it feels like i have a freaking harem."

high school otome au,

parts. one , two , three , remake

characters. epel, ace, deuce, jamil, leona, riddle, malleus, jade, floyd, silver, neige, ???.

cw. set in another universe, some things are canon to the original twst timeline but not all, gender neutral reader, pretend we are smart.

note. usually I don't go past 8 characters for twst but this will be an exception. anyways what the fuck am I doing in my life LOL

✦ you — the new transfer student whose on a scholarship personally assigned by crowley himself. your presence alone strikes great curiosity to students. but when you're clearly surrounded by many guys full of different, colorful reputations they don't suppose they have a chance to become your freind. or another?

✦ riddle rosehearts — the student council president who seems to terrify every other student. he's strict, he's an honor student, he has authority, he's riddle rosehearts. the one student that gets classrooms running to fix themselves and since you were new you weren't spared the mercy when he caught you snacking on a pair of tarts in the middle of a class, promptly demanding you come with him as the class sends you mental prayers. you learn he's quite lonely when you see him sit by himself in lunch, his other friend named trey seemed to be absent. he looks suprised when you sit next to him and offer him a tart. the conversation goes smoothly, people stare when he butters up. and now you're given more passes to some rule breaches compared to other students.

✦ epel felmier — your childhood sweetheart. you've known epel ever since you were in diapers, both your mothers are great friends and teases you both about marriage to each other. it became more clear and embarrassing the more you grow up. it's a nice thought really but with all your studies going on, you don't suppose you have the time to date. one day epel starts complaining about how his new upperclassmen moaned about beauty and his 'soft face' you merely laugh and tell him that you'd always be glad to see him as 'your man' (did you miss his red face, or his hopeful eyes?)

✦ jamil viper — a junior whose a regular on the basketball team. you officially meet jamil when trein had him volunteer into tutoring you, you die a little on the inside when you see the look on his face. it's stoic, and relaxes but you can't can't but see that there's a rageful storm behind his eyes. he doesn't talk much, but when he does his voice was so beautiful that you can't help but blurt out that it is. he looks scandalized, and shocked. as if no one ever told him so. he closes his eyes and hopes you don't hear his heart beating loudly. for once he hopes that the gods will give him a chance to have this one thing. (if you ask he'll never introduce you to kalim)

✦ ace trapolla — your roommate, he's apart of the basketball team. crowley had graciously given you an apartment to stay in. it's rather old, definitely dusty compared to the other dorms but it definitely works. you're only slightly upset when he tells you that you're to dorm with two other people. it's dead in the night when the door abruptly slams open, you grab a broom to defend yourself in case it's am intruder and shove it forward when you hear a creak. it hits a boy with a sweaty forehead and the familiar basketball uniform. you apologize profusely when he mumbles about you being the new roommate.

✦ deuce spade — your other roommate. other than ace he's apparently striving to be an honor student like the council president. you learn that he has a mother than he so dearly loves that he'd be easily labeled as 'mommy's boy' and his aggressive, delinquent side comes out when a bunch of jocks bumps into the both of you coming from a trip to the local store for some eggs. the collision makes them fall and break, when the jocks laugh deuce starts clenching his fist so hard that you can see me veins behind it... aaand he socks one of them in the face. (too bad he looks even more upset when he learns they weren't fertilized.)

✦ leona kingscholar — a player who ever rarely appears in class, you only actually see him whenever there's soccer tournaments held. he's unsurprisingly arrogant, a trait you knew to expect when it comes to athletes. he told you he'd take your teeth if you didn't apologize after accidentally trampling his sandwich. for the next following weeks he makes you run around as his errand runner and you've no choice but to comply lest he actually takes a tooth. now you're basically a few months after meeting him he just starts approaching you in the middle of a game and asks "well? did I do good?" the crowd watches in amazement when he doesn't leave immediately (to probably go nap back at his dormitory as he usually does.)

✦ malleus draconia — a mysterious man you meet in the park you tend to relax in. it's abandoned, rather eery but all the well comforting. apparently you're not the only one who found it. malleus is a tall guy, he's easy to spot in broad daylight, and hard to discern when it's in the middle of the night. he blends in with the shadows easily but it's like he's meant to thrive in the sunlight. you both eventually end up sitting on a bench together, not saying anything. the silence is enough to comfort both of you. you're pleasantly suprised when you see him in school the very next day, confused when everyone scatters when you walk in the hallways. half aware of the tall guy following closely behind you with a happy smile.

✦ jade leech — the guy whom you believed to be your one true love, you never really approached him. only casting aside fleeting looks. he's tall, a gentleman, knows how to cook, and a beautiful face. well you've only come to know that he's apparently sadistic when he's led you on many times before treating you horribly. you witnessed him dump you without any regard and leave you heartbroken. you're not happy when he displays a sudden interest in you once again. does he really think a bunch of flowers (your favorite) is gonna make you all good again?

✦ floyd leech — the brother of your ex-boyfriend. he knows of your feelings and uses it for his own entertainment, usually like threatening to expose your feelings whenever he feels like it. he's hands down one of the most terrifying guys on the campus, his tendency to have moods makes him greatly feared. there's more and more menacing rumors about him but it's strange because you never really see him angry anymore. (the students itch to tell you that floyd responds positively to your presence and any trces leading to his angry mood completely disappears.)

✦ silver — a junior whose on the horse riding club. you muse that he resembles somewhat a disney princess, he's beautiful, the animals come scurrying to him whenever he sleeps, and everything he does is like the forces of nature itself shift to make himself look more ethereal than he already is. he's quiet, a little intimidating on the front since he looks quite strong. but you realize it's not really true when you see him shyly present you a flower as you both laid on the grass side by side. the moment is interrupted by a green haired boy who starts screaming about club activities.

✦ neige leblanche — a flowery boy from the rivaling school full of honorary, righteous students. neige is a celebrity, you never really expected to meet him not befreind him at all. true to the rumors, he really is a good natured, pure hearted boy who wishes nothing but the best for others. including you, but you're once again. still unkownst to the fact that he believes that there is nothing that might ever reach your greatness. he thinks that no one could ever be good enough to have you.. but alas, he can't really say that when he hasn't met everyone. the least he can think of is himself..

✦ ??? — he witnesses. he was always the second choice, you already have a best freind, epel. so he can't assume the position of yours when you already have one. he's witnessed and witnessed, boys falling for you left and right when you're so oblivious to some of their feelings. you're so lovely, so charming, so beautiful. you're so perfect that he wants to make sure that you're nothing less. he wonders when you'll finally notice him when everyone else never intentionally, or unintentionally ignored his presence. they're full of envy, admiration and lots of else but you have no idea who he is, and he will make sure you do, he will make sure you know what he is capable of, what lengths he's going to do for you, and what he will do with you.

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed ! #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst fluff #twst headcanons #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #jade leech x reader #jade leech #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #neige leblanche #neige leblanche x reader #silver x reader

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu drabbles #racer!kuroo #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #haikyu fics #haikyuu!! #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x gn!reader #kuroo x you

[thera-daydreams]

INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

#trese #trese netflix #trese 2021 #crispin #basilio #maliksi #dominic #x reader #kambal x reader #crispin x reader #basilio x reader #maliksi x reader #dominic x reader #trese x reader #thera.writes

[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

[yuzukult]

—saccharine

pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 2,319 prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time? warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack. a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.

His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.

This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday. 

To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.

It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true. 

He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.

Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone. 

By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.

But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.

The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.

There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.

Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts. 

And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.

He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.

Or is it?

Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?

Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.

When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.

Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.’ Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.

Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once? 

The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.

Luck must be on his side because you’re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”

Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.

You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”

Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee

He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”

Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets. 

You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”

—

Seokjin is a regular now. 

Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.

He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.

The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?

“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”

His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.

Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with? 

And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him. 

After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him. 

If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle? 

Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight. 

—

What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl. 

You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face. 

And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.

“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”

Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.

Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”

“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”

You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.

“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”

The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”

“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”

Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”

He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.

Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle. 

But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you. 

#seokjin #seokjin x reader #bts #bts fanfic #jin x reader #jin fanfic #gyukultfics #jin

[robinofinashiro]

“Baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you / I need you here to stay / I broke all my bones that day I found you / crying at the lake.” 

request status: OPEN

pairing: bertholdt hoover x fem! reader

note: pls send something in! my inbox/ask box zero req’s so if any of you have any ideas wanting to get out, feel free to ask. all my fandoms are pinned as well as my rules. 

you sat with Annie, throwing her small pieces of napkins as she annoyingly shook her head at you. you had been sitting down, doing absolutely nothing for the last thirty minutes as she tried to study. 

“where is everyone? you’re boring me out and I’m like ready to do something!” you exclaimed. she gave you a dead stare before going back to studying, “you’re no fun! i’m getting food. want anything?” you asked her. 

she replied with water as you stood up, smacking the back of her head playfully before running away. you made your way to the line with a basket full of your snacks and Annie’s water as your boyfriend finally making his way down the stairs with Reiner. 

“long time, no see,” you heard a voice say behind you. you turned around to see someone you felt like you hadn’t saw in centuries, “JAEGER?” you yelled a bit too loudly as you engulfed him into a bone crushing hug, “Eren! i haven’t seen you in forever!” you exclaimed. 

he laughed, scratching the back of his head shamefully, “my god, you grew your hair out, you look great!” you complimented, “damn, how is everything with Mikasa? are the two of you still together?” you asked. 

Eren nodded, “yeah, we’re going onto our two year anniversary soon. how are you and Bertholdt’s tall ass?” he joked. you playfully pushed him, “we’re great, we’re celebrating four years soon,” you saw Eren’s face change to confusion, “what?” you asked. 

Eren found it odd that in the four years both of you were dating, Bertholdt had yet to ask for your hand in marriage. 

he shook his head, “nothing, forget it. we need to hang out soon. i bet Mikasa and Armin would be excited to see you again!” you nodded excitedly, giving him your number on a napkin before giving him another hug, “of course, I’ll text you later to see when’s the next time you and the others free!”  you said before grabbing your things and leaving. 

as you walked away, Bertholdt stared at Eren, feeling as though Eren was basically eye fucking you the entire time you were talking with him. he knew you were friends with the teal eyed boy but he had never saw you so friendly with anyone before. 

“something wrong Bert?” Reiner asked. he shook his head, remaining silent, “hey, did you losers finally get out of class?” he asked. Reiner stared at you, before giving you the middle finger, “what was Jaeger doing here?” he asked. 

Bertholdt saw your eyes light up instantly, “honestly, no clue but it was nice seeing him!” you said, digging into your muffin, “there’s a part happening tonight, y’all should go,” Reiner asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

you shook your head no, “Bert and I have a date tonight. we’re having our annual movie night tonight,” you said, squeezing Bert’s hand tightly, “but I know Eren’s been interested in hanging out soon so I’ll text him later tonight to see when they’re all free,” you added on. 

Bert tightened his grip on your hand at the mention of Eren. you found it a bit odd but thought nothing of it. the rest of the time that all of you were sitting together, Bert didn’t say much. given that he hardly said anything to begin with, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off you. it was like you mesmerized him all over again. 

Bertholdt couldn’t help but think of the first time he saw you. that very day was the day he knew he wanted to make you his. 

+ 

it was the first day of college. you had been moving all of your things into your dorm along you siblings and mother. you were excited to begin this new chapter in your life and although your mom hated the idea that you were sleeping in a co-ed dorm, she was happy that you were finally getting real world experience. 

you were sharing a dorm with a girl named Annie. you had only messaged her a few times, getting all her info and social media tags. she was bit on the shyer side, not really saying much when the two of you talked but you knew that she wouldn’t be a bad roommate. 

“text us when you’re done getting your dorm together,” your sister reminded you as she placed the box on the floor. you went the front desk, saying the rest of your goodbyes when you felt someone accidentally hit you.

your siblings immediately asked if you were okay, “I-I’m so sorry,” you heard a timid voice say behind you. you turned around to face the tallest person you had ever met, “you’re okay, don’t worry about it!” you said with a smile plastered on your face. 

his blond friend next to him laughed, “i think you’re our friends roommate! Annie is the girl right?” he asked. you nodded yes, “do you know her?” you asked them. you saw as the tall boy tried to stutter out an answer but didn’t, “yeah, we all went to high school together and managed to get into same college as well. I’m Reiner and this is my friend Bertholdt,” he introduced. 

you introduced yourself as your siblings told you they were heading out, them not failing to make you embarrassed as they warned you about not getting any crazy ideas while you were away. 

“we’ll walk you to your dorm if you don’t mind,” Reiner said. you gave them a smile as they pressed the elevator door, “not talkative, are you Bert?” you jokingly asked him. Reiner laughed at his reaction, “not really. we’re lucky if we get any words out of him and we’ve known him for years,” Reiner replied. 

you laughed, poking Bert’s side, “well, I guess I’ll just make it my mission to make you talk,” you told him. by the time you reached your dorm and opened it, you heard Annie groan from seeing them. 

“don’t tell me you’ve already made friends with them?” she asked you. you nodded yes, “great, now that’s going to give them a reason to be here even more,” she complained, “but now that you’re here, be useful with something and help me get something out of my car,” Annie stated, grabbing the blond by the arm. 

Bertholdt felt himself getting nervous, realizing that he was going to left alone with you. once the door slammed shut, Bertholdt ran his sweaty palms against his pants, not really knowing what to do or say. 

“so Bertholdt, you usually this awkward?” you joked again. he stared at you for a moment before feeling a blush cross his face, “uh, y-yeah, making friends isn’t as easy for me as it is for Reiner,” he explained. you gave him a look, with a small smirk playing at your lips. 

he felt his heart stop suddenly. yeah, he had felt nervous before but this was a feeling he had never felt before. even the tiniest of smiles made his heart race and even being at close proximity with you made him sweaty. 

wait. was this the feeling Reiner kept telling him about?

was this the feeling of actually liking someone? Bertholdt had really never liked someone before. given that many people thought that him and Annie would make a great couple, Annie had never saw Bert in that way and vice versa. 

finally pulling back into reality, he stared down at you before giving you the tiniest of smiles, “what has you happy all of a sudden?” you asked. he shook his head, “n-nothing,” he replied. 

+ 

later on that night, you were prepping the things the both of you needed for your movie night. you usually tended to Bert in your bed, basically attached to him like a koala as he held you close to his chest.

whenever the two of you cuddled, you were usually cuddled into him shirtless. he knew you liked his physique, he was tall, very built, and lean so whenever the chance presented itself, you would make him take his shirt off so the two of you cuddle ‘correctly’ as you liked to say. 

you heard a knock on your door, realizing that it was Bertholdt and ran to it. you gave him a smile, placing a kiss on his lips before letting him in. Bert on the other hand had other plans and bent down for another kiss, quickly making it steamier than usual. 

“where did that come from?” you asked a bit flustered, “just wanted to kiss ya,” he replied, making a beeline to your room. you followed as he had basically dragged you in there, crawling into bed as quickly as possible. 

you grabbed the remote for your tv as the two of you got to scrolling through the movie lists. it didn’t take long until the two of you finally found a movie, settling with watching ‘Singing’ in the Rain’, one of your favorite movies. 

for about an hour, you were engrossed with watching the movie, making side comments about how cute the couple was.

“what has you so affection tonight, Hoover?” you asked, your fingers dancing along his chest. he nervously touched the suede maroon box in his shorts as you remained silent, “I wanna ask you something,” he mentioned a bit quieter than usual. 

you gave him a concern look, “you’re not breaking up with me, are you? you’ve been acting really weird since I spoke with Eren earlier today and if you got any implication-,” Bert cut you off with a kiss, surprising you completely, “it’s nothing like that, relax,” he said. 

reaching into his pocket, he gripped the box almost feeling like his knuckles would turn white. you had covered yourself with the blanket, feeling the cold hit you. finally, Bert gripped your chin as a million thoughts ran in his head. he knew this was the next step in your relationship and oddly enough, he didn’t feel nervous at all. 

“marry me,” Bert whispered as he opened the box and showed the ring. you felt your heart stop in its tracks as you gazed at the ring for a moment before looking to Bertholdt again, “really?” you asked, feeling tears spring into your eyes, “yes, of course Bertholdt,” you exclaimed as you tackled him into a kiss.

 ‘You Were Meant For Me’ was playing in the background as Bertholdt pulled away and took the ring out of its box to place on your shaky hand. you couldn’t stop gazing at the ring as Bert wiped a tear from your face.

“Reiner is the only one who knew I was going to do this tonight and although he wanted me to give this big elaborate speech, you know that really isn’t my style.” 

you didn’t say anything back, jumping onto Bert again and kissing him, this time a lot steamier than usual. he was caught off guard but didn’t mind where you were going with this and let you continue what you were doing. 

“we can call everyone tomorrow. i want to spend the rest of the night with you,” Bert whispered into your ear, as he started to remove your tank top, “I couldn’t agree more Mr.Hoover,” you said smiling.

Bert for the first in what felt like a long time smiled harder than he ever had before, “I appreciate it, Mrs.Hoover. Mrs.( your name ) Hoover,” he said back. you felt your smile get even brighter before nervously giggling at hearing those words coming from him. 

you knew that everyone from Annie and up to your siblings would freak out about the news, but later that night after everything was said and done, both you and Bert sent a photo too Reiner. your hand was being held by Bertholdt as he showed the ring off to him with both your smiles plastered on your face. 

#attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin imagine #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk #bertholdt hoover #bertholdt imagine #bertholdt x reader #bertholdt hoover imagine #anime #anime imagines #anime imagine

[kinktae]

flesh and blood || (M)

You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.

pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader

word count: 6k

genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut

warnings: guns, a semi spooky scene, crack plot written seriously, zombie jk falling for Y/N, part 2 will have smut

A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead. Happy Halloween!

01 | 02 | 03

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

PART ONE 

❝ Breaking News! A group of Walkers has been discovered hiding in the ruins of a Pre-Break Out industrial zone. A conference was held in City Hall where a representative of the DEAD Team said this in regards to the situation…❞

"Ugh, turn it down Junny," You grumbled, tugging your blanket over your head in hopes to null out the sound of the overly enthusiastic broadcaster on the television, "I'm trying to nap here."

"No way! Dad, did you hear? They found a family of zombies in our town!" Your younger brother enthused, wide eyes glued to the glass screen of the TV. He was sat beside your feet on the couch you laid on and you fought the urge to kick him off the furniture.

Your mother and father walked into the room shortly after, Junny's yells summoning their attention.

Rolling over, you sat up to see your dad standing behind the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he offered the screen his undivided attention.

Though the worst times of the Great Outbreak were now thought to be over – there hadn't been a reported zombie attack in years – the fear still lingered. You were just an infant when the zombie infestation was at its worst so perhaps that fear never had the chance to sink its filthy claws into you but you weren’t naive to the way the rest of the world still trembled.

Your father’s expression was solemn and impenetrable; if it weren’t for the way his eyes always gave away what he was truly feeling, you wouldn’t have a clue that he was upset. Glimmering behind his pupils were flashes of anger and consternation, along with memories of a story you had yet to hear.

Two decades ago, your father, along with many other young men and women, had volunteered to team up with the government to help contain the outbreak, hunting down and capturing zombies so they could be whisked off to a facility where they were killed in quarantine.

While the cause of the breakout seemed to be agreed upon, there was still much about the walking dead that remained a mystery to the general public.

Decades before the Great Outbreak, an experimental drug by the name of Immortuos had been growing in popularity. It was said to do anything from alleviating chronic pain to ridding the body of illness altogether. Ten years after its introduction, Immortuos had been administered to millions around the world. As time went on, however, the drug began to show signs of short term effectiveness; within a couple of years, symptoms of the illnesses it was meant to cure began to show up in individuals once again.

Immortuos was quickly discontinued and sent back into research, leaving scientists scratching their heads as they tried to figure out where they went wrong.

And so life went on; people, old and young, continued to live and die as they did before. However, years after the drug's discontinuation, a story broke out of a mortuary that came to life in the middle of the night in a rural town in Spain. And that was how the outbreak began, millions of corpses everywhere suddenly resurrecting. Published reports of zombie autopsies found that consciousness and motor functioning had returned despite the fact that the circulatory system had never revived, leaving the bodies without blood or oxygen. Not fully dead but not fully alive either. A sort of undead. And sure enough, a direct link to the use of the drug and resurrection was discovered.

Your father rarely spoke of that time; not that you ever had bothered to ask about it. It was unsettling to think he was ever one of the people hunting down zombies.

"Does this mean I don't have to go to school tomorrow?" Junny grinned boyishly, looking up at your mother.

"Nice try, Junseo. You're going." Your mother dismissed without a blink of an eye. You chuckled at the way your little brother scowled at her words.

On the screen was a recording of what you assumed must have been the conference held in City Hall. There was a man dressed in the DEAD Team uniform speaking into a microphone from behind a podium. You focused on the screen ahead, tuning out the chattering of your family as you listened to his words.

❝ Citizens of this town can rest assured that the Walkers in question were apprehended and sent off to our termination facility. We can't stress enough how crucial it is that you continue to send in reports of possible zombie sightings. Even if it's a false alarm, the risk isn't worth taking. Remember to not engage with the undead as they will attack unprovoked. These creatures don't care who you are or what you do, to them you are nothing more than their next meal.❞

A frown found your face at the officer's words. There hadn't been a zombie attack in years. It was hard to believe that zombies were truly insatiable, will stop at nothing, blood-lusting monsters.

"I thought we got rid of them all." Junny sighed.

"Most of them." Your father explained dully. "There are a few still lingering around."

"I still don't understand why we have to wait for the DEAD Team to take them out. If I run into one on my way to the market, I want to be able to protect myself right then and there." Your mother huffed suddenly, turning away from the TV.

She had always been a formidable woman– strong and independent. You had a feeling that if she hadn’t been tied down by a newborn child, she would've been there fighting alongside your father during the Great Outbreak.

Your father let out a sigh, "We don't want whatever is inside them possibly infecting normal civilians. That's why they have to be put down in quarantine."

“Whatever. I’m just glad we're almost completely rid of those bastards.” Your mother sighed, ruffling the hair on top of your brother's head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, unable to hide your distaste for any longer.

"And we say they are the monsters..." You muttered quietly.

Immediately, all eyes were on you.

"Excuse me? What was that?" Your mother cautioned.

You held her stare unabashedly, clearly having no intention to take back your words. Junseo's eyes flickered among the two of you, knowing the nature of the conversation that was soon to come. As much as you complained about how stubborn your mother was, he knew that you had inherited the very trait you resented.

"How can sit there and wish death on all those innocent people?"

"Y/N, this again?" Your mother let out an exasperated noise.

Your eyes grew wide with defiance, "Yes, this again. It doesn’t matter if they were once dead, they are still people! We have massacred millions and I don't understand how you all don’t so much as bat an eye at the thought of it."

At your words, your mother let out a bitter laugh, head shaking in disbelief.

"And what about the people those crimson heads have killed? What about the chaos and lives sacrificed to protect us from them?" Your mother retorted.

You scoffed, eyes rolling in unwavering disobedience.

“Did we even try to help them? To understand them?”

"You didn't live through the outbreak like your father and I did. You were just a baby. There are things you don't know, Y/N." She pressed angrily, doing nothing to sway your stance.

"What if it was me?" You challenged coldly. "What if I had died and came back to life? Would your first instinct be to put a bullet through my head? Those people had families!"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/N. They're not people, they’re rotting corpses that can walk and it’s about damn time you realized that.”

It was at this point that your father had decided to step in, placing a hand on your shoulder as he stopped you from arguing further.

"That's enough. The both of you. Arguing is a waste of time. We should be grateful for one another. We're a family and we're all together. Not everyone who survived the outbreak can say the same." His tone was matter-of-fact but not cold in the way your mother's had been.

Looking up at him, his cautious eyes met your ardent ones. They were laced in a plea for you to stop... to understand.

Pressing your lips together, you nodded begrudgingly. Your dad was right. Arguing with your mother was a waste of time. It wasn't as if anything you said would get through to her anyway.

Pushing the blanket off your body, you swung your legs back over to the floor, hand reaching out for your bag that was sitting against the coffee table.

"Where are you going?" Your father asked, eyeing you as you got up and hauled the bag over your shoulder.

"Home. Joon is probably waiting up for me." You told him disinterestedly, causing your mother to sigh.

Namjoon was your best friend and roommate, and while he was definitely still up, you highly doubted it was for your sake. If you knew your best friend, he was sprawled on the couch, his work spread out across the coffee table as one of those old, black and white shows about people living on a prairie played in the background. Your mother didn't need to know that, of course.

"Y/N, don't be ridiculous. It's already dark out, just spend the night." She pleaded.

"Night, Junny." You ignored her, turning towards your brother with a smile.

"Night!"

As you pushed past your parents and made your way out of the room, you could hear as they began to whisper to each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

You always hated it when they did that. As if you weren’t adult enough to join in on conversations that were obviously about you. It was if this whole world was constantly shouting a million and one rules at you – don’t do that, don’t question this, don’t go here – but the second you asked for an explanation as to why you should listen, all the yelling fell to a whisper, as if to let you know that words were being said but that you were purposely excluded from that knowledge.

That thought weighed heavily on your mind as you reached the deadbolted front door. The sound of you prying it’s five locks open hid the approaching footsteps of your father walking up behind you.

"Y/N."

The pop of the final lock accompanied your silent sigh, turning to face your awaiting parent.

"Yeah?"

"Your mother and I want you to take the bus home tonight. We know you usually take that shortcut by the factory plant because it's quicker but that area isn't safe. Especially not now with the recent sighting."

"Sure." You lied, simply because you knew it was what he would want to hear.

"And tie your hair up before you go out. It gives you a–"

"–maximum visual field, yeah I know. Teachers have been drilling that into us since elementary school, dad." You countered easily.

Your father nodded back at you.

"And Y/N," he continued, "she's harsh but... your mother is right when she says there is a lot of things you don't know."

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to reply. Suddenly, your father's hand found your cheek, cupping your face affectionately as he silently thought something over.

"There's something I want to give you before you go. Wait right here."

Your eyebrows arched in surprise as he left you suddenly, returning shortly with a small, folded blanket in his hands.

"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?" He spoke solemnly, starting to unwrap the bundle of fabric.

"Yeah, of course." You nodded, mildly confused.

Your face fell as the dull silver of a revolver revealed itself as the object hidden in between the blanket. You always knew your father kept a decent amount of self-defense weapons in the house, a consequence of his involvement during the Great Outbreak, but this was the first time he had ever shown you one. The only other time you had come into contact with one was an accident, stumbling upon a gun mounted under your father's desk during a juvenile game of hide-and-seek. Perhaps in another life, you would have been disturbed by the discovery, but all children of the apocalypse such as yourself were taught about guns and weapon safety by the time they had learned to count so you weren't particularly fazed.

“Just in case.” Your father pulled you from your memories, his lips pressed tight.

You eyed the deadly weapon for a moment, your stomach churning at the idea of ever having to fire such a device. Hesitantly, you grabbed it, hand wobbling slightly at the newfound weight. Wordlessly, you unzipped your backpack and hid the gun away, tucking the three bullets that laid beside it into your front pocket.

You forced the sides of your mouth to tilt up disingenuously, offering him a somber word of gratitude before slipping out of the house with a faint goodbye.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kicking at a piece of rubber, you watched as it skipped ahead, tumbling down the cracked cement of the road you traveled on. Your hair swayed behind you as you walked; you had thrown it up, not solely because of your father’s warning but simply because it felt strange not to. Like putting sneakers on without socks. In this world, stepping outside meant being vigilant and on high alert.

Naturally, you had disregarded your parents’ wish for you to take the bus home. Something that had emerged along the chaos and fear that probably wasn't initially considered was the sudden need for safe transportation. Transport industries quickly used this to their advantage, the costs of public and private transportation skyrocketing tenfold as a result. While most deemed it a necessary evil, you refused to pay for a twenty-dollar bus ride that would only take you ten minutes on foot.

And it wasn’t as if the area you were passing through was particularly unsafe. It was an industrial zone, empty and abandoned for as long as you could remember. During the peak of the apocalypse, factories and warehouses like the ones you were currently passing got raided for supplies. It wasn’t nearly as awful as it was made out to be, productivity had ceased anyway. Workers were too busy preparing themselves and their families against the army of undead to worry about showing up to work on time.

Crash!

Your stride came to a halt, one of your bag straps falling off your shoulder as you quickly whirled around to face where the loud sound had come from.

Brows furrowed, you peered through the holes in the wire fence that separated you and the property. You managed to make out a silhouette by the corner of a busted down door.

“Hello?” You called out warily.

The shadow quickly darted from view.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be there.”

Letting your gaze return back to the fence, you found a sizeable hole not too far off from where you stood. More telling than the hole, however, were the two torn up candy wrappers lying underneath it. All at once, you realized what exactly you were dealing with.

Runaway teens were an increasing problem in your city; many of them seemingly fed up with the strict rules and regulations that arose as a consequence of the Great Outbreak. As much as you sympathized with them, a dirty abandoned factory was no place for a child.

You slipped past the fence, mind made up to get whoever was inside out and back to safety. Trudging your way through the rubble and waste, you headed towards the building’s entrance, noting the trail of candy wrappers that lead to it.

Peering inside the building, you were met with a slow-moving cloud of dust that had yet to settle down– it appeared as if a part of the ceiling had collapsed which explained the loud noise you heard earlier.

“You can come out, okay? You’re not in any trouble, I promise.”

It was dark inside, the only light source coming from the street lamps that lined the road you once stood on, their cold luminescence pushing through the broken shards of the factory’s windows.

You pushed further into the ill-lit building. There were all sorts of machines and garbage inside; the tile floor was layered with dirt, clearly accumulated through the years of trespassers coming in and out.

Spotting another silver candy wrapper, you headed down a hallway, pushing past a heavy steel door.

You let yourself take a moment to take in the room ahead of you. It must have been the more corporate side of the company, you deducted, as rows of filing cabinets lined the room, papers and ransacked charts spread across the floor. There was an eeriness to the building, you quickly realized. It was somewhat unsettling feeling to see something that once must have been the pinnacle of structure and organization in such an utter state of chaos. The room was quiet enough that if you just focused hard enough, you could imagine what it once looked like, all clean and pristine as employees walked through and went about their day.

You pushed down your uneasiness, eyes straining to guide you through the windowless room.

A rustle of fabric caught your attention and you quickly rounded about a large shelf in order to reach the child.

“Are you hurt? I heard those ceiling tiles fall–”

You let your words fall flat.

A tall silhouette stood against the wall, nothing like the stature of a small adolescent like you had been anticipating. The hair on your body rose as the sound of ragged, strained breaths fell from the dark figure ahead of you.

It took a step forward, body swaying unnaturally.

Every hair on your body stood on end, jaw falling slack as reality dawned on you.

You could hear the voice of your elementary school teacher in your head suddenly, remembering the lecture she had given you and your rowdy class on what to do in case of a zombie attack. How little attention you had paid back then, giggling over something Namjoon had whispered in your ear. Yet as you stood there in front of the exact thing you had been taught to fear, you could recall every single word, playing over in your head like a mantra stuck on loop.

Don’t make any sudden noises.

It was as if every nerve ending in your body grew cold, your feet felt impossibly heavy as fear paralyzed you, watching with wide eyes as the dark figure crept closer and closer.

Look for the nearest exit.

A panicked exhale fell from you as it's dull eyes locked onto yours. The shadow covered creature let out a noise of its own: deep, guttural and utterly inhuman.

And run.

You nearly lost your footing as you launched yourself into a sprint, not even thinking to head back the way you came in, mind blinded with white-hot panic. The cracked walls of the building echoed your frenzied steps, like a cruel game of hide-and-seek where no matter where you hid, you would be found.

Shoving past a stack of empty cardboard boxes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar storage room. Scanning the room hurriedly, your eyes fell onto a door on the other side and you quickly made your way over to it.

"Dammit!" You seethed, yanking at the handle as you realized the door you had reached was locked.

Jaw clenched, you turned back around to exit the room when your father’s words unexpectedly crossed your mind.

"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?"

And so you reached over a shoulder for your bag, eyes flicking between it and the room ahead of you as you picked yourself back up into a jog.

Tugging the zipper aside, you cursed at the jumbled sight of your bag’s contents. You had placed the gun on top but it must have sunk to the bottom during your travels.

You stuck your hand in further, looking to feel the cool metal brush against your fingertips.

Then, everything went dark, a low ringing finding your ears as you stumbled back, completely thrown off balance. You let out a yelp of pain and clutched your head, vision blurry and doubled.

You hissed, disoriented and confused as you had run headfirst into a large filing cabinet, too occupied with finding the gun to pay attention to where you were running. You struggled to keep yourself on solid ground, too ailed to notice the way that very cabinet had lost its footing and now teetered dangerously, seconds from crashing down onto you.

Suddenly, something seized both your arms, yanking you back as the heavy hunk of metal came crashing onto the ground.

You winced at the sound, before realizing that you had been grabbed by someone. One panicked glance over your shoulder confirmed your fears and a scream ripped through you, thrashing in the zombie's grip. To your surprise, you were released immediately, falling to your knees momentarily as you scrambled forward and away from your captor. Your escape was halted by a wall, however, forced to stop and press your back to it, eyes wide as you kept them locked on the zombie boy across from you.

His skin was a pale-ish blue, unlike any color you had seen before, his hair coarse and unkempt, nearly shielding his eyes from view. But still, you saw them: peering through his dark strands and guarded by the bruises that stained the skin around them as if he hadn't slept in ages. Shallow breaths fell through his pale lips, tinted purple from the lack of blood running through him.

“You just... You just saved me.” You marveled.

The zombie stood in front of you wordlessly, shoulders slumped forwards as his head tilted.

You knew there was a high chance he had no clue what you were saying, but frankly, you were too stunned to care. Here you were, somewhere in an abandoned factory in the middle of the night accompanied by the very thing you were raised to fear... and he had pulled you away from a falling metal cabinet.

You held his eyes. They were glossy and unmoving– lifeless almost. You shook your head; your heart had settled back into its chest, your breathing finally evening out. What coursed through you was no longer dread but an insatiable need to understand.

What did he want?

Why would he save you?

How did he get here?

The zombie let out a grunt suddenly as if it was meant as a goodbye before he turned around, beginning to leave.

“Wait!” You called out after him, putting your existential crisis on pause.

To your surprise, he turned back around immediately, facing you with unmistakable attentiveness. Did he... understand you?

“You… Today on the news... That was your family, wasn’t it?" You guessed, purely on a whim.

The zombie said nothing but you thought you saw a wave of something akin to melancholy wash over his face. No words were exchanged but your gut told you that you were right nonetheless.

“They'll be looking for you. You’ll be caught if you stay here.” You continued, swallowing down your nerves. You still weren't sure if the zombie boy could even understand you after all.

Placing a hand against the paint chipped wall, you helped yourself back up, inhaling sharply as your head throbbed. You took a cautious step toward him, hands trembling but stance steadfast.

Extending your palm forward, you offered your hand towards him, newfound determination coursing through you as the zombie boy's eyes followed the gesture curiously.

“You saved my life." You acknowledged with a nod. "Now let me save yours.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Shh! Quietly, come in." You whispered, gesturing for the hoodied zombie to follow you into your apartment.

This zombie, as you had come to find out, was particularly agreeable. While he didn't seem to actually understand your language per se, he did seem to respond particularly well to gestures and body language, which was how you had somehow managed to wrangle him into your apartment, his dirty red hoodie thrown over his head to cover his face in case you ran into another human.

The undead man's eyes grew wide, taking in the inside space of your apartment with wonder. You could only imagine it must have been an upgrade from the gloomy factory he had been hiding out in. Reaching the kitchen, you froze at the sound of the TV on and playing from your living room.

Shit. Namjoon.

"Y/N, is that you?" Your roommate called out from the couch, hearing the shuffle of your steps.

You cursed internally. On your way home, you hadn't given much thought to exactly how you were going to hide your new zombie friend from your living one. You weren't thinking much at all honestly, too concerned with getting home unseen to worry about anything else.

Turning towards the zombie boy, you extended your hand in front of you in a gesture that ordered him to stay put. He stared at it, eyebrows moving towards one another.

"Stay." You directed quietly, before turning the other way.

"Yeah." You called out, placing your bag on your kitchen counter before heading towards the living room.

"Thought you were spending the night at your family's place?" Namjoon pondered, turning over to look at you as you entered the space.

"Changed my mind." You shrugged, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant, despite the way your heart clamored against your chest. "Didn't think you'd be up this late."

Your bespeckled best friend let out a sigh, dropping whatever file he was studying back onto the coffee table.

"Yeah, I guess I lost track of the time." He mused, glancing at his wristwatch. You nodded nervously, opening your mouth to suggest that perhaps he should head to bed now when Namjoon cut you off suddenly.

“Holy fuck!” He shot up from his seat, eyes set behind you as a terrified expression fell over him. You whipped around, heart falling into your ass.

Oh shit.

"No! Bad zombie! I told you to stay!" You scolded him. He was now standing behind you, having had abandoned his post in the kitchen. He looked as unbothered as ever, his hands tucked into his hoodie as he casually looked the two humans over.

"What the fuck?!" Namjoon cried.

“I can explain.” You turned towards the panicking boy calmly.

Immediately, Namjoon jumped into action, scrambling to crouch behind the couch as if to put a physical barrier between him and the zombie.

"You– Y/N, tell me that's just a guy wearing zombie makeup. Tell me that is not a zombie standing in our living room. Say sike right fucking now!”  Namjoon squawked, his voice pitched high.

You grimaced, looking over at the indifferent zombie before looking back at your roommate.

“Just hear me out for one second–”

“Are you insane?!" Namjoon shrieked, standing up in anger before realizing he had exposed himself and quickly ducking back down. "I’m not gonna listen to you! You brought a zombie into our house– oh god. He bit you, didn't he? You're probably turning as we speak!”

You rolled your eyes, realizing that Namjoon wasn't calming down anytime soon.

“My best friend is a zombie... this is like some horrible Disney Channel movie coming to life!” He rambled on nervously, running a hand through his hair in despair.

“For fuck’s sake Namjoon, I’m not a zombie! Besides, you know getting bit doesn't turn people– that was disproved ages ago.” You scoffed, glancing over at the zombie man who still seemed uninterested despite the scene your best friend was making.

“Well excuse me if I don’t have the logistics of zombie contagion down! It doesn't change the fact that you brought a flesh-eating monster into our home, you psychopath!”

You frowned at your best friend’s tone.

“If he was a flesh-eating monster, then wouldn’t we be dead by now?” You stated matter-of-factly, hand on your hip.

“Exactly— wait.” Namjoon blinked, poking his head out from behind the couch. He frowned, glancing over at the zombie. “Hold on a minute. Why is he just standing there?"

Hesitantly, your best friend stood up from the couch altogether, "I thought zombies jumped at the chance of eating people?”

“Yes, well, for whatever reason, this one doesn’t.” You told him with a shrug. You had thought the same thing when you first came across your new undead friend.

You watched as the familiar flame of curiosity spark behind Namjoon’s eyes. Slowly, he inched his way over to the two of you, hands in front of him as if to shield himself until he was just inches away from the resurrected man.

For a few moments, it was silent, your best friend and the zombie running their eyes over one another as they each decided what to make of each other.

To your surprise, Namjoon's hand reached over and positioned itself onto the zombie's neck, pointer and middle finger pulled together as he checked for a pulse.

“Fascinating…” Namjoon murmured inquisitively as he concluded that the stranger was indeed dead.

Your shoulders, which had been locked up tensely as the two men interacted, dropped immediately, realizing that Namjoon's initial panic had subsided and been replaced with interest. It was in his nature to be fascinated with the things that scared and repulsed most, of course. He was studying to become a biomedical scientist after all.

Despite his cowardliness, Namjoon was actually quite fearless when it came to his work; he was extremely intelligent and had a natural knack for research and investigative methods. You could only hope that the prospect of having a real-life zombie to study from would outweigh any moral duty he felt to report you to the police.

“You know how illegal this is right?” He said sternly, much calmer than he initially was.

"He saved my life, Joon." You explained. "I don't know why but... I couldn't just leave him behind. Especially not with the DEAD Team on high alert with the recent sightings. They'd kill him if they found him."

Namjoon turned away from the zombie, sighing as he met your eyes.

"Well... maybe they should."

You frowned, "Joon–"

"I mean think about what it stands for in the first place: Designated Eradication And Decimation. An entire team was put together solely to get rid of these guys. Surely, there’s a reason why. The government wouldn't put a group together like that if zombies didn't pose a threat to humankind, right?”

Your brows furrowed, finding a fair point in Namjoon's words. Yet, as you turned to look at the zombie and found him placidly watching the television, you couldn’t find it within yourself to agree.

Suddenly, you were in front of your best friend, taking his hands into yours as you put on a sorrowful expression.

"Please don't turn him in!" You begged, your bottom lip jutting out. "I know what I'm asking is a lot but I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important. There’s no one else in this world I could trust to help me with this.”

Namjoon's eyes went wide, yanking his hands from between yours. He twisted his head away from your pleading eyes, cheeks tinted pink.

"Ah, jeez, Y/N. Turning him would mean turning you in for housing him in the first place. Just because you don't give a shit about your wellbeing, doesn't mean I don't. God, you really are an idiot."

You let out a grateful squeal, wrapping your arms around your best friend, "Thank you, thank you! I knew I could always count on you."

The scientist froze in your embrace before letting out a sigh, patting your back begrudgingly as he muttered words of dismissal, neither you nor him noticing the way the zombie was now watching you two in interest, a curious expression on his face.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"It's okay... It's just water. It won't hurt you." You promised, hand gesturing towards you as you urged the zombie man to come closer.

You were standing in the shower, clothes dampening as the running water hit your body. Namjoon was stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the bathroom's door frame. He had insisted on standing guard in case the walker suddenly decided that he was, in fact, hungry and went ahead and tried to have you for dinner.

The zombie watched dubiously as you beckoned him forward but if he had objections he didn't bother to voice them as he stepped into the shower after you.

"Good. Look, that feels nice, doesn't it?" You reasoned, leading his hand under the stream of water. The unnamed zombie watched as his hand grew blurry, the running water bouncing against it. The dirt that clung to his skin slowly dissipated, falling onto the ceramic tub and running down the drain.

Placing a hand against the shower wall, you maneuvered yourself around him so that he could stand under the showerhead. The zombie hardly noticed the swap in positions, however, too enthralled with the feeling of water against his hand.

"Here, now why don't you try standing under it–" You had placed your hands against his back, nudging him closer to the stream when he let out a noise of panic, whirling around to rush over to the opposite side of the shower, pressing you back into the shower wall in the process.

"Y/N!" Namjoon called out, moving forward.

"I'm okay!" You reassured immediately, pausing your best friend's motions. The dead man had both hands held against the wall, trapping you on either side.

Bringing your hands up, you placed them onto his chest, trying your hardest to ignore how empty it felt. Pushing him back, you let out a breath. Truth be told, his quick actions had startled you. As much as you wanted to believe that he was different, the truth was that you didn't know for certain if he wasn't everything the media told you he was. 

He was looking down at you, uncertainly laced across his face.

It was the first time you had gotten a chance to truly look at him this close. From here, it was easy to see how he was once human. He had pretty features– unquestionably, he would have been an attractive man when he was alive.

Something you hadn’t noticed before were the faint, blue veins that crawled up his neck and cheeks; markers of the Immortous drug that once ran through his bloodstream. Taking note of the dried patch of blood on his cheek, you pulled your wet sleeve over your hand before reaching up to gently rub against his stained skin.

"I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to clean you up, okay?" You assured him with an encouraging nod.

To your surprise, the hand that had been stroking his cheek was suddenly stilled, his large palm loosely covering yours. He kept it there, not as to tell you to stop but as if to show his gratitude– or at least that was what you told yourself. It was a simple gesture, but it gave you pause before a soft smile fell over you.

Leading him back, the two of you eventually found the water that rained down from the large shower head. You watched as the zombie flinched, face scrunching up as the water began to fall down the back of his head.

"Come help me get his clothes off." You called to Namjoon, and so the undressing began.

The zombie stood silently as he was left in nothing but his jeans, not understanding what was being said around him, but knowing that he was not in danger here. The taller of his two new companions, the man, rubbed a strange substance into his uncombed hair as you rubbed as his arms, a frothy, pleasant smelling matter coating his skin.

Water dripped from his bangs and ran down his face, some of it seeping into his eyes. It stung them slightly, and the zombie wondered if whatever the tall man had put into his hair was to blame. He thought to close his eyes to put a stop to the irritation but for whatever reason, he opted to keep them open for a bit longer just so he could watch you. Your hair was weighed down with the water that was bouncing off of him and onto you, face set seriously as you focused on whatever it was you were doing.

Your hands were warm, much like the water raining down his back, but still different somehow. They were more firm, and somehow more soothing. You were washing at his chest when you finally took notice of your spectator, feeling the zombie's eyes on you. Peering up at him, you laughed nervously, flashing him a small grin.

No, he decided. 

He didn’t want to close his eyes.

#bts smut #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bangtan #bts reactions #bts preferences #taehyung smut #namjoon smut #Seokjin smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #jimin smut #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi #park jimin #jung hoseok #bts taehyung #bts jimin #bts jhope #bts namjoon #bts hoseok #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts hobi

[impala666]

The One With The Monkey Part One: Marcel The Monkey

Here you go! Ross gets Marcel and Phoebe sings a depressing Christmas song! 

Friends Rewrite (masterlist) Last Part (part four, episode 9)

Four of you were sitting around Monica and Rachel’s kitchen table with a bowl of popcorn and a bowl of cranberries and you, Phoebe, and Joey were helping them make a strand of garland. You had work early in the morning tomorrow and even all day tomorrow, but thankfully all you could think about was Phoebe finally getting to perform holiday songs at Central Perk tomorrow night and all of you were going to watch and support her. “Guys, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.” Ross who just happened to poke his head through the door like he lived there, but to be fair all of you kind of did that. Your jaw immediately dropped open when Ross entered and the cutest little monkey came in riding in on Ross’s back. 

“Wait, w-wait, what is that?” Monica asked, not sure whether she should step toward it or run away. 

“That would be Marcel.” Ross introduced the furry creature. “Wanna say hi?”

“Yes, please!” You shrieked when you ran around the table to take the monkey from Ross, and Marcel seemed more than happy to crawl down Ross and on to your shoulder. Your smile only grew when Marcel’s tail hung over your other shoulder. 

“He is precious, where did you get him?” Rachel asked as she watched the monkey relaxing on your shoulder. 

“My friend, Bethel, rescued him from some lab.” Ross explained while he took Marcel back from you, but you couldn’t help but shake your head at the fact that the poor little guy had to go through so many experiments and tests that he never had the say of just because of the species that he was. 

“That is so cruel.” You nodded in agreement with what Phoebe said, thinking she was on the right path. But boy, were you wrong. “Why would a parent name their child Bethel?”

“That was not what I expected out of you, Pheebs,” you said a little disappointed in yourself for getting your hopes up. You reached into the popcorn bowl and popped one in your mouth to prevent you from saying anything else. 

“Hey, that monkey’s got a Ross on his ass.” Chandler greeted his friend after he had stepped out of bathroom, and leaned against the back of Joey’s chair. 

“Ross, is he gonna live with you like in your apartment?” Monica couldn't help but ask an actual question out of concern for her older brother.  

“Yeah, it’s been kind of quiet since Carol moved out.” Which seemed like a very logical reason to go out there and get a pet that is completely out of the normal, you could totally understand Ross’s thought process on this one.

“Why not just get a roommate?” Monica asked, yet another great question.

“I think when you reach a certain age, having a roommate is kind of pathet…” After playing with Marcel’s tail, Ross realized the mistake he made when he saw all of you staring at him waiting for him to finish that sentence correctly. “Sorry, that's ‘pathet’ which is sanskrit for ‘really cool way to live.” 

**********

Finally, finally, finally, your day was over with. You toured the school that you were accepted to and have a very long 8 hour shift, so now it was time to kick back and see your weird and beautiful friend sing her set at Central Perk. As you walked into the building you were finally able to unclench once you felt the heat after just walking block after block in the freezing cold snow. “,and one about a snowman.” You heard Phoebe finish as she sat on the arm of the couch with her guitar on her lap. When they all see you enter all of them flashed you a smile in greeting, which you returned once you had hung your coat and scarf on the hooks by the door. After you had ordered your preferred hot drink of the day, you finally walked over to spend time with everyone. But apparently Joey wasn’t there yet. 

“Might want to open with the snowman,” Chandler told her. But you just looked at him confused. “Oh trust me, you don’t want to know.” Chandler promised once he saw the look on your face.

“Oookay,” you mumbled into your cup as you sat down on the couch arm next to Monica. “Hey, Joey,” you smiled once you saw him walking into the shop as he dusted off some of the snow that had fallen on him. Everyone joined in on your greeting him, while greeted everyone else also walking up to you, placing a hand on your waist and pecking you on the lips as your greeting. 

“So, how’d it go?” Monica asked Joey, wondering how his job interview for being Santa Clause went.

“I didn’t get the job,” Joey groaned in disappointment as he took off his coat and sat down in the chair next to you. All of you awed in agreement with his disappointment, while you leaned forward from your spot on the couch to rub his arm in sympathy. It was hard enough for him to get work as an actor, and now he didn't get the one job he got and looked forward to every year. Joey looked up at you with a sad smile while taking your hand while he sat backwards in his seat. 

“How could you not get it? You were Santa last year.” Ross couldn’t help but ask, Joey was really looking forward to that job. 

“I know!” You whined in agreement with Ross, “you were a shoe in, and you were so excited.” Plus he would make a really really hot Mr. Claus, but you decided to keep that piece of information to yourself.

“I don’t know. Some fat guy’s sleeping with the store manager. He’s not even jolly, it’s all political.” Joey added in on the complaining that just seemed unfair.

“I’m sorry, hon.” You rubbed his arm as you got to your feet. “Do you want some coffee?” You offered while giving him a hug and wrapping your arm around his neck. He nodded a yes, and you pecked him on the forehead before turning to the counter and ordering a coffee to cheer him up. 

“So what’re you going to be?” Monica asked. 

“I’m going to be one of his helpers, but it’s just such a slap in the face, you know?” He just couldn’t get past the way that he didn’t get the job that he knew that he was so right for. 

“Hey, do you guys know what you’re doing for New Years?” Rachel asked, causing everyone except you and Joey to groan just at the thought that none of them had dates. “Geez, what is wrong with New Years?” Clearly not liking that way that she was getting attacked. 

“Well nothing for you, you have Paolo. And it’s not a problem for Y/N or Joey either because they have each other. You don’t have to face the horrible pressures of this holiday.” Chandler explained to her as he walked over towards her. “The desperate scramble to find anything with lips just so you have somebody to kiss when the ball drops! Man, I’m talking loud.” He finally just noticed that his voice was dramatically getting louder and louder with each sentence. 

“Well, for your information. Paolo is going to be in Rome this New Years, so I’ll be just as pathetic as the rest of you.” Rachel explained to the rest of you. “Well, except Joey and Y/N,” she grimaced at how lucky you two are while she watched Joey kiss you very sweetly after you brought him the coffee that you bought for him. 

“Yeah, you wish,” Phoebe added in where her comment didn’t really make sense. 

“It’s just that I’m sick of being victim to this Dick Clark holiday.” Chandler wowed. “I say this year, no dates. We make a pact, just the seven of us. Dinner.” Everyone seemed to be in agreement.

“How can it be no couples in the seven of us when two of us are already in a relationship?” You asked him, retaking your spot on the arm of the couch. 

“Just don’t act like one, okay?” Chandler whined as he tried to reason with you and his best friend. “I know which will be hard for you because you two are gross.”

“Well, thank you,” you said taking it as a compliment. 

“Well, you’re welcome.” Chandler played back. “And I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm.” Causing everyone into different forms of celebratory sounds. 

“Phoebe, you’re on.” Rachel warned her as she stepped onto the now stage to introduce her friend. “Ladies and gentlemen, back by popular demand. Miss Phoebe Buffay!” Rachel wooed as she and everyone else in the building applauded and Phoebe took the stage. 

“Hi!” Phoebe said into the mic. “Yeah, hi. I want to start with a song that means a lot to me this time of year.” You smiled watching in wonderment as Chandler leaned against the side of the couch next to you. Phoebe jingled some bells before she officially started her song. “I made a man with eyes of coal and a smile so bewitching.” Phoebe started to sing what sounded like was going to be a nice, cool Christmas song, but you should have know better by now that it would take a drastic and depressing turn. “How was I supposed to know that my mom was dead in the kitchen?” And immediately your smiling face turned into an uncomfortable and disturbed face, which you shared when with Ross and Monica. 

Now the mood in the coffee shop that was once filled with Christmas cheer was now filled with a depressing silence. Phoebe’s song was far from over, making everyone very depressed and just staring off into space. Rachel was sunk down in a chair, Chandler took your spot on the couch arm, and you were sitting on Joey’s knee with your head resting on Joey’s head with the look of deep sadness on your face. “My mother’s ashes, even her eyelashes are resting in a little yellow jar. And sometimes when it’s breezy, or I feel a little sneezy, and now. Excuse me!” Phoebe stopped singing which made you wake up a little tiny bit, and she started yelling at the rude, loud talking men. “Excuse me! Noisy boys? Is it something that you would like to share with the entire group?” She asked them, like a teacher catching a few of her students passing around notes during class. 

“No, no. That’s okay.” The nerdy guy in the flannel told her. 

“Ohhh they’re in trouble.” You whispered with a little smirk on your face. Chandler looked at you with a similar smirk, as well as Joey and Rachel next to you. 

“Well come on, if it’s important enough to discuss while I’m playing then I assume it’s important enough for everyone else to hear.” Phoebe argued back over at Flannel. 

“Well, that guy’s going home with a note.” Chandler told the three of you with a bit of a scared look on his face. 

“Could you speak up please?” Phoebe asked very close to the microphone when the other guy in the sweater started mumbling out his reasoning for interrupting her. 

“Sorry,” the guy in the sweater stood up. “I was saying to my friend that I thought you were the most beautiful woman that I’d ever seen in my life and then he said that you thought that Daryl Hannah was the most beautiful woman that he’d ever seen in his life. And I said, “Yeah I liked her in Splash a lot, but not so much in Wall Street, I thought she had a hard quality. And, um, while Daryl Hannah is beautiful in a conventional way you are luminous with a kind of delicate grace.” The guy paused after realizing he just said in public. “Then that’s when you started yelling.” After he finished the guy in the sweater sat back down in his seat. All of you turned towards Phoebe to see what her reaction was going to be.

“Okay, we’re going to take a short break.” She announced while setting her guitar down on the stand so that she could go talk to that man that said all the nice things about her. 

“That guy’s going home with more than a note.” Joey announced with a sneaky smirk on his face.      

#friends rewrite #friends #Joey Tribbiani #joey tribbiani x reader #bing!reader #sister!bing #ross geller #chandler bing #rachel green #monica geller #phoebe buffay

[91percentpynch]

lonely heart - kevaaron au pt 4

oh look it‘s me, coming out of my dark hole to make you suffer with a super sad chapter with a nasty cliffhanger:) so get your tissues ready and enjoy!! okay first of all sorry that i didn‘t update this in a g e s and that it‘s rather short and for the cliffhanger, but i‘ll try to update it more regularly now:)

check this out for the other parts:)

trigger warnings: drug abuse, mention of suicide, mention of mental health issues, very sad aaron, mention of blood

“You were too good for me”, Aaron whispered into the void. “You were way too fucking good for me. You made me a better man. And I fucked up”

Aaron got up as he felt the tears burning in his eyes. He knew he wouldn‘t be able to sleep alone tonight. Like every single goddamn night since he left Kevin. Like every single goddamn night since he made the biggest mistake of his life.

„Taylor?“, the blonde haired boy murmered, „You up?“

„Babe, you know I‘m up. My girlfriend lives three states away, we talk every single day at the same time as you call your man. Not that I would be able to sleep when you call him, cause a) i love Day and b) you‘re always sad and high and end up in my room anygays, so did he take the phone darling?“

Taylor was Aaron‘s roommate and the closest thing he had to a best friend. She had been there for him every single day, cuddled him, held him while he cried and dried his tears afterwards. And Aaron did the same when she misssed her girlfriend too much.

„You do realize he is not my man anymore, I fucked that up. Big time. He did actually take the phone just to tell me to fuck off and stop calling“

„You could always go over there and say it in his pretty face. Didn’t say you can’t come over did he?Pro point: Might lead to making out“, Taylor said while taking him in her arms. „Plus another pro point: you‘d get sober again. And you‘re less moody. No offense but a Kevin-less Aaron is hardly managable, like you‘re either a whiny little bitch or you‘ll give me the death glare of the cenutry. Legit worse than Andrew‘s and I called him a cute little baby boo once when I was drunk and he almost stabbed me right there with a look on his face like I just murdered Neil in front of him“

„Tay, I take that as a compliment. And we both know Kevin’s a bit of a dumbass so he did not exactly tell me Not To Come over just stopp calling. Anyways I don‘t even know where he lives. And stop talking about me getting high, you do the same shit“

„Yeah but I know my limits and I have not the same history as you. And for the i DoN‘t EvEn KnOwS wHeRe He LiVeS, phone number. Now“

„O- okay“, Aaron said and told her Kevin‘s phone number while Taylor calmingly stroked his back.

„Neat, got him“, Taylor said after a while. „He‘s with the scary big dude and his adorable little boyfriend I think? I have their address right here, I think we‘re gonna visit them tomorrow cause it‘s like 4 am right now and we don‘t wanna rob him his beauty sleep plus we don‘t want to wake the scary big dude. And I‘m pretty sure the adorable small golden retriver boy could and would stab us“

„Did you just stalk my ex and located his phone at 4 am like fucking Garcias in Criminal Minds?“, Aaron said confused.

„Anything for you big guy. And as I said I miss Day‘s pretty face, preferably in your pretty face so you shut the fuck up about how stressed and depressed and lonely you are.“, Taylor chuckled as Aaron looked at her shocked.

„Well I miss Casey, preferable in your face so YOU shut up“, Aaron was never as good in witty remarks as his brother. Especially high Aaron.

„Babe I think it‘s time for you to go to bed, you‘re not fun when you‘re sad, high and tired. Come here, let me cuddle you, while you whiney little bitch sleep“

Aaron slowly went over to Taylor and into her loving arms, laying down, trying to fall asleep.

After a long while aaron drifted into sleep, just to be greeted by familiar smaragd eyes. In his dream Kevin and he never broke up. Kevin was on top of him, his hands gently discovered Aaron‘s body, touching him as if he was sacred, something to worship. Kevin‘s lips were at Aaron‘s ear whispering sweet nothingness. Aaron‘s hips moved against Kevin‘s loving touch. „Stress release“ Kevin called these holy moments in dawn. „Highlight of my day“ Aaron called them.

The dream was as beautiful as it was cruel. It was as if his body, his mind were as much refusing as able to believe that Kevin was gone. It was his own fault, Aaron knew it. But the ever present voice of his mother, disapproving and disgusting, in his head was just too much for him to handle. He thought - foolish as Aaron was - that the pain of living without Kevin would be better, less cruel, less painful. But he never knew real love and therefore never experienced its lost. Until that faitful day. Until Kevin took his bags and left.

Aaron was used to pain. The hot one after an extraordinarily vicious hit. The cold one when his mother died. The numbing one when the hunger was growing more and more unbareable. But nothing was even slightly as hard to handle as the loss of Kevin in his life.

Kevin was the first good thing Aaron had. He gave him a will to stay, to try, to give this stupid sport everything he got. And Exy turned into more mundane things like getting his eating routine under control or getting a more or less acceptable sleeping schedule. The dark days were still there, for both of them, and they would probably never leave them completely alone, but they got less. And when they did happen they would hold each other together.

Ever since he fucked up things with Kevin, Aaron had more and more dark days. The voice of his mother telling him he‘s a failure, the bored stare of his brother and Aaron convincing himself Andrew wouldn‘t even bet an eye if he died, the voice telling him the world would be a better place without him growing louder and lourder every passing day.

Logically he could say that the death of a single person wouldn‘t change much for the over all world population, expect maybe it‘s some kind of insane mademan dicator or someone important, but still. It made sense. All he did after all was fucking up, being a failure, never good enough, never perfect.

His lonely heart only screamed Kevin‘s name and he knew if Kevin didn‘t take him back, his life wouldn‘t make much sense anymore. Well he would definetly not tell Kevin that. He would not manipulate Kevin into loving him, because that wouldn‘t be much better than not having him at all.

Aaron woke up the next day around noon. He didn‘t really feel like getting up, like getting up was simply too much. But Aaron knew he had to. He didn‘t want to worry Taylor more than he already did. And it would end today. One way or the other.

So he got up, put on the first pair of black jeans he could find and the first sweater his hands could find. Ironically it was one of the sweaters Kevin gave him, on the third of december last year. It was one of Aaron‘s favourites as well.

„Ready for the big Day, small guy?“, Taylor said winking at him.

„Not really? What the fuck am I supposed to do there anyways?“, Aaron replied on his way to the coffee maker.

„Talk to him? Deliver one of those borderline cringe big speeches. Get im flowers. Break into his bedroom and say ‚Draw me like one of your french girls‘, naked of course“, Taylor laughed at the face Aaron made, listening to her suggestions.

„I think I like the big speech. I mean I‘m shit with words, but I‘m sure you want to help your boy getting ‚his man‘ back, right? Also what kind of flowers would you give someone you dumped cause the voice of your dead mother told you it was wrong and disgusting, which you never told him for obvious reasons?“

„Honey, you‘re so fucked up sometimes, I love you but you should go to a therapist or something. Also I‘d say sunflowers or roses? I don‘t speak flowers man, I‘m the tech nerd. Not the romantic one, the nerd. But we‘re gonna make a snazzy speech and you‘re gonna get your man back“

After their typical breakfast - if Aaron didn‘t forget to eat again - they sat down together on the living room floor, paper and pen ready, trying to write the world changing speech.

„Why is this so fucking hard? Why can I only tell him how much I love and miss him when I‘m high off my ass“, Aaron complained.

„What about you don‘t think about him that much. Just tell me what you love about him and then we write that down?“, Taylor suggested.

Aaron took a deep breathe and closed his eyes. „I loved him because he was the first one who saw me. Aaron Minyard. And not just the other Minyard, the lesser twin, the shadow of Andrew. He looked at me and somehow chose me. Even if he could have had everyone else. He chose me, even though I‘m not special. Kevin chose the failure when he could have had the first prize. He looked at me and saw something worth loving, worth keeping around. Hardly anyone could tell Andrew and me apart. But it took him less than a day to do so. Kevin is strong, so so strong and somehow chose the most fragile thing he could find, took it and made it worth soemthing. Kevin made me feel something. Not numbness. Not pain. Something warm and beautiful and living. He gave me a reason to stay alive. Kevin made my life bearable, he made my life beautiful. We were both broken and we would probably still be broken if we were together but we softened each other‘s edges. Kevin believed in me when no one else would. He knew how I felt, knew what I needed and when I needed it. Kev gave me love and safety and I kicked it with my feet. This man is like a god who fell for whatever reasons for a homeless man. And I know I don‘t deserve him but I also know I cannot live without him. And I know that I must tell him that before it‘s too late. If it‘s not too late already“

Taylor wipped a tear out of her eyes. „That‘s it. You tell him that and we‘ll get him back“, she said. „Can I hug you?“

„Sure you loser“

„Ah there is my boy“

They spent the rest of the afternoon writing down the speech, making edits here and there. In the end Aaron collected the pages and went to his room to change. He replaced Kevin‘s sweater with a simple black jumper, put on his Docs, got his keys and left.

Aaro did feel a little uncomfortable, stalking Kevin like that. But he knew this was his chance to fix things. This was his chance to get Kevin back, to make his life worth living again. Which to be fair was a bit selfish, but you are allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, aren‘t you?

Jean and Jeremy‘s apartment complex was a 15 minute drive away from the flat Aaron shared with his three roommates. Theirs was fanzier, obviously. After all Jeremy was a professional Exy player and Jean was some kind of semi famous artist or fashion maker or whatever. They could give Kevin the world. They could give him what he desereved. All Aaron had to offer was an apology and his love. No money. Not yet anyway. Just anxiety, depression and stress.

But if Kevin was willing to take his love, to give Aaron one more chance, he promised himself Aaron would make it count. He will tell Kevin how much he loves Kevin every single god damn day. Aaron will get therapy and work on his issues. Sober up and this time for good. He will do anything to be worth of god‘s love. Just that god in his case was a twenty two year old boy with black hair, forming soft waves at the end and a smile that will make the sun jealous. Eyes made out of smaragd. Lips so sinful and kissable.

Aaron sat down in front of the door, waiting for his courage to come back to him. He could do this. He would get his man back.

Hours passed, or maybe it were only minutes or seconds after all before someone came closer. Ever so slowly Aaron lifted his head, just to look in the ever so familiar green eyes, big with shock.

„You said to stop calling. You never mentioned face to face conversations“, Aaron said, his voice hoarse.

Kevin stared at him as if he was a ghost, a reminder of his past life, something he rather wanted to forget.

„Look I know I fucked up. I know I‘m not good enough for you. I know you deserve the world and I cannot give it to you. And when you look me in the eyes and tell me you don‘t feel anything for me anymore, no love or hate or affection or whatever humans feel, I will turn away right now and go and never come back. Never bother you again. But if you allow me to apologize, if you however decide to gieve me one last chance, I prepared this whole ass speech for you“

Aaron was sure they could hear his heart beating against his chest, roaring, screaming to return home. To return to Kevin where it belonged.

Kevin‘s eyes wandered to the floor, his fingers automatically closed around his left wrist. A nervous habit. Just another little part that makes Aaron‘s heart ache.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he lifted those unbelieveable beautiful eyes and met Aaron‘s golden ones. Kevin studied him and the world around them stopped.

Out of the corner of Aaron‘s eyes he could see Jean going still, his breathing too calm, too even. It‘s the same thing Andrew does when someone fucks with Josten. At least his death would be fast. Or slow. Whatever. Aaron didn‘t really care, without Kevin it wasn‘t worth anygthing anyway.

„Why“, Kevin said after what feels like forever, „Why would I forgive you? Why would I give you another chance? Why would you think you can come back here just to fuck me over again? Aaron I loved you, I really did. I always will. You were my first love and maybe, yeah maybe, my last one. But right now I can‘t. I just, I just can‘t. Please leave. Please leave me alone. For now. Maybe, one day we can talk about it. But right now I cannot handle the thought of you to leave me. To tell me all these beautiful lies, to cut me open and leave me to bleed out. I love you“, tears were running down Kevin‘s cheek. Tears Aaron one day, a long time ago, promised himself he would never let Kevin feel again. Pain. Sadness. Everything because of his failure, because of his weakness, because he‘s a fucking piece of shit.

„Thank you for giving me a reason to stay. Jusst remember that you were my light, my warmth, my happiness and I never stopped loving you. Never will. Please just be happy“, Aaron replied as he turned around to walk to his cars.

When he was sure he was out of ear shot, he let himself feel. Feel the pain. Feel the loneliness. Feel the numbness and the cold and the hatred. It was in that moment, that moment where he was alone and nothing more to lose, that he decided that it was enough. He would end it. End it tonight.

„Thank you“, he texted Taylor. „I‘m glad I didn‘t eat you in the womb“, he texted Andrew. „You were not so bad after all“, he sent to Neil. And lastly „Thank you for taking me under your wing“, to Nicky. They would understand. It would take them some time but in the end they would feel better. They would be happier without them. Because at the end of the day he caused them pain and wasn‘t really worth a thing.

So when he got in his car, tears running uncontrallably down his cheeks, he knew what he had to do.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king’s men #kevin day #aaron minyard #ship: kevaaron #kevaaron

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Fairytale

Warren Worthington III x Female Reader

Request 1: Omg I just read the I have a boyfriend and the opposites attract and I'm aksjksjeje. Idk if ur taking requests, but in case u are I need more on that mother nature reader and Warren pleaaaaseee!!! Maybe something with angst, like some conflict in their relationship, but with a happy would be greatttttt I absolutely love ur writing

Request 2: Hi love!:D idk if you’re taking requests or if you’re in the works of smth, but like, I’ve had this idea in my head about your fic of Mother Nature with what she said about the weather affecting her. Like it’s winter season or smth and the sun has not been out for days (and maybe Ororo is not around to help??) so she’s feeling weak and Warren is doing all he can so she can get better🥺 I reaally love your writing💕 💕

Warnings: swearing and angst

Word Count: 12.5k

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks. We should be back before December 21st.” 

(Y/N) huffed, that was almost two weeks, plus the holidays were coming up. “Stay safe, okay? All I want for Christmas is you.” 

Warren rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead, “I already got you a gift.” 

(Y/N) thanked him and he just held her tighter. 

-

Warren went on a mission with Raven, Alex, Kurt, Ororo, and Jean. They were going to Italy to stop some mafia mutant issue. “Which is stupid,” Scott retorted. “We live in New York. Surely the mafia isn’t only terrorizing mutants in Italy.” 

(Y/N) shrugged, “Probably.” 

Her mind wandered as Jubilee talked to Scott about their final for Dr. McCoy. I need to water the plants in the greenhouse. (Y/N) yawned, she felt a sudden wave of drowse come over herself. I’ve been so tired lately… 

It wasn’t a mystery why (Y/N) had been so tired lately. It was because of the weather. The earlier it got dark, the less energy she had— and with it getting colder, her abilities were limited. Most of the plants in her room had gone dormant. (Y/N) was worried she would too, but it hadn’t gotten cold enough. 

“I think we should go skating tomorrow,” Jubilee suggested. 

“Just the four of us?” Peter asked. 

“Do you see anyone else? They’re all in Italy.” Peter squinted his eyes at Jubilee as she was sarcastic. “The rink is open, it’s December, and I’m bored! I wanna pick up cute girls.” 

“Isn’t ice skating like a go-to in Hallmark Christmas movies?” Scott asked. 

“Why do you know that?” Jubilee asked. 

“We watch those all the time on nights with the boys,” Peter explained. “They’re awful and all the same. There was one where a girl was in love with a ghost and another where a girl texted her dead mom to grieve… I’m so lucky I don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

(Y/N) laughed, hallmark Christmas films were pretty cheesy and cliche. 

“I mean yeah, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean we can’t go skating, or do something. Everyone is gone and we need to stay active.” 

Peter and Scott both looked at Jubilee with confusion. “But we’re all in pretty good shape.”

“No, I mean (Y/N),” She whispered to the boys. 

“What’s wrong with her? She looks fine.” Scott said, quickly checking her out as she was preoccupied with her phone. 

“Around winter, she tends to get weaker cause it’s colder and the sun goes down earlier…”

“Yeah… We know…”

“No, you guys don’t get it. During the winter plants go into like, hibernation— and if it gets too cold and (Y/N) falls asleep she’ll go dormant. The only safe places are her room and an area set up in the lab.” 

“We have to keep her awake all winter?” Peter asked curiously.

“No, we just have to make sure she only falls asleep in her bedroom and stays there. It’s the only ace place because it’s like a greenhouse sort of…”

“What happens if we don’t?...”

“She could die!” 

“Who could die?” (Y/N) asked. 

“Scarlett Johanson’s stunt-double. I mean have you seen the new Black Widow trailer?” Jubilee asked without missing a beat.

“Eh, I dunno. She’s a professional, plus stunt-doubles are kind of expected to get hurt… while it’s not preferable an innocent gets hurt,... they did sign up for it.” 

“I never thought of it like that…” Scott said almost seeing off-handed while trying to noticeably glare at Jubilee. 

“Well, I’ve got to go. I promised Catherine I’d help make gingerbread cookies.” Everyone wished (Y/N) some form of goodbye, or have fun, leaving them alone.

“(Y/N) is going to die?!” Peter almost screamed. 

“No! No, no— (Y/N) is not going to die. She’s done this longer than I’ve known her. I think she was like, thirteen when these first started happening. I didn’t know (Y/N) until we were 15, but still.” Jubilee continued on,  “She’ll either pass out randomly in the middle of December or January and hibernate until March or April, or she won’t go dormant and just have to spend most of the spring outside, like soaking up the sunshine or whatever. “

“Oh, okay. So this is normal. Great. (Y/N) might fucking die every winter and we just have to act like children on thin ice? Deal with it somehow?” Peter looked like he was freaking out. 

“I said she’s been doing this for years, plus she hasn’t died yet. We’ll be fine.”

Scott’s gut was telling him something different, but he blamed that on his constant anxiety. 

-

Five days after Warren left

(Y/N), Scott, Peter, and Jubilee all went ice skating. Jubilee and Peter attempted to spy on cute girls, while Scott tried to act perfect, and (Y/N) tried her best to not lean against the wall too much. It was fun, but indoor rinks are as cold as the outside ones. (Y/N) bundled up enough, but she still got chills. 

Scott took everyone to some artsy coffee shop that Jean adored. He claimed they had a killer hot chocolate. Jubilee already tried it once before, being Jean’s best friend/roommate. Peter thought it was kind of watery and not that great, and (Y/N) didn’t think it was bad but… 

“You overhyped it. It’s good though.” Scott pouted, and Peter laughed through Twinkie bites and hot chocolate sips. (Y/N) felt warm and fuzzy inside. Almost… sleepy…

Her mind started to drift… Warren… everything they’d do when he got back from Italy… 

Their first winter holiday together… all the shitty hallmark movies we can watch with Scott and Peter… the—

“(Y/N)!”

“Huh?!” She rubbed her eyes and tried to seem awake. “What is it?”

“You were dozing off there,” Scott pointed out. 

“Oh.” She scratched her head. “Sorry. Haha,” Her laugh was somewhat sarcastic. “Just don’t let me, uh… Don’t let me pass out. Wouldn’t wanna get nicknamed Sleeping Beauty.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Peter joked.

-

Nine days after Warren left

Peter taught everyone, or attempted to, teach everyone how to make a seven-layered cake. Jubilee and Scott kept sneaking batter, while (Y/N) was struggling to not use her powers. 

“Okay, but like, I could get sugar from a plant or—“

“No!” Jubilee protested, batter on the corner of her mouth. “We— we have all these ingredients here. Why waste them?” 

(Y/N) squinted her eyes, they were a bit purple, but she let it slide and grabbed sugar and other dry ingredients from the cabinets. 

“If she uses too much strength she could pass out. It’s been snowing hard for the past two days, and it’s been cloudy all week.” 

“Can’t she eat a protein bar or drink some coffee or something?” Peter whispered. 

Jubilee shook her head, “No, she needs vitamin D. Like, from the sun. More than a normal person does.” 

(Y/N) set the sugar on the counter and looked at the recipe from Peter’s mom, reading bits out loud, “We need 2 and 1⁄4 cups of sugar.” She looked at the measuring cups, trying to find the one she needed. 

“Hey, Scott! We agreed no phones out,” Jubilee scolded him. 

He rolled his eyes, “You sound like a teacher… I was just checking a package I ordered…”

“If you actually bought that $200 lightsaber you were telling me about,” (Y/N) joked, “I will scream.” 

Peter scoffed, “Please, Jean got him that for Christmas.” His face fell soon as the words left his mouth. “Shit…” 

“No, she didn’t. We had a budget and—“ Jubilee and Peter both looked at their feet, eyes wide and sheepish. “I am not worth $200.” 

“You sound like Warren,” Jubilee complained, cracking eggs into a separate bowl. 

“It’s true! I don’t want her to spend money on me.” He glanced at his phone again.

“She’s not going to text you. No one is allowed to bring phones on missions, because the government can like, track you and shit.” Peter reminded him. 

“I know, I know… but what if something happened? What if someone died or they got stuck and stranded and—“

(Y/N) put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, “Calm down Romeo. They’re going to be fine. If something happens, Xavier will let us know.” Scott nodded, trying to believe (Y/N) was right. 

-

Fifteen Days after Warren left

(Y/N) was getting sick and tired. Tired of her friends never leaving her alone, the panic on their faces if she so much as yawned or rubbed her eyes, she was sick of them being so nervous. More so Scott and Peter than Jubilee. 

Of course, they meant well, and just wanted to make sure she didn’t fall into a coma, but she didn’t need to be doted over like a tropical plant lost in the arctic. 

(Y/N) huffed as she messed with her hair in the bathroom mirror. Her leaves looked less colorful, more brown and dead, the vines around her legs were gone, and her eyes looked like she hadn’t been sleeping. She had, but it was hard, the sun went down at 5 PM, and it was cloudy and cold every day it seemed. 

I just want Warren here. He’d make everything better. We could cuddle and nap together…

(Y/N)’s turned blue and red as she stopped daydreaming and ran her toothbrush underwater. 

By nature, (Y/N) was not a gossip girl or a secret keeper— people saw her as a Disney princess, a few of the younger students even called her “Mother Nature”... but she had ruined her status by lying to the person she cared about most. 

She didn’t tell Warren about her dormant state, about how she could sleep until possibly March. She wanted to stay awake and active all winter. She wanted to spend her time with her angel. 

But he was in Italy fighting crime, and wouldn’t be back until mere days before Christmas. 

She had to be awake for Christmas and New Year’s. After that, it didn’t matter. 

Wait. Then she remembered Valentine’s Day. 

I have to be awake for that too. And Warren’s birthday… I can’t miss those… She made herself a promise she wouldn’t go dormant this winter. 

She glanced out the window as she scrubbed her teeth with the toothbrush. It was snowing again, thick heavy flakes came down almost in chunks. 

-

Twenty Days after Warren left

(Y/N) accidentally drank out of Peter’s cup without realizing it for about thirty minutes. Why did it matter?

Peter had caffeine in his soda, and (Y/N) did not. She was planning to go to bed in her room, and wake up when the sun rose to conserve energy. 

Now, she was staying up late with her friends, watching some crappy zombie movie on late-night TV.

“They could easily just move to an island. Use the old man’s boat. The zombies can’t swim!” (Y/N) argued during a commercial break. 

“Yeah, but there’s never any logic in these things.” Peter drowsed. 

“I guess so. It’s kind of dumb though…” 

Peter shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “Yeah, but it’s like Sharknado. They make money, it doesn’t matter if it’s bad or not.” 

(Y/N) didn’t retaliate, as the final commercial ended and the screen faded to black, signaling the movie was back on. 

-

Scott couldn’t remember when he fell asleep. He rubbed his eyes and tried to see who was all around him. 

Peter was passed out on the floor for some reason, Jubilee was asleep on one side of the couch… and Scott saw (Y/N), passed out with her head laying on a pillow. 

“Shit! (Y/N)!” He shook her, trying to get a reaction, but nothing happened. He repeated her name trying to undo her slumber until the other two woke. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, hair tussled and eyes half-closed. 

“(Y/N) fell asleep on the couch!” Scott was panicking. He had one job— one job from Jubilee, “Make sure she only falls asleep in her bedroom or else she won’t wake up until March.”

 “Scott! Stop it!” Jubilee pulled him away from (Y/N)’s sleeping figure. “You could kill her!” 

“What—” He turned to Jubilee, “What do we do then?” 

“Peter, get Professor McCoy up here.” 

“But it’s 4 AM…” Jubilee gave him a deadly glare and he sped off. 

Scott was ordered to sit and be quiet while Peter got McCoy. 

“She fell asleep. She drank some of my soda earlier, causing her to not be tired. We thought we could get her sleepy by watching a movie, but we all fell asleep before she did…” Peter was giving Hank a 30-second recap, with 3000 words. 

“Peter, everything’s going to be fine.” Hank carefully scooped (Y/N) up in his arms, bridal style. He looked her over up close. Her skin looked pale, the leaves and flowers in her hair were gone, all that was left were dried twigs, and the vines usually wrapped around her legs were concealed by sweatpants, so he couldn’t take note on them. “I’m taking her to the medical bay. Everyone go to sleep, you can come back in the morning…” Hank glanced at the time, “You can come back later.” 

-

The three mutants walked to their rooms quietly. Jubilee made a stop at a bathroom to brush her teeth, while Peter and Scott went straight to their dorm. 

Peter used his speed to get changed and hop in bed. “I’ll leave the light on while you get changed.” Scott didn’t answer, he didn’t move. “Scott?”

“What if she dies?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Jubilee said she’s been doing this for years, (Y/N)‘s not gonna die.” Scott still didn’t move, causing Peter to sit up and face his roommate better. “Everything will be okay. McCoy knows what to do, and this is no different than when bears go hibernate for the winter or when geese fly south. She’ll be fine.” 

“We don’t know that. If something interrupts her she could die—“ 

“She won’t.” Peter knew he knew, what Scott was thinking. Scott did what anyone would have done. Tried to jostle her awake, he didn’t know what else to do. 

“Do you know what it’s like?...” 

Peter hadn’t the slightest idea what Scott was referencing, he kept his mouth shut, trying to figure it out. 

“To have almost killed someone? Your parents arguing with theirs, lawsuits being threatened, your life could end before theirs and the doctors think they’re on borrowed time… How you know you deserve to be punished, and instead you’re just sent away, to be with more family and start new. You try to be better than you ever were, and people— they believe it. You deserve everything you’ve worked for… and then you go and fuck up! It’s one thing to have your mutation surface and have chunks of ceiling and a bathroom door put a school bully in a coma— but to hurt someone like (Y/N)?...” Scott’s voice trembled. His cheeks were covered in his tears. “If anything happens it’s going to be my fault. Warren’s going to blame me because everyone talks me up about how responsible I am and all these leadership qualities I have, that I actually don’t. Warren is going to kill me if she doesn’t wake up—“ He choked out a sob. 

Peter was quick to wrap the boy in his arms. “Hey, hey… shh… shh… You didn’t hurt her. She’s going to be fine. Hank picked her up and carried her to his lab and she did fine. You shaking her didn’t do anything.” Scott continued weeping. 

“How about you take a shower, and then we can go see her, okay?” Peter talked slower than ever before and with softness, enough to be gentle, but not so much you’d think Scott was a child. 

He nodded, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Okay, come on buddy…” 

-

Hank had carefully dressed her in a hospital gown and hooked her up to various equipment. Everything seemed normal for her coma-like state. He didn’t wake her up carrying her downstairs. 

Hank sat down in a chair next to her. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what to do. 

This had happened before, but Hank just kept her in his lab and he wouldn’t do anything until she woke up. Sometimes students would visit to see how she was doing… Most of the time they’d just whisper and watch her for a few minutes before leaving, some made jokes about how she needed Prince Charming to kiss and wake her up. 

Hank hesitated allowing Charles tell the team what happened. They wouldn’t be back for another week, and he didn’t want to cause a distraction for them. 

“Hey Doc,” Peter waved. Scott was standing next to him. 

Hank quickly put his glasses back on and stood up. “What are you doing awake? You should be asleep.” 

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured we could come by, see how (Y/N)’s doing.” 

“Yeah— she’s doing fine. Vitals are steady and her heartbeat is regular. All we have to do is wait.” Hank faked some optimism. He knew why they were there, and she was fine— except, Hank had no idea when she’d awake. 

“Did you tell Xavier what happened?” Scott asked. 

“Yeah, he knows. He said there’s nothing we can do until she wakes up. We have the option to wake her and keep her in the green room, but that’s easier said than done…” Scott looked pale. Hank cursed to himself for freaking the kid out. “Trust me, this is the best option for her.” Scott nodded. 

“Yeah… “ Peter tried to distract him. “Why don’t we eat some leftover cake?” 

“I’m not hungry Pete,” Scott answered.

“Well I am, and you’re not going to mope around down here. It’ll like, give (Y/N) a bad vibe. Come on.” Scott sighed and followed Peter out of the med bay. 

-

Twenty four days after Warren left

Warren was exhausted, Everyone was. The mission went smoothly, or smoothly as it could, considering the number of minor injuries everyone bore. 

“We’ve got a few more hours until we’re home,” Alex announced, checking in on the younger X-Men.

Ororo, Jean, and Kurt were playing go fish. Warren was watching, contributing nothing to the game but sarcastic comments and jokingly-judgemental looks. 

“Great, thanks,” They replied. 

Alex nodded and walked back to his seat in the cockpit. He pulled something small and rectangular out of his pocket. Warren carefully watched from the corner of his eye. 

Is that a cell phone? 

Cell phones weren’t allowed on missions. They were distractions, not to mention out of rage cellular fees were expensive— plus with modern technology comes tracking. Having something as minor as a cellphone on a mission could jeopardize the whole operation simply because someone wanted to use google maps and see where the nearest Starbucks was. 

“Alex?” 

“Yeah?” He stuck the object in his pocket. 

“What is that?” Warren kept his down, as to not alert the others.

“What?” 

“The thing in your pocket. What is it?” 

“Warren—“

Warren was pissed. “It’s a cellphone isn’t it?”

“It’s a burner phone. In case of an emergency—“

“Why’d you take it out?” 

“Hank texted me.” 

“Oh, great.” Warren spat, “You bring a phone on missions in case you miss your little boyfriend.” 

“Warren—“

“No!” He spoke out. At this point, everyone was watching. “You don’t get to break the rules and endanger the mission!”

“Warren, calm down.” 

“You can’t tell me—“ 

“Someone at the mansion got hurt, bird brain. That’s why Alex’s using the burner to text Hank.” Raven rolled her eyes. Dramatic much?

“What?”

No one knew this, not even Jean. They all tuned into the conversation. 

“Who did?”

“What happened?” 

“Everything’s fine.”Alex lied.

“No, it’s not. You wouldn’t be texting Hank if it was.”

Jean discreetly put two fingers to her temple, trying to figure out who got hurt. Raven saw her and glared, mentally telling her to stop.

“Sorry.”

“Everyone settle down. We have a few hours left until we’re back in Westchester. Just chill out until then.” 

Warren rolled his eyes and sat by himself, thinking Raven’s little distraction speech was stupid. 

He couldn’t help it— acting all childish— he missed (Y/N) and he really hated having to share a bed with Kurt on missions. Kurt’s tail got all tangled and Warren’s wings were cramped. 

It was different from when he’d cuddle with (Y/N). He’d wrap his wings around her, and she’d grow flowers in her sleep around them. It was soothing… He’d wake up refreshed, and looking at his wonderful girlfriend. Kurt was… a major downgrade… he was a decent roommate, but he couldn’t stand him as a bedmate. 

Warren yawned, making a note to sleep for ten years and hold (Y/N) while he did it, once he got back home. 

-

The basketball court came into view, and the ground caved in, letting Raven land the Jet in its hangar. Alex announced they were back and free to get off the ship. The rest of the team hastily grabbed their bags and ran out of the X-Jet. 

Outside waiting for them was Jubilee, Peter, and Scott. Hank wasn’t there.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Warren teased Alex. 

He didn’t respond.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Jean mocked Warren.

Warren did a double-take as Peter and Jubilee spoke to Raven and Ororo. (Y/N) wasn’t there. 

“Hey, guys.” The three that stayed behind looked up with guilty expressions on their face as soon as they looked at Warren. 

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He asked. 

No answer.

Warren asked again, but more concerned, “Guys, where’s (Y/N)?” 

“She’s not dead—“ Jubilee hit Peter and scolded him.

“What does that mean?” 

The group exchanged nervous eye contact. They weren’t sure how to explain it, but if they didn’t Warren was probably going to attempt murder. 

“She’s in what Hank calls a ‘dormant state’. Basically hibernation—“ Warren’s face visibly paled. “Except waking her up is way more complicated…” 

“So she’s in a coma?...” He asked.

“Yeah, basically…” Jubilee admitted.

“How did this happen?” 

“(Y/N)’s mutation, I thought she told you…”

“Told me what?” Jubilee didn’t answer him. “What, Jubilee?”

Alex put his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Maybe Hank should explain it…”

-

“So she won’t wake up until March?” 

“April at the latest,” Hank answered. 

“And you let this happen?” He turned to Jubilee, Scott, and Peter. They were terrified of what Warren might do. 

“No, no, they didn’t,” Hank defended them. “Her body just does this. It’s no different than that time of month…” 

“A period isn’t four months long,” Warren mumbled. 

“Let’s give him a moment alone with her.” Hank ushered everyone out, shutting the door behind him. 

Warren sank in the chair next to (Y/N)’s body. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Fuck,” He mumbled. “Fuck, fuck,” Tears welled in his eyes. “Fuck!” He screamed. He put his fist up to his mouth to muffle his sobs. 

“How could… Why didn’t she tell me?” Warren looked at (Y/N)’s figure. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” 

Warren felt his heart breaking. She looked so… so dead. 

But she wasn’t. She wasn’t dead but she wouldn’t wake until March.

 It was December. 

“Hank said… he said, we could wake you up, but there’s a chance you’ll die. And I’d rather have you like this than dead…” He turned away and mouthed cursed under his breath. 

Warren didn’t know what to do. Sure, he wasn’t necessarily one of those clingy boyfriends, whose only life purpose is to serve his girlfriend… but he really liked her. 

He wanted to spend more time with her than he ever could. She understood when he had nightmares or needed space. They never fought— their biggest disagreement was on a stupid homework problem. 

She made earrings out of some of his metal feathers, he learned how to take care of all kinds of plants. She showed him how to be compassionate and kind, he showed her how to be assertive and throw a decent punch. 

Peter teased him all the time, saying he was “in loooove,” dragged out o and everything. He’d always tell him to shut up or piss off. 

Because maybe he was in love with her. 

“But I’m her first boyfriend.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be her first love.” 

“That means I’ll hurt her…” Warren’s voice cracked. “I don’t wanna hurt her…” 

He didn’t know she’d hurt him.

-

Warren wasn’t allowed to sit at (Y/N)’s side all day, or even all week. He had work to make up for when he was in Italy— homework, mid-terms, laundry, post-mission exam— not to mention Christmas was in five days.

He tried to keep himself busy in the first two days, and he overachieved everything he had to do. Which inevitably, left him with nothing to do. 

“God, you look miserable,” Peter commented when Warren made his way into the kitchen, bags under his eyes, messy bed-head hair, sweatpants hung low, and a wrinkly t-shirt. 

“I stayed up, deep cleaning my closet. I’ve got some stuff I’m gonna donate.” 

“That’s nice.” Jean curtly commented. 

Nobody knew what to say. They weren’t sure what would trigger Warren. 

“We were all gonna see Knives Out,” Scott said. “A day off for everyone, chance to get last-minute gifts…” 

“Not interested.” Warren poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. 

“Come on,” Jubilee almost begged. “You haven’t left the mansion at all in the past few days.” 

“I have stuff to do.” He poured milk into his bowl. 

“Warren, you deep cleaned your closet at midnight. You have nothing to do and this will keep you occupied for a while.” Jubilee pointed out.

He was tired, “I don’t want to leave the mansion. What if something happens—“ 

“(Y/N)’s going to be fine.” 

Warren held his spoon tightly in his fist. “That’s what I thought before I went to Italy— Look at her now! She’s in a coma.”

“She’ll wake up in the spring,” Kurt offered up to calm Warren down. 

“This could have been prevented. I should have been here—“ Warren felt himself breakdown. He started crying, and no one knew what to do. Ororo got up from her seat and hugged him. He sobbed into her shoulder. 

Ororo gave him words of comfort, “It’s okay, this is normal for her. Distance will do you good. Everything’s going to be okay… You should get out, get fresh air.” 

Warren nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, “Uh-huh.” 

“Come see the movie with us,” She suggested. 

“Okay, yeah… I’ll— I’ll go get ready.” He put his bowl in the sink and went out of the kitchen.

“Holy shit.” Peter’s eyes were wide with shock. “He’s a mess!” 

Jubilee swatted him with her hand, “Hush! He’s clearly upset… His girlfriend’s in hibernation until March.” 

“Yeah, but like, he just started crying,” Peter stated. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Warren cry before… He just looked so broken, like, holy shit. I don’t think I was that upset when I got cheated on by my girlfriend, junior year on prom night…”  The worst part is, we could have prevented this.” 

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Scott mumbled. 

“Hey!” Ororo chasted the two boys. “I don’t care what happened while we were gone, but you’re both acting pathetic. This is no one’s fault! Get your heads out of your asses and be there for Warren.” 

“We should wake her up…” Everyone looked at Scott like he was crazy. 

“And risk killing her?” Ororo asked. 

“Yeah, no,” Peter answered. “Romeo may follow suit.” 

-

Warren didn’t want to go outside, but he needed to keep busy, or else he’d start crying again. 

He was a mess— he knew Kurt was tired of him staying up all night, doing anything and everything to keep busy… but when he closed his eyes he was face to face with nightmares— (Y/N)’s practically lifeless body lying in the hospital bed, her never waking up, or if she did she’d have amnesia and not remember anyone. 

Warren couldn’t sleep, but staying up all night would eventually take its toll on him, or he’d run out of things to do. 

Warren got changed and quickly ran downstairs to the medical bay. He wanted to check on (Y/N) before he left. 

“How is she?” 

“Same as she has been for the past few days,” Hank answered. “Everything’s normal, and she’s doing fine— great actually.” 

Warren nodded, “Um, I just wanted to see how she was doing. I’m going out with the other X-Men… we’re seeing Knives Out… Ororo said it’d be a good idea for me to get out of the mansion.” 

Hank blinked and then frowned in thought. “Yeah, she’s right. However, you seem to be doing really well, considering the situation. You haven’t spent all your time down here, but you do visit. You haven’t acted out with a huge wave of impulse emotions, but getting out for a little bit would be great for you.” 

Warren bit his tongue, holding back from telling Hank the truth about how he was doing. “Yeah… I’ll um, see you later.” 

-

Warren zoned out in the middle of the movie for a few minutes and had to ask Kurt what happened. 

“Police chased them down.” 

“Ah, okay.” Warren nodded. He glanced at his other friends. Scott had an arm around Jean, and they were cuddling, practically on top of each other, in the big recliners. Jubilee bought sour patch kids and was sharing the bag with Ororo. Peter and Kurt were really engrossed in the movie, and Warren was just kind of there… 

He was lonely— The movie was good, and he was enjoying it— but Warren as a whole was lonely.

He put up the hard “I don’t need anybody,” exterior to protect himself from hurt. His poor relationship with his parents caused him to be cautious and made it hard for him to develop a steady healthy relationship with any authority figures in his life. His cage fighting days taught him, he was alone, and nobody was ever going to love him, and he’d have to fight to get anywhere in life. 

Obviously, that proved to be false— he found confinement in Alex, (and sometimes Hank), as the older brother he never had. The community in the mansion proved he didn’t have to be so alone, and (Y/N) made him realize love is not some made-up fantasy, concocted in Disney’s headquarters. 

(Y/N) felt like his best friend on most occasions, and while he had all his other friends, her being gone made him feel so empty inside. 

-

On Christmas Eve he moped around in Scott and Peter’s room, one earbud in listening to sad music.

Scott wasn’t even there— he was doing God knows what with Jean, and Peter was playing Pac-Man. 

“You can hang out with me tomorrow if you want. I don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

“I’m good.” Warren knew Peter would probably run home and mess around with his sisters and mom, or awkwardly hang around the mansion, trying to find Erik and tell him about their relationship. 

“Dude,” He awkwardly chuckled. “Okay, look— um, I know, nothing I say can fix the situation, but if you want to talk I’m here.” 

Warren paused his music. “What was the last thing she said?”

Peter was awestruck, “She’s not dead!” 

“I know—“

“She’s in a coma that she’s going to wake up from! She didn’t die.”

“I know that! I just want to know what she said before she went into the coma…” 

Peter felt guilty for jumping to conclusions. Warren seemed so defeated, like a kicked puppy. “We were watching a crappy zombie movie on tv… and it was like, really bad, and we were mostly complaining about how bad it was. The last thing I remember was she said something about how the prosthetics sucked and she could have done it better with some mint leaves and slime.” 

The corner of Warren’s lip rose up slightly. Typical (Y/N), but she was probably right. 

“Wanna play Pac-Man with me?” 

Warren sat up, “Sure.” 

-

“He just started crying, like— I’ve never seen anyone so upset, and I thought you were dead at one point!” Scott was frazzled in Hank’s lab with Alex, Jubilee, Jean, Ororo, and Kurt. 

“He seemed fine when he came down to visit her the other day.” Scott gave Hank a disbelieving look. “Well if he’s crying over little things, obviously he’s extremely stressed out and I’m not going to push him.” 

Scott glanced in the direction of (Y/N)’s area in the lab, “Maybe we should wake her up.”

“Are you crazy?!” Jubilee asked. “She could die from that—“

“She probably won’t though… (Y/N) being unconscious has made Warren, everyone on edge.”

“You want an easy way out of this,” Jubilee raised her voice as she kept speaking, “If you really cared about how Warren was, you’d be trying to comfort him best you can despite your half-assed friendship!”

“It’s our fault she’s like this, Jubes! We were supposed to make sure she didn’t fall asleep anywhere besides her room, and we couldn’t do it.” 

“Scott, she was getting weaker every day, this would have happened no matter what—“

His voice got louder, yet he was practically shaking, “No, we had the most simple task in the world! And we couldn’t do it! We’re the X-Men and we couldn’t even keep a girl from falling asleep!”

Jean hugged Scott, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s not your fault. She does this every year— and it’s not like you ignored her.”

“What if it was you instead? I’d be just like Warren…”

“Don’t say that—” She kissed the top of his head. “You’d be fine.” 

“I think we should discuss this with Warren and the Professor before we do anything, drastic.” Hank’s final words were clearly aimed at Scott. 

-

“We can wake her up…” 

Everyone was still in the lab, but this time Warren and Professor Xavier were present. Warren didn’t move, he was focused on what Hank was telling him and what it actually meant. 

“But… she could die if not done correctly. Waking up an animal early out of hibernation could kill it, but getting a plant out of its dormant season would just weaken it, if done too quickly though, it could kill the plant.” 

“Hank,” Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I thought we agreed, when (Y/N) goes dormant, we do not disturb her. We agreed with her parents several years ago.” 

“Yeah, but that was when she was a kid. She’s older now, and everyone’s distraught. Her boyfriend—“

“Oh, please,” Charles scoffed. “If I got on my knees and tried to align the stars every time Erik got hurt, there wouldn’t even be a school.” 

“Cut the crap. You and Erik fight and make up like some divorced couple in a soap opera. When Erik gets hurt, you’re always the first to know.” 

Xavier didn’t say anything out loud, he just glared. 

“Um, personally, uh, sorry,” Warren awkwardly cut in. “I think if (Y/N) might die if we wake her up, then it’s not worth it. And if her parents agreed, letting her sleep is the best thing, then it probably is.” 

Warren didn’t even want to think about her folks. Could you imagine? Their daughter dies because some dumb goth boy couldn’t handle her taking a three-month-long nap without him. Yeah, that’d impress them.

Charles clapped his hands together, “Well, there! It’s settled then. (Y/N) is fine as she is. I know this is upsetting for her to not be present around the holidays, but we can all assume she would want us to have fun and be kind to others, showing compassion and always helping those in need.”

-

Warren couldn’t sleep. He was restless in bed— too hot, then too cold, he’d have the beginnings of a nightmare or no dream at all— he was sure Kurt would have kicked him out by now if he hadn’t made the decision to sleep in Peter and Scott’s room for the night. 

His tossing and turning made him have to pee. He got up and went over to the bathroom. 

Looking in the mirror as he dried his hands he sighed. Warren looked so tired, but he didn’t know what to do. 

For the first time since Germany, he truly felt alone. 

-

He grabbed the two gifts stored under his bed and he quietly walked down the halls. 

None of the doors were locked, it was almost too easy for him to get into Hank’s lab. 

He flicked on the light switch, even though he didn’t need to. Her sleeping figure made his heart almost burst out of his chest. Warren felt so awkward standing there. 

He set the gifts down on a chair and walked over to (Y/N). 

“Hi…” No response. “Um, I don’t know if you can hear me… but like, Jubilee and Kurt watch all those soaps and they always have characters talking to people in comas so I figured, maybe, just maybe, you could hear something… anyway, um… I miss you. I really miss you and I wish you’d said something about all this…” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, with homework and chores and training. It’s been driving Kurt crazy that I’m up all the time, but I can’t sleep most nights…”

He paused for a moment, for the thought of, Am I crazy? Flashed through his brain. 

“I got you that fancy water filtered you wanted for Christmas… along with some mollisol soil in a jar…” He huffed in amusement while glancing at the gifts. “Peter made fun of me. He said, “No girl wants a jar of dirt for Christmas.” But I know you’d be happy with it— trying to divide it equally among every plant in your room, your eyes lighting up when you see improvements in them…” Warren looked at (Y/N) and smiled sadly. 

“We haven’t even been dating for a whole year, but it feels like it’s been forever…” His eyes watered and his voice faltered, “And that’s love… Isn’t it?... Everyone tells me something different, but— I think I love you. No— I know I love you. I love you and, and, I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do while you’re here. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and see everyone all happy like nothing’s wrong— or Scott kissing Jean when he thinks no one’s looking if I can’t put my arm around you and pull you closer and give him a look that states we’re a cuter couple…” Warren almost laughed at himself. His dumb competition with Scott. 

“I know you’d want me to pretend like nothing’s wrong because it isn’t— but it is… I don’t know what to do…”

-

Kurt knocked on the door of his room the next morning. “Warren! Merry Christmas!” No response. 

“I need to brush my teeth.” Still no answer. 

Kurt opened the door himself, “Warren?” The room was empty. “Where are you?” 

“Hey, Kurt,” Scott peaked in, still in pajamas. “Everything alright?”

“Warren’s gone.” 

“He’s probably downstairs already. Peter and Jubilee are, I bet he’s with them.” 

“Oh. You’re probably right.” Scott bid him goodbye and went to Jean’s room. Kurt still couldn’t get the feeling that Scott was wrong out of his system. 

-

Hank and Alex were headed down to the lab, giggling and acting like kids sneaking around. 

“Alex,” Hank breathed in between laughs, “I just wanna check on (Y/N).” 

“I know,” He managed between the kisses he left all over Hank’s neck. 

“Give me five minutes. Then we can join the others.” 

Alex frowned as Hank opened the door. “I want to be alone with you.” 

“Wasn’t this morning enough?” Hank joked. 

Alex rolled his eyes and hugged Hank from behind. 

Hank smiles and walked into the med Bay Area, where (Y/N) was put. 

He was shocked, to say the least. Alex too. 

“Did he wake her?” Alex whispered. 

“I don’t think so. Her heart rate hasn’t changed.”

Alex gently shook Warren’s shoulder, “Hey, kid, time to get up.” 

He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, squinting to adjust to the light. “Mmmmhmmmggg…” 

“Merry Christmas.” Hank teased as he looked over (Y/N)’s vitals. 

“Shit.” Warren rubbed his eyes, “Did I fall asleep?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When did you come down here? I went upstairs at around eleven.” Hank commented. 

“You got into our room at 11:37 PM.” Alex corrected him. 

“Uhh, I don’t remember…” Warren was too tired to think. He wanted to get something to eat and go back to bed. He didn’t want to see everyone messing around the tree Charles got the younger students to set up. He wanted to go back to sleep right in bed with (Y/N), but he knew Hank wouldn’t let him. 

“Everyone’s upstairs,” Hank said.

“I know,” Warren said back.

Alex was preoccupied with his phone. Scott kept texting him where he was— for being the younger brother, he acted like an older one.

“Look, uh, I don’t want to overstep anything—” Hank said somewhat quietly to Warren. “I know we’re not that close, but—“

Warren shot him down, “I don’t need to talk to anyone. But thanks for the offer, Hank.” 

Hank pushes his glasses up his nose, “No, it’s not that… When Alex was presumed dead, and we found his body and he was in a coma… I was an emotional wreck. I spent all my time down here, worried he’d wake up any second, or never wake up, or wake up and not remember who I am… We weren’t even dating at the time. I was just so heartbroken because I wasted literal decades avoiding him and my feelings and— sorry. Sorry. I got off track… the point is, I get it. I’m not going to judge you for coming down at night to sleep with her.” 

“Just, just don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” 

Hank nodded understandingly. 

“Whatcha guys talking about?” Alex got up and wrapped an arm around Hank. 

“How much I love you,” Hank stated matter of factly. 

Alex chuckled and kissed Hank’s cheek. “Don’t bother him with that. I’m sure Warren doesn’t want to hear you talk about our relationship.” 

“I don’t care,” Warren told him. 

“Still— go upstairs. Scott and Kurt think you got kidnapped or something.” 

“Alright, alright,” Warren had to laugh, “I will.” 

“We’ll meet you up there.” 

Neither of the older men spoke until the door shut. 

“He loves her.” 

“Hmm?” Alex looked at Hank curiously. 

“Warren, he loves (Y/N).” Alex hummed in agreement.

“They’re good for each other.” 

-

Warren walked into the common room while chaos was in full motion. 

Kurt was teleporting from place to place in the room, Ororo was focusing on making it snow outside, surprisingly, Peter was asleep on the couch, and Jean and Scott were cuddled under a blanket by the fireplace, obviously feeling each other up.

“Warren!” Kurt jumped down and landed at his feet. “Where have you been?”

He shrugged, “Workout.” 

“Okay…” Kurt wasn’t convinced, but 

“Hey, Warren! I made these brownies, they’re really good—“ She handed him one. “Here!” 

“Uh, thanks.” He took a bite out of it. Gooey. Rich chocolate flavor. Yet, it also crumbled. Not half bad. 

Warren smiled and nodded, telling Jubilee it was delicious. She was thrilled. 

After a round of greetings to everyone, Warren sat on the couch next to Peter. “There’s a present for you…” He murmured, half asleep.

Warren furrowed his brows and looked at the tree. There was one gift left. The wrapping paper was black, with two silver bows on it. Warren smiled sadly at it, as he held it in his arms.

“Aww… It’s you!” Peter teased. Warren laughed a little, before opening it. 

It was a box. Obviously, not empty. Warren removed the lid and looked through it. Inside was a disposable camera, an empty photo book, and a letter. He grabbed the letter first and read it.

Warren, 

If you’re reading this, I’m either dormant or will be soon. I didn’t tell you anything about it because I’m scared. I’m scared you’d want to break up because I’m not conscious for part of the year. To most people, I’m sure it’d be a major turn off. But as Jubilee sometimes puts it, you’re ‘a little too attached’ to me to break up with me over a long nap. :) Or at least I hope so. 

Anyway, I don’t want you moping over me the whole time, because you’ll just be sad and closed off and lose a lot of progress in your mental health. And I worry about you. I’ll be worrying about you quite a bit while I’m hibernating. 

Uh, I can also hear everything you say to me. In case you wanna chat. I can’t say anything back, but it’s nice to listen. 

I got you the camera and photobook to give you something to do. When I wake up you can catch me up on everything I missed. Take some pictures, save some memes for me, make a playlist of songs you think I’d like, movies I need to watch— Jubilee did it my first year here, and I liked it. I didn’t feel like I was wasting my time sleeping… I sometimes feel that way— I could do schoolwork, or spend time with my plants that still trudge through winter, or hang out with my friends… don’t feel sad, this is a normal bodily function… for me… You’re gonna think it sucks, which is kind of does, but I’ll try to make up for lost time… I love you…

(Y/N)

Warren couldn’t read the last few words, they’d been scratched out. He rubbed his eye, trying not to cry. 

“What’d you get?” Peter asked. 

“Uh, camera… So (Y/N)’s got photos for when she wakes up…”

“Aww…” Peter cooed. “That’s so cute— Hey guys! Let’s get a group photo!”

“Peter, I don’t— I don’t think that’s necessary—” 

“Too bad!” Peter snatched the camera from Warren’s hands and started motioning and yelling at people to get in the frame. “I used to use these all the time as a kid— these little disposable cameras. I loved them!” Peter pressed the button, and a light flashed for a moment. He turned the dial on it and then handed it back to Warren. “You know how to use these, right?” 

“Uh…” 

“Great! You’ve totally got this.” 

Peter was gone in a flash, leaving Warren alone. 

He huffed, what was he really going to do with a camera? He didn’t want to bring his girlfriend up to speed with pop culture and all the drama she missed. He wanted to live through it all with her.

But he couldn’t… 

-

Warren went back downstairs to the lab. Nobody stopped him from leaving or even asked where he was going. It was like he had no value in the group without (Y/N), just someone they tolerated, if that even. 

He wanted to scream, knowing she could hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t find his voice… no words came out… just tears… 

He fell down to the floor and cried. That’s all he could do. 

You’re so weak! Pathetic! You can’t spend a moment away from her and you cry like a fucking baby! You don’t deserve her… 

His sobs were the only things you could hear in the room.

-

New Year’s came and gone. The X-Men threw a party. Warren took a photo since he knew (Y/N) would have wanted to be there. 

He didn’t want to be there. Soon as he took his photo he wanted to leave. He never liked parties, not as a kid, not in Berlin, and not when he came to the mansion— until he started dating (Y/N). 

She got invited to several parties. Some were just dorm get-togethers with different groups of kids, others were house parties from the kids at the public school down the road, some were like this… real parties. She always wanted Warren with her when she went, and he never said no. He didn’t always enjoy them, but he didn’t mind. If (Y/N) had a good time, so did he. 

But here Warren was, moping in the corner of Xavier’s ballroom. 

-

He didn’t leave his room on Valentine’s day, despite still having classes. He trained for three hours a day, not including the group workouts and training required for all members of the X-Men. 

He volunteered to go on more missions. He didn’t want to be stuck in the mansion for more than two days at a time. No one objected, he was a valuable member of the team, and the more experience the better he would get. 

He was to go to London for three weeks with Ororo, Hank, Jean, and Scott.

Jean and Scott were excited because this just meant they’d somehow end up in a hotel room alone together at night, while everyone else was sleeping.

Warren was not too thrilled, as he was jealous. No need to sugarcoat it. Warren was jealous that Scott got Jean all 365 days of the year, that he never had to be away from her for more than a week, that they could flaunt their relationship and how happy they were together. 

It made his stomach churn, but there was nothing he could do. 

-

“I’m going to London for a few days… If I meet Harry Styles I’ll tell him you’re a fan…” (Y/N) laid in bed, lifeless. Warren tucked his hair behind his ears, making a note to get a haircut soon. “I’m going with Scott, Jean, and Ororo…” 

He hated this. He hated talking to her, knowing she could hear him but not say anything back. It was different the few days before Christmas, but now it was all just a mess. 

“Bye.” He threw his duffle bag over his shoulder and walked out. 

One week. 

One week with no cell phones, no homework, nothing. Sure, Warren would probably have to punch a few bad guys, but other than that he just wanted to sleep. He didn’t really care for much anymore. He tried his best to stay engaged and involved, keep himself busy, but it was extremely challenging.

A five-hour flight, with nothing to do.

“You guys excited?” Hank asked.

“Yeah!” 

“Definitely.” 

“I’m hoping I can use some new moves Mystquie’s been teaching me.”

“Mhmm…” Warren mumbled. 

Hank glanced at him. He looked depressing. 

“We’re in London for a week, I bet we’ll have some time to do sightseeing or go out.” 

“Ooo!” Jean nudged Scott. “That’ll be fun, right babe?”

He nodded, “Oh yeah.”

Warren brought Peter’s walkman with him, and put in his earbuds and closed his eyes, assumingly taking a nap.

-

Once they arrived and checked into their rooms, Warren was still tired. He wanted to take another nap. 

“So, I think we should go out tonight—” Hank handed everyone their room keys, “—You guys have been working really hard, and not much praise is given by Alex or Raven, or Erik when he occasionally shows up… but we’re proud of you.” 

“Aww…” “Thanks, Hank…” 

Warren just offered a smile.

“We can unpack and get changed if you guys want, we can go out and get some dinner?”

Everyone thought Hank’s plan was good, and they separated into their rooms.

“You doing okay?” Scott asked while unpacking his bag. 

“Yeah… Why?”

“You didn’t say anything the whole ride here.”

“I took a nap,” Warren unzipped his bag.

“Oh.” 

“I’m not going to unexpectedly burst into tears.” Warren snapped.

“I didn’t say you were—” 

“Everyone thinks I am, I’m not stupid. I know you think I’m emotionally unstable and Hank’s been acting all nice on this mission because of it.” 

“Are you?” 

“What?” 

Scott sat down on his bed, “Are you emotionally unstable?”

Warren glared at him, “I’ve been working my ass off for this mission. I’ve trained longer and harder than anybody else. Do I look unstable to you?” 

“No! I just thought—” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna shower and get dressed for dinner.” He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

-

Hank had asked the woman at the front desk a good place to eat. She recommended some local place down the road. He rounded up the kids, despite there only being four of them.

“A night out will do us good.” 

“You’ve been saying that,” Warren mumbled. 

“You didn’t have to come you know,” Ororo stated. 

“I have nothing better to do with my time.”

Ororo kept her mouth shut, knowing she could have said something back, but knowing Warren, it was better not to.

-

The restaurant was pretty crowded, despite it being the middle of the week, but the group still managed to get a table. 

Their server was friendly. They got drinks. They ordered their food. 

“You okay, Warren?” Hank noticed he hardly touched his food.

“Mhmm… Just not that hungry. I’ll probably get a box.” 

“Oh, okay,” Hank nodded, a little unsure. 

-

They left the restaurant and went back to the hotel. Warren took his shirt off and laid on his bed. 

“I’m gonna hang out with Jean… You gonna be okay?”

Warren let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, yeah. Go have fun, Cyclops… I’m going to bed.” 

Warren couldn’t sleep. He didn’t really want to. He turned on the tv, trying to find something to watch. 

Someone knocked on the door while he was in the middle of some cooking show. Warren got up and opened his door. “Hey, Ro.” 

“Hey, Jean kicked me out. Wanna go for a swim in the pool?”

“Sure.”

He quickly got changed and followed Ororo downstairs.

The got into the elevator and were quiet at first.

“I think they have a hot tub.”

“Cool.” 

Ororo glanced at Warren and sighed. “I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

He nodded, “I know.” 

“For real. You’re allowed to talk about your feelings.”

“I don’t want to.”

Ororo sighed, “Warren…” 

 He looked back at her. “I want this all to be over.”  

“(Y/N)—”

“It’s not fair! Everyone in my life has left me or used me somehow— and I know she’s different, but it’s not fair! I was so happy with her and—” 

The elevator stopped. It wasn’t their floor. The doors opened the reveal a young woman. She had a familiar glow to her and leaves in her hair. 

Warren looked at her, feeling lightheaded at seeing her.

“(Y/N)?”

-

Warren woke up in his hotel bed. He wasn’t sure how he got there. He didn’t even remember going to the pool with Ororo. All he could remember was her. 

(Y/N).

He looked over to his left and saw Scott peacefully asleep in his bed, sleep mask on and everything. The TV was off, and so were all the lights. Warren couldn’t go back to bed, it wasn’t an option. 

He quietly got out of bed and slipped on his shoes, slowly opening the door, as to not wake Scott.

He went out to the halls. He had no plan, no idea where he was going, but he needed to get out. 

He walked around, lost in the halls late at night. He wasn’t tired, but he was upset. He didn’t want to keep crying, he didn’t want to be so dependent on (Y/N), but without her— 

The sound of thunder interrupted his thoughts. He looked outside and saw it was raining. It reminded him of (Y/N)— without her, all it did was rain and snow. 

-

Hank said they were looking for someone. Someone Xaiver wanted to bring back to the mansion. This type of mission was more stealth and would require little physical fighting. 

Hank got told from an anonymous source she’d be at some socialite gathering.

“Scott, Jean, you’re going to pretend to be some young, rich, American couple. Get in there, find our target, and get her alone. Convince her to come back with us if that doesn’t work let us know on the comms.” 

“What does she look like?” 

“Her name is Betsy Braddock—” Hank pulled up a file with all her information on his tablet. 

“What does Xavier want with her?” Warren asked, anger rising in his tone. 

Betsy… She left him to die in Egypt. She got him wrapped up in the Apocalypse cult nonsense. He didn’t want to see her again, he didn’t want to see her ever. 

“She knows something about the attacks in Italy we dealt with around Christmas, plus she’s somewhat telepathic… I know your past with her is messy, but—”

“It’s fine. I don’t care.” Everyone looked at Warren, surprised at his statement. 

“Alright. You guys know what to do— Jean, Scott, get dressed and ready for the party. I’ll get you an uber— Ororo, Warren, You guys are going to a hideout location not far from the location of the party, in case backup is needed. I’m going to stay and operate things here. 

-

The first few hours of the mission went as expected. Jean and Scott made small talk with people, trying to find Betsy. 

Warren didn’t want to see her, or more, he didn’t want her to see him in his current emotional state. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He argued and insisted on joining this mission, and now he could see why Xavier was hesitant to let him go.

“I see her,” Jean said. “She’s not with anyone.” 

Jean’s earpiece was quiet after that. 

Warren and Ororo sat there for what felt like forever. Jean and Scott talked occasionally, but it was never directly to them. 

The young couple eventually lured Betsy into an empty room.

“You didn’t really bring me up here to sleep with me, did you?” She asked, messing with her hair in the slight reflection from a window. 

Jean shook her head, “No. But we want you to come back with us… You’ve heard of Charles Xavier…” 

Betsy nodded. 

“He wants you to help him with the attacks on the mutant community in southern Italy.” 

“What will he give me in return?” Scott and Jean exchanged a quick glance. They weren’t exactly sure. 

Scott’s voice faltered slightly, “You can…”

Jean finished his sentence. “—You can discuss that with him when we get to New York.” 

Betsy turned her head to look at them, “And what if I say no?”

“We’ll chase you down until you do,” Scott stated with more confidence than before.

“Alright. I’ll go with you.” 

-

Betsy had no idea Warren was in London, or even alive for that matter. Warren had no idea how she was going to react, and he didn’t really want to find out. 

But he didn’t really have an option. 

“Give us time to pack up and we can leave for Westchester,” Jean explained in the ride back to the hotel. 

“Who else is with you?” 

“Dr. McCoy is back at the hotel, and Ororo and Warren should be there too.” Betsy’s expression changed. “You probably know them as—”

“I know exactly who they are. I thought Warren died…”

Scott shook his head, “Nope. He’s doing great.” Scott blinked away the uncertainty hidden behind his words. 

Betsy nodded, unsure what to say. She thought about maybe jumping out of the car, and never seeing these people again. She knew Warren would be angry when he saw her. She couldn’t blame him. 

“He’s not upset with you…” Betsy looked at Jean, a bit shocked. “He’s hurting from something else… Don’t ask about it… just trust me...” 

“Easy for you to say.” Betsy scoffed.

Jean shook her head, “You’ll see…”

“We’re here.” The driver stopped the car and the three got out. 

Betsy looked up at the hotel the group was staying at, “Nice place.” 

They walked in and headed to the nearest elevator. Jean was fidgeting with the comm in her ear. 

“We got back about twenty minutes ago,” Ororo said.

“We’re on our way to our rooms,” Jean replied.

The elevator dinged, signaling it was at the destined floor.

-

They packed up quickly, and stood out in the hall, bags in hand. 

Hank introduced himself to Betsy. Her response was short, she was preoccupied with her ex-boyfriend standing less than five feet away from her. 

“Hi.”

He looked sad and more tired than usual. Seeing him sober was mind-blowing to Betsy, but people change. She hadn’t seen him in a few years— sure they saw each other during the Apocalypse incident, but that was a few days— she was really going to see him this time. 

He didn’t respond to her. She frowned. 

The plane ride was long and tedious. Betsy had nothing to do and wanted nothing more than to leave. So, she decided to try and talk to Warren again.

“Hey.” He turned his head around best he could and looked at Betsy questioningly. She nodded. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Warren wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk.

“Cool… Cool…” 

There was a pause before Warren spoke up, “Do you need anything?” 

“Just wanted to talk…” 

“You have other options.” 

Betsy rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t really wanna talk to you right now… And I don’t need you poking around in my head either.” 

“I wasn’t going to,” She said calmly. 

Warren didn’t respond. Betsy sighed, he was useless. Warren wasn’t going to talk even if she forced him. And she couldn’t really blame him, but she had a lingering feeling in her stomach. 

Probably just my dinner digesting… 

-

At some point, Betsy fell asleep, for when the plane landed Hank had to wake her up. She rubbed her eyes and undid her seatbelt. 

“Do we have to go through security again?” Scott asked. 

“Yeah, we left the country,” Hank told him while glancing at his watch.

Scott was not too thrilled. Everyone was tired to some degree. It was extremely late, and they went back a few hours due to the time zone.

“It won’t be that long. There’s hardly anyone here.” 

Everyone went through security and headed to the baggage claim to get their stuff. 

Jean was the first to get her suitcase— a medium-sized, teal one— Warren was next, and his was all black, to no one’s surprise, but the nametag on it looked drastic tied to the handle. 

It was clear, with glitter and flowers trapped inside it. It didn’t seem like Warren at all to Betsy, but what did she know? 

-

Hank took Betsy to an empty room and told her she could sleep there for the time being. She set her bags on the floor and looked around. There was a dated-looking wallpaper upon the walls, and the bed took up a little under half of the room. 

It was alright. 

Betsy rummaged through her bag for some pajamas when she heard footsteps. 

Hank had left almost immediately after he showed her the room, so it couldn’t be him. She opened the door only to see Warren walking down the hall. She quietly followed him, staying several steps behind. 

He went down to the main floor, and even further down into the basement. 

This place is huge! Betsy said to herself. 

The basement looked different from the rest of the mansion, for the walls and floor were made of metal. 

Warren turned right, into a room within the basement. Betsy held her breath as she got closer. 

What is he doing down here?

Betsy caught sight of a girl laying in a hospital bed. Warren sat down next to her and started talking… 

That’s why he’s on edge…  Betsy had accidentally bumped into something, making a loud noise. 

Warren shot up, “Who’s there?” 

Betsy tried to sneak out, but Warren caught her.

“Betsy!” 

She froze. 

“Why were you following me?”

“Why are you visiting a coma patient at three in the morning?” She asked back.

“She’s my girlfriend.” 

“I mean I figured as much—”

“So leave.” He cut her off and was sharp. “Please…” He pleaded more in his last word.

She looked at her unconscious figure, “I could help…” 

“No,” He was stern.

“I could—” “—You’d kill her.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” She defended.

“Yeah, you would. Her mutation makes her basically hibernate until March, so she’s fine.”

“I could still help— I’ve helped you before…”

“No, you didn’t! You were constantly going in and out of my life whenever it was convenient for you and came back when I didn’t need you too! You— you ruined my life!”

Betsy felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

“Look…” Warren sighed.  “Betsy… I’m sorry. I don’t want your help… I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Betsy nodded, she knew Warren wasn’t going to change his mind. 

“Okay.” 

“What?”

“I won’t help you.” She left the medical room, leaving Warren alone with his thoughts.

-

Over the next few days, Betsy accommodated herself to the mansion, giving Xavier the information he wanted, and exploring the grounds. 

She was almost always accompanied by Jubilee, per some people’s request, seeing as her past wasn’t spotless. 

Jubilee was full of energy, and always willing to tell Betsy whatever she asked about. 

“Who’s Warren’s girlfriend?”

“Her name is (Y/N). She controls plants. She can also grow them from her body. And her eyes change color based on her mood… She’s uh, she’s not around at the moment, but that’s not important.” 

Betsy nodded along as Jubilee spoke. “Is he happy?” 

“Do you miss him?” 

Betsy struggled to let out a straight answer, “No— ugh— I just— I ruined his life.” 

“You didn’t ruin his life!” Betsy glared at her. “Okay, okay, maybe you kind of did ruin his life, but he’s fine now. He’s just a little on edge you’re here and (Y/N) isn’t.” 

“I don’t need to stay here—” 

“Bullshit!” Jubilee exclaimed.  “You’ve got nowhere else to go, really.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

-

Betsy was rarely ever alone. She was too busy helping the X-Men. 

She had a few moments to herself though. She was never sure what to do. She couldn’t just up and leave and go out to some bar and sulk in a corner and come back drunk and angry— that’d paint her as extremely irresponsible. She didn’t want to bore or impose on the X-Men if she didn’t have to. 

She wandered around the mansion. It was massive and somewhat old and stuffy looking, but also gave off those classic school vibes.

Betsy wandered into the basement at some point and quickly learned, that was where the X-Men trained, made battle and mission plans, stored their jet, Hank worked on costumes and more in his lab, and where their medical bay was kept. 

She knew she shouldn’t be down there alone. Betsy wasn’t going to do anything bad, but it felt wrong. 

She was watching a girl in a coma sleep. There were so many things wrong about that. 

Of course, no one would really care, except for maybe Warren— but he had every good reason to.

“You keep visiting me.” 

Betsy almost jumped. The voice had startled her. She thought she was alone. 

“Jean?” But didn’t sound like Jean. Betsy couldn’t decipher who it was. 

She sat there for another thirty minutes, hoping the voice would return, but it didn’t. 

So she got up and left. 

It was probably just a student. My telepathic abilities aren’t the strongest. It was probably just a student somewhere on the grounds…

She didn’t tell anyone about the voice. She didn’t want to seem crazy, because it probably didn’t mean anything. 

-

“Hey,  guys! I found this on my google drive! It’s a bunch of videos from Xavier’s fourth of July party!” Peter had his laptop open at a table, with a few papers spread about. 

Everyone, including Betsy, gathered around Peter as he played a few video clips.

It was Warren, Peter, Scott, and (Y/N) all together in the first one. They were walking in a parking lot with shopping bags in their hands. 

“We just spent—” Peter cut Warren off.

“We just spent $2,000 on fireworks! Holy fuck!” Everyone else is laughing at his enthusiasm. 

“Can’t Jubilee just produce fireworks? Why did we need this many anyway?” 

“It’s for the American aesthetic, (Y/N)!” 

They got into the car and Peter was still recording. 

“Weren’t you born in Poland or something?” 

“America was founded on immigration—”

The clip was cut off, and the next one played automatically. But Betsy remembered the voice. The female one. It was like the one she heard in the basement… was (Y/N) trying to contact her?

She tried to focus as the next few clips played, she needed to hear (Y/N)’s voice again.

“Kurt, look—” Peter was still recording with his smartphone, he had zoomed in on a darker part of Xavier’s. It was a tree, and two people were leaning up against it— clearly making out. 

“Jean told me she went to get more popsicles!” Kurt whined. 

Everyone watching was laughing, except for Scott and Jean, who were extremely embarrassed they got caught. 

“You ain’t slick, Summers.”

“Shut up.” 

Footsteps could be heard. “What are we doing?” (Y/N) asked.

“Look—” Kurt motioned to the couple at the tree. 

“Oh, gross. They don’t even know we’re watching! And to think… Warren went inside to see what Jean was doing…”

“Well, he won’t find out,” Kurt joked. 

Betsy knew she heard (Y/N) voice in the basement… but why? Was she a ghost? Did her unconscious state allow her to communicate telepathically? 

She needed to go back there, alone, but she knew that was almost impossible. Hank was almost always down in the lab, and Warren was almost always visiting (Y/N). 

-

That didn’t really matter to her. Betsy needed to talk to her or hear her voice again. She thought about asking Jean, but she thought that would be fruitless. 

She went to visit (Y/N) again, but this time she spoke to her. 

“Can you hear me?” 

No response. 

“My name is Betsy Braddock. I know who you are and I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Betsy huffed, “This is stupid!” She got up and began to walk out. 

“Wait!” Betsy froze. (Y/N) said something. “You keep visiting me…”

“I’m just curious about you,” Betsy responded.

“Why?” 

“I don’t know I—” 

“Betsy?” Warren’s voice was stern and almost angry. “What are you doing here?”

“I can hear her. Like, with my abilities… I know you didn’t really want me down here and I understand—”

“Then why are you here?” 

“I wanted to see if I could communicate with her telepathically…” She admitted.  “That’s all. I’m not trying to wake her or anything.” 

“I’m sorry… but I can hear people and it’s nice to have someone who can hear me back…” 

Betsy, plagued with guilt, looked over at (Y/N), whos lifeless form hadn’t changed a bit, despite the obvious sadness in her words.

“I just feel, so bad and I don’t know why and… I ruined your life. There’s no shortcut, without me you would have left the fighting ring in less than three weeks… You’d have your feathery wings still… but I loved you and I couldn’t let go, and I thought bringing Apocalypse to you would make up for all the shit I did…” 

“I was a kid. I didn’t even know what love meant! And I’m not avoiding you on purpose, I don’t resent you as much as I did when I first came here… but I don’t know what you want, okay? Our lives aren’t connected anymore, and I just want (Y/N) back...” Warren was biting down on his lip to keep himself from breaking down crying. 

“Tell him I’m sorry.” 

“(Y/N) said she’s sorry…” 

Warren’s gaze shifted between the two girls. 

“Why is she sorry?”

“All I’ve done since Christmas is make him unhappy and upset. He deserves someone who isn’t asleep for part of the year.”

“She said, you deserve someone who isn’t asleep for part of the year.” 

Warren walked over to (Y/N)’s body, he held her hand in his. “It’s not about what I may or may not deserve. It’s about what I want and love.” 

“I love him…” 

Betsy was about to repeat what she said, but Warren was crying. He had let a single tear drip down. 

It landed on (Y/N)’s hand. And soon as it did, her eyes flew open. 

-

She was gasping for air, eyes squinting up at the fluorescent lights. (Y/N) heard voices. 

“She’s awake…” 

“It’s almost March, that might be too early—“

“—I’ll be fine,” (Y/N) interrupted. She rubbed her eyes and turned her eyes away from the lights, looking over at Warren, who was at her side, tears in his eyes. 

“Betsy, go get Hank.” He instructed. Warren looked back at (Y/N), holding her hand in his, and his other cupping her cheek. 

“Hi.” She murmured in a groggy tone. 

“Hi.” He kissed her forehead. “I missed you.”

“I know… I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?” Warren was perplexed. “What for?” 

“I couldn’t stay awake, and I hurt you, Warren. I made you cry and think you weren’t good enough for me…” She snuffled her nose. 

“That’s bullshit. You could never hurt me. I was crying because I couldn’t do anything. The last time I saw you was before I went to Italy on some dumb mission— I missed you… I missed your smile, I missed how you’d make flower crowns and put them on my head, how I could go to you after a nightmare no matter what time of night it was, or how you told me I helped you become more assertive and learn it’s okay to say no, or you showing me the beauty in everything— I…” His voice was breaking, but all (Y/N) could see in his eyes was happiness.  “I can’t live without you… I love you.”

“Oh, Warren, baby…” She squeezed his hand. 

Warren cupped her face with his free hand and kissed her. 

That one kiss said everything he wanted to say. It let out his feelings. It had passion and swiftness backing it up, followed by his undying love for (Y/N). 

She kissed him back, trying to make up for the time they’ve lost. Her lips fit prefectures against his. 

It was like the first time they kissed, full of everything she wanted, except much longer, with more meaning to it. 

They broke apart slowly, almost as if they didn’t want to. 

“I love you too…” She murmured.

#warren worthington iii x reader #x-men x reader #warren worthington x reader #warren x reader #warren worthington iii #warren worthington #angel x reader #archangel #archangel x reader #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #x-men spinoff #ben jones #angel #ben jones x reader

[badmcuposts]

Mini-Tony

For: @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Gifted to: @floweryfran

Warnings: none?

-

“Tones, drop the act.” Rhodey ordered vaguely, storming into the lab as if he owned the place.

“What act?” Tony asked, less confused and more dismissive about the assertion that he would dare put up an act. That would take a lot of work he didn’t want to put in. The man kind of had a planet to constantly defend, you know.

Rhodey sighed, sitting down and putting on his serious face. “We all know you cloned yourself.” He spoke.

At the moment, Tony thought it had been a joke, since it so obviously had to be. But, his friend only continued until it all became far too alarming for Tony to ignore.

“I mean, really, Tony? This is a major federal crime! You know you could get the FBI called on you for this? Why would you be so reckless? How could you? It’s... it’s mad! You’ve really lost it, man. Come on, just let it go!”

Tony stared at his former MIT roommate, dazed and confused as he contemplated the sanity of the man before him. What was Rhodey on?

“Okay,” he began, “not entirely sure how I’m supposed to break this to you, but I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

In a shock, Rhodey’s body twitched, a visceral reaction to what Tony saw as a completely normal response to being accused of human cloning. “You... you didn’t clone yourself?” He questioned idiotically.

“No, I didn’t fucking clone myself!” Tony relented as he began to sardonically laugh, “What would make you honestly believe that I would do such a thing?”

At that, his friend went quiet. Tony watched the shy blush creep onto Rhodey’s cheeks, a deep and red tint running down his neck like a historically accurate thanksgiving. The colonel’s brown eyes looked up into the sky, as if searching for a way out of the situation on the celling.

Abruptly, he mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

“What?” The billionaire in the room tentatively asked, still laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Was he okay?

“Peter...” Rhodey murmured again, now audible, whether he wanted to be or not. That’s it, Tony thought, he’s lost it.

“Did... did you say Peter?” He asked again, more to himself than the other man. There was no way, absolutions no way, that Rhodey had actually just said the kid’s name.

“Yes! Peter, okay?”

Tony stood, shell shocked. “What... what does m-the kid have to do with you accusing me of breaking federal law and cloning myself in my private lab without shame?”

“It’s just- god it sounds so stupid now- he’s like... a mini-Tony.” Rhodey relented, his blush deepening quickly under the scrutinizing gaze of his best friend.

“A mini-Tony?” The man repeated, monotonic and blank in the face.

“Yes!” Rhodey shouted, “Stop tormenting me, you doofus. It’s a perfectly reasonable concern.” At the zenith of his mockery, Tony dies down, suddenly more interested in the how.

“You... you noticed that the kid and I have a few vague similarities and decided it meant I had cloned myself? Are you okay?” He asked.

Rhodey gasped, and initiated a debate nor mortal could ever be prepared to wage.

“It is not a few vague similarities and you know it! He’s exactly like you. The curly brown hair, the deep eyes, the general figure, the-”

“You’re describing every American male of Italian descent within a five-hundred mile radius.”

“It’s not just the looks, though. He acts just like you! I mean, his IQ has to be-”

“If you dare accuse my intellect of being equal to that of a sixteen year old child I am going to lose it.”

“Oh, stop being so grumpy about it! You know I’m right.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY finally interrupted, saving them from their fall from grace over such a trivial disagreement, “It appears that Captain Rogers is attempting to enter the lab. Should I approve him access or would you prefer some mid-afternoon entertainment by allowing him to attempt to break the cap-proof glass?”

“Eh, let him in.” Tony motioned, watching as the sleek, modern doors of the lab slid open to reveal a red-faced Captain America.

The man almost seemed... livid? Loathsome? Whatever emotion it was, it wasn’t good. “Old man probably broke his hip or something if he’s this interested in getting into my one room of peace and quiet.”

Steve entered, snarling in his elderly fashion. “Tony, I’m going to ask this once and pray to mother Mary that your answer is a resounding no.” “Ooooo, threatening. What’s up, buttercup?” Tony jested, a resoundingly low-effort reaction as the genius felt as though he no longer could be phased by his teammates’ quarrels.

“Did you give Sam my shield?” Steve asked, his eyebrows quirking subjectively.

Tony was confused. “What? No. Why would I give Sam your... oh god.” Suddenly, all at once, pieces in Tony’s mind began to place themselves together in one all too real puzzle of comprehension.

Steve grew worried at his own lack of context, as Rhodey followed suit in the paranoia. “What? What did you do, Tony?”

The man squeaked. “I- I think the kid might have done it.”

And that was it, he’d sealed his fate in Rhodey’s eyes. The other man began to seethe, smoke nearly bellowing out of his ears as his chance at glory was redeemed.

“DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, TONY? DO YOU?”

“He said he wanted to play a prank, he didn’t say anything about giving Capsicle over there’s shield to the one person that would almost definitely try to destroy it for fun.” Tony shrugged, hoping to move the attention away from himself for the moment being.

Steve looked estranged. “Wait- what were you talking about?” “The kid!” Rhodey earned him in, “Isn’t he just like Tony? It’s like he cloned himself!” “I didn’t fucking clone myself, platypus.” Tony interrupted, only to be cut off by an extra presence in the room.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Peter asked, jovial as ever in his youthful stride. Of course, that didn’t last too long, as the boy was quickly stopped dead in his tracks by an onslaught of demands.

“Did you give my shield to Sam?”

“What’s your IQ, kid?”

“Pete, run!”

Peter stood still, confused and dazed by the screaming in his face. “Oooookkkaaayyyyyy. I’m gonna take this as my sign to kindly remove myself from the situ-”

“No! No you don’t, Parker.” Rhodey interjected, “You’re gonna entertain us for a little while, alright?”

Peter’s eyes grew wide. “Mr. Colonel Rhodes Sir, I have no idea why I’m being interrogated but if this is about the shield thing I can-”

“No, no, Peter. We just want to talk.” Rhodey said, unconvincingly, “Come on, sit down. It’ll be fun, some nice little bonding time with the newest addition to the team.”

Peter looked back to his mentor for support, only to find a blank face of fear and desperation. He knew there was no escape. “Okay.” The teen agreed.

“Great, now, where are you thinking about attending college?”

“What?” Peter asked.

Tony shrugged his shoulders at it all. “Just answer their questions, Pete. He won’t give up.”

Peter quickly accepted that as as much of an explanation as he was going to get any time soon, and lamented. “Uhhh MIT?”

“Good, good. And how’s your sleep schedule?” Rhodey continued.

Peter scoffed. “It’s there, I guess.”

Steve’s eyes began to grow. Oh god, Tony thought, he’s being indoctrinated. Rhodey kept it up. “Vague. I like it. Do you have any friends at school?

Peter made an off kilter face at that. “Just my best friend, Ned, and my girlfriend. I’m not much of a people person.”

“And you’re an orphan, right?”

Suddenly, Peter grew completely tense, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Woah, dude. Not cool.”

“It’s not personal, I’m just curious.” Rhodey quelled, “You can not answer if that’s more comfortable.”

Peter calmed a bit at that. “No, no, no, no, no. I’m fine, it’s just- yeah. Yeah. I’m an orphan. Whatever. Keep going.”

Rhodey leaned in on the new path of questioning. “And what all do you know about that- the murder, that is?”

Peter laughed a little, switching into a jokind manner. “Is this a police thing? Do you think I killed my parents?” “If I give you context, it will sway your answers.” Rhodey joked back, but he wasn’t joking.

“Plane crash.” Peter said. “Some kind of set up. The- uh- SHIELD people said it was HYDRA but that’s still sort of up in the air. Cold case and all.”

“Okay, thank you. And what about-”

“Nope, stop torturing him.” Tony interrupted, “Kid, run for it.”

Peter laughed as he got up and began to walk away from the colonel. “I’m still so confused.” He expressed.

Tony felt like it was necessary to key the boy into the situation. “Rhodey over there that thinks I cloned myself and that you’re secretly an illegal recreation of my DNA sequences.” He explained.

At that, Peter looked the other man over, before leaning in towards his mentor to quietly whisper “Is... is he okay?”

Tony breathed out in relief at the boy’s nonchalance. “I have no idea.”

Steve caught into the conversation, adding his own two cents. “For the record, I’m on Rhodes’ side now. You too are the same person.”

“He’s sixteen!” Tony complained:

“Yeah!” The boy agreed, quick as lighting, almost as if by reflex. “And he’s, like, thirty.” “Oh, god, I am so happy you just called me thirty.” Tony gasped.

Rhodey mused in his small sextor of the complete bliss one should find when faced witn a minor victory. “Point is, same person.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You two are exhausting. I had one night stands back in my partying days that had more sense than you guys do. Come on, Peter, let’s go get ice cream.”

“Can we get Burger King, instead?” The teenager chirped.

The man perked up at the notion. “I love Burger King!” “Yes! Let’s go, Mr. Stark, I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Polar opposites, you and me.”

“Yep! Polar opposites!”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #tony stark #robert downey jr #irondad #my fics #peter parker #rhodey #colonel james rhodes #james rhodes #steve rogers #avengers endgame #chris evans

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

ooo if youre willing you could maybe write about the first kiss or first confession or both (pardon my greedy self) either is fine id love to see more moriarty x reader. THANK YOUU

Im sorry the waiting! Albert's part will be on another publication as it didn't fit inside this one

William

The music and the chatter of the nobles was obnoxious at best and the ship moved a bit too much to your liking

" Could you remind me why we are acting as a couple for this mission? As far as I remember moneypenny could act this part flawlessly and I could be staying home today" you questioned williams while still hooked to his arm

" Miss Moneypenny is a busy person, she isn't available all the time. You on the other hand…" williams didn't seem like he thought too much about your question, mesmerized by the stairs

" Williams james moriarty,Are you suggesting I do nothing all day long?!" You whisper-yelled at him. You weren't in a great mood that day. first, moran dirtied the dress you wanted to use and had to do some needle work with another dress for it to look good enough, but then louis had tripped and spilled tea in the dress you just fixed and had to go buy another dress at last minute with the only person available, williams who seemed specially picky about the dress

" You know that isn't what I wanted to say, why don't you go for a drink?" Williams suggested, hoping the walk would calm you down and you left looking like you were ready to bite someone's head off if they talked to you.

" He is a mathematician"

By the time you reached the table you couldn't hear them anymore but you could see them, the boy seemed like the type to show off often but over all he looked like a good boy. What stung your heart a little were the pretty girls who were by them, even if your relationship was only for this case your crush for Williams was true. When you thought of him falling in love with you it seemed impossible but when you were changed by one of the girls it seemed more likely that you wanted to admit.

" Well, he should get a girlfriend and see if I care" you started drinking from the champagne glasses the waiters were giving ' where did he find such a pretty ring? I know he wants to make this look real but this seems like a bit too much, how much did it cost even?' You thought while looking at the ring in your left hand, a red diamond in a gold band. After finishing one glass of champagne you left it on a tray and grabbed another two.

You were making your way to williams' side " Liam, I brought some champagne, do you want?" You already were extending your arm to give it to him " could you introduce me to your acquaintance here?"

" He is a detecti-" williams said but was cut

" You can call me sherlock young lady~" sherlock introduced himself holding your hand and kissing it and smiling " a single detective who may be looking for a roommate"

"Hahaha, for now I'm an engaged woman" you let go of his hand and got closer to fix his tie"but ask me again and I might say yes, darling"

Williams stepped in separating Sherlock from you " Well detective, I shall also try analyzing you" Williams said bringing a hand to his chin " you look like you play violin, but not necessarily a musician. You seem to be in a good physical state and... prefer hand to hand combat " he stepped ahead to inspect him closer " additionally you conduct science experiment but hate your own drug dependence" williams stared at his eyes before continuing " obviously a graduate from Oxbridge and, by the way you talk as if you know everything, you must be really proud of your background, mother specially"

" How did you know?" Sherlock kept looking in his eyes smiling coyly

"Isn't it obvious?" Shot back williams half smiling then he turned to you " why don't we go for some fresh air? Love " williams wrapped his arms around your waist and almost dragging you outside

"That wasn't necessary, williams" you fixed your skirt " what did you want to talk about?"

" I calculate in 15 minutes the main character will do his kill. As soon as I notify you go look for moran and fred and wait for the body to be thrown , did I make myself clear? You know where they are?" William fixed a hair behind your ear

" Yes, williams" you rested against a wall " but there is still some time, why did you have to whisk me away,I was having fun"

" We are married, those types of comments shouldn't be made in public or in any case should be directed to me" he stood by your side while looking at the moon

" Cut me some slack, he would have taken it as a joke so no harm was made! Plus this marriage isn't going to last longer than this trip" you sighed

Williams looked at you " this trip?"

"As soon as we finish this mission we won't be a pair 'help me kill this noble' you said' you toyed with the ring

" Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. We are married for this case, and the next, and the following, to the end of this year and the next and the following years" he propped on his arm " did I explain myself correctly this time"

" You can't just decide that by yourself "

" But you are in love with me, I didn't think you would have anything against the arrangement. Plus in your diary you didn't seem too disgusted by the idea"

You jumped " you read my diary?!"

Williams laughed softly " not really, I was just theorizing but it seems like I was right" your face felt hot " so? Are you going to accept my proposal this time"

" No" you said sharply

" Do you think i don't like you?"

"Mhn"

"I really like you."

" Yeah, sure" you turned around and entered the ship but he grabbed you by the wrist and kept you close

" I love you. I truly do, from your dreamy eyes in the morning, to your stupid mannerisms when you are nervous or I get too close, how you always make a point to help the others when they are in need." Williams seemed really composed and confident in himself when he started but as he went on his voice slightly cracked.

Williams pressed your foreheads together and you kissed him wrapping your arms around his neck. For a second he didn't know how to answer the unexpected kiss but he grabbed your head to deepen the kiss. After you two had to stop kissing you were trying to catch your breath while looking at each other

" Yo, lovebirds, are you done? The main character already went to his room with the dude"

You almost killed moran that night

louis

"Letter for miss YN" the lady's handmaid stood by her side handing a little envelope closed with a crimson wax seal

"I'm busy right now, put in on the desk"

" You told me to notice you in case of a letter arriving from the moriarty house" YN turned her neck so fast lily feared she would have whiplash "but it seems you are too busy now, i will have to set it aside-"

" Give me!" YN practically jumped over the maid but she dodged the lady " who sent it? What does it say?"

The older woman giggled and turned around" now I don't want to tell you!"

" Lily, you are mean! At least tell me what it says"

The short woman read the letter, it was short and straightforward. "It seems the duke Moriarty has asked for your presence at his manor, the reason is simply put as 'an old business we left unfinished."

" Lily pack your things up, we are going to stay for sometime time"

" As you wish"

And some hours later the two women had each one two suitcases and were ready to board the carriage that was decorated with the noble's family emblem.

" Milady I will have to stop at one business before going to the manor" despite the young lady disliking the formal way of talking towards her she brushed it aside given that the coachman could hear the maid talk in an 'improper' way that could bring her troubles

" You are stopping by the dressmaker?"

" Indeed, I might need a few favors that she owes me"

" Should I send the carriage for you before tea or after?"

"There will be no need, I am going to return on my own accord"

The rest of the trip was dead silent, either of them wished to speak nor needed to, as they understood each other without the need to break the beautiful silence that surrounded them.

They arrived at the first stop, a dirty corner where there are a lot of signs, ones promoting hair medicine, others for brothels and some others about the ale that came to the nearest bar. That lily insisted on coming was making her go crazy

" Are you sure you need to do this now? We could go tomorrow morning at broad daylight" Lily didn't even listen to her Lady's complains as she dragged her skirts out of the carriage and grabbed her baggage

" Madam, I was raised here, nothing bad will happen. Don't worry" her smile and voice was comforting to certain point but it didn't ease the belief that she was lying to calm the younger woman down a little

" Please take care. I'll meet you at the moriarty state"

And so the trip began again and she let herself daydream. wondering why did the moriarty call for her presence, the ways she helped them didn't call for her to be near, did someone catch them and needed to run away? Or to fake one of their deaths? The possibilities worried her to the point of neglecting the reality.

It was a few minutes before the clock striked eleven that the coachman snapped YN out of her trance.

" We arrived" the old man didn't meet her eyes as he announced the end of the trip

" Thank you very much, sir" YN rushed to thank the old man before taking her suitcase and carry the leathery case to the main door

Letting the leather of her suitcase hit the ground she sighed and leaned back looking at the lion knocker and knocking twice. After a few minutes she was getting impatient and took the key from the envelope, good thing they sent a replicate.

Stepping inside and leaving her baggage by the door YN wondered inside the house, the card told her to settle down and choose one room by her own of there was nobody there

" Hello? Albert? Louis? Williams? Is anybody home?" And turning one corner you could see a beautiful flight of stairs

" Oh miss? I didn't know you would be coming" louis was standing on top of the stairway rest with a broom

" I received a letter asking for me to stay for a time" she looked around, wondering if they were alone" Your brothers?"

" They went to arrange the new show, another homicide noble. As always" louis resumed his work cleaning the stairs " please make yourself home and choose a room, all the guest rooms in the left hallway are clean and weren't chosen by anyone yet"

Yn stood at the bottom of the stairs "They left you to clean all of this alone? They are so mean."walking up the stairs to louis and taking the broom out of his hands she smiled at him "You know what? Lily has to arrange some things so let me help you clean"

" You don't really have to, i can take care of this" louis tried to take the broom from your hands but YN hugged it closer to her chest

" It wasn't a proposal. It was a fact" and she turned around leaving her back facing louis

Louis looked incredulous that YN would be so childish given her usual proper behavior " YN I have to clean. Can I-" and he tried to take it away from from her but she hit them away

" No!" And she skipped the steps from the stairway rest to the second floor " catch me if you can~" the woman teased him in a singsong voice before starting running.

Louis was astonished for a second before he began chasing after her " miss! I really want to end the stairs before dinner"

The chase didn't last long as the lady tripped with the red carpet and fell over a sofa. Louis knelt down next to her

" Are you going to give me the broom now? As much as I love you and this game of cat and mouse I have to finish cleaning the stairs. So give it to me"

The young woman weighed her options before smiling devilishly " Let's trade!" And she sat while keeping the broom close to her " One kiss and i return your broom"

Louis sat down and sighed defeated " you truly aren't going to give. up are you?" He was met with a little denial sound

" It isn't as if this was the first time we did it"

" One kiss and you will let me keep doing my job?"

" Yes"

Given the positive he wanted louis got near and grabbed her cheeks. After looking in her expectant eyes, Louis felt his face getting hotter the closer he got. It wasn't until YN could feel his breath on her soft skin that she feared he would pass out from embarrassment.

What seemed like minutes passed by and either of them moved, he was too mesmerized by her and she was taken by the look in his eyes. A few more seconds elapsed before YN started getting impatient leading to her to take the lead, grabbing both of his cheeks and guiding his face to her own.

Her lips brushed against his, softly and slowly before 'changing her mind' and returning to her place, teasingly looking up at him through her eyelashes, waiting for Louis to deepen the kiss. thing that didn't work out the planned way and ended up with louis hitting both of their noses. Louis almost died of embarrassment there

" If you didn't want to kiss just say so" she teased while playing with a lock of her hair, her nose slightly red

" It has been a while since we kissed" louis turned his head so yn couldn't see his blush " I am not accustomed to it"

" Then we should make you get used to it-" Louis was looking like an expectant dog, waiting for the kiss. " Later. I'm going to choose a room right now" and YN walked towards the stairs to go down

" YN" louis called out her name. The woman turned around. This time, Louis grabbed her head and kissed her, way rougher and sloppy than the first one but a kiss at the end.

One of her hands ended on his hair, lightly playing with it, with the other one on his chin, helping him position his head correctly. The kiss was inexperienced and messy but it was their reunion kiss, the first one in two years, filled with joy and relief of finally being together at last

When the kiss ended louis was out of breath and his hair looked a bit unkempt, even when he could barely talk he asked her

" Are you going to leave me again?"

" Louis" YN's eyes were filled with love " i don't plan on going anywhere soon" and she hugged him

He returned the hug with his arms around her hips " good, i wasn't planning on letting you go anywhere either way"

#william james moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #louis james moriarty #ynm #mtp #fem reader

[artificialqueens]

Reckless (Bianca & Adore) - Candy Cane

A/N: im living in 2015 right now so like. ignore me fsdfsdf but anyways, here’s 2.8k of more incredibly self-indulgent fanfiction. i wrote this as platonic, but if you wanna see anything in here as romantic be my guest!! id like to thank chaoticnachokitten for supporting me and giving me ideas and beta'ing and i just- GAAAHH THANK YOU!! and thanks to everyone else who had such nice words to say abt my last one, it means soooo much 🥺🥺🥺

Summary: Adore and Bianca hang out, but of course things go wrong.

Adore loves hanging out with Bianca. Not only is she her best friend, but she’s the kind of person Adore thought would’ve hated her. But that’s not the case at all, there’s some sort of weird mutual respect and admiration going on between them, and it is fucking awesome.

The young musician knows she can be… a lot sometimes, what with her natural hyperactive toddler personality type, and it amazes her Bianca puts up with her. Especially in moments where Adore knows she shouldn’t be bothering her friend, but decides to anyways because Bianca can be boring sometimes. Moments like this one.

Adore had a gig at one of the clubs, and it ran much later than she had originally anticipated, but that was mostly due to her wanting to stay for Bianca’s set too. Of course, that led to them sharing a few too many drinks together while they stayed to watch some more performers. So when it came time for them to go home, Adore can’t find her keys.

It’s late. Late enough there’s no guarantee Adore’s roommates will be up to let her back into the apartment. The singer immediately turns to her oldest, nearest, dearest friend.

“Oh my God,” Bianca sighs whilst massaging her temples, seeing the next ten hours play out clear as day in front of her.

“Pleaaase can I stay at your place tonight Bia?” Adore asks, using her most pitiful voice and absolute poutiest facial expression.

They’re sat at a table in the back, Adore’s hands perched on Bianca’s knees as she essentially begs. Adore’s too drunk to care.

“Why don’t you call someone to see if they’ll stay up for you?” Bianca retorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. To be fair, it probably is. Adore’s still too drunk to realize that though.

“Oh yeah,” she says, knowing she sounds like the world’s dumbest bitch. She fumbles with her phone for a few seconds, poking the screen and the on button for an embarrassing amount of time before turning to Bianca with another sad pouty face, “It’s dead.”

“Of course it’s fucking dead,” Bianca groans, playing it up like she really does mind Adore staying with her for the night. She doesn’t, she probably would never. Adore is like the niece she never had, and she wouldn’t trade that girl for the world.

“Why don’t I just call one of them on mine?” Bianca offers.

Adobe frowns, putting on her thinking face, “…I don’t remember their numbers.”

“I can call Courtney,” Bianca reminds her.

“Oh yeah!”

A few minutes later, they discover they cannot call Courtney. They try calling her twice, and both times are a bust.

She glances down at Adore, and chuckles when she sees the “Bambi eyes”. Even if she weren’t planning on letting the kid stay with her, that would’ve done her in. She hasn’t met a single person that can resist those eyes.

“I’ll be quiet! I promise!” the singer whines.

Bianca makes an exaggerated show of sighing and hemming and hawing, just to tease Adore, then cracks open a wide, amused smile, “Of course you can stay at my place, bitch.”

“Party!” Adore cheers, throwing her arms tightly around Bianca’s neck. It’s all the thanks Bianca needs.

They pay their bills, order a Lyft, and in more time than either would’ve preferred, they make it to Bianca’s huge ass apartment. The pair stumbles inside the building, trying to look as Not Drunk as they can, and failing miserably. It doesn’t matter anyways, it’s almost 3 a.m. meaning there’s not a soul alive there to watch them.

Bianca leads Adore to the elevator, even if it’s pointless because Adore randomly shows up at Bianca’s place at least three times a week. The singer grips Bianca’s hand tightly, giggling and stumbling while the comic practically barks at her to be quieter. They’re lucky it’s a Friday. Well, a Saturday now, Bianca supposes.

The pair climbs up the one flight of stairs to Bianca’s apartment, and then into the apartment itself after Bianca spends a couple minutes fumbling with her keys. The door swings open, and they both fall onto the nearest couch.

They’re breathless with laughter, and then it starts up again when Bianca realizes she hasn’t closed her apartment door yet.

After she locks her apartment back up and turns on some lights, the older woman finds she can’t take her eyes off of Adore. The younger is smiling so freely, and it ignites something inside Bianca. She’s not sure what it is, maybe youthfulness, or freedom, but she loves it.

“B! Oh my God! I have an idea!” Adore suddenly says, sitting up way too fast and clearly making herself dizzy.

“Don’t kill yourself, otherwise I’m the one that has to call 911. You think I want paramedics at my house before the sunrises? Fuck no,” Bianca berates her, but she’s quick to recompose herself when Adore goes all pouty again, “What’s your idea? God knows you only come up with a good one every millennium.”

Adore childishly sticks her tongue out at Bianca, “We should make waffles!”

“How the fuck are we supposed to make waffles? I’m not a cook, I don’t keep that shit in my house.”

Adore screws up her face cutely, clearly trying to think of a solution to her waffle problem. She brightens up again after a minute, looking very proud of herself, “Alyssa! I bet Alyssa has it!”

Bianca rolls her eyes, “You really think I wanna speak to her right now? At three in the goddamn morning?”

“But waffles!” Adore insists.

“Tomorrow,” Bianca promises, “Right now I want to get out of this clown costume and into bed.”

Adore sighs, then tries her best puppy eyes again, “Cuddles?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Bianca snorts. Adore smiles as bright as the sun, then at Bianca’s beckoning she follows her best friend down the hall so they can take off their makeup and get ready for bed. When they’re finally able to snuggle up in bed together, Adore in one of Bianca’s old shirts and pair of leggings, the whole apartment pitch black, and the only sound they could hear was the sound of each other’s breathing.

It’s soothing and warm. They sleep like rocks.

The sun wakes Adore up at way too fucking early though. Her head is pounding, her arm has fallen asleep from Bianca laying on it through the night, and she is really fucking hungry. Adore groans and gently pulls her arm out from under Bianca, then stumbles out of the way too big, way too soft bed to go find something to take care of her headache.

She’s quickly able to find where Bianca keeps those things (the mounted cabinet in the bathroom) because Adore used to spend a ridiculous amount of time at this apartment complaining about her ailments to Bianca, which of course lead Bianca to freely helping Adore out whenever. Bianca would act all cold and exasperated over it, but they both knew it was just a show.

Adore downs two of the pills dry and decides nearly immediately she should go find something to drink. In mere minutes she has a pot of coffee brewing, and simultaneously discovers that it’s only around 9 a.m.. Which is just overall… weird. Adore is almost never up this early, especially after the kind of night she had last night. The events of the night are still pretty fuzzy right now, but she still remembers everything. Mostly. She thinks.

One thing she does remember is a promise. A promise for waffles. Adore grins, an idea formulating in her head. Bianca is always so incredibly nice to her, helping her out and giving her whatever she wants. And sure, it’s not Mother’s Day, but that doesn’t mean Adore can’t show her appreciation for Bianca.

Clearly the woman deserves breakfast in bed. Courtesy of a little help from a next door neighbor (hopefully). The singer quickly grabs Bianca’s key off the counter and heads over to the one person she knows will have just what she wants.

Adore knocks on the door, and it’s only a minute later with an accompanied shout of ‘I’m comin’ hon!’ that the heavy white door is thrown open.

“Oh my goodness it’s Adore Delano!” Alyssa Edwards says excitedly, “Hello, doll!”

“Hi, Alyssa!” Adore smiles, “Um, I have a favor to ask of you?”

                                                                   ~*~

Bianca’s favorite way to wake up is slowly, with the sun streaming in through her bedroom window and having absolutely all the time in the world to get up, check her phone, and get ready for work. This morning is the exact fucking opposite.

First thing that wakes her up is the motherfucking fire alarm, causing her to scramble out of bed at a record speed. Second thing, she’s painfully aware that Adore isn’t in the bed with her. Bianca is halfway through screaming Adore’s name when she bursts out into the main room.

The main room is smokey as all hell. Adore is aiming a fire extinguisher at the counter from the other side of the kitchen. The counter is covered in white foam. Her damn fire alarm won’t shut up.

Bianca’s going to have a hard time explaining this one to the neighbors for sure.

The older woman breathes in slowly, but sharply, “Adore, what the fuck did you do?”

Adore doesn’t say anything. She lets go of the fire extinguisher, and they both wince when it crashes against the kitchen tile. Not for the first time, Bianca is glad that she lives on the first floor.

The two stare at each other, Adore resting boneless against the oven, her expression just screaming shock. She lifts her head to meet Bianca’s eyes.

Pounding on the door, someone starts shouting, “BIANCA?! HOLY GOD, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?”

The woman in question is quick to open her apartment door, but instead of accepting the concern, she barks out, “What do you want?”

“The whole damn building knows your alarms are going off, Bianca!” Alyssa says sharply, shoving her way inside the apartment, “My girls are coming over in two hours! I can’t have my house burning down on me.” Bianca and Adore share a twin look of surprise. Alyssa’s always been Bianca’s favorite neighbor, that’s no secret, but this is a tightly concealed side of her that neither of them have ever really seen. It’s concern. Worry. But not for herself, for them. Even if it does come off as something else. This is just something not usually associated with her.

“Okay,” Bianca says carefully, “What the fuck is going on.”

“That’s what I want to know,” Alyssa agrees, lips pursed skeptically, “Adore told me y’all were making waffles.” It’s absurd. The fire alarm is still blaring. Adore has crushed herself into a nook, looking petrified. Bianca is very hungover and her most beloved annoying neighbor is standing in her house at way too early o’clock. Bianca suddenly realizes that even though there’s no fire, there’s still smoke in her apartment, and she really wants that alarm to shut the fuck up. Also, the smoke is going to stain her expensive shit if she doesn’t get it out.

She starts to open all the windows in the main room, and is grateful when Alyssa comes to help her. They make short work of it, and when she turns around to look at her best friend, she feels scared.

She’s scared that Adore might be hurt. She’s scared that she didn’t do anything to prevent this. But mostly she’s scared that something might be broken between them.  

For the first time since walking in, Bianca notices bowls spread across her kitchen counter. Bowls and boxes and whisks… It clicks.

“Okay,” Bianca exhales, “Alyssa, what the fuck did you just say about waffles?”

“Adore came to me a little while ago and asked me if I could lend you two some waffle ingredients,” Alyssa starts slowly, “And I think to myself, ‘Now Alyssa Edwards, as a woman of God it is your duty to love your neighbor and let her make some waffles on this beautiful morning-’”

“Alyssa, you let my dumbass kid do WHAT?! You fucking know she can’t cook! We have had this conversation a hundred times!”

“Well, Adore said to me ‘Bianca and I’ not ‘I’m going to’! I thought you were gonna be helping her!”

“WHY WOULD YOU ASSUME THAT? WHEN HAVE I EVER COOKED?!”

“I’m sorry!” Adore snaps, her voice quivering and tears welling up in her eyes, causing Bianca and Alyssa to turn to her, “I’m so, so sorry- I didn’t mean for this to happen! I just- I just wanted-”

Bianca stares at Adore with shock, not fully comprehending everything happening. Between her hangover and the sheer chaos of the first fifteen minutes of being awake, she’s not entirely sure why Adore is so distressed. Adore starts whispering ‘I’m sorry’ over and over to herself, hugging her knees tight to her chest, tears starting to crawl down her face, and it hits Bianca like a train.

“Alyssa…” Bianca says slowly, but she’s unable to tear her eyes away from Adore.

Adore’s blaming herself completely and totally. And it makes sense, she is the one that started the whole mess. But Bianca can’t stand that look on Adore’s face. She’d much rather put the blame on Alyssa (who can more than handle it) instead of Adore (who is currently having a nervous breakdown).

But Adore isn’t having it.

“No, this is my fault. I’m not- I’m not that stupid, Bianca. I’m not that useless, either. I’m not a kid. I’m not someone you should leave supervision for. I’m fucking twenty-four. Stop treating me like I’m not,” Adore’s words are cold, but her face tells Bianca the musician is falling apart, “Look me in the eye, Bianca.”

She does.

“Yell at me,” Adore says.

She can’t. Bianca doesn’t even want to. She feels like she failed here, because Adore isn’t her kid but God does it feel like it sometimes.

“We’ll replace your stuff, Alyssa,” is what Bianca says instead.

Luckily, the woman accepts that as her cue to go. She gives Bianca a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she leaves, and sends air kisses Adore’s way. Adore gives Alyssa a weak smile.

The door closes. Bianca and Adore lock eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bianca says. It’s a tired, worried voice. Not at all what Adore was expecting, or even wanted.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Adore answers simply, arms crossed defensively over her chest, “You do so much for me. For everyone. And I know you said last night we’d do it together but I just… I wanted to do something for you.”

That alone melt’s Bianca’s heart. It’s been getting easier and easier lately for Adore, and by extension the rest of their friends, to do that. For a while she thought moving to this city was stupid, and probably the worst decision of her life. But even now, after such a chaotic fucking twenty-five minutes of being awake, Bianca is so happy she’s here.

“Next time, buy me something online,” Bianca says, warm and forgiving, instead of cold and biting like Adore would’ve expected.

The younger practically runs into Bianca’s open arms. The embrace is full of love, and Adore feels that it’s okay. She still blames herself, she’s still stupidly upset, but Bianca… Bianca makes her feel like everything will be okay.

They sit there hugging for a few minutes, then Bianca mutters, “Good thing you knew how to use that extinguisher, I think that’s been hanging there for ten years.”

Adore chuckles wetly, face buried into Bianca’s shoulder, “Yeah… Hey, shouldn’t have all the other alarms gone off too?”

Bianca freezes. Adore is right, all the other fire alarms in the building should’ve had people evacuating.

“I guess the building needs to get that fixed, huh? Maybe you being a walking disaster is a good thing after all, if that had been real, everyone would’ve been fucked.”

“Wow,” Adore whispers, “Maybe our building should get that checked too…? Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“What?!” Bianca asks, pulling away from Adore to see what’s wrong.

“I never went home last night,” Adore says, “I never charged my phone. I never texted my roommates.”

Bianca suddenly doubles over laughing, fully bellied and absolutely batshit crazy, “Good, Courtney doesn’t get nearly enough stress in her life!”

Adore breaks out into a grin, and feels her worries start to melt away. Somehow, Bianca is really fucking good at doing that.

“Alright,” Bianca sighs, looking at the pure mess that is now her kitchen, “Let’s charge our phones and order breakfast.”

And they do.

Neither would’ve spent the hour following that disaster any other way.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #bianca del rio #alyssa edwards #biadore #gen fic #fluff #angst #fighting #lesbian au #cisgirl au #hurt/comfort #reckless #candy cane #tw fire #concrit welcome

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Call of the Wild Woman

Just some fluff featuring the green-haired goddess of NXT. 

Pairing: Shotzi Blackheart x OFC

Word count: 2,412

Content advisory: brief sexual references, language

The first time I met Shotzi, I instantly liked her. We shook hands and she gave me this smile that made me feel like I was having a great day, even though there hadn’t been anything exceptional about it to that point. I was a little overwhelmed with all the people I was meeting, trying to get a sense of their look, their personality, their character, but I knew from our introduction that I was going to remember her for years, even if I never saw her again. 

Of course, Shotzi’s a memorable person. Tall, tattooed, pierced and sporting that incredible acid green hair, it would be hard not to remember her. But I felt like I’d remember her vivacious eyes and confident smile just as much as the things that made her stand out from a mile away. My whole first day getting led around the performance center, I found my eyes drawn back to her whenever she appeared. 

I had just been moved to NXT to take over as their chief makeup artist. I’d been working on Raw for close to a year when the position opened up and I’d been so excited and nervous about whether I’d get the job that I felt as if I’d barely slept for two months. My boyfriend and I actually broke up while I was waiting to hear back and I hardly noticed. We’d been struggling since his work had moved him out of state, and things had just sort of ended like a wave washing over a sandcastle. I wasn’t bitter but I was lonely. And that, along with my desire to show that I could run a team in high pressure situations, meant that I threw myself headlong into the new job. I tried to keep some time to see friends but work seemed more rewarding. 

By the time I’d been there a few months, my circle of friends was largely made up of coworkers. There were always birthdays or barbecues or other things going on, and it was fun to be able to dish about work without having to explain a lot of background detail. I was enjoying myself. But, yeah, I was definitely lonely. 

I dropped a couple of hints here and there that I wouldn’t mind being fixed up with any single male friends and a couple of the women made suggestions. A couple of the men did too. But none of it went anywhere. I was too busy and too awkward to make a first move and if any of the suggested bachelors ever thought to check me out on social media, it never resulted in a phone call. 

Shotzi was always one of my favorite models. I loved transforming her from the natural beauty she was to the wild child who appeared on tv every week. And while we’d talk about work, she also had the greatest gifts as a storyteller, and the crazy stories to complement her skills. She’d been raised around bikers and conservative immigrants at the same time. She’d worked as a late night host for a horror movie tv broadcast before she became a wrestler. It was like she’d been born to perform and had found a way to do so while still being herself. 

I found myself sitting at home, always alone, watching the silly and shocking horror movies she’d recommend to me, or tracking down music by bands she’d mention or whose shirts she’d wear. When she’d worked on tv, she’d developed a loyal following of teenage boys and girls who used to do everything from message her begging her to go out with them to sending her love letters and poetry to showing up outside the station in the hopes of meeting her. It sounded both creepy and sad but I sympathized a little with her starry-eyed fans. She was a kind of dazzling whirlwind of a person and, indeed, I was dazzled by her. 

One day, I’d showed up at work after a particularly inauspicious Tinder date. The guy had picked me up for what was supposed to be coffee and a walk but had insisted that we stop by his friend’s place so he could get some pot. The three of us shared a joint and I assumed we were about to leave when another joint appeared. Being a lightweight, I declined but the two of them proceeded to smoke it themselves. Then the friend’s roommate came home from band practice. She pulled out her bong and that was getting passed around while she played us the hour-long piece of meandering prog that they’d created that day. All three of them seemed really entranced by what they could hear in the music, which I was pretty certain they were imagining. 

About an hour later, my date and his friend started playing video games. I quietly tried to suggest that we leave and at least grab that coffee because I was clinging to the hope that maybe the guy, who was way cuter than I’d counted on, might have some redeeming qualities. He assured me we could leave in a minute. He and his friend were completely absorbed in their game, while the roommate randomly started telling me about how her mother had given birth to her at a Grateful Dead concert in the eighties, after following the band on tour for years. She didn’t seem to care much if I responded and would focus entirely on her phone every minute she wasn’t speaking. 

Eventually, the roommate had begun to complain loudly that she was hungry and the guys agreed that we should order pizza. I handed over some money and advised them that I was a vegetarian, only to be surprised by a pizza that arrived looking like it had been fished out of a trash can, topped with pepperoni and cheese. I knew the place they’d ordered from and some quick math in my head made it clear that I had paid for basically all the pizza. They assured me that I could just pull the pepperoni off. 

I was about to leave but my date insisted that we could head out in a few minutes to find me something I might actually want to eat. He was cute enough that I‘d agreed to stay just a little longer. A few more guys showed up to buy pot. Then friends of the roommate‘s had shown up with beer and put the stereo on so loud I thought the ceiling might cave in. I ended up leaving at eleven without even saying goodbye. When I got home, I realized that I‘d lost my house keys and had to ask a neighbor to help me break into my apartment.

I told this story to my coworkers to a chorus of loud “nos'' and peals of laughter. Others shared some bad date stories but this one did seem pretty dire. Everyone commiserated and it did make me feel better, like the night hadn’t been a total washout because I had a good story to tell and, as a couple of the girls pointed out, dates I had in the future were likely to seem pretty good in comparison. 

“You should have taken some of the pot!” Shotzi exclaimed to a round of agreement. 

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

It was a few days later that I was prepping Shotzi’s makeup and I noticed that she was a bit quieter than usual. She wasn’t unfriendly but there was something off. 

“You ok?” I asked quietly, sweeping my brush out to give her the perfect cat’s eye flip. 

“Yeah, I’m great.”

She didn’t sound great, or at least not in the enthusiastic way she usually did. I felt my neck getting tense as I tried to lead the conversation for the first time, knowing I wasn’t nearly as good at it as she was. I didn’t want to push her to tell me what was on her mind and at the same time, I felt like my forced smalltalk was probably grating on her nerves. I wanted to be entertaining but I lacked the stories and the flair. 

Finally, when I announced that I was finished, she stood up just a few inches from me. I expected her to tell me to wish her luck, which I always did, but she didn’t move, her bright eyes focused on mine. 

“Do you want to go out some time this weekend?” She asked. 

“Like, hang out? Sure.”

She shook her head. “No. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing quite what to say. I fell back on the default. “Um, I don’t actually date women.”

“Oh.” She looked sad for the first time and a little surprised. “I’m sorry, I read some singles wrong. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s no big deal. I just… you’re gorgeous. I’m just not…”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, extending a hand as if to pat my arm but withdrawing it before she did. “Please, forget I ever said anything.”

Of course, I couldn’t forget that. In fact, I couldn’t even get it out of my head. I’d always dated men. I’d known women who were bisexual and lesbian but none of them had ever expressed an interest in me and I hadn’t found myself attracted to them. But Shotzi was attractive. She was stunning. And the more I thought about that first reaction I’d had to her, the more it seemed similar to the way I’d reacted to men I’d been involved with in the past. I just hadn’t noticed the similarity because she was a woman and I wasn’t into women. 

But maybe I was into one woman. 

She stayed friendly with me, although she didn’t linger as long in the makeup chair regaling me with tales of her rock ‘n’ roll childhood or films that had made her who she was. I hadn’t even realized that she had been lingering before. I just thought we’d been having great conversations. We had been having great conversations. Had I been sending the wrong signals?

I knew that I had marveled at how beautiful and unique she was. I’d gushed, really. But I’d been so floored by her that I felt like I had to let off some steam in the form of compliments or I’d never be able to focus on anything else. That didn’t change after the “asking me out” incident. The fact that I couldn’t release any of my thoughts made it harder to think about anything. I’d see her and I’d spend ten minutes feeling like kind of an idiot, then half an hour thinking about her chatoyant eyes, about the perfect heart shape of her face, or her full lips. 

It was a few weeks later that I caught myself staring at her from the safety of the shadows while she prepared to go out for a match. I’d often stared at her body and I figured that it was because she had the kind of body that every woman wanted to have: perfect curves, toned limbs, smooth skin… Looking at her in that moment, though, I wasn’t so sure about my motives. Was I wishing that I had those taut thighs or was I wishing that I knew what it felt like to drag my lips along them, to feel her shudder at the sensation of my breath on her sensitive flesh? 

Her match was thrilling, as her matches almost always were. She was whipping around the place looking completely out of control, although we all knew she wasn’t. The more danger she put herself in, the more she seemed to glow with internal electricity. It was no wonder that the company was already treating her like a star. You’d have to be dead not to get drawn in by her. But it occurred to me as I watched her that I was more drawn in than others. 

When I saw her come backstage, I retreated to my makeup room and counted down what felt like enough time to allow her to unwind, shower and change before I made my way over to the locker room. 

“Hi there,” I greeted her, a little shyly. 

She glanced up and gave me a big smile while she patted her hair dry. 

“Hey you.”

“So, if the offer is still open, I’d like to say yes.”

She arched her elegant brows and gave me a coy smile. “Now what offer would that be?”

“If you still want to, then, yes, I would like to go on a date with you.”

“Interesting,” she drawled. “What brought about this change of heart?”

“You did.”

She bats her eyes and points theatrically at her chest. “Moi?”

I couldn’t help but smile. The light in her eyes told me she was happy but she still wanted to make me work for it a little. Fair enough.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve found all these things- movies, music, all sorts of stuff- that I just never thought of checking out because I either didn’t know about them or because I just never thought I’d be into them. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I might have made a lot of decisions about what I like just because it was what I saw everyone else doing.”

“Well that’s cool, but I’m not a movie or a book.”

“No. You’re this incredibly cool, funny, exciting, sexy person who I love being around and who has me thinking about all sorts of things I hadn’t considered.”

“Ok. How would you feel about a midnight picnic at an old shack I found near the river?” She grinned. 

“Will you hold my hand if I get scared?”

“I promise.”

I gave a little laugh and stepped closer to her, cupping her cheek in one of my hands and marvelling at how perfectly it fit there. Unable to resist the temptation, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against hers. And immediately, a delightful shiver ran through every part of my body. 

When we separated, she gave me an almost coquettish smile and laced her arm through mine, steering us out of the locker. 

“You know,” I mused, “you don’t seem really surprised by this.”

“I’m not,” she responded with a wink. “I knew you’d come around.”

#shotzi blackheart imagine #shotzi blackheart fanfic #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing