Stories about Y/n creating bonds with characters from series and films.
(I don't own the characters)
PG-13!
1. **Language:** Mild to moderate profanity, but not extreme or pervasive.
2. **Violence:** Some intense or realistic violence may be present...
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The rain pattered against the dorm windows on Father's Day, making everything feel heavier than usual. Y/n scrolled through her feed, seeing post after post of people with their dads—smiles, old photos, captions about heroes and best friends. It twisted something inside her, not having one worth remembering, but she shrugged it off like always, pretending it didn't sting. At least Rumi had it rough too; her dad was an alcoholic, sure, but he existed, acknowledged her. Y/n's? The one memory she had with him wasn't worth dredging up. Better to bury that crap deep and move on.
She left her place and headed to campus, the bell already rung five minutes ago. There was Rumi, leaning against the wall in her floral shirt, no rush in the world.
"Why aren't you in class, you nut?" Y/n asked, laughing lightly.
Rumi grinned back. "I didn't want to go in without mamacita." She pulled Y/n into a hug.
They walked in together to life project class, which Y/n despised. The professor droned on about opening up, spilling feelings like it was easy. Y/n wouldn't even tell her mom that stuff, let alone this woman with "Starships were meant to fly" inked on her arm. Last week's lecture on breaking into the porn industry had been a joke—Y/n had half a mind to strangle her for how boring she made everything, but the class would probably hold her back, and it'd suck to go down as the wannabe killer who couldn't even off a teacher.
"Alright, everyone," the professor said, "since it's Father's Day, let's write essays about a moment with our dads. Something that sticks with you."
Mira smiled faintly. "My dad had kleptomania and sometimes stole Diary of a Wimpy Kid DVDs. We'd watch them together."
Zoey nodded. "I'm writing about my dad taking care of me when Mom had her mammoplasty. I had so much fun with him those weeks."
Bobby added, "My dad supported me a lot when I said I was quitting Catholicism. The teachings are so confusing, and I want to be myself, discovering who God is and his teachings."
Those were Y/n's only friends—Mira, Zoey, Bobby. The rest of the class hated her guts, whispering and glaring, but Y/n played it cool, like their opinions meant nothing. Deep down, though, she kind of liked it, that edge of being the one they couldn't stand.
"And you, Y/n?" Mira asked.
Y/n paused. "Well..."
"It's gotta be a beautiful memory, right, love?" Rumi said.
"As beautiful as a corpse full of larvae gnawing on rotten flesh," Y/n whispered back.
She started writing, but the words blurred as old crap flooded back. Before she knew it, tears were slipping down her face.
"Hey, hey, my love, you okay?" Rumi asked softly.
"No, Rumi, get me out of here."
"Professor," Rumi said, "I'm taking her outside for some air."
