#The Notebook could count as a romeo & juliet adaption I think?

[azrantimes]

Was telling my mom about Lorna Courtney's department from & Juliet on Broadway and she was like "Wait is that the one with the actors changing as the characters age?"

The Notebook. She was confusing & Juliet with The Notebook Musical.

[troop-scoop]

Youth II

Chapter Two -  Common Interest

Word count: 2.9k

Series Summary: On a family trip to your dad’s home town of Hawkins, Indiana, you make a series of decisions that result in you ending up in the year 1983 with more questions than there are answers presently available.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader ( slow burn )

Chapter Summary: With the disappearance of Will Byers, you lend a helping hand to try an find the missing 12 year old boy. 

A/n: forgive me for posting a second chapter on the same day as the first. I just need to get this one out before I lose my mind. 

⟛⟛

You’d spent plenty of time staring off into space with your thoughts racing, you’d done it plenty at school, but this wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right and you hated it. Sure, you had plenty of odd experiences growing up, things you used to think were normal for other people, but apparently, they weren’t. And when you’d realized that, you kept them to yourself. But this wasn’t just something you were seeing, this was real, and you knew it, and everything else paled in comparison to this level of oddness.

Why was it always small towns? When you hear about missing people or cold cases that seem to throw police and detectives for a loop it always took place in small towns, quiet ones that people described as great to raise your kids in, places people settled down in to get away from the big cities.

When you’d been getting things together to leave for the day, you’d briefly heard about a missing kid, but hadn’t heard the name before you were slamming the motel door behind you to get to school, hopping down the walkway to the stairs trying to get your shoes on.

It wasn’t right, you would have known about this. Wouldn’t you? Sure, your dad never really talked much about his home town unless it was fond memories with his childhood friends, your uncles, but this was huge, something that should have at least been mentioned.

You had zoned out of the conversation happening next to you, ignoring every detail about the party Steve was throwing that night. You’d already declined on going to, much to both Steve and Carol’s disappointment. Carol mentioned how she was desperate to have another girl in their friend group, while Steve didn’t have much to say, just saying to come with him to find Nancy Wheeler.

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

Steve’s tone wasn’t what you would consider empathetic, it was rather that of someone who didn’t want to see what was happening.

Tommy, Barbara, Nancy, Steve, and Carol all looked to the subject of your staring, their eyes all landing on Jonathan Byers using a thumbtack to put a missing person flyer on the bulletin board near the front office.

“Should we say something?” Nancy questioned.

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” At that, you turned your head and glared at Tommy, as Steve hit his chest a friendly yet serious “Shut up.” being said before you turned back to look at Jonathan.

Nancy walked towards him, leaving the rest of you to stand and wait. The only real thing you could think about was how when you were 11, you had been with your parents, uncle, aunt and cousins, helping your uncle and aunt pack things to move to a new house, and when you’d been left alone, you’d found a box full of old things and you’d dug through it, curiosity getting the best of you. You’d gotten to an old yearbook, labeled ‘1984-1985.’ and before you could ever flip through half of it, your uncle had snatched it away from you, and without saying a word, he’d grabbed the box and left the room.

“You alright?” Barabara asked you, reaching out to hold your shoulder, it brought the other three’s attention to you as well. You didn’t really know Barbara, but you knew she had good grades, and sometimes tutored students in the library after school.

“Yeah, peachy.” was your response, turning your attention back to the conversation Nancy was having with Jonathan, everything being said completely unknown to all of you with the distance.

The bell rang, and students began to frantically move, like cockroaches when you turned a light on. Scattering as quick as they could, but Barabara kept a hand on your shoulder, and in your peripheral vision you could make out her concerned look. Watching as Nancy came back over to the group of students Barbara took her hand off of your shoulder, everyone turning to walk down the hall once Nancy was there. But you were stalling, taking slow uneasy steps, barely keeping your eyes off of Jonathan, but when you knew that the group of students wouldn’t notice you weren’t with them, you turned back around, to see Jonathan heading for the doors.

“Jonathan!” You called out, jogging after him, seeing him stop just as he reached the metal and glass door. Catching up you placed your hands on your hips, trying to think of what to say. “Where we going?”

“What?” Jonathan questioned, brows furrowed as he looked at you, both his hands on the push bar of the door.

“Where we going? Wanna hear it French? Ou Allons nous?”

“We are not going anywhere. You have to go to. . .” Jonathan looked at the small notebook you held between two fingers, reading the angry red scribble on the front that said ‘Math’ “Mr. Swann’s?”

You breathed out through your nose, dropping your notebook. “Not anymore. Where are we going? This is about your brother, right? I wanna help.”

Jonathan sighed a bit, looking down at the linoleum floor before back up at you. “Why?”

“Common interest.” You told him.

“Our English project doesn’t have anything to do with-”

“This isn’t about Romeo and Juliet, moron. This is about your brother. Listen I just. . . everything about this, makes my stomach churn, I need to see him come back home alive. See? Common interest.”

Jonathan gave an absent-minded nod, the look on his face telling you he knew that feeling. “Indianapolis.” He told you, opening the door and barely stepping out, with you hot on his heels. But he stopped suddenly, turning back to you, holding a finger up. “But you stay out of it, Lonnie isn’t too friendly, and I've seen him angry. If I tell you to go back to the car, you go, understand?”

“You’re not my dad, if I see things start going south, I’m getting both of us out of there.” You told him. “Teamwork makes the dream work, now go before I stomp on your shoes, and there’s no guarantee that I won’t give you a flat tire on the way to the car.”

⟛⟛

Sitting in the passenger seat, you looked to the radio, eyes on the station number as the familiar intro to a song began on the radio. The first time you remembered hearing the song, you were four and had woken up from a nap to the smell of macaroni and cheese, and the sound of your newborn baby brother sneezing in his sleep in the crib on the other side of the room. The music was being played from the living room stereo, loudly. But one thing about being raised by your dads was that you had to adapt to loud music being played. Even Daniel had adapted to it at a few weeks old. You’d gotten out of bed and gotten to the living room, where the stereo was on, and your dad in the kitchen, putting some of the macaroni in one of your bowls and one of his own.

The last time you remembered listening to that song was when your cousins had convinced you to go with them into town, Torrey being the one with the idea, and with her speaker, playing a random playlist. You remembered that she skipped the song halfway through.

Torrey never had a good track record, that was for sure, she was always in trouble, much to your uncle Mike’s dismay. But you and James were always the more reasonable ones out of all of you. But Torrey was the oldest, and as a result, like the older sister, and everyone wanted to be like their cool older sister. So whatever she suggested the lot of you do, you did it.

That always resulted in trouble. The only one who could ever reason with all of you was Uncle Dustin, of course, it had to be the uncle who didn’t have kids. It annoyed Mike, Lucas, and your dad to no end that when with Torrey, they couldn’t get through to any of you.

But, Torrey wasn’t technically your oldest cousin. No, that was Rob. Your uncle’s oldest son. But he was a bit over a decade older than you, so you didn’t really know him all too well. Torrey was almost a decade older, just short two years.

“This the place?” you asked, looking past Jonathan trying to see through the foggy window, rain pouring down onto the pavement outside, and tapping gently on the windows and roof of the car. The fogged-up window told you it was cold out there, and warmer inside.

“Yeah. . .”

“Lonnie’s. . . Who is Lonnie, exactly?” You questioned, unbuckling the seatbelt as Jonathan did the same.

“Our dad,” Jonathan answered, opening his car door and getting out. You reached into the backseat, grabbing your coat as a sudden and startling cool gust of wind hit you, sending goosebumps up your neck and arms. Jumping a bit you looked to the door, seeing that Jonathan had gotten it for you. “Come on.” he rushed you.

You didn’t know if you wanted to go up to the house that the teenage boy was eyeing, you knew that if you’d never heard about Lonnie before, it was for a reason. Likely a good one.

Stepping out of the car, you pulled your jacket on just as Jonathan closed the passenger door for you, heading to the run-down home across the street. You followed shortly after, feeling your ankles begin to get wet as drops of rain-soaked through the canvas material of your shoes.

Standing under the overhang of the front porch you watched as Jonathan looked through the glass of the front door, music from either a television or stereo being hear from outside, over the rain. Jonathan knocked on the door. “Hello?” He shouted.

“Maybe he’s not home?”

Jonathan gave a bitter scoff as he continued to bang on the door insistently before you heard a woman’s voice yell out something indistinct. And before you could process it, the front door was opened.

“Can I help you?” She demanded.

“Yeah, is Lonnie around?” Jonathan asked, his body language giving off just as much attitude as her but his voice remaining calm.

“Yeah, he’s out back. What do you want?”

“To look around.” and with that, Jonathan stepped past her into the house, with you following right behind.

The living area had warm lighting from the lamps, with the absence of an overhead light. And the tv that was small by your standards had M.TV on. It was a mess, with things seemingly tossed around, it felt like the beginning of a hoarder’s home before it got worse and it was filmed for a stupid television show.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Hey!” The woman yelled after the two of you. You were hot on Jonathan’s heels, keeping in mind what he said about his father. You’d rather stick close.

“We’ll be fast, promise!” you told her.

“Hey, Will?” Jonathan questioned, going down the hallway, looking into doorways, calling out his younger brother’s name in a more urgent tone while you gave a longer look into each room.

Jonathan turned around from the last room, shaking his head and looking at you, going to walk back out of the hall. But just as he came to the end, a man slammed Jonathan against the wall, holding the collar of his sherpa jean jacket. You jumped back, just before Jonathan shoved who you were now assuming was Lonnie. “Get off!”

“Damn, you’ve gotten stronger.” The older man gave a shove to Jonathan’s shoulder, looking past the two males you saw the woman from the front door.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

Lonnie looked at her, then back at Jonathan and then to you, before doing the opposite. “Jonathan, Cynthia. Cynthia this is Jonathan. My oldest. I don’t know who this little lady is.”

Lonnie shoved Jonathan’s shoulder again before pulling him into a hug. “Get off me, man.” Jonathan pushed him off.

The look on Lonnie’s face was that of pure cluelessness as if he didn’t understand why Jonathan would shove him away like that. But with how Jonathan had briefly spoken about him and how he had just acted, you knew the relationship wasn’t what you’d expect of a father and son.

Lonnie turned his gaze to you, “Who’s she?” He asked, looking to Jonathan again.

“A friend,” you responded. Sure, you and Jonathan weren’t all that close, but in this situation, you were sure he needed one, and even if you weren’t technically ‘friends’ he would know he had someone in his corner. “We’re looking for Will.”

“I already talked to the cops. He’s not here and he never has been.”

“Right, well, I think everyone gets a little nervous when they see and talk to cops, if Will’s here I doubt he would have come out when police were here.”

Lonnie looked as though he was trying to process what you had said. “If it makes you two feel better you can look around.”

“Hm, gladly,” you responded.

Jonathan and you spent a few moments in the rundown house, and once the rain had let up, Jonathan went outside, with you and Lonnie both trailing behind.

“Take a look at this beaut. Should’ve seen it when I got it. Took me a year, but it’s almost done.” Lonnie spoke about the car Jonathan was headed toward, opening the trunk once he reached the back. “Really? Do you want to check up my ass, too? I told you the same thing I told those cops, he’s not here and he never has been.”

“Then why didn’t you call Mom back?”

“I don’t know, I just. . . I assumed she forgot where he was. You know, he was lost or something. That boy was never very good at taking care of himself.”

“This isn’t some joke, all right? There are search parties, reporters. . .”

The way Lonnie was treating the situation made you uncomfortable. He didn’t care. It was clear he didn’t with the new information that Jonathan’s mother had called him, and he never answered or called back, how he lived a two-hour drive away and seemed to be talking about anything else but Will.

“Hopper’s not still chief, is he? Tell your mother she’s gotta get you out of that hellhole. Come out here to the city. People are more real here, you know? And then I could see you more.”

“If you wanted to see them more you wouldn’t have made the choice to live so far away.” You interrupted. You knew full well that had your parents ever split in an ugly way like it seemed Lonnie and Joyce had, neither of your fathers would move so far away that it felt like two different worlds. They’d stay close together so both you and your brother still had both of them. “Sounds like shitty parenting on your part, not her’s.”

Lonnie looked at you and tilted his head. “What? You think I don’t want to see my boys?”

“It’s kinda obvious that you don’t.” You responded, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Has Jonathan let you be around his mother? Because you sound just like her. Speaking of her, does she even know you’re here?” Lonnie turned back to Jonathan. You didn’t even know the answer to that, but Jonathan’s silence was an answer. “Great. So one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? Some real fine parenting right there. Look, all I’m saying is, maybe I’m not the asshole, all right?”

Though Lonie couldn’t see it, you were glaring at him, but Jonathan could, and he gave you a look before reaching into his shoulder bag, pulling out a poster. A copy of the one he’d put up at school. “In case you forgot what he looks like,” Jonathan grumbled, shoving the poster into Lonnie’s chest as he walked away. Gesturing for you to follow.

The two of you walked around the house instead of through it, with small water droplets coming down once again as you crossed the street to the car.

“He’s a prick.” You mumbled as you passed Jonathan to get to the passenger side. Jonathan stared at you for a second.

“Y/n.”

You had grabbed onto the handle of the car door when he said your name, catching your attention. “Yeah?”

“Why do you care? You’re new in Hawkins, you’ve only been there for a few months, and you care about this more than people who have known me and Will since were kids. You’ve never even seen Will.”

You looked down at the pavement beneath you. The smell of rain invading your nose, calming you down just a bit. “Common interest.” You repeated what you had said before.

He didn’t look convinced with how his face seemed to harden and become far more serious. “Look,” You started, letting go of the handle resting your hands on the roof of the car. “Will’s alive, he has to be. I know he is. If I told you how I know, you’d call me crazy. I care about you, your brother and your mom. Lonnie? Not so much. . . Just. . . trust me, okay?”

Jonathan didn’t say anything or even do anything else in response. He opened the driver’s door and got in his seat, tossing his bag into the back as you did the same, buckling yourself in and looking out the window.

⟛⟛

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@stonersteve​ @ilovebucketbarnes​

[asarahworld-writes]

Merry Christmas @vicapuleti​ !  I, @asarahworld, was your Zombies Secret Santa.  You mentioned a love of Zeddison, Zoey, fluff and angst, and AUs.  Well, it’s not quite an AU, but it is future fic where they’ve gone off to college.  We’ve got Zed.  We’ve got Addison.  Zoey makes an appearance. And without further ado...

Chapter 1

It had been six months since Zed had gone off to the state university on a football scholarship, six months since Addison had been accepted at her parents’ alma mater, and four months and thirteen days since the last time they had seen each other if you didn’t count the five minutes after the game two months ago.  The daily phone calls had slowed down to weekly; text messages became a quick thing to fire off between classes.

Addison was ploughing through a slough of research for her Writing Studies essay on “Classic Literature As Viewed Through a Modern Lens” when her phone buzzed.  Automatically, she reached for it and immediately flipped it over upon seeing that it wasn’t the cheer squad’s captain, Juliette Viconte.  (Unlike Seabrook High, the university squad had only one captain.)  She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  She had just finished writing a decent-sized paragraph on Romeo and Juliet, exploring how if the leads hadn’t been so quick to act that the play would not have been the tragedy and leading into a comparison between the original storyline and modern adaptations. Star-crossed lovers destined to be apart.  Ultimately, every version of the play needed to end tragically, otherwise the message Shakespeare had intended behind the story was lost in the happy ending.

She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  That was definitely the line of reasoning her professor would be looking for.  And yet she couldn’t help but see herself and Zed in the characters.  Two young people from feuding families (societies) fall in love. A relationship built on stolen moments. The relative innocence of one character balancing out the harsh reality lived by the other.  Theoretically, modern technology provided ease of communication that could have saved Romeo and Juliet from tragedy.  And yet, it was clear that just because one had the ability to communicate directly, that wasn’t necessarily going to happen.

She grabbed a pen and started re-working her notes.  Maybe this essay wouldn’t follow the professor’s expectations.  But Addison had her own ideas.

Her phone buzzed again.  Addison, in the middle of frantic scribbles, fumbling, turned it off.

“Hey, this is Addison-”

“Hey, it’s me,” Zed said cheerfully.  It was so nice to finally hear her voice.

“-so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  The accompanying beep following the end of the recorded message startled Zed, and he realized that he had reached her voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” he started over.  “I know it’s getting old, but the captain’s scheduled another practice and of course it’s happening Saturday morning.  Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru,” he said softly, reverting back to Zombietongue.  Zed smiled gently as the memory of when they had officially decided to only use Zombietongue for endearments.  As horrible as that fight had been (not that it could even be considered to be a fight as they had resolved their issue without any drama), they were so much stronger for it.

“This relationship is with you, too, Zed,” Addison had said angrily.  “I want you to be able to be completely yourself.  And that includes being able to speak Zombietongue around me.  Excuse me for thinking that that was a reasonable request.”

That hadn’t been it at all.  But despite his best efforts, Zed had failed to properly explain what exactly he felt about his girlfriend’s wish to become fluent in his native language.  Zed hadn’t even been certain that he himself knew why he was against the idea.

All that he knew was that Addison now sat by herself at the front of the classroom during Revised Local History, cheerleading practice was after football practice, and that the cheerleaders once again had their own table in the cafeteria.

“Zed, you’re overthinking this,” she’d told him when he’d finally confessed his fear. “History’s hard enough as it is without having you right beside me.  You realize that you have gym the period before, right?  So either you walk in and your hair’s still wet and there’s water rolling down your neck from your hair or else gym ran late and you didn’t even have time to change, let alone shower, and you,” she laughed nervously, “to be honest, you always smell amazing but especially then.  I need to pass history.  Surely you can get by without me for one extra hour,” she’d said, giggling.

“When you put it like that, how can I say no?”

“That’s what I love about you.  Always willing to listen,” Addison had said with a smile.  “As for cheer, well, during your practice, we’re up in the weight room. It takes a lot of work to be able to do this stuff.”  Addison had been counting her rebuttals off on her fingers.  “And as for lunch, some of the new kids seemed like they needed a friend.  And the cheer squad is a family.  We’ve gotta be there for each other.”

“Abraza garzi’ska… ag gar-gargiza ru,” Zed had said tenderly, threading his fingers through Addison’s.

“Gar-gargiza…,” Addison’s smile had grown softer.  “Ag gar-gargiza ru,” she’d repeated.  “I love you.”  Suddenly, her gentle smile had turned into an excited grin.  “Does this mean I get to learn more Zombietongue?”  Zed had only laughed, repeating his declaration of love softly in her ear.

Writing annotated notes for her essay had taken her far longer than she’d anticipated and when Addison finally checked her phone, she was startled to see that it was nearly two a.m.  She stumbled across the room to her bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Addison had learned during her first semester why you didn’t take an eight a.m. course unless there was no other choice.  However, being an underclassman came with certain disadvantages. Being one of the last to choose courses was one of those disadvantages and with that came fewer course options. Taking English was mandatory for all students and Addison hadn’t had any other options to fill that credit without waiting another semester.  So she begrudgingly took the Writing Studies course, wondering why she hadn’t looked for one during her first semester despite her parents’ insistence that she take it easy her first semester.

When the alarm went off at six, Addison immediately hit the snooze button.  Once. Twice.  Three times the alarm was silenced and Addison lay in bed.  The phone rang.

“Addison, where are you?  Class is starting in five minutes and you know that Professor Jackson docks points if you’re late!”  Bree’s hushed panic broke Addison’s sleepy haze.  She leapt from her bed, quickly changing into the nearest clothes that weren’t pajamas, and swept everything off her desk into her bag.  She sprinted to the classroom, from the D building up to A, and up the flight of stairs to the second floor, barely making it in the back door as the prof began class.  Luckily, she’d grabbed a notebook and pen in her rush, and was able to at least take notes.

The rest of the day passed in a similar haze.  Everything was a mess, but salvageable.  After her three-hour English lecture, Addison had another three-hour lecture (this time for Anthropology), followed by a short dinner break and cheer practice; practice ran much later than usual as the neurotic captain was more obsessed with perfection than Bucky had been at his most neurotic.  Just like that, the day was over and Addison flopped into bed, exhausted.

Sleep, shower, repeat.

Wednesdays she worked part-time in a café down the street from the main campus.  Though the pay was negligible, the hours were steady and gave her a reprieve from the stress of being a student.  Seven a.m. to three p.m., then she was back to cheer practice and homework.  Thursday was spent organizing her English notes and drafting her essay, Friday was another eight hour shift at the café and studying for her Anthropology midterm.  The weekend only provided more of the same.  When Monday came, her first draft was finished and Addison treated herself to a relaxing bubble bath.  To her surprise, it was only six o’clock.

The phone rang.

“Hey, sweetie,” it was her mother.  “How’s school?  You didn’t call us yesterday, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she lied.  “I mean, I guess I’m just stressed with midterms and my essay.”  I haven’t spoken to Zed in a month.  There’s only so much you can communicate in a text and I only get to see him during the games.  Missy continued to press her daughter and Addison continued to say what she wanted to hear.  When her mother ended the call, Addison sat staring at the phone.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  No answer.

The phone rang.

“Zoey!”  Zed couldn’t help smiling as he answered the phone.

“Hey,” his little sister replied enthusiastically.  “Did Addison tell you she enlisted Miss Zàrate to work with the Zombeans while you guys are at college?”

Zed nodded in remembrance.  “Yeah, said that someone had to make sure you rascals kept up with practice,” he joked.

“Is she there?”  Zoey asked. An innocent enough question, but one that tugged his dead heartstrings anyway.

“Uh, no.  It’s the end of the semester, everyone’s pretty busy with final projects and exams. How’s your schooling going?”  Zed changed the subject.  He didn’t want to talk about how the past few weeks had been hard, how they hadn’t even talked on the phone, much less seen each other. Zoey happily told him about Zombeans and her experiences at her new school. She talked about their Dad and Puppy, about the changes to Zombietown (the rusty gates had finally been removed, there was a bus that took the kids into the human part of town for school and a regular city bus connecting the neighbourhoods “we get to take the regular school bus with the humans to the bus stop,” she’d explained solemnly), and everything else that was important to an eleven-year-old girl.

“When are you guys coming back to Seabrook?”

Zed sighed.  “I don’t know, Zozo.  Probably pretty quickly after the semester’s over.  Five weeks maybe.”  He could practically hear her pouting over the phone.  “I miss you and Pops and Puppy,” he said.  And Addison.

“We miss you too,” Zoey assured him.  There was a brief pause while she said something to their dad. “Dad says I should let you get back to school stuff.  And he wants to go over my homework.  I told him it’s fine, but…”

“Math?”  At his sister’s hum, Zed continued: “you just gotta keep checking.  Try to memorize the uses of each formula and always check your work.  At the end of the day, all that matters is that you pass.”

“Thanks, Zed.”

“Hey, isn’t it just about bedtime?”  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  Laughing gently, he told her good night and hung up the phone.

MISSED CALL. ADDI.  Read the call display.  Zed cursed, a mix of English and Zombietongue, and hit the speed dial.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  He cancelled the call, not wanting to hear her voicemail again. Instead, he sent a few messages. Fifteen minutes and a response later, he texted Addison.

U R FREE SAT! PICK U UP @ DORM @ 430.  SEE U GORGEOUS.

He added a green heart emoji at the end of the message, slowly smiling.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a new message from Addison:

YOU MEAN LIKE A DATE? followed by a single pink heart.

It was Tuesday.  He had three days to plan the perfect reunion date.

 Zombietongue and translations all taken from Ly’s amazing masterposts. @unusual-ly

Zombeans belongs to Sarah @fist-it-out

Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru.  |  Sorry garzi’ska, I love you.