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shuamorollss · 1 year

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on the court — basketball player!nrk x fem!reader

You only wanted to support your older brother, Jake on his basketball game. Even how smoothly their game was going, you didn't expect that you'd be the reason why a few points have costed your brother's team. Not entirely your fault, of course.

fluff, romance, comedy, humor, warnings— not proofread/errors ahead, Ni-ki and Y/N share the same age, Y/N can drive a car, half-assed ending kinda... I tried my best, 2.3k wc + reblogs are greatly appreciated!

additional notes— Italicized parts means flashbacks , used the K-12 school system in this fic... to avoid confusion, Jake is a 6th year student (Senior high) which is he's along in the age of 20 yrs old and both Y/N and Riki are in their 4th year (Junior high) which makes them both 18 yrs old! , reader's brother was originally Heeseung so please point it out for me in my inbox if Heeseung's name is still mentioned here TT I might've missed a part , author's note at the end.

You could sense the bright contrast in between your closed eyes. Slowly going back to your full consciousness, you open your eyes. Widening the gap of your lids, everything was bright and rather blurry. You could feel yourself laying on a soft mattress. The room was white, though a figure of your current vision paved the way of the brightness. Your eyes immediately met with the dark figure just beside you, sitting. You wondered if it was Keeho, however, from what you remembered, he didn't look like that, nor dressed like that earlier.

As your vision becomes clearer, it was to your dismay that it really wasn't your friend beside you.

Someone who had short hair, subtle blonde streaks, and his face structure was sharp. He was wearing casual clothes now. Not the fit you remembered him wearing when you last lay your vision on him.

His brows rose in surprise as he had met his gaze with yours.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed.

You don't know who he was.

He was a stranger. A man, just someone whom you have never met. So how did you get yourself here, waking up from unconsciousness with an unfamiliar worried man beside you in the first place?

…

Your hands control the wheels as you try to drive hastily. Your friends were counting on you to get to the sports center in time, with numerous phone calls from Sieun, adding the endless vibrating from your phone already makes you feel the pressure. You didn't let yourself drown in your own thoughts. All you wanted was to get there in time and have enough space to get seats.

"Yn?!"

"Took you long enough."

You have finally met with Keeho and Sieun outside the stadium, both of them having their arms crossed, frustrated by your late entry.

"Sorry guys. Traffic." You gently rub your nape, letting out a nervous laugh.

"Traffic my ass." Sieun said, who started to make her way inside the stadium. Both you and Keeho followed along her steps as she rants about your tardiness. You didn't mind, you were used to Sieun complaining like this and instead of being irritated, and besides, she doesn't seem to take her rants about things like these that seriously.

All of you went into the inner stadium to see hundreds of people crowding inside, attempting to spot places to sit.

"Sieun calm down, besides we have seats now." Keeho assured. The seats you three in were beside the court. Like literally beside the court. You could see all the athletes clearly just a distance from you, preparing for the game.

"What a jackpot. Surprising for a really crowded stadium… This should've been occupied by now." Sieun stated, her frustrations on where to sit have now faded, now that the best seats are now taken by them.

After a good minute of prepping yourselves, you saw a man's figure on the court jogging towards your direction, and to all of your excitement, It was your brother.

"Jake!" You all greeted him in unison, eyes sparkling at the sight of the man making his way towards where you guys stand.

"You all should thank me for that." He spoke, patting his sweaty forehead with a face towel.

"Look at our Jake! The captain of the Decelis basketball team." Sieun stated, nudging the side of Jake's arms.

"We know you'll do good out there dude!" Keeho added.

"The opponent stands no chance against y'all." You added once more, your hand messing his hair.

"Now I'm more encouraged to beat their asses." Jake remarked, extremely appreciative by the boost from his little sister and his dear friends.

The three of you continue to show him your full support as he waves goodbye, jogging back to his teammates.

The Stadium was filled with people, all of the seats were occupied and the continuous echoes filling the stadium made you hyped. The two schools that are competing are none other than two of the most prestigious schools in your country, and given to you that this is the semifinals means there's more to it after this one.

And you wanted to see your school compete once more in the Grand Finals.

The game started and you cheered for Jake and his team. They were doing good, you were having a positive thought on this game however you'd already expect the other team to hog scores a few minutes into the match. Being that this is the semifinals, competition would be difficult.

You spent the whole game just yelling and cheering at any given time, to the point that you finally felt the sting on your throat, causing your voice to rasp and unable to reach your voice at a high volume. So instead of forcing your voice to yell, you just sat and watched the game quietly.

As you watch everyone, your eyes went from anyone else on your brother's team to only a certain teammate of his.

He was cute, even better at playing than Jake in your opinion.

His hair was elegant, even if he's sweaty, his hair looked like it's been newly washed, in basic terms, fresh even. His eyes were sinister yet looked so adorable.

Your eyes were locked onto his figure, and when he shot the ball you quickly stood up, screaming "Yeah!" with your distorted voice, not even considering your current sore throat.

Sieun and Keeho were too focused to notice that you started cheering for one player only. After all, their support was on the whole decelis basketball team, so they wouldn't send suspicious glances on your way.

After a few more rounds, with Decelis leading, an unexpected circumstance may have cost a few points off of Decelis.

And you weren't expecting that you would partly be the reason why.

You were just about to get your phone

As another Decelis member makes his way on the court, he stops just a few steps in front of you. Your eyes gazing at the man then back to the one you seem to have all the attention on, passing the ball to the guy in front of you.

You saw the ball getting tossed to the player in front of you, yet suddenly he dodges. You on the other hand, was unable to move at the exact time you see the ball going directly to you.

…

"So… that's what happened...?" You raised a brow. Sitting comfortably on the infirmary bed as you were just all ears on the whole story you got here.

The other nods guiltily, having his head lowered as he does so. Stealing glances on your way.

Your memories slowly gathered in your head, and the last thing you realized is that this was the man you had all your attention to earlier during the game.

Your mind sets elsewhere other than the worrisome point of the whole predicament, you were giggling in your conscience that this was destined to happen… Of course, you had delusions get the best of you, though you were still able to show a calm and collected demeanor.

"I'm so sorry by the way, I didn't mean to," He took a deep breath, "I was surprised when Yeonjun dodged it. I didn't even know I passed it really hard."

He now had the courage to look at your state. His eyes correspond to a frightened puppy and you were not gonna lie that it was adorable to see him feel so disappointed in himself for a minor ruckus.

You didn't even have a bruise or a black eye, you just had a mild concussion, laying unconscious until you finally opened your eyes returning you to your normal state.

But if you were in his shoes, you'd totally feel the same as him now.

"I'm so sorry, I had to insist of backing out from the game in the meantime to look after you,"

"Jake was supposed to be the one here but I insisted on staying since I'm the one who you know…" He hit his hand as it was gestured to a C. You perked up your lips at his demonstration, also finding his constant apologies quite adorable.

He really did regret it a lot, though you didn't mind.

"Hey, it's fine. I don't think it's that serious. "You reassured, the other only gazed at you intently.

"You don't have to worry about it, I'm perfectly fine… But besides that now, I haven't seen you before," Riki's eyebrow rose, not expecting those words.

"Maybe because I barely visit my brother's practices but I swear when I do, I never see you practicing with them."

"Oh, I must've not been in them… Sometimes I don't attend practices for reasons, so maybe you came to watch when I wasn't in them? Just maybe." He gushed, you only sat to hear more of his stories… You slowly faw over his presence as he talks about his likes, dislikes, favorite places, and basketball stories all in a span of 10 minutes. You couldn't imagine if Jake was the one to look over you instead, he'd probably make fun of you while you were unconscious or so.

Well, Jake isn't actually like that, you were just thankful to have him give in and prioritize winning for his team rather than looking after you and costing them a few more points. Which led him to look after you…

Who's… him?

Your eyes widen to the man talking in front of you, unaware of his name during the whole conversation. How can both of you be this dunce at the same time.

As you were about to ask for his name, he stood up. "I better head back to the game, since you're feeling much better now,"

You only nodded in response.

"I'll tell Jake his girlfriend is doing okay!"

Hold up— What?

You winced confusingly at the words that left his mouth. He's getting the wrong idea.

As his figure fades any further you yelled a "wait!" On his way, the boy frighteningly stopped his tracks, facing you once more.

"Let me introduce myself…" You spoke up, a mere suggestion for him to do the same as well.

"O-Oh… OH!— I'm sorry, I think I introduced myself when you were still unconscious on that bed… I'm Nishimura Riki! I'm in my 4th year."

"Oh… I'm also a 4th year student."

Riki subconsciously tilt his head, as if he's questioning so much just by the similar years you two are in.

"I didn't know Jake likes girls way below his age."

You winced once more. This was a gross assumption, you couldn't imagine being in this type of situation yet you're here now.

"I'm Y/N," You paused for absolutely no reason, probably for the effect.

"I'm Jake's sister."

Riki's heart sank, immediately having countless daggers of embarrassment stabbed him way through all of his body. He couldn't imagine this was happening, he genuinely thought that you were dating their captain. When he saw you and two other people going through a tough crowd in order to get into the three vacant seats so close to the court, he thought you were one of the prettiest among the crowds. It was silly of him to think that to a random girl of course, though having your presence made him more competitive and encouraged him to do his best in order for you to see him shine (and indirectly impress you).

He did feel quite disappointed when their team captain, Sim Jaeyun, ran towards you and you began ruffling his hair so cutely. Losing his hope and backing out on his interest to you since he didn't wanna meddle in relationships he shouldn't be in, also he doesn't like when their captain gets angry, and common knowledge is that homewrecking is absolutely bad.

Tracing his thoughts back to reality, his face slowly turned tinted red, flustered at the utter embarrassing assumption that he held with himself for the whole time he looked after you.

"I… I am.. I'm- I'm so sorry!" He freaked out.

"I didn't know, so I assumed you two— Why did I even assume that you two were a thing?! "

"Why did you?" You questioned calmly, a cheeky smile plastered on your face, cutting off his freaking out state.

"I-It's just I saw… you teasing Jake earlier, like messing his hair and all— so yeah, you were doing that before the match started and I just thought there was a romantic kick to it, you know?"

"And you looked at our way because…?"

"I looked to your way because you were the most prettiest girl I have ever seen and I kept my eyes on you for the remainder of the time you and your friends were reaching to the vacant seats near the court, that I also assumed that Jake saved for you and your friends…" The man inhaled deeply as he said all of that in one breath.

You could only widen your eyes at his confession, subconsciously perking the edges of your lips at how adorable he is when he's this flustered.

"I'm sorry I think I said too much—"

"No no, don't be… I think that's really sweet of you." You held your screams of triumph in, wanting to stay calm and collected.

"Since you said that, I'll just say that you also caught my attention while you were on the court,"

You paused, your heart picking up an intense pace, your eyes locking to his.

"I'm kinda glad I got you to look after me rather than my annoying brother." You joked, rolling your eyes at the mention of your brother.

"Hey, your brother was actually really worried when you got… you know."

"I knew he would be."

You both exchanged warm smiles, repeatingly nodding your head's at each silent thought.

"You should probably go back now, they need you there."

"Oh right! Are you gonna go back… also?"

"I will, I won't miss you owning that court...

Just like earlier. "

Riki's smile widens, more encouraged than ever to go back to the game and show you what he can really do.

"I'll look for you after the game, I promise."

author's note— I'm back from my hiatus!! kinda, i think?? I have a few more wips that I'm working on so i may be able to upload them in a few days or weeks! I rlly miss tumblr and writing pls pls pls bear w me w this one... I'm just trying to get my vocab juice going after a long time of writers block 😭 anw i hope u enjoy!!

perm tags— @jangwonie @jungwonize @luhvlyuna @w3bqrl @ineedaherosavemeenow @leaderwon

#enhanet #k labels #enhypenwriters #enhypen x reader #niki x reader #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen x reader fluff #niki x reader fluff #nishimura x reader fluff #enhypen nishimura riki #enhypen niki #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines

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talesofadragon · 4 days

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter V - Synopsis: Halfway through the semester, Y/N thought the only dire changes she’d face would be a hectic schedule and a few sleepless nights. But with the arrival of a mysterious woman with flaming red phoenix hair and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of her professor, exam season is shaping up to be an even bigger rollercoaster than she imagined.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.

Word Count: 4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆, Stark University buzzed with frenetic energy. Though the campus was always lively, these last few days felt like a pressure cooker—everyone was moving, but no one had time to breathe.

Y/N delivered her argument earlier that day in Professor Coulson's Trial Advocacy class. It went well—too well, in fact—since Coulson kept the session past its scheduled time, firing one question after another at her. Luckily, Y/N didn’t have another class immediately after; even if she did, this was the time of year when professors were more forgiving about tardiness. They called it "We were students once, too.” Y/N called it breakroom chatter about the looming doom of their upcoming exams.

But students weren’t shy about playing the game either. They knew how to take advantage of this “forgiveness” by squeezing in a little extra time for themselves—chatting with friends, smoking a cigarette, grabbing a quick bite from the diner across the street. Any excuse was good enough to show up fashionably late. Or to not show up at all.

While Y/N didn’t have a class to attend, she did need to finish some work for Steve. Call it diligence or desire, she chose not to take an extra five minutes to toe off her heels and tone down her outfit. The better part of her reasoned that she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. But the sensual part, the one she nestled in the deepest recesses of her being, wanted to savor the moment and revel in her outfit just a little longer.

Swapping her casual attire for something as crisp and sharp as her plaid light brown skirt, off-white turtleneck, and beige blazer with brown accents was her own version of a Cinderella moment.

Maybe it was nostalgia for her teenage years or the desire to feel like herself again—confident, empowered, even a little attractive. She couldn’t say for sure. But between her classes, work, and caring for Nyla, Y/N rarely had time for herself. She had almost forgotten the feeling of wearing heels, let alone walking in them—there was something undeniably alluring about a woman in a striking outfit and bold stilettos. Thankfully, her agility hadn’t faded with time, just like her ability to command attention in a well-cut skirt.

She met a handful of inquisitive looks on her way to Steve’s office. Students carefully assessed her, trying to guess which department she belonged to and whether they had seen her before. The university was immense, so even if she were a social butterfly—which she was not—there was no way for her to have known any of them.

Though curious, and some a little charming, the looks she received were mundane. The interest was there, but there was a glint of something missing. An intensity she had started, albeit reluctantly, yearning for. These gazes weren’t the kind that sent a thrill through her, the kind she secretly craved even if she’d never admit it. No, it was almost blasphemous to dare and compare them to those blue-green eyes she revered, a meeting point between serenity and escape—a bridge she should never, ever cross!

Steve’s office loomed ahead, commanding the distracting thoughts away. Y/N inhaled sharply, smoothing out the invisible creases of her skirt for reasons that were beyond her. Knocking on the door once, hand already on the handle, she paused, waiting for a reply that never came. She pushed the door open, eyes immediately drawn to Steve’s desk. A gasp escaped her, her heels digging into the tiles when she met an unfamiliar sight. There, sitting comfortably in Steve’s swiveling chair, was a woman.

“Excuse me,” Y/N called out authoritatively, gaining no visible response. “May I ask who you are and what you’re doing sitting at Professor Rogers’ desk?”

The woman was dressed in a pristine maroon pantsuit, exuding an air of professionalism and composure. Yet, her callous behavior contradicted the very image she tried to project. She wasn’t a professor—Y/N was sure of that. And since she had never seen her around campus, it was unlikely that she was staff. Whoever she was, whether the owner of the university or the president of the country, she had no right to be lounging in Steve’s office as if she owned the place.

With a slight arch of her dark brows, the woman’s gaze swept over Y/N’s smaller frame. “Professor Rogers is not present at the moment,” she answered as if that was the question Y/N had posed.

“I didn’t ask about Professor Rogers’ whereabouts.”

“These aren’t his office hours,” the woman commented casually, seemingly unfazed by the edge in Y/N’s voice.

Y/N’s fingers twitched at her side, irritation beginning to simmer in her gaze. She was speaking English, for heaven’s sake. What was so hard to understand? Unable to get through to the woman, she decided on a different approach.

“My name’s Y/N. I’m his assistant.”

Though Y/N meant to assert the authority her title afforded, the reaction she received was unlike what she expected. The woman’s aloof demeanor shifted to one of intrigue. Her catlike eyes softened, and a small crinkle appeared at the corner of her lips.

“So, you’re the famous Y/N,” she said, the amusement in her eyes evident. Y/N felt something flicker within her, a small jolt of surprise that coursed through her veins. The woman adjusted her phoenix-red hair over one shoulder and leaned forward slightly, giving Y/N a more deliberate once-over. “Bucky talks about you all the time.”

Bucky? Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of her former History professor. She’d been bracing herself for another name. Swallowing the confusion, she buried it deep, down by the embers of her hope that had briefly flickered to life. Bucky was the one talking about her?

“You know Professor Barnes?”

The red-haired woman smirked, the kind that hinted at knowing far more than she let on. Her lips, however, played a different tune. “We go way back. Bucky, Steve, and me.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her lips pressing into a thin, disappointed line. A sharp discomfort settled over her as she realized she'd been standing there for an awkward five minutes, talking to a stranger.

Determined not to show any sign of weakness, even though the woman's overconfidence and cryptic remarks gnawed at her, Y/N squared her shoulders and walked to the desk. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor fueled the confidence she desperately clung to.

“If you could please wait for Professor Rogers in one of the seats across from his desk,” Y/N said as politely as she could, though a hint of disdain threaded through her tone.

“I’m perfectly content where I’m sitting.”

The nerve of her! Y/N took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s not a matter of content but a matter of respect,” she enunciated sharply.

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you calling me disrespectful?” she asked bluntly.

“Did I say that aloud?” No, Y/N hadn’t, but she was glad the woman wasn’t clueless. “If you truly know Professor Rogers, then you know his stance on conformity. He likes things a certain way.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re in his seat,” Y/N pointed out, gesturing toward the chair in question. “He’s only permitted me to sit there. So, if you wouldn’t mind pulling up one of the chairs in front of the desk, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.”

If the woman had been perplexing before, she was downright baffling now. She laughed, her cherry-red lips parting in genuine amusement. Y/N couldn’t fathom how someone like her could muster so much energy this early in the morning.

Gracefully, the woman pushed the chair back, the wheels gliding smoothly across the floor. She stood to her full height, her ankle boots giving her a few extra inches. She crossed the short distance between them with a mixture of assertiveness and finesse that bordered on predatory.

As she moved to take a seat, her features became clearer under the office light. Her green eyes, like a verdant forest bathed in sunlight, were striking. Her face, a masterful blend of sharp lines and elegance, held an enigmatic allure. She towered over Y/N, the age gap between them becoming more pronounced the longer they looked at one another. The woman was clearly in her thirties—like Steve.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she introduced herself as Y/N placed her books on the desk and turned on Steve’s computer. “Normally, I’d indulge in a mysterious exchange, but the scales are uneven today. I know far more about you than you know about me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N hummed dismissedly.

Logging into Steve’s computer, she immediately pulled up the list of tasks for the day: updating attendance records, double-checking grades for Steve’s Intro to Artistic Visualization class, and reviewing the research papers that had passed through the plagiarism checker, among other things.

She reached across the desk to grab Steve’s binder, a languid smile tugging at her lips as she caught sight of one of the teddy bears they had won at the fair. Nyla had split the plush toys evenly between her and Steve, and according to him, one of the three had to find a place in his second home—his office.

If the gesture alone hadn’t warmed Y/N’s heart, the image of Steve holding the small toy in his much larger hands, waving it around with animated enthusiasm, surely did. She could still see him playfully swaying the bear before her eyes, its stitched mouth "kissing" the tip of her nose. The memory brought a fresh wave of goosebumps to her skin—thankfully, it was still cool enough for long sleeves to cover them.

“Drink?” Natasha’s voice snapped her out of the memory.

Y/N blinked, raising her head as her mind adjusted back to the present. Is she asking or commanding? was the first thought that crossed her still-dazed consciousness.

“Oh, sorry.” Y/N quickly stood, heading toward the refreshment area. “It didn’t even occur to me to ask if you wanted anything to drink.”

Almost as if Y/N’s genuine tone had thrown her off, it was Natasha’s turn to momentarily lose herself in a stupor. Her daze, however, was fleeting. She quickly recovered, replying, “I was actually asking if you wanted something to drink. I know my way around this office, hon.”

“Nonsense, you’re a guest,” Y/N insisted, her tone polite, though laced with subtle passive-aggression. If Natasha noticed, she didn’t comment. “Let me get you something. Coffee or tea?”

Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on the coffee drip beside Y/N. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, still eyeing the rich brown liquid. Y/N was just about to place a mug beneath the spout, fingers hovering over the pot’s handle, when Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ll have water, please.”

Y/N didn’t question her choice, even though Natasha looked like the kind of woman who could down two pots of coffee without breaking a sweat. Hell, she looked like liquor couldn’t hold her, not the other way around.

Without a second thought, Y/N poured her a glass of water and placed it on a coaster by her side of the desk. She poured herself some coffee, adding two sugars, and praised Steve for having a well-functioning machine, even though she’d never seen him sip a cup of coffee in his life.

Back at her desk, Y/N set down her drink of choice, drifting back to her work. Beneath her lashes, she spotted Natasha leaning back, her spine practically glued to the chair. She was gulping down her water, pressing her nose to the rim of the glass. Confused, Y/N subtly chanced a glance, sensing the evident queasiness that shook the woman’s otherwise imperturbable demeanor.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Natasha replied swiftly. Although she intended to douse Y/N’s concern, the tremor in her voice only deepened it.

“You don’t look okay,” Y/N pressed, studying the way Natasha scrunched her nose. “Let me get you another glass of water.”

“Lemon,” Natasha coughed. “Can you…do you have something infused with lemon?”

“Uh, sure. Hold on a second.”

Darting back to the refreshments area, Y/N opened the mini-fridge. She scoured the shelves of iced tea, sparkling water, and juices. While she didn’t find anything with lemon, she did find a few fresh ones on the lower shelf where Steve stored his fruits. He had a penchant for yogurt and granola bowls.

Y/N made quick work of cutting the lemon and boiling some water in the kettle. Carefully mixing both in a new glass, she ventured a guess that Natasha’s discomfort was a result of nausea—one hand stifled her discordant groans while the other rubbed her stomach giving Y/N a clue.

“Here.”

Y/N replaced the old glass with the new one, which Natasha eagerly took from her hand.

“Thank you,” Natasha whispered, her voice void of that effortless confidence. Instead, it was laced with exhaustion, despite her best attempts to mask it.

“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”

Natasha nodded, languidly drinking the lemon-infused water. “Can you please move your coffee away?”

Perplexed, Y/N slid her cup to the far right of the desk. As soon as the mug was no longer close to the redhead, Natasha’s shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension evaporating like the steam coming from her glass. She sighed—almost moaned—in relief, her grip tight on the glass of hot lemon water. She hadn’t yet removed her hand from her stomach, tracing gentle, delicate circles around her belly.

A gasp escaped Y/N for two distinct reasons. The first was the conspicuous diamond ring that sat elegantly on Natasha’s ring finger—a regal emerald cut that reflected power and elegance in an iridescent interplay of blinding light. The second was where her fingers had been splayed, tracing the contours of her belly.

“You’re pregnant.”

The words left Y/N’s mouth before she even had a chance to evaluate them. Whether correct or not, Natasha’s enlarged pupils and the flare of her nostrils told her this wasn’t the right thing to say. Of course, it wasn’t! What kind of person jumps to the conclusion that a woman is pregnant based on signs that could easily indicate a different ailment or less serious condition?

Maybe it was because Y/N had been pregnant once, and the sensory sensitivity had steered her clear of even the smell of morning dew. She could pinpoint the signs easily—the slight discomfort, the twitches, even the hesitancy and over-calculation for the simplest of things, like a cup of coffee.

She was about to apologize, insisting that she didn’t mean any of it, but something in Natasha’s expression changed. Instead of the guardedness that had hugged her so tightly since Y/N first set eyes on her, a shadow of vulnerability crossed over her features.

“Is it that obvious?”

Y/N shook her head, sitting down in her seat and wringing her fingers together. So, she is pregnant.

“No. I just took a wild guess.”

“You wagered right. I better never bet around you.”

Y/N chortled at Natasha’s remark, the tension in the air gradually receding. “How far along are you?” she asked in a quiet tone.

Natasha rubbed her barely-there bump, smiling. “Two months.”

“First pregnancy?”

Natasha nodded. She stayed silent for a moment, the gears in her head practically spinning until she confessed, “I never thought I would get pregnant. It never happened in all the years we’ve been together.”

Y/N didn’t want to think of him if “him” was the person she could never stop thinking about in the first place. Instead, her mind unfortunately drifted to Paul and the first night they spent together—the night that led to conceiving Nyla. Ironic how some women wait years to get pregnant, while others are surprised by tiny versions of themselves on the first try.

“Are you scared?” Y/N ventured, watching for Natasha’s reaction.

But Natasha was unfazed. If anything, delight seeped through the cracks of her initial weariness, swiftly altering her feelings to something better, gentler. “A little bit. But I’m mostly excited. I can’t wait to grow our family. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Yeah. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, hon. If that’s something you want someday, I hope you find it too when the time is right.”

There was so much sincerity in her words, a mother’s delicate warmth harmonizing her sentences. But all Y/N could hear were the echoes of Natasha’s last words: when the time is right. Didn’t she know? Had neither Bucky nor Steve told her that Y/N, at only twenty-two, already had a daughter? A rambunctious, affectionate, social, and bubbly little girl whose eyes may have been a feature inherited from her father, but their glow resembled an infinite sky of possibilities and miracles.

The timing wasn’t right, and she would always be reminded of that when she looked at her classmates, Natasha, hell, even Steve. But she could never say that aloud, could she?

“Thank you,” she replied solemnly, busying herself with her work. She was far enough behind, and she needed to get a move on.

Natasha didn’t give her a moment of respite, though. “Is Steve available tonight?” she asked, her attention darting to the computer.

Y/N inhaled deeply, hyper-aware of the crescent moons her fingers dug into her skin for no apparent reason. “I monitor Professor Rogers’ academic schedule, but I don’t have the slightest clue what goes on in his personal life.” Hence why I don’t have a clue as to who you might even be, Y/N internally added.

“Well, does his academic schedule tell you anything about whether or not he’s taking work home tonight?” Natasha fired back, unfazed by the subtle hostility in Y/N’s reply.

Home. She said home.

“If I manage to complete today’s tasks on time, then Professor Rogers should be free for the evening.”

“Perfect! I plan to tell him tonight. I know he’s going to be excited to hear it,” Natasha stated. Y/N didn’t care to provide commentary, attempting to enter the attendance records digitally. She only hoped Natasha wouldn’t notice her slip-ups; she had already entered three records incorrectly. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately for Y/N—Natasha continued, “He’s going to think it’s a boy. He’s the type to.”

“A girl. St—Professor Rogers strikes me as a girl dad. I think he’d want the baby to be a girl,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, hoping her lower tone was enough to mask her emotions.

Natasha regarded Y/N skeptically, the tilt of her head almost personal. Y/N refused to let her scrutiny bother her anymore. Her mind kept drifting to thoughts of Steve and Nyla, replaying their interactions in her head. She knew it was wrong to think of them together, but the more Steve came to mind, the harder it was to shake Nyla’s presence alongside him. She blamed it all on Paul. If he had been a better father to their daughter, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here thinking these sacrilegious thoughts about her professor.

She didn’t need that fickle little toad to love her, nor did she care for him to treat her any better than he ever had. She just wanted him to be better toward their daughter, like Steve was.

Steve had a tenderness, a protectiveness in the way he moved, in the way he looked at Nyla. Y/N wasn’t blind; she could see it. Steve longed for what she had. Now, in his late thirties, it was clear he was ready to settle down, to have a family. And he looked the part too—like every girl’s Christmas wish and every mother’s prayer. The way he treated Nyla, like a little princess—hell, that was even his nickname for her—showed that he was meant to be a father. A girl’s father more than anything.

“You seem so sure about that,” Natasha noted. Though her words were framed as a statement, the unspoken “why” hung in the air.

Before Y/N could respond, a knock sounded at the door, giving her a momentary reprieve. She suppressed her relief and casually invited the person outside to enter. Unfortunately, luck was not entirely on her side. It was Steve who entered the office, and his eyes didn’t find her first.

“Nat, there you are!”

Steve’s smile lit up his face, his blue-green eyes sparkling at the sight of Natasha. She mirrored his enthusiasm, and though she had shown a colorful palette of emotions during her conversation with Y/N, her expression was now purely candid—similar to when she had talked about her baby.

Y/N watched as Natasha stood and threw herself into Steve’s waiting arms. It was as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, though Y/N knew that couldn’t be the case. If her suspicions were correct, then…she didn’t even want to continue that thought.

“I let myself in,” Natasha said, her voice muffled against Steve’s shoulder. Their arms were tightly wrapped around one another. “Didn’t want to bother you in case you were busy.”

“You could never bother me,” Steve assured her. He stepped back slightly but kept his hands on her forearms, his eyes sweeping over her. “Is that a new outfit? It looks incredible. Gives you a certain glow.”

Natasha laughed, her curtain bangs shaking alongside her shoulders. “That glow has nothing to do with my outfit.”

Y/N wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe, truly believe, that she implied her secret pregnancy. But her glances felt more suggestive. And if even Steve picked up the innuendo, judging by his bright cheeks, then Y/N wasn’t wrong.

Steve cleared his throat, letting his hands fall back to his sides, though his fingers traced along Natasha’s arms as they dropped.

“Since you’re here, did you have breakfast yet? We could head to the cafeteria, or maybe a café nearby,” Steve suggested.

“Anywhere’s fine as long as we can sit outside. It’s nice out,” Natasha replied.

“I think you’d like the café by the east side of campus. They have great bagels. I could text Bucky to join us after his class.”

“Don’t worry about Bucky. He can third-wheel another time,” Natasha joked. At least, it seemed like a joke—Steve laughed heartily. Y/N, on the other hand, stood quietly on the sidelines, feeling like the real third wheel. Did they even notice her anymore?

In classic Steve Rogers fashion, he offered Natasha his arm. “Shall we?” he asked gallantly, and she didn’t hesitate to link their arms together. It looked like Steve didn’t forget about Y/N after all. Torn between relief and frustration, she caught his gaze. He smiled softly at her, offering a small wave. “Don’t overwork yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you later.”

“See you, Professor. Enjoy,” Y/N managed to say. But as the doors closed behind them, she couldn’t ignore the fondness in his gaze when he looked down at Natasha or Natasha’s gentle glances toward her stomach. The sharp sting that followed cut through Y/N’s heart, leaving her reeling.

What was she even thinking? Of course, he wouldn’t acknowledge her in the presence of another woman—a better woman. Y/N was just his student, practically a child in his eyes, a mess of imperfections. A pretty skirt and blazer wouldn’t change that fact, not that Steve had ever noticed her new outfit. Not that she really wanted him to… right?

God, what was she getting herself into? And how could she possibly get out before it was too late?

Series taglist: @crazyunsexycool @imaginexred

Originally, this chapter was supposed to include two more scenes, but since we're already at 4K words, I didn't want to drag it further. So, Natasha has officially entered the chat, and with her comes jealousy! What do you think Twilight (reader) will do with these troubling doubts and feelings?

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #professor!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x single mom!reader #age gap steve rogers #girl dad!steve rogers #professor steve rogers x student reader

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shy-urban-hobbit · 5 months

Text

Lambert/Aiden modern au

The only thought running through Lambert's head as he barged into the house was shit, shit, shit...

He hadn't meant to fall asleep - having gone over to Aiden's with the sole intention of dinner and a movie before heading home - but the company combined with the comfy, worn sofa and the sound of rain falling outside had lulled them both into a doze...next thing he knew, the other was gently shaking him awake informing him it was 7A.M which left him with a grand total of thirty minutes to get home, shower, change clothes and get to work unless he wanted another lecture on tardiness from Vesemir.

"Whoop, walk of shame!" Eskel crowed from the kitchen table, "Spend the night at Aiden's?" Lambert stole his brother's toast in response, shoving it in his mouth before flipping him off.

"Accidentally. Both fell asleep." Lambert mumbled, swallowing down another bite of overly buttered breakfast before throwing it carelessly onto the kitchen counter to strip off his t-shirt and toss it through the open door to join the others in the laundry room, ignoring Vesemir's voice in his head yelling at him to put it in the hamper (what, he was in a hurry!), "...what?" He asked, suddenly noticing how his brother looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Were you the first to fall asleep by any chance?"

"How the hell should I know...why?"

"No reason." Eskel said a little too innocently, smile growing.

"Eskel. Tell me now if he's drawn glasses on me in Sharpie or some shit."

"Not glasses, no."

Lambert charged upstairs to the bathroom, ignoring Eskel's laughter. Best friend turned (relatively new) boyfriend or not, if Aiden had drawn a dick on his face when he had to spend all day with his dad, Lambert wasn't above considering murder.

Well...it definitely wasn't a dick. Below his right eye was a roughly drawn heart, about the size of the pad of his thumb. Even seeing it back to front, Lambert was able to make out the small 'A+L' in its centre. He rolled his eyes, "Sappy fucker."

Aiden smirked as he read the text from Lambert,

'Thanks for that, asshole. Got a lecture from the old man about not looking 'professional. You owe me.' attached was a selfie of Lambert's grumpy face with an even grumpier looking, oblivious Vesemir in the background. The heart was mostly reduced to a faded black outline surrounded by various grease stains but it was still pretty visible against his boyfriend's pale skin. He took a sip of tea as he started to compose a reply.

Lambert waited until Vesemir had disappeared before fishing his phone out of his pocket and immediately feeling his cheeks heat up at Aiden's reply. It was a shirtless selfie, Aiden holding a Sharpie pen to his mouth, seemingly in the act of tapping it against his lips with the caption:

'Sorry Babe ❤️. Next time I'll mark you somewhere he definitely won't see it. Sharpie optional.'

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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words-with-wren · 4 months

Text

@chrumblr-whumblr Day Fourteen: Traumatic Touch Aversion

Fandom: Doctor Who (Fifth Doctor era). I rewatched Castrovalva and UGHUGHGH them <3 Set directly after Castrovalva

Words: 650ish

___

“Right then!” the Doctor said, slamming a lever down on the TARDIS consol. He spun around, facing his three young companions with a smile and clasped his hands together. “The planet of Florana--I rather think we all deserve a break, don’t you?”

The Doctor himself felt as fit as a fiddle--more, in fact. He was humming with new energy and he was excited to try out this new body, learn what he could do. He felt new and fresh, new body brimming with energy, new mind active and quick.

But he knew that while his regeneration process had allowed him a few chances to rest, his three young friends hadn’t had the easiest of times over the past day or so. Adric especially looked positively exhausted, leaning against the wall of the console room, head lowered. A few days relaxing on the gorgeous beaches of Florana would do them all some good.

He pulled the level to open the door and ushered his companions outside. Good--he’d landed correctly, for once. He’d been a little worried he’d miss the mark again. Immediately he felt himself relax, the last of the strain of regeneration fading. Adric perked up, a small glow already appearing on his pale cheeks. Nyssa gasped, clasping her hands together and staring out at the beautiful landscape before them.

Flowers spread across the land before them, every colour imaginable bathing the world in a beautiful light. Their scent was subtle but unmistakable, soft perfume of flowers flowing over them. Not far away the meadow faded slowly into a beautiful sandy beach, the sun sparkling off the water.

Only Tegan seemed unimpressed. She crossed her arms in the doorway of the TARDIS.

“Doctor,” she said accusingly. “This isn’t Heathrow.”

“Oh, come on Tegan!” the Doctor called. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode outside. Nyssa and Adric were already rapidly making their way towards the beach. “It’s a time machine, I’ll get you back on time.”

Tegan gave a long suffering sigh, but she followed him out, stepping through the meadow.

A few deep breaths of Floranian air settled the Doctor more than he realised he needed settling. This regeneration had been strange, unsettled. He wasn’t entirely sure if everything had gone right and the thought worried him more than he wanted to admit.

But the clear, fresh air of the planet settled the last of his fears and he allowed himself to relax as he made his way towards the beach.

“Doctor!” Nyssa cried, running up the beach towards him. “Oh you must come and see.”

Before he could fully process, she had grabbed his arm.

He started, the abrupt touch sending a stab of wrongness and panic through him. He pulled away rapidly, jerking back and tugging his arm out of Nyssa’s grasp.

His arm felt prickly and not quite right, uncomfortable. Nyssa’s excited expression was rapidly replaced by one of concern.

“Doctor?” she asked.

He forced a smile, tucking his hands back in his pockets. His arm still felt strange--not painful, not entirely uncomfortable. Just…unpleasant. Wrong. It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before.

Maybe something had gone wrong with the regeneration.

“What is it?” he asked, forcing a casual interest. Nyssa studied him for a long moment, clearly picking up that something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t push him on it.

“Adric’s found some kind of strange creature,” Nyssa explained. “You alright?” Maybe she was going to push him on it.

He nodded, the sensation in his arm all but gone now. It was probably nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just leftover regeneration side effects.” He grinned, and Nyssa smiled weakly back. “What kind of creature?”

Nyssa gestured him forward and started jogging lightly down the beach. She didn’t reach for his arm again.

The Doctor hurried after her, hoping this wasn’t going to be a permanent side effect.

___ Me looking at the fact that Peter Davison never really hugged his companions to avoid Implications: Oh we can make angst out of this.

Basically I love the idea that the Weird Regeneration caused some ongoing Issues for Five, that he had throughout that whole life. Maybe super sensitive to touch, maybe chronic pain, maybe something else. Not sure what exactly, i just love that concept because Five absolutely needs MORE pain in his life :D

#wren writes #chrumblr whumblr challenge #traumatic touch aversion #classic doctor who #fifth doctor #OGGHUGHU i love these four #i forgot to what extent until i rewatched episodes aaah #oneday i NEED to write the post earthshock adric focused story iv'e had lingering in the back of my mind for ages hehe #YES post earthshock adric. There's FUN to be had i PROMISE #but for now. little snippets

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certifiedtrashmouth · 2 years

Note

for the spotify wrapped thing - 3? maybe?

TRACK 3 - nothing else i could do by ella jane (steve harrington x gn!reader)

a/n: this is one of the few happy songs i managed to get!!! So here’s some tooth-rotting fluff with none other than steve harrington <3

“and they can dance to the songs, and they can drink all the wine. because the high might be theirs, but all the bottles were mine. ”

You didn’t mean to develop a crush on Steve Harrington. That’s the first thing you need to clarify - it was not meant to happen.

It wasn’t meant to happen the first day you arrived at your new job for training at Scoops Ahoy, nervous and fiddling with the sailor themed uniform you’d been provided with during your initiation. He’d been assigned with your training. And within the first thirty minutes, you could see why - he was good at it. Not just the job, but at making you feel comfortable. He made a million lame jokes, embarrassed himself more times than you could count on one hand, but at the end of the day, your nerves had faded and he was complimenting you, saying you were a ‘natural at scooping’.

It also wasn’t meant to happen the first time he arrived late to a shift with you, causing you to work through a rush completely alone. You had sworn you would curse him out. The newest employee with only a month of experience should not have to handle that many customers on their own. But you did it, with a tight-lipped smile and plenty of fake greetings to the annoying kids that asked for one too many samples. And when he finally arrived nearly an hour late, you’d puffed up your chest, ready to lay it on him, when you caught a good look at him.

Messy hair, curling spontaneously. A boyish grin that screamed apologetic. Puppy dog eyes as he pleaded for your forgiveness at his tardiness. His work shirt was crinkled at the collar, and you caught sight of the expanse of his neck, and all the words died on your tongue. It’s safe to say that Steve never got the reaming he deserved for leaving you high and dry like that. But, he was also never late again. So you let it slide.

It surely wasn’t meant to happen the first time you came in on one of your days off, finding Steve working with one of the only other workers, Robin. Right as you walked in, a group of girls were walking out, giggling to themselves. If you didn’t know better, you’d assumed the giggles were flirtatious.

But you did know better. And Buckley was already taking her marker to her white board that she’d separated into two sections - “You suck” and “You rule” - adding another tally mark placed in the “You suck” portion. You immediately knew the girls weren’t fawning; they were laughing at Steve’s failed attempt at flirting with them.

“God, Harrington, have you considered taking classes in flirting?” Robin had teased him, making his cheeks burn scarlet.

“Like you’re any better! Besides, that one lady gave us a tip after I sweet-talked her. That deserves some recognition!”

“Steve, she was old enough to be your grandmother,” Robin sighs, putting down the board as you approach the two. Her face lights up, and Steve’s back is still to you, “Say, sailor. Maybe you should try your luck one last time.”

You could see the excitement in the way his shoulders lifted, spinning quickly to greet what he thought would be just another customer, “Ahoy, ladies-”

When he saw it was you, he froze. His cheeks burned an even brighter shade of pink as you and Robin had bursted into laughter, and he continued to grumble about how cruel you two were as he served you and handed over your weekly tips you’d come in to pick up.

He didn’t flirt with you that time. But something in you wished that he did. You quickly buried that part of you down deep, ignoring it, because you weren’t supposed to have a crush on Steve Harrington.

It certainly wasn’t meant to happen when the two of you worked endless shifts together. Late summer afternoons started to bleed together, most of them being spent with Steve behind the Scoops counter. It was just you, him, and the ice cream.

“Hey, did you ever try the new flavor?” he asked randomly, already grabbing two sample spoons for the two of you.

You scrunched your face, “What? America’s Birthday Cake? Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s good!” He was already holding out a light blue spoon to you, the perfect bite perched on it.

You started to reach out to grab it, but Steve moved faster. Suddenly, the spoon swipes across your cheek, leaving you speechless as icing-flavored ice cream smears on your face.

You gasped, “Steve!”

You quickly reach for his wrist holding his own spoon, grappling with him as you’re both giggling messes, forcing his sample to land on his nose.

“Hey! No fair!” he whines as he pulls the spoon away, the tip of his nose now a brilliant pink.

“Save it, sailor!” you snorted.

When you did finally get a proper taste of the flavor, it was so sweet, it made your teeth ache. You convince yourself that’s what made your stomach churn. The sweetness of the ice cream, certainly not the sweetness in the look Steve gives you as you nod and lie to him that it was a good flavor, singing his praises in his taste. Certainly not the way he looks so proud of himself, nodding and grinning to the ground.

No, Steve Harrington wasn’t allowed to give you a toothache when he grins like a child and his hands brush yours when it gets busier, both reaching for the same scooper handle. That was impossible.

But maybe it was supposed to happen during the shift he asks you to come to his party. The two of you had been busy attempting to make whipped cream bounce off your hands and into your mouths (one too many failed attempts had left you both red in the face. Neither of you were very good at it) in the back room. After an attempt that led to the whipped cream landing in Steve’s hair, you finally called it quits and leaned against the wall, still giggling at the sight of him.

“God,” he sighed, taking a wet paper towel to a curl still coated in cream, “Now I’m going to have to shower when I get home, before the party and everything.”

Your interest piqued, “Party? You’re throwing one of your infamous Harrington bashes?”

He looked confused for a moment, staring at you as if this shouldn’t be news to you. It took him a second before realization settled.

“Shit!” he gasped, “Fuck, I forgot to ask you.”

“Ask me what?”

“To come to my party! Duh,” he walked over, leaning beside you, his shoulder pressed to yours.

“You want me, your coworker, to come to your party tonight?” you asked, bewildered eyes gazing up into his shining ones.

“Coworker? Ouch. I was sure we were friends after I gave you a ride home that one day.”

Your eyes widened, quick to take back your words, “No, no, no!” Your face colors red in embarrassment, stumbling over your sentences, “I mean, shit, yes- We are friends! We can be friends, if that’s what you want.”

“Good,” he nodded, “So, I’ll see you tonight?”

And maybe, just maybe, it was supposed to happen when you showed up to that party. It hadn’t been quite as boisterous as the ones he’d thrown in high school, but it was still in full swing as you entered through the front door and navigated the sea of bodies to find the kitchen. The music was loud, bass thumping so hard you felt it in your chest. Everyone was already clearly drunk, empty beer bottles littering the counters and enough red cups in sight, it was dizzying.

You were only on your second drink when Steve found you.

“You made it!” he cheered, quick to come up in front of you, throwing an arm over your shoulder with a smile shining as it always did.

“I did,” you nodded, waving your hands out for emphasis, “Almost got lost, though. Why do you live in the middle of nowhere?”

“To throw raging parties, obviously.”

“Are you already drunk?”

“No. I was waiting for you.”

His cheeks were pink, but you couldn’t make out the reasoning if you even tried. It could have been from alcohol, it could have been from how hot the filled house was, or it could have been from the way you were looking at him. Your eyes grazed over him, taking in his outfit that was very different from the usual Scoops uniform. He’d turned in the blue shorts for blue jeans that were snug, and wore a collared shirt with the top buttons left open. His chest hair was peaking out ever so slightly.

Without his hat, his hair was wild and lucious. He clearly had showered as he had mentioned, and you wondered if the waves would be soft between your fingers if you ran your hand through them.

Maybe you did have a crush on Steve Harrington.

And maybe, everything was happening as it should when he finally pulled you out to his backyard after an hour spent dancing and mingling with his friends. He wasn’t drunk - he promised you. You watched the entire night as he didn’t touch a single ounce of alcohol. At some point, you even put aside your own red cup. Steve’s aura and energy was making you feel drunk enough as it was, each lingering yet accidental touch sending you spiraling. The two of you even ran into Robin at some point, and you didn’t miss the look she sent him when she caught him dragging you out his back door.

The night air was refreshing, slightly chilled, as the two of you shared one of the pool loungers.

“So, thoughts?” he finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

“On your house, or your party?” you laughed softly under your breath.

You two were impossibly close, thighs pressed together as you watched the wind send ripples through his pool.

“Both, I guess? Or just the night in general,” he shrugged. You could smell his cologne, still lasting despite how sweaty the fun of the night had left both of you. It was something airy, something clean, something light.

Something intoxicating and oh so right.

“It’s nice. Everyone was right, you do know how to throw a party,” you answered honestly. You hadn’t gone to many parties in your high school career, but none of them had ever been this fun.

His shoulders relaxed with relief, “Good to hear. I wasn’t really sure if you were the partying type, you know?”

“Oh, I’m not,” you waved a hand, and he turned to you immediately, looking dazzled.

“So why’d you come?”

Maybe it was the one or two beers you’d had, a sort of liquid confidence. Or maybe it was the accumulation of the last three months.

But you don’t hesitate to answer him with the whole truth, “You.”

There it is again. His boyish grin. The proximity suddenly became stifling.

“Me?” he echoed, and if it wasn’t for the blue reflection from the water, you were sure you’d catch the grin spreading over his face like wildfire.

“You,” you said once more, bated breath as you both lean in closer.

His hand landed on your thigh, stagnant as you stared at each other for a second.

“I really want to kiss you,” he suddenly sighed, and you could feel his breath on your cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

A flutter in your chest, one you can’t excuse for anything except the gorgeous boy in front of you.

“Please,” you begged, as if there was any other answer. There wasn’t - not after afternoons filled with inside jokes and chilled noses, with toothaches and blushing cheeks.

The word has barely left your mouth before his lips are on yours, gentle at first. But when your hands came up and tugged at his hair, finding you were right in just how soft the locks were, he deepened the kiss.

The two of you only broke apart when there was a loud knocking against the glass door behind the two of you. When you turn, you find Robin Buckley grinning wildly, giving two thumbs up.

“God, Buckley has awful timing,” you groaned, still smiling despite the faux annoyance.

“She does,” he brought a hand up to your cheek, turning it carefully to face him one more, “But I owe her. This was her idea.”

“Her idea? To kiss me?”

“No. To throw a party, and invite you,” he corrected.

A flame burning in the pit of your stomach, excitement licking up your throat as you watched his shyness get the best of him.

“You threw a party just so I would come?”

He scoffed, throwing a quick glance towards his bustling house, nothing more than mere white noise now, “Yeah. Can I be honest? I don’t even like half the people in there. But I didn’t know how else to see you outside of work.”

You grinned and pulled him in for a second kiss wordlessly, cupping his cheeks endearingly.

“You know,” you broke away from him for a second, pressing your foreheads together, “You could have just asked me on a date.”

The normally flirtatious attitude has evaporated, and in it’s place sits a vulnerable Steve Harrington. “Would you have said yes?”

“Why don’t you find out now?”

Another kiss, shorter this time, but savored as if it would be the last. It wouldn’t be - you knew now that you’d had a taste, you’d never be satisfied.

“Okay,” he laughed breathlessly, pulling back reluctantly, “Okay. How about Sunday? Me, you, and that new movie showing at the drive-in.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pretending to think about it, “Depends. Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

“And can we get popcorn?”

“Of course.”

“What about Junior Mints?”

Steve groaned at that, settling an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tightly into his side, “You know what? I think I take it back. I’ll find some other cutie who works at an ice cream shop to take to the drive in.”

You gasped, slapping his chest, “You wouldn’t! No take-backs.”

You were right, though - he wouldn’t. He only had his sights on one person you could make a sailor outfit look that good: you.

The next shift Steve has, you come in to visit, to find a new tally mark on the whiteboard Robin’s holding.

For the first time, the clean, black mark is placed under “You Rule”.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #asks #thank u ily #spotify wrapped writing

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superstarzolar · 5 months

Text

i’m gunna talk about how these lines apply to athazagora because it’s been driving me insane the last few hours . my explanations start out kind of decipherable but then they quickly turn into rambling . you’ve been warned.

also i want to reiterate that i’m talking about how these quotes apply to ATHAZAGORA specifically— most of this isn’t just talking about how it relates to actual canon.

Henry and Charlie

Henry couldn’t stop Charlie from being pushed out of the building and subsequently being killed by William, this one is obvious.

Sammy and Charlie

Similarly, Sammy wasn’t able to prevent what happened to Charlie. But, unlike Henry, Sammy holds a special type of guilt, as he believes that if he had been with her instead of wandering off to enjoy himself at the party, he could’ve stopped it from happening.

Cassidy and Sammy

Leading up to the Bo83, Cassidy did all that they could to stop Michael and his gang from putting Sammy’s head into Fredbear’s mouth, but ultimately failed to do so, making Cassidy feel responsible for the bite as well. This came with an immediate punishment of having to watch the bite happen up-close.

Jeremy and Gabriel

Jeremy had always felt a need to protect the entire friend group, but especially Gabriel, as he was not only his best friend, but he was the youngest member of the group too. Sadly, Jeremy wasn’t able to protect anybody, let alone himself or Gabriel. In fact, when they were cornered in the safe room by William, Gabriel initially tried to defend Jeremy, which resulted in him being the first victim out of the two.

Additionally, his inability to stand up for himself also caused his friends to die, as he wasn’t able to protect Susie or warn the others about what was to come (at least, that’s what he believes— his guilt blinds him to the fact that he didn’t know what was coming, either, and so isn’t responsible for William’s later actions.)

Andrew and Cassidy

On the day of Cassidy’s party, Andrew was late, and so wasn’t there in time to stop Cassidy from following William into the safe room. This tardiness was punished almost immediately by Andrew having to discover what had happened to Cassidy right after he arrived (sounds a bit like a… Parallel….. Hmmmmmmm).

Henry and Charlie

Once again, this is obvious, but I have something else to add; this could also be Henry talking to the other missing kids, as he is also freeing them from their animatronics alongside Charlie.

Jeremy and Gabriel

Unlike Henry, Jeremy adheres to this line throughout the story, and not just at the end. After they all die, he dedicates himself to protecting the others to make up for his inability to do so before. This provides an explanation as to why Bonnie usually attacks first in most games.

Charlie and The Missing Kids

Like Jeremy, Charlie applies this line after death, as she tries to help them following the pain they experienced instead of preventing it in the first place.

(Additionally, isn’t it funny how Charlie accidentally doomed her friends into decades-long torment in hopes of giving them a chance at life again… She tried to help them but ended up causing more harm than good… Sounds a bit like her father… He tried to entertain and protect children but ultimately failed to stop (and even enabled) the danger…. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm)

Bonus round!!!

The Missing Kids, in general

The missing kids stuck around after their deaths for a number of reasons — Damnation and revenge, of course— but also because they weren’t happy with fading into the background of everything after what had happened to them. They wouldn’t allow their pain to be forgotten and glossed over.

(This is actually why the name of the au is Athazagora, as the full word, athazagoraphobia, can mean the fear of being forgotten).

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf athazagora #ssz rambles

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bi-bard · 2 years

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A Minute from Home but I Feel so Far from It - Tenth Doctor Imagine (Doctor Who)

Title: A Minute from Home but I Feel so Far from It

Pairing: Tenth Doctor X Reader

Based On: The View Between Villages

Word Count: 922 words

Warning(s): mention of bad childhood

Summary: The Doctor showed (Y/n) the beauty of the universe. (Y/n) adored it all. Now, (Y/n) is mere moments from seeing their family and hesitates. The Doctor is curious why going home seems to terrify (Y/n) so much.

Author's Note: Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. We did it, folks! Last imagine! Let's hope this one's good!

P.S. this is totally not what I think would happen if the Doctor ever tried to drag me back to hometown (that was so sarcastic).

PART TWO HERE

STICK SEASON - NOAH KAHAN WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

---------------------------

There was something comical about watching the Doctor fly the TARDIS.

It was meant to be flown by more than one person, and since he refused to teach me how to fly, he was left running around the console like a cartoon character. I thought of characters like Tom & Jerry and Wile E. Coyote. I was almost certain there was a little cloud of dust forming behind him as he went.

But then the TARDIS would land, and he would seem so confident and in control. It was like a switch being flipped on and off. Granted that 'in control' thing would fade once we stepped outside and we weren't usually where or when he wanted us to be.

This trip was no different.

He leaned on the console with the same "I'm so impressive" smirk on his face.

"What," I asked when he didn't start rambling about where we were. "Where are we? Or when? Or both?"

"Best place in the universe," he said, motioning toward the door.

I furrowed my eyebrows at him for a moment. "Alright..."

He nodded toward the door.

I scoffed before turning around and going to the door.

I pulled the door open and popped my head through to get a look around.

I almost immediately pulled my head back and slammed the door shut, stumbling a few steps back. I froze after that. It felt like I couldn't move or talk or anything.

"What's wrong," I heard the Doctor ask. "Did I drop us in the wrong place again?"

When I didn't speak up, he walked over to me. He stepped around me to open the door.

"I swear, you try to take someone on a nice visit home, and this thing always ends up dropping into some kind of battle- woah!"

I grabbed the back of his jacket when he went to step outside. I pulled him back before slamming the door shut and standing in front of it.

"What'd you do that for?"

"What'd you bring me home for," I snapped.

"I... I thought it'd be nice to offer you a chance to visit," he explained quickly. "You don't mention it much, but I don't need you suddenly getting homesick-"

"I wouldn't have gotten homesick."

That wasn't a lie either.

There is this weird effect that small towns seem to have on people. It formed two main categories.

The first would be the ones who peaked in said small town and lived there for the rest of their lives. They probably married their high school sweetheart and had three kids with weirdly spelled names.

The second would be the people who ran for the hills as soon as they could. They were often the ones made to feel miserable for not being absolutely obsessed with the town and the people in said town.

I was part of the second group.

Kids were assholes, adults didn't care, and I was trapped.

The Doctor was my escape from all of that. I was convinced he knew that. Apparently, I was wrong.

"(Y/n)," he muttered. "What's going on?"

"I... I should be excited to visit, I know, and I know you meant well," I replied. "But... I can't. I can't be here."

"Hey, hey," he reached out and touched my arms. "Why? What's wrong?"

I couldn't form the answer. I hadn't realized how much shame I had taken in that part of my life. I didn't want him to know about it. I didn't want his view of me to change because of it.

The Doctor let out a quiet sigh, dropping his hands from my arms. He ran his hand over his face.

"I've seen you face some of the scariest things in the universe," he said. "Daleks and Cybermen and Weeping Angels-"

"That's different!"

"Why," he asked.

I looked down for a moment.

"(Y/n)?"

"When I face those things, I have you with me... but here... I..."

I felt myself freezing up again. Whatever being decided my immediate fight-or-flight response should be freeze would have hell to pay when I finally made it to the afterlife.

"I'm still here," he promised after I had been silent for a few moments too long. He stepped forward slowly. "I'm still going to be right next to you."

He slowly reached out his hand, a grin forming on his face. I looked down at his hand. It was like I was studying it, seeing if this was some kind of trick or a trap.

"Just like any other trip," he added.

I looked back at his face. His grin only seemed to grow when I made eye contact with him. I couldn't help but grin back at him.

I reached out and grabbed his hand. He immediately pulled me to the door.

"I want to see everything," he said excitedly as he pulled the door open and pulled me outside. "Every store you used to visit and where you got coffee and where you would run off to read-"

"Doctor," I planted my feet as he tried to lead me down the road. He looked back at me. "I think it's only fair that I get to lead the way on this trip, don't you?"

There was a pause before he let out a happy laugh. He used his free hand to gesture to the road behind him. "Lead the way, please."

I chuckled and started walking forward.

I could tell that this was going to be the best trip home that I had ever had.

---------------------------

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#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor imagine #tenth doctor fanfiction #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who x reader #imagine #fanfiction #x reader

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rosesradio · 6 days

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lvoce: chapter one

(Revised Version) Leo was used to being lost.

As far as his career as a pizza delivery guy went, he was not about to get a glowing review from his manager. Tardiness, grabbing the wrong order in a rush, and the occasional stint of reckless driving left Leo's record tarnished to hell and back. In fact, the only reason he wasn't kicked to the curb yet was because the manager owed a favor to his foster mom, or something like that.

Leo's foster mom was doing him a favor, which was the nicest thing he could say about her. The only nice thing, really. Susan was a distant woman, often sending him to do her grocery shopping, chores, and taking care of all the other rowdy kids. At least at work he had an out, a momentary escape. Compared to Susan's place, the average shitty job was paradise. If he was lucky, despite making minimum wage, he could scrap together a meager savings and make a real escape plan.

That would make plan, what? Six or seven?

Leo wondered why people only seemed to care when he ran away. When he was caught, they all turned away again.

Leo shook his head. It didn't matter, because he couldn't make an escape savings if he couldn't deliver this pizza. And right now, he couldn't find the address for this person.

He had gotten the call and wrote it down on a napkin, though he had trouble getting certain addresses right sometimes due to his dyslexia. 1112 Birdview Road turned into 1121 Birpeiew Raod, which was frustrating to no end. Still, Leo had double and triple checked that the spelling was correct.

3.141 Farm Road.

Maybe he was being pranked. Even though that would be stupid, because they had pre-paid for the pizza over the phone.

Leo was at the crest of a hill.

His car—the company car, rather—was pulled over to the side of the road. There wasn't even a driveway, a building, or any indication that there was a living soul up the hill.

Assholes.

To be fair, these sorts of things weren't unheard of. People did things like this all the time with no warning in advance. With a sigh, Leo trekked up the hill, his shoes squeaking in the frosty grass with every step.

Then, once he reached the top of the hill, the grass was miraculously dry. Not only that, it had no coating of frost.

Leo didn't notice it at first, but as he looked down to make sure he didn't trip, he saw the difference. It was a line drawn in the sand. His brows furrowed as he moved his foot from one section—hearing the water squeak against his rubber soles—then the next, the grass not shining in its dryness.

Now, it was easy for Leo to get distracted. He was ADHD, to put a cherry on top of his dyslexia. His train of thought was driving at illegal record speeds on a constant basis, and he was used to making boring situations fun with his overactive imagination.

But this was different. It seemed almost supernatural, how wet the land was in one spot, then completely dry a step away.

That was when he spotted the sign.

Of course, Leo had been so distracted by grass that didn't look up to see the towering wooden sign that read Camp Half-Blood. Somehow, he didn't struggle to parse the words; it were as if the font had been made to cater to dyslexic people. That is, until the letters started to fade in and out of place, replaced by some ancient characters. Latin, perhaps, or Greek—like some kind of frat house. Frat-camp, rather. In the winter.

A pile of multi-colored cables rested at the bottom of a large pine tree. As much as Leo wanted to investigate them, he figured he'd stalled long enough. The last thing he needed was to be yelled at for a late order. He headed in under the sign, immediately spotting a large blue house just past a volleyball court. About a dozen small cabins dotted along in a U towards the west, along with some half-constructed outliers.

Leo hesitantly walked up to the big blue house, stepping onto the porch and knocking on the door. His legs felt strangely weak, like that time he had delivered to a sorority party. Unfortunately, he was not met with a dozen hot girls having a pillow fight, but instead a mob of drunk girls who screamed at him for no reason.

His entire body seemed to want to seperate from his mind in that moment. The house seemed uncanny valley to say the least. Leo wanted to leave the food on the porch for the occupants to figure out. His heartbeat skipped in his chest, his fingers brushing and tapping against the still-warm pizza box. His stomach began to coil uncomfortably; if he didn't leave, something bad was going to happen.

There was a light on in the window, and Leo could hear some hushed voices inside. After a considerably long moment, door opened to reveal a boy around Leo's age, sixteen. Seeing a kid his own age calmed Leo for a moment. The boy had curly brown hair, freckles across his nose, and a sly smile—like he was used to charming his way out of trouble. He looked like the kind of kid Leo would want to be friends with in school, if he still worried about that sort of thing.

"I have an order for, uh, Connor Stoll?" Leo asked, reading off the napkin from his pocket.

"That's me, thank you!" The boy happily took the pizza from Leo, turning to the others in the house. A group of kids ranging from twelve to nineteen sat around a ping pong table, accompanied by a middle aged man in a wheelchair. They seemed to be talking with serious expressions until Connor turned around, pizza in hand. "What?" He asked. "I paid for it..."

The people around the table froze, not looking at Connor, but at Leo. Great.

"Look," Leo started. "I'm just trying to do my job. I'm sorry if something's wrong, but—"

"How did you get past the barrier?" a girl at the table asked lowly, her eyes narrowed. She looked to be a bit older than Leo, with brown hair and green eyes. She was pretty, though Leo thought it was a little odd that she sported a straw sunhat indoors.

The teens around the table broke out in whispers:

"Could he be—?"

"Ask about his parents—"

"The barrier didn't block—"

As difficult as it was for Leo to parse the flurry of whispers, he honed in on one word: barrier. Was it the wooden sign, with its strange ancient characters? He didn't see anything that explicitly said Keep Out.

"The b—" Leo started, glancing outside at the sign again. Seeing no answers, his heart started to race again. "Look, if this is some kind of cult or something, I didn't see anything. You don't need to kill anyone or perform any experiments or—"

"Enough," the one adult at the table held up a hand, and the teens around him fell silent. "Clearly, he is no threat, as no mortal or monster may cross. He seems to be a lost demigod, lucky to come across our camp in such a coincidental manner. What is your name, young hero?"

Leo felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. He stood still, brows furrowed, eyes shifting from one face to the next. His mouth felt full of cotton. It were as if he had an oral presentation and only got three sentences in before being told he'd picked the wrong subject and would now have to improvise.

The word hero stuck with him, though. Hero? Leo was no hero. He'd caused more harm—a colossal amount of harm, more harm than he could make up for in a lifetime—than good for anyone.

And so, Leo turned to Plan A. He laughed. He deflected. "Okay, I get it now. This is how you indoctrinate people to your camp! You tell them they're heroes, that no one else could walk through the super-special magical border, then you ask for their parent's credit card number. Well, Mr. depressed English teacher, that is not going to work with me, because I am a broke pizza delivery guy for a reason. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back..."

Leo turned on his heel and started out, walking a little quicker than he'd like to admit. Of all the weird situations he had stumbled into, this had to be up on the list, and that was saying something. Faces in the wind, huge men in trench coats trying to sneak into his classroom, inhuman noises in the shadows; Leo was no stranger to these sorts of occurrences.

If there was something going on that Leo didn't understand, he turned to Plan B—and not the kind that could be bought at the pharmacy. His Plan B was to run. It worked great with weird sightings, foster "families" that treated him like dirt, pop quizzes, you name it.

Of course, there was the other thing. The thing that Leo couldn't run from, the thing that followed him. When his emotions began to rise, so did the smoke, curling elegantly to greet the flames that danced along his fingers. That was something that no amount of deflection could smother.

But it didn't matter. No one needed to know how Leo kept the pizza boxes warm for so long. The way he used it was nothing more than a party trick—not that he was invited to any parties. The only way things would get worse would be to explore the flames.

Now, all Leo had to do was get back to the car and get back to work. He would probably hear it from his boss for being out so long, but this place was pretty far out, and—

"Wait," a hand landed abruptly on Leo's shoulder.

Leo jolted, shrugging the hand off instinctively before turning. He met the eyes of one of the boys from the ping pong table. He looked to be about fifteen, but his eyes—his whole complexion, really—told Leo that there was something off about him. He had shaggy black hair—long, like how Leo's own hair got before foster mothers got the scissors out to keep him from looking "degenerate". Dark circles under his eyes appeared stark against pale skin, his eyes so brown they seemed almost black in the darkness. He had on one of those big aviator jackets and a black shirt with dancing skeletons on it.

Basically, he looked like every goth kid in school Leo strived to avoid before they tried to get him into Evanescence.

"I know how this sounds, but I promise you, it's not a scam." The boy started. His eyes were so intense, Leo felt rooted to the spot. "There's no way you could have gotten past the border without being...special. Think about it. Your parents, do you know your family's history? Do—"

"Hey!" Leo cut him off, his cheeks flushing. It was rare when something truly pissed him off, though that question from a stranger was beyond uncalled for. "I have foster parents, okay? Happy? Not that it's any of your business. I'm really not interested in joining whatever pyramid scheme you have going on here."

A thick, heavy silence filled the biting winter air. The boy opened his mouth, calculating his next words, when a growl sounded out from the darkness down the hill.

"Okay," Leo started to cool down—he had to, because he was literally smoking at the hair, never a good sign. If he was lucky, it could pass for mist curling off his warm skin in the winter air. "So...you have a dog. Cool..." he sighed, meeting the boy's eye. "What's your name, anyways?"

The boy peered down the hill, his lips pressed in a thin line, his eyes still calculating. Leo couldn't deny his curiosity; this boy seemed to be in the know about many things, some of which Leo was convinced might actually impact him. He couldn't help but loathe the concept of how lost he was.

"Nico di Angelo," the boy finally replied, his voice calm and even. "What's yours?"

"Leo," Leo replied, trying to replicate that calm with mixed success. "Leo Valdez."

Nico nodded, looking around at the camp, which was hard to really make out in the darkness. "I've been in-and-out of here for about five years. I leave whenever I want without restrictions. I had a lot of questions about my past before I came here. Who my parents were, why...mysterious things seemed to happen around me. It was a confusing road, and admittedly, I still have questions, but it was worth it. Far more worth it than toughing it out in the mortal world."

"The mortal world," Leo ehcoed faintly, his breath fogging in the winter air.

Admittedly, the things Nico said were starting to make a lot of sense. He thought about the grass, how one part was wet, and one was dry right next to it. The barrier. He shook his head. "I'll admit it, I have questions about my family. My...my dad. But this stuff you said, about having to be "special"? I'm not special. If anything, I'm worse than everyone at what matters, like school. And work. Speaking of, I have a job to get back to."

Leo started off towards the sign. Other than Nico taking one or two hesitant steps after him, he didn't stop him. Strangely, his heartbeat off-kilter in his chest, Leo felt bad for walking away from Nico—especially considering his own unanswered questions. Still, he figured a shitty normal life in the mortal world was better than this uncomfortable, confrontational camp.

"I..." Leo turned around reluctantly, his shoes squeaking awkwardly in the grass. Nico was a weird guy to look at, though to add to the uncanny valley, Leo couldn't help but look at him. His eyes appeared black and white in the darkness, large and almost doe-like. He looked more like a cryptid than a kid, though Leo didn't feel afraid of him any more than the implications he brought with him.

"I'll come back," Leo settled. "Maybe. If I get so broke that I want to join your pyramid scheme." He tried for a smile, though Nico appeared so solemn that it quickly faded.

With that, Leo started towards the wooden sign. As soon as he passed under it, Leo found frost under his sneakers once more. He really didn't know how Camp Half-Blood, whatever it was, drew that dividing line.

Leo moved down the hill slowly. He allowed himself to glance back for a moment as he wondered if he was making the right call. In either direction, for the remainder of his days, he would probably ask himself that question.

Leo's thoughts were derailed by the rustling of nearby trees. Another growl pierced the air—deep, large, and guttural. Leo took it that the camp didn't have a puppy as their mascot. He liked dogs well enough, though he didn't want a wolf from the woods to tackle him for not paying the $199.99 starting camp fee. The sooner he got back to the car, the better.

Too late.

Out of the trees stepped a colossal black mastiff the size of a monster truck. Its paws were like trash can lids. The earth trembled under each step as if unable to handle its weight. Its teeth—as it bared its teeth, each leathal, sharpened tooth appeared longer than Leo's torso. Beady red eyes peered into Leo's soul. He could see only its hunger; this thing had eaten someone before, and it would spare no hesitations to eat a human again.

Up past the hill, Nico ran past the border sign, grasping—no way in hell—a three-foot-long sword. The blade was black as night, only reflecting the light of the moon.

"Do I even need to say I told you so?" Nico asked, exasperated.

The commotion seemed to distract Mr. Demon Dog for a moment. Leo, as the guy without a sword, was perfectly okay with this arrangement. He backed away slowly, heart pounding in his chest. The mastiff bounded towards Nico, mouth opening wide as it pounced—

Nico lunged, charging into action as if he'd done this a thousand times before. He effortlessly slashed across the monster's neck in a perfect arc, like something out of a movie. The beast cried out, keeling over into the earth as it exploded into a burst of sparkling gold dust. In the chilling wind, the dust sprinkled all over Leo. He was sure he looked like he'd just been given a five second makeover by a couple queens on Ru Paul's Drag Race.

A hefty silence filled the air as Nico caught his breath, his hands on his knees. Leo opened his mouth, closed it, tasted some of the golden dust, and gagged. It tasted like baking soda and rotten eggs.

"You guys didn't even leave a tip," Leo shook his head, running a hand through his curls. "You...assholes, and your messed up camp, and your massive glitter dogs—"

"I just saved your life," Nico pointed out, brows raised as he stood straight. He crossed his arms. Even with his hair now more unkempt, he had an intensely mature aura for a fifteen year old. It unsettled Leo to say the least. "And you're complaining about a lack of tip on your pizza delivery? I didn't even order it. Connor got pepperoni and meatball, I would have gotten Hawaiian—"

"Hawaiian?" Leo managed, nausea churning in his stomach. He couldn't help but feel flabbergasted and relieved to see such petty debates like pizza toppings still existed in the same world as massive deadly mastiffs. "That's...ridiculous..."

"Hey," Nico started, his voice soft as he placed a gentle hand on Leo's arm. Leo didn't pull away this time, though his face flushed. He felt a sudden strong urge to study his shoes and the ground around them. He didn't even know this kid, but he had an undeniable, powerful aura. He could be one of those...demi-whatevers, like that adult in the cabin said. A Not-Mortal. "Come back with me to the Big House, okay? We'll explain everything...and maybe we'll get you that tip..."

Nico's tone eased Leo's racing heart, like someone who had been through as many shitty things as he had and genuinely understood. Still, he also made Leo feel as if he were in trouble—the feeling being as familiar as the back of his hand.

Leo took a deep breath, gazing at the big blue house in the distance. Regret coiled his stomach further, the feeling like an old friend to his nervous system. He had probably alienated himself from any and everyone in there already. Then again, knowing himself, he would not stay long if he could avoid it.

Besides...what did Leo have to lose at this point?

"My boss would eat me alive," Leo laughed incredulously. He couldn't help but be baffled as to why he even cared after being that close to death.

"Maybe not as much as that hellhound would have," Nico replied, his smile crooked and fleeting across his lips. "Unless he's a monster, too."

As much as that was supposed to be a joke, part of it made Leo's limbs tense. What if certain people in his life were monsters, just waiting to destroy him?

Leo thought back to his suspicions of the camp. Nico said he'd been here five years, coming and going as he pleased. The depressed-English-teacher man said no monsters got past the barrier. At the camp, he was promised safety, even if it was temporary.

Safe. Leo didn't hold much stock in the word.

Leo took a deep breath, glancing down the hill at the company car that seemed to be from a distant life. He looked back up at Nico, who was looking at him expectantly. Leo had the strangest thought, then: Nico looked as if a hellhound was a person. Leo could only hope that didn't mean he would eat him when his back was turned.

Nodding to seal his decision, Leo started back up the hill with Nico di Angelo, leaving the world he once knew far behind.

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borrowedtimeandspace · 1 year

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Fate Is Kind

4. Stargazing

From this list of gt prompts

AU: To The Nines (Nine AU); set after The Vanishing Box, immediately after Zepheera agrees to travel with the Doctor.

~~~

"Right, then! Your choice, Zepheera: where do you want to go?"

Zepheera was at a loss. While she and the Doctor had decided to put the time aspect of their travels second, since at nearly 80 years old she had spent quite a lot of her life watching the world around her change. She was also fully aware that she had only inhabited a small corner of the wider world, well-traveled as she was for a borrower. She hardly knew where to begin.

"I… we can go anywhere in the whole world?" Zepheera reiterated.

The Doctor's patient smile widened to a proper grin as he clarified, "Anywhere at all in the universe."

"Universe…" Zepheera breathed. She knew the word, having lived alongside humans for so long, but this was the first time she'd been made to grapple with its meaning.

Sensing this, the Doctor held out a hand for the tiny woman to step onto from her perch on the console. "Come here. I'll show you."

Zepheera complied, intrigued. The Time Lord deposited her into his shoulder to free up his hands, and then Zepheera had to cling to the leather lapel of his jacket as he began piloting the TARDIS. The console room rattled only for a moment before going still; he didn't need to fly far to get his point across.

"Deep breath," he said as he walked down to the TARDIS doors, his tone light enough to give Zepheera the impression that it wasn't so much a warning of danger. More of a reminder that she had no idea what she was about to witness, and to prepare herself as best as she could.

She breathed in slow, and out slow. "I'm ready."

That might have felt true when she said it, but nothing could have made her ready to see what was on the other side of those doors.

Zepheera, all four and a half inches of her, had to look down to find the Earth. She felt her stomach flip to find it so far below. It took her a moment of recovery to make the connection of what she was looking at, to images and models of the globe that she'd seen in passing throughout her life. Oceans. Landmasses. Storms. Ice caps.

The world.

If that wasn't enough, the rest wasn't any less overwhelming. It was like the night sky, deeper and darker than she could ever have imagined, and yet shimmering with thousands upon thousands of stars. So many more than Zepheera had ever seen before.

All previous vertigo faded away, replaced with a vivid memory that Zepheera hadn't thought about in ages. Back when she was just a kid, barely into her teenage years, and her uncle… her surrogate father, Boston, took her up to see the night sky for the first time.

“Which star am I supposed to wish on?” she’d asked him.

Perking up, Zepheera tugged excitedly on the Doctor’s lapel. “Where’s home?”

“Eh?”

“I know where I want to go, but I need to find it. Where did we come from?”

Zepheera clung once again as the Doctor leaned slightly out of the doors, pointing down toward the globe below. “Northern hemisphere, see that little island glowing in the dark?”

Hoping for a better look, Zepheera skirted around the back of the Doctor’s collar to the opposite shoulder, and had started to follow the path his arm made when walking very suddenly became quite difficult. Like someone cut an invisible tether that made sure she could stay grounded in each step.

“Oi! Careful!” the Doctor chided, reaching out his other hand to cup around the borrower to keep her from floating off. “I’ve extended the air shell, but just because you’re protected from the vacuum of space doesn’t mean you won’t float off!”

When Zepheera glanced back at him with a rather apprehensive look, the Doctor realized that she didn’t have a clue about the dangers of space. “Oh. Right, well… just don’t run ‘round like that for a while, not til you’re used to all this.”

She nodded, steadying herself against the Doctor’s hand as she once again found the island he’d indicated, then turned to search the neverending expanse of stars for just the right one. Zepheera tried to find the right angle, see which stars she would have been looking toward all those years ago.

“There!” Zepheera pointed to a cluster of stars that were unmistakably the same ones, albeit from a different angle than she was used to. When she was a kid, it looked like a fishhook to her, and right at the bottom of it, where a line would be tied if it were a real one… There was the star that she had made a wish on. A wish that was finally coming true after 65 years.

Please take me far away from here…

Zepheera’s hopeful violet gaze turned to meet the Doctor’s. “Can we go there?”

Following her finger, the Doctor’s smile began to return as he recognized that particular star. “The heart of the lion,” he mused. “Oh, I know exactly where to take you.”

“The what?” Zepheera wondered, clinging to one of the Doctor’s fingers as he leaned back into the TARDIS. It was a bizarre sensation to feel weight return to her body once they crossed the threshold.

“Humans call shapes in star systems constellations,” he explained while he deposited Zepheera back to the shoulder she started out on. “They called that one Leo, because it’s sort of shaped like a lion…”

The doors of the TARDIS creaked shut as the pair of travelers disappeared inside, and before long it began to vanish in time with the most wonderful sound in the universe.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #to the nines #nine AU #TTN: a BTaS AU #Zepheera #ninth doctor #doctor who crossover #the borrowers #borrowers crossover #giant #tiny #giant tiny #gt #g/t #fluff #doctor who gt #doctor who g/t

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unboundtravels · 10 months

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SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 20/23: SUNRISE

A post regenerated (Looney) Doctor enters The TARDIS after a trying ordeal. Inside, he attempts to situate himself after the change concludes.

She stands there on the corner of an empty street. The sunlight bakes her wood, causing her to have an aged, rustic look. Her blue has faded into a darker color. She's decided she wants to wear an aged, faded look. Her windows were a pale yellow, her text and lamp scratched and worn. Despite her rustic appearance, she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on.

He's still wearing another man's clothes. Now he's maybe a few inches shorter, though. He's holding a thick cotton black coat, wearing a baggy faded sweatshirt and loose trousers. He'd already kicked the boots off a while ago. His skin was lit with a blush, his cheeks dotted with the odd freckle here and there. His eyes were bright and brow and his hair was long, wavy, and brown. He hadn't had the time to change because he'd been forced to wake up prematurely and attend to some planet-saving business. That was done now.

"I like your new look, old girl." He compliments, before fishing out the key and pushing the door open. Once inside, he was bathed in a warm, aquamarine glow. His eyes take in the circular shape of the new console room. "Oh," He cooed, "I really like your new look." He moved to step up the raised platform, hands tracing the rusted railing before he stepped up onto the first of two raised platforms leading to the console. He's impressed by the organic pillars and the wall-mounted platform. The TARDIS felt very mechanical in this form, with a splash of patchwork to make her feel more handbuilt. That made the connection between himself and her more intimate in that regard, he thought. It felt like she wanted to feel pride in him. Switches felt placed in familiar positions that made it feel like he himself had constructed the craft.

The rotor was pretty. The crown jewel of the console room. Steeped in a blue glow that gave it a beautiful contrast with the amber walls. The loose cables were a lovely touch, while also feeling needed. More powerlines indicated increased power. He draped the coat of his previous incarnation over the hydraulic raised car seat near the back of the console. He stepped toward the console, his hands clicking and twisting various switches that seemed to prime the engines and the console. He exhaled, "Ohoho... I know I hear ya, I hear ya." He replies to the purr of the TARDIS engines. She's ready to take off. Before he can even begin priming the engines for take-off fully— he moves to step away from the raised platform, down through a small hatch-like door leading into the corridors.

The Wardrobe was a multiple floors, with a rotational staircase leading up to the rest of the floors. He climbed up it immediately, heading toward the top floor. He intended to work his way down, and on his way up he began removing the rest of his previous selves clothes. On the top floor, he started with pants. He grabbed a tight pair of black jeans and socks. On his way down he grabbed a black T-shirt and a pair of sneakers, high tops. Near the final floor, he grabbed a green cargo jacket and a messenger bag. By the time he reached a mirror, he was more confident in his appearance. His hands were in his jacket, but the messenger bag helped his look appear firmer, tighter.

With his new look, he moved to click various switches that warmed up the engine. A buzzing on the console attracted his attention. The console deposited a Sonic Screwdriver, the latest model. Retrofitted with all the current upgrades and a little extra. The Doctor squealed excitedly, "Oh! A new one~" He grinned delightfully, like an excited, manic puppy. It was copper, with bits of silver. It's bulb was green. Holding it by the quartz handle, The Doctor aimed it. The button was housed in a black leather midsection. The bulb glowed an emerald green. He tossed the Sonic Screwdriver, letting it spin before he caught it again and slid it inside his inner breast pocket. "Thank you, sexy~" He winked at the console before standing away.

"We've got so many places to go... So many stars to see." He grinned brightly, that light in his eyes seemed restored. A light that had once been gone seemed rejuvenated, restored. He was eager, ready. He waited though, at the front doors. He leaned against it, the console. Perpetually caught in silence as he waited for his friend. Despite it all...

He'd still rather head off with someone, than no one. And she'd endured so much.

She deserved a few more trips.

#!!!. {in character | ic}#vi. {the looney doctor}#unboundnovember

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lightsiided · 1 year

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how can you resist this face?

* flirting prompts | accepting

she groans LOUDLY, covering her eyes with one hand and swatting blindly at him with the other -- though it does nothing to stop her from being swayed. even without looking, rey can picture the way he MUST be staring at her perfectly. it's as good as gazing directly into the pretty blue eyes she knows are watching her alongside the soft, wanting smile and all the other pieces that come together to make up the infuriatingly handsome package of her annoyingly perfect HUSBAND.

her nose scrunches as she comes to a stop in front of him, still stubbornly refusing to look. "they're our friends," she protests -- admittedly, weakly. "we promised."

it's just dinner. it won't be SO TERRIBLE, probably; it might even be nice. they've seen no one but each other for at least the last month, since the party -- their wedding, of course, though it feels almost silly to keep calling it that when the celebration has stretched on for so long. it feels like they've been married for YEARS, at this point -- like there might once have been a time where they weren't attached at the hip, but that time is a distant memory, now, fading off into nothing.

she can admit that neither of them have thought of much besides each other for a potentially embarrassingly long stretch of time. it wasn't that they INTENDED to be so isolated, really. but every time they made an attempt to separate, they'd wind up in the shower together or taking a break to read or work that devolved into kissing so quickly there was nothing to do but enjoy it.

and in a blink, a month had passed since they'd so much as SPOKEN to another person. transmissions piled up around them quickly -- emails, comms on her datapad, letters that went unreturned. rey had planned to get back to everyone eventually, at some unspecified date far off in the future...

there's a sigh as thor pulls her hands away from her face. rey's expression immediately turns pleading; it's exactly as she'd expected and WORSE all at once: pretty eyes, prettier smile, heartbreakingly gorgeous face looking back at her so lovingly. her pulse immediately starts to race.

then, another noise -- strangled, from her throat, making her try and turn away quickly. "you're not even dressed," she huffs, trying to check the time without staring at him, shirtless and muscled and right there. "we're going to be LATE."

everyone is going to tease them as it is. she can't imagine the jeers that will await them when they show up tardy and disheveled, grinning and self-satisfied...

...sickeningly in love, still, after so much time -- staring besottedly into each other's eyes and holding hands tenderly and scooting their chairs together so rey can tuck up under thor's arm between courses.

"we're never going to hear the END of this," she sighs again, resigned this time, turning back towards her husband with a smile she just can't quite fight.

@othunderous

#& answered.#rey's like you know what. they're our friends they'll understand #othunderous #( * hope is like the sun / mcu crossover )#do you like how she knows it's not an IF they show up late and messy but when #rey getting back to everyone six months later: oh my god i was GOING to call you back eventually

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i-am-become-a-name · 2 years

Text

Advent Prompt: 05/12/2022: I can’t move, person B has fallen asleep on me.

Tegan had dragged her feet into the kitchen that morning, and while never a morning person, the rings under her eyes today spoke of whole universes of sleeplessness. It had been such a been such a short time since they had welcomed (with varying warmth) Turlough, and an even shorter time since they had farewelled Nyssa. Their equilibrium still teetered between extremes, and he wondered idly, fingers tucked around his delicate cup of tea, whether the disruption had inspired her nightmares anew.

He took care never to mention it, but there was a coil to her step when she was in the TARDIS, high heels abandoned, and it tended to be exaggerated by exhaustion, something of a slither when her slippered feet moved across the floor. The signs were there today, and she was unaware as she bent over the coffee dispenser, mumbling to herself in counterpoint to it’s steady drip.

He stayed prudently silent as she sat in the chair beside his, having faced the wrath of her early morning self before, breathing in steam as if it were her only salvation, and their morning truce was slowly drawing to it’s end. Soon his tea would have been drunk, and she would have drawn enough strength from her coffee to potter around for something more substantial. All bets would be off after that, and-

Something slumped against his shoulder, and the only the familiar surroundings of the TARDIS paused his immediate to flinch away, a gentle, amused brush against his mind. Tegan had slowly slid away from her coffee, and a flash of her slow inexorable slump played in his mind’s eye, the twisting and constantly changing perspective of the TARDIS’s brain, and in the real world, there was a quiet sigh against his shoulder, warmth bleeding through his knitted jersey, and he looked down into the mass of curls that had claimed his arm.

Ah, so there was the proof of nightmares.

He abandoned his tea, trying to gently lean her back into her own chair, but the lack of support in a dining chair would send her to the ground, and he couldn’t in fairness deny her the sleep she so desperately seemed to need by tossing her to the ground. To borrow her words – rabbits.

“Tegan,” he coaxed, but she didn’t wake, shifting only to lean more weight against him, tipping the balance of her chair until the feet began to skid, and he grabbed for it, arm trapped under her weight, but the chair holding steady, his hand clutching a strut in the back.

Her coffee had long ceased to steam before the door crept open, and he was long resigned to doing little but trying to remember the end of a book he had read many regenerations ago, and it took a moment to register that Turlough was looking at them with a mixture of horror and absolute mirth. He suddenly realised how they must appear, and he had to fight the sudden urge to jump away as if he’d been doing something inappropriate, but Tegan was still quietly breathing against his side, and the darkness beneath her eyes was starting fade, incremental colour changes invisible to the average eye. He dragged his gaze away to look back up at Turlough, only to catch the last flicker of calculation before he smiled tensely at them, as if it pained him.

The door closed behind him, and Tegan didn’t stir.

#it's a short one but i am Desperately tired. someone give #me a comforting if uncomfortable person to nap on please. i beg of you #tegan #five #fic #advent calendar #apologies in advance if tomorrow's advent calendar is late but i'm working from 10:30 am to 7pm and may just be too exhausted to write #(I find it difficult to write at work with /people/ and /time constraints/ and /trying to eat my lunch and have a cup of tea/ shoved into 30 #minutes.)

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harringtonisms · 2 years

Text

people like us

pairing: steve harrington / eddie munson summary: Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington’s wife and the One time she realizes it’s his husband. warnings: some angst in #4 and a slight coming out (to herself) arc, hinted at homophobia (nothing explicit) word count: 7.5k a/n: (10/18/2023): a little after a year from the original post date, i decided to go back and edit it. it's still the same story any rereaders know, but all the little plot holes and issues have been fixed and there's 200 more words to read! thank you for reading <3

(og note): this is based off of this post i made! i will be doing a second part to this that follows eddie's bandmates and meeting steve! i hope you enjoy and any feedback, likes, reblogs, comments, ask, are all appreciated!

Read it on AO3

taglist: @zed-zeppeli @valenschmidt @expectocrucio @rel312 @jonathanbyersbbg @beeing-stuupid @ataztuv @noahzanehethey @ludabug @mavernanche @casualherolightbailiff @purplebellybell @phenomenal-bird @persephone13 @gleefully-macabre @darkqloszed @the-baby-goblin @aryanightshade @jojobeaner @specialagentslut-24 @goodomensgurl

1. Monday, August 21st, 1995

Amanda was not one to be late, especially on the first day of school. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway as she rushed to her first period class. In one hand she held a tardy slip. In the other was a ripped piece of notebook paper detailing her homeroom class in smudged blue ink.

Mr. Harrington

U.S. History

Room 114

Having lived in Hawkins her whole life, she’d been attending the same middle school her older sister and both parents attended. This made her rather familiar with the staff at Hawkins Middle and yet she hadn’t recognized Mr. Harrington’s name. Reaching her classroom, she grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

All the desks were arranged in groups of four and there were four groups. Hanging from the ceiling, were pieces of laminated paper designating each desk group a number. The walls were covered in different iconic historical quotes, maps of the worlds, and black and white photos of people Amanda assumed were important. On her teacher’s desk was a small globe, a pencil cup, and a clay pot full of various origamis. Her teacher was leaning against his desk, in the middle of a speech when he was interrupted by the squeak of the door being opened. All eyes landed on Amanda and she squirmed under her peers' watchful gaze. She walked shyly over to Mr. Harrington and handed him her pass.

“Ah, Amanda! Welcome to U.S. History. Uh, here! Grab a syllabus and there’s a free seat at table two! I’m just telling the class a bit about myself.” He smiled politely at her, and motioned toward table two. At table two, Mary and Lj were sitting on the same side, facing the windows, so Amanda chose the seat across from Lj. She quietly sat her stuff down and paid attention to what her teacher was saying.

“Like I was saying, I was born and raised in Hawkins. I walked these very same halls you did once before! It’s actually where I met my current partner, I just didn’t know it at the time. I started at Ivy Tech college before I transferred to Indiana State Teachers College to get my degree. I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years and taught at the local high school, before we moved back this past summer to take care of their dad and here we are! I’m also the coach for the basketball team so information about try-outs will go up soon. Now, enough about me. If you’d take a look at your syllabus…”

Mr. Harrington’s voice faded into ambient noise in the background as she looked around her classroom. He’d met his wife right here in this building, and he didn’t even know it at the time. The person Amanda would marry could be sitting right in front of her and she’d never know until she was finally with them. She glanced around and her eyes landed on Louise-Jane Brooks, or Lj as she was typically called. Amanda immediately looked away, a fierce blush painting her cheeks the same color as her hair. That happened almost every time she looked at Lj. How weird is it that someone she’s known since kindergarten made her so nervous? The sun fitted itself through the blinds behind Amanda and illuminated Lj, like she had her own personal spotlight shining down on her. Brown skin, long braids, deep dark eyes turned to honey, and freckles left over from summer time glittered underneath the light and it stirred up something within Amanda that her mind had trouble reconciling with.

“Any questions?” Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the Lj related fog in Amanda’s mind and her hand immediately shot up.

“You said you met your wife in middle school. How did you know she was the one?” Amanda forced her eyes to stay on Mr. Harrington despite the strange urge to look back at Lj.

“Well I didn’t know I’d marry them in middle school. I didn’t know that I’d marry them until way after college. We met in middle school. We were desk partners in our science class and they taught me how to make origami out of our homework sheets.” He picked up the little clay pot on his desk and pulled out what looked like a pencil. “They made me this little pencil for my first day teaching here.” He returned the origami pencil and the clay pot back to their spot on his desk and looked back out toward his students. “Are there any other questions?...No? Alright we’re gonna head down to the library and grab your textbooks so line up!”

A symphony of chairs screeching against the ground and whispering voices erupted as the students lined up by the door. Much to the delight of Amanda, Lj ended up in front of her. Lj was wearing a baby pink dress with white polka dots and white flats. Amanda tapped Lj’s shoulder and waited for her to turn. She turned and Amanda had to ignore the warmth in her cheeks as she spoke.

“I like your dress!” Lj’s smile grew in response to Amanda’s compliment.

“Thank you, Amy. It has pockets!” and she stuck her hands into the pockets of the dress to show them to Amanda. Amanda went to say something but the line had started to move so she kept her response to herself.

2. Friday, September 15th, 1995

In the weeks that passed, Amanda found herself looking forward to her first period class more and more. Mr. Harrington made learning about history much more fun than her previous teachers had. Though they had to check out the textbooks in the library provided by the state, Mr. Harrington told them to stack them along the window sill and they sat there everyday, untouched. In class, he told them the real history and explained what actually happened, what the textbooks glossed over or lied about. Instead of reading page after page in their textbooks they got to do fun projects creating poster boards, making dioramas, and even creating their own political cartoons.

Amanda has also been early everyday. She was sitting in her regular seat waiting for class to start, when two boys walked in, talking excitedly about some band she’d never heard of.

“Did you hear about the first Corroded Coffin show last night in Indianapolis? Apparently people were camping outside the venue for 2 nights to try and score tickets! I want to see them on tour so bad!” Mr. Harrington peaked his head up from the paper he was writing on and joined the boys’ conversation.

“You guys like Corroded Coffin? I know those guys, we all went to high school together.” Mr. Harrington said. He looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he thought about something. “Maybe I can ask them to come for career day in October?”

The two boys gasped excitedly and started asking their teachers questions about the band and how he met them. Mary, who sat diagonally across from Amanda, sighed. Amanda watched, Mary, who had her head in her hands, gazing dreamily at Mr. Harrington.

“Isn’t he just so handsome, Amanda?” Mary said, turning to look at her. Amanda wrinkled her nose in response. Sure, Mr. Harrington wasn’t ugly but she couldn’t see what it was about him that made all the girls trip over themselves. No matter if they were in the cafeteria during lunch or in the library for study hall, she was subject to hearing theories of what Mr. Harrington’s wife looked like, and whispers of ‘She’s so lucky’. Amanda didn’t get any of it. Still, she wanted to fit in, so she pretended. He wore the same style glasses that she did, so at least she could compliment him without lying. To herself or her classmates.

“Um, I like his glasses.” She replied. Avoiding Mary’s piercing gaze, she decided pulling her pencil bag out was a smart move.

“I don’t know, Amy,” Lj said, looking up from her book. “I think Miss. Rosario is prettier than Mr. Harrington. She would never come to school with her shirt so wrinkled.” Lj glanced at Mr. Harrington once more before going back to her book. Mary flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, before she raised her hand. Next to her, Amanda’s eyes were glued to Lj. Miss Rosario was pretty. Super pretty. If everyone was talking about that, she’d understand one hundred percent. She forced herself to look away when Mr. Harrington started speaking.

“Yes, Mary?”

“You don’t normally come to school with your shirt so wrinkled. Why today?” She asked. Mr. Harrington looked down at his shirt and inspected the wrinkles and huffed. He was wearing a plain blue and white striped polo, and jeans since it was a friday.

“Thank you…for pointing that out, Mary. For your information, normally my partner irons my shirts every morning while I make breakfast, but they’ll be away for the next month on a work trip, and I was in a rush and forgot to do it.” He walked back around behind his desk and grabbed the hawkins middle hoodie that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and put it on. “There, Now no one can see the wrinkles.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘is this okay’ and Mary nodded as she giggled

“Why does your wife always iron your shirts? Why don’t you iron your own shirts and she makes breakfast?” Janet asked.

“Well, Janet, if you must know, they like to pick out my clothes, and I’m the only one who can cook so it just works out.” Mr. Harrington replied. A few awws came from the crowd and he waved them away. “Yes, it’s all very sweet and domestic and all that jazz. Now, who can tell me where we left off yesterday.”

3. Tuesday, October 3rd, 1995

“Yo, Mr. H, what’s that thing on your nose?” It was right before class began, and Mr. Harrington had just turned around from writing their new essay prompt on the board. Right in the center of his face was a scratch, from the bridge of his nose to underneath his eye. Amanda was by the door, sharpening her pencil for the lesson.

“Well Good Morning to you too, Gerald. That thing on my nose is a scratch. My partner came home for the weekend and we ended up adopting some kittens last night. Three of them actually, so in the whole mess of transporting 3 kittens back to our home…” He gestured to his face and then shrugged.

“What did you name the kittens?” A voice said from the back.

“Sabbath, Kirk, and Abba.” His lips pursed, as if he was trying to suppress his smile.

“Why those names?” Amanda asked before she could stop herself. She recognized Abba because her older sister was always blasting it through her walkman, but the other two names were unfamiliar. She assumed they probably also had to do with music but she wasn't sure what they were references to.

“Well Sabbath and Kirk are nods to my partners favorite bands. The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’.” Mr. Harrington had an exasperated look on his face, but you could hear the fondness in his voice as he talked about his partner. He glanced over at his origami pot, which Amanda noted now had a black cat added to it. She spun to walk back to her desk with her newly sharpened pencils when Lj walked into class, beating the bell by a few seconds and immediately caught Amanda’s attention.

“Woah, Amy! You wore your hair down today?” Lj said, and stopped when she saw the redhead by the door. Amanda typically kept her hair in a ponytail and her bangs neatly trimmed just above her eyebrows to keep her curls from falling into her face while she worked. Today though, she had a black and white striped headband settled behind her bangs, the rest of her curly hair falling down to her shoulders. “I really like it like this. You look extra pretty.” Lj offered her a small smile and made her way to her seat. Amanda's hand flew to her hair and her jaw fell open a bit, eyes tracking Lj’s movements as she walked away.

Lj thought she was extra pretty with her hair down. Extra. Like she always thought Amanda was pretty, but with her hair down…she was more, pretty. Additionally pretty. Especially pretty. Her gaze slowly left Lj and landed on Mr. Harrington who was watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head in amusement and then pointed to her desk with his chin. It took her feet a few seconds to catch up with her brain and move, but she made it to her seat. As she sat down, Gerald called out to her teacher.

“Wait Mr. H, I’m confused. Why did y’all get 3 kitties in the first place?” Mr. Harrington sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing when he made contact with the scratch.

“We couldn’t separate the siblings. Or, my partner didn’t want to separate them and…who am I to stop them. So we got three kittens.” His eyes widened like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Will you bring them in so we can meet them?” Kendra asked hopefully. Amanda knew she wanted to be a veterinarian so it made sense that she’d ask. That was the cool thing about going to school with the same kids all her life. She knew so many little things about them and what their aspirations were. Gerald was out of this world smart so he’d decided he would either be a lawyer or a doctor, whichever paid more. Mary wanted to be a famous actress, Janet loved science, and Lj was a writer like no other.

Amanda imagined hanging out with Lj in the future. Lj as a world famous journalist for the New York Times and Amanda working somewhere with numbers. They would both live in New York because Lj would want a friend there and they’ll live in the same apartment to save money and they’ll share a room because what if it’s lonely and she’ll get to wake up to Lj and fall asleep with Lj and grocery shop with Lj and

Amanda sat up straighter in her seat and shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. She reminded herself to leave those types of thoughts to when she was alone and tuned back into the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry Kendra, can’t do that. I have a kid in my third and seventh period classes with allergies to fur.”

“What if your wife brings them, and then after this class period, she takes them back home?” Someone else suggested. Mr. Harrington chuckled to himself and dropped his head, letting it hang for a moment.

“That won’t be possible, they’re on a work trip, remember. Maybe I’ll bring a picture in so you all can see.” He offered, looking around to see if that would appease his students.

“But we want to see your wife! You’re always talking about her!” That comment came from Mary. Mr. Harrington laughed again and Amanda wondered what was so funny.

“Ok ok, I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get me to talk about my personal life so we don’t start those essays today huh? Unluckily for you, I was a student once so I know all your tricks! Come on, let’s get class started.” A few tried to protest, but eventually they grabbed their notebooks and flipped to fresh pages.

As Amanda worked, her hair continued to fall into her face. She resisted the urge to tie it back into its signature ponytail, instead opting to tuck her hair behind her ear constantly. Louise-Jane Brooks thinks Amanda Driscoll is extra pretty with her hair down and Amanda decided it was normal to want another girl to think she’s pretty, so she kept her hair down.

4. Friday, October 13th, 1995

“Mr. Harrington, what was high school like for you?”

That day, the eighth grade class had a field trip to the high school now that their first marking period was nearly over. The class was pretty chatty now that they were back in their classroom waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. They were all standing around Mr. Harrington’s desk, a few sitting on the student desks behind them. They quieted down when they heard the question asked.

“I was pretty popular in high school, was co-captain of the swim team, fought some monsters, skipped prom, then I graduated and met the love of my life.” Mr. Harrington was staring upwards, like he was checking off an imaginary list in his mind. Immediately, a gaggle of questions were shouted out at him. His eyes widened in shock and he put his hands up in surrender. “Woahhh guys, one a time, let me see some hands. McKenzie, what’s your question?”

“I thought you met your wife in middle school?” A few ‘yeah’s came from the group as they recalled what Mr. Harrington told them on the first day of class.

“That is technically right. I did meet them in middle school and we were friends for that science class we shared. Then we drifted apart until after I graduated. We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school and ever since then it’s been me and them.”

“What do you mean by fighting monsters?” Another person asked. Mr. Harrington only shrugged. His arms, which were hanging down by his sides, wrapped around his stomach. “Whatever you think it means, Kevin.”

“He’s probably talking about some game or movie,” Someone commented from the back of the group to their friend. Mr. Harrington didn’t acknowledge them, only staring out the window. The kids begin to break off into separate conversation when the bell rings to dismiss for the day.

“Hey Amy,” Lj said, approaching her as the crowd started to disperse and leave Amanda, Lj, and their teacher behind. Mr. Harrington yelled out a ‘See you tomorrow and made good decisions!’ as he sat back behind his desk. The two girls were standing in the aisle between table one and table two, a few feet from the front of Mr. Harrington’s desk. She noticed her teacher start to look for something on his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, normally you're first out the door.” She commented. Amanda smiled at the thought of Lj paying that much attention to her.

“I have Chess Club afterschool today so my mom will get me at four. I don’t have to catch the bus.” Lj hummed in acknowledgement before speaking again.

“So…I just moved to a new house, and I finally finished decorating my room. If it’s okay with your mom, my mom said I could invite people over now.” Lj had a delicate smile on her face as her fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt before being stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

“Um, yeah of course! I’d love to! How do I tell you if my mom said it’s ok?” Amanda said, smiling so widely she knew her cheeks would ache later.

“Uhhhh,” Lj looked around, before taking a few steps and grabbing a marker out of Mr. Harrington’s pencil cup. Amanda trailed behind her. Lj grabbed Amanda’s arm and wrote down a series of numbers on her forearm. Amanda could see that Mr. Harrington was now fumbling for something within his desk. Lj let her hand fall from Amanda’s forearms to her hand.

“There. That’s my home phone number, just call me when you ask your mom! I hope she says yes. I got this jewelry making kit so we can like, make bracelets and stuff! Bye, Amy! Call me! Even if you can't come over!” Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and walking out the classroom.

Amanda was rooted in her spot, the path LJ’s fingers took burned into her skin. Having feelings for Lj had gone from manageable to completely unbearable from that one interaction. How was she supposed to walk around everyday not aching to touch her again? To feel the weight of Lj’s hand in hers and have her small, kind, infectious smile directed at Amanda. Her fingers traced the numbers on her arm as she reimagined her Saturday plans. She was shaken from her daydream when a throat cleared. Her head snapped to the source of the noise, and she met eyes with Mr. Harrington. Realizing he watched that entire interaction, her smile dropped. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same things her parents whispered in the kitchen when they thought she was asleep in the living room.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t have a crush on Lj.” Mr. Harrington only raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I…I didn’t say you did.” He replied.

Amanda’s cheeks burned a deep red as she realized he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. She assumed she knew what he was thinking and just dug herself into a hole. She looked away embarrassed, feeling the burn of restrained tears behind her eyes. She’d just come to terms herself with what those feelings inside her meant. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant to openly like girls. But now she’d have to, Mr. Harrington was going to tell her mom.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispered, looking away when a few tears fell. Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock. He jumped up from his desk, walked around to the front, and kneeled in front of Amanda.

“Hey, hey, hey don't cry. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. There’s nothing for me to tell, Amanda. Promise.” He reassured, his hands flailing about in front of him as he spoke. He offered a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before shifting to sit criss-cross in front of his desk, using it to lean on.

Amanda watched Mr. Harrington as he sat on the floor and made himself comfortable. He looked up at Amanda and patted the spot next to him. She sat down with him, legs stretched into the aisle in front of them and her back pressed up against Mr. Harrington’s desk. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes, and Mr. Harrington pushed his glasses into his hair and began to speak.

“If I may ask, what is it… that I'm not telling?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I don’t think you’d understand.” She said, voice shaky with unshed tears.

“Maybe…maybe not. But you never know unless you tell me. If you want to, of course.” He said as he watched Amanda carefully.

“How do you feel about your wife?” She asked him, finger aimlessly prodding at the linoleum floors.

“My partner is the best gift that I could have ever been given. They’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The kindest, most compassionate, and genuine person I know. And they’re hilarious, they make me laugh like never before. I used to dread going home, but now that they’re there, I can’t wait to get back to them everyday. Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them. They are the center of my universe and every planet surrounding it.”

The two sat in silence for a moment after. Amanda wondered what it would be like to love a girl so fully. To love a girl so much that her mere presence made the stars shine brighter and air seem crisper. To love a girl, and be free to tell anyone who asked.

“I want,” she started. “I want to be allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Amanda nearly whispered the end of her sentence, the force of hearing her voice admit that out loud for the first time knocked the air out of her.

“You are allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Mr. Harrington said, shifting to face Amanda better. She turned to look at him, red rimmed eyes meeting earnest ones. “My best friend and her wife moved to San Francisco so that they could. They’re much more open minded out there. When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us out there way more than you did here in Hawkins.” Amanda’s brows knitted in confusion.

“People like us?” She asked. Mr. Harrington nodded.

“People like us,” He confirmed. Amanda let the weight of both their confessions settle in the air. Other people felt this way. Mr. Harrington did. And so did his best friend and her wife. And the people in San Francisco and in Chicago. She wasn’t the only person who felt. Amanda let her worries be temporarily soothed by the comfort of knowing she wasn’t a freak or a mistake. She wiped her eyes again, put her glasses back on, and pushed herself off the floor. She looked up at the clock which read 3:12. Chess Club started in three minutes.

“I have to go, I don’t want to be late…but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” Amanda said, voice quiet.

“Anytime, Amanda. My door is always open.” And she didn’t doubt that. Not many people in Hawkins knew how she felt, but Mr. Harrington did and that was more than she thought.

5. Monday, October 15th, 1995

When Amanda walked into her homeroom class the following day, the first thing she noticed was the new poster up by the chalkboard. It was a plain beige rectangle with rainbow patterned letters, spelling out “YOU ARE SAFE HERE.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately searched for Mr. Harrington, but he was busy talking to one of her classmates. She walked to her seat, reveling in the warmth that grew in her chest from how nice it was to be cared for like this.

As Amanda placed her arm on her desk, she felt the delicious bite of the gems on her bracelet sink into the skin of her wrist. She lifted her wrist to inspect the new jewelry she made with Lj. There were pink, orange, and red beads patterned on her bracelet, while Lj’s had a pink, blue, and purple pattern. Both bracelets however, had “LJ&AMY”. Her right hand came up and she ran her fingers over the beads, and smiled fondly as she remembered her weekend with Lj. Memories of bracelet making, pizza, karaoke, and sharing a banana split sundae filled her mind. Amanda looked ahead of her and saw that Lj was already staring at her. She smiled at her and waved shyly. Lj giggled and waved back.

“I like your bracelet,” She said, smiling back at Amanda. Amanda stuck her hand wrist out proudly to show off the bracelet Lj helped her make.

“Why thank you, it’s custom made, one of a kind,” She laughed again, but was interrupted by one of her classmates yelling over the chatter in the classroom.

“How was your weekend, Mr. H,” Gerald asked.

“It was pretty good. I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner and they had a picnic set up. It was very sweet. They even made me a flower crown by hand. We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.” He responded.

“Wow, Mr. H, your wife sounds mad sweet.” Gerald responded, his fingers absentmindedly twirling one of his locs.

“Right,” Kendra piped in from the back corner. “Everytime you say something about her it’s always something so gentle. Like she taught you how to make origami, and she irons your clothes, made you adopt all those cats, now a picnic at Lovers’ Lake and a handmade flower crown? She’s like, the sweetest woman in the world.” Kendra said, recalling all the kind things Mr. Harrington’s partner did for him.

“I wish you guys paid this much attention to what I say when i’m teaching, how did you even remember all of that?” Kendra only shrugs and Mr. Harrington sighs. “Anyways, what about you guys, what did you get up to this weekend?” Immediately Lj’s hand went up and Mr. Harrington called on her. She reached her hand out to Amanda, who immediately clasped her fingers around Lj’s.

“Well Amy came over to my house and we did a bunch of fun stuff like go to the mall and get pizza, but we also made these matching bracelets.” Lj then stuck their conjoined hands in the air so their classmates could see the bracelets, even if it was a bit awkward with all that space between the two girls.

Amanda’s grin grew impossibly bigger and she looked at Mr. Harrington who raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“That’s very nice girls, my partner and my best friend have a matching pair of purple converse that they decorated together actually. Janet, what about you? How was your weekend?” Mr. Harrington went on, letting his students tell him all about their weekend before they started class. Amanda couldn’t pay much attention to what her classmates were saying though, savoring every second Lj kept her in hand in Amanda’s.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird how Mr. Harrington never just says ‘my wife’?” Mary whispered to her tablemates. Amanda froze for a moment, considering Mary’s words. Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and picking up her pencil to take notes since Mr. Harrington was now starting the lesson. Amanda didn’t follow her lead. Instead, she ran back every time Mr. Harrington brought up his wife.

“Then I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years…”

“...normally my partner irons my shirts every morning…”

“Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them.”

Why didn’t Mr. Harrington just say ‘my wife’ instead of ‘my partner’? Why did he always say ‘they’ instead of ‘she’? Amanda’s mind reminded her of their conversation afterschool on friday.

“When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us way more than here in Hawkins.”

People like…us.

Her eyes darted to the new poster hanging up in their class. You are safe here. Her eyes drifted to Mr. Harrington as the realization dawned on her. Why Mr. Harrington was so specific about how he referred to his partner. Why he didn’t have a picture of them on his desk like her other teachers do.

Mr. Harrington…doesn’t have a wife. He has a husband.

+1. Tuesday, October 16th, 1995

It was career fair day so after lunch instead of heading to her algebra class, Amanda met up with Lj in front of the gym to browse all the different jobs that came to present that day. She almost tripped over her feet in excitement once she spotted Lj. She quickened her pace, nearly running over one of the 6th graders. The two girls embraced before linking arms as they walked into the gym together.

They stopped by the doctor table and the accounting table, and ran past the construction table giggling. They visited the journalism table so Lj could talk with the woman there. She had a short, curly bob and a name tag that read “Miss Wheeler”. Amanda looked around and spotted Mr. Harrington toward the back of the fair talking with another man with unruly, curly hair. The long haired man smiled at Mr. Harrington and knocked the educators shoulder with his own.

Amanda told Lj she would be right back and headed in their direction. Upon arriving, Mr. Harrington’s friend stepped away from him and approached Amanda. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “The Devil Was Once an Angel” and ripped black jeans. He had many rings on his fingers and various chains hanging off his belt loops. He had multiple tattoos all along his arms and stuck to the front of his chest was a name tag that read “Mr. Munson”.

Looking at his display, she saw a speaker, quietly playing metal music and a black and red electric guitar on a stand next to it. There were pictures of the long haired man on stage with 3 other guys and a notebook open with what looked like song lyrics. Next to the notebook, there were some tickets for a band called ‘Corroded Coffin’. Amanda racked her memory trying to remember why the name sounded familiar.

“Amanda!” Mr. Harrington greeted. He turned and faced Mr. Munson. “Mr. Munson, this is that student I told you about. Amanda, this is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist, lead vocals, and songwriter for his band.” Mr. Harrington looked at Eddie proudly, and placed a hand on each shoulder, in a weird sort of side hug.

“Thank you for that lovely introduction, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Munson said, grinning widely. He then turned to Amanda. “What kind of music do you listen to, Red?” He had his hands clasped together, his two pointer fingers pressed against his lips.

“Uhh, I guess I listen to a lot of pop music. My older sister introduced me to someone called Madonna? I mainly listen to my sister's old tapes so whatever she has,” Amanda responded.

Mr. Munson gasped, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest where his heart would be.

“Oh you poor thing! You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.” She giggled and Mr. Munson smiled at her in a way where she knew he was only teasing. Amanda could see Mr. Harrington roll his eyes but smile, as Mr. Munson grabbed the speaker that was on his table. He pulled it closer to the front of the table so she could hear the music playing better. Mr. Munson looked around quickly before whispering to Amanda. “You won’t tell anyone if this song says any bad words will you,” His questioning gaze turned into a devilish grin when Amanda smiled and shook her head. “I knew there was a reason you were his favorite” Her feet tapped in excitement as she glanced quickly to her teacher.

Mr. Munson turns the music up slightly and lets the heavy bass and electric guitar fill the air around them.

“That is my band's latest single, ‘Trials’. It’s about some stuff that your teacher and I went through back in high school.” He said.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Amanda asked, bewildered. How did her polo-wearing, mr. popular, not a hair out of place history teacher become friends with a man so completely different from him?

“Well we knew of each other in high school, we were friends in middle school for a little while. We reconnected around this time of my senior year. 1986, can you believe that was 10 years ago, Stevie?” Where had she heard that before? Where did she know this man from? She can’t recall ever seeing him before, so why do his words sound so familiar? Amanda pushed those questions out of her head, and instead decided to ask him questions about his work since that is what he was there for.

“Do all the inspirations for your songs come from your life? How do you not run out of things to write about?” Amanda asked.

“What a wonderful question, Red. I do get a lot of inspiration from my real life. Take this weekend for example, Me and Mr. Harrington—or Mr.Harrington and I, Miss O’Donnell would kill me if she heard me say that.” Mr. Munson said that last part to Mr. Harrington before he turned back to Amanda. “Like I was saying, Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends. I got some inspiration from that experience to write about reminiscing on good times. The song that just played for you right now, is also about the past but it’s about how the past changes us today. So while I may use the same base for songs,...”

Amanda started to lose focus as Mr. Munson explained his songwriting process. Mr. Harrington also said he was at Lovers’ Lake with his partner and that he met up with old friends this weekend. She understood them hanging out as old friends, they knew each other since middle school apparently. But how could Mr. Munson have been at Lovers’ Lake too?

Amanda looks at Mr. Harrington, opening her mouth to ask a question when she stops herself. Mr. Harrington. That’s who she’s heard this from before. She looked back at the tickets on the table. “Corroded Coffin” She realizes that’s the band he was talking about that one day. She runs her entire conversation with Mr. Munson back in her mind matching it to the things she heard Mr. Harrington say in class.

‘’The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’”

“You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.”

“We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school.”

“We reconnected around this time of my senior year.”

“Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends.”

“I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner…We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.”

Amanda looked away from the table, looking between both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington was watching Mr. Munson as he explained something Amanda wasn't paying much attention to with rapt fascination. His eyes were soft and his smile was adoring. His arms were crossed casually across his chest and he leaned slightly toward Mr. Munson, like the musician had a magnetic pull on him.

Like Mr. Munson was the center of his universe.

Amanda gasped loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Munson’s spiel and drawing attention from a few of the neighboring tables. They all turned away when Amanda’s face broke into a wide grin, assuming her gasp was from excitement. Both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson were staring at Amanda with confusion on their faces.

“Are you…okay, Red?” Mr. Munson asked as he stepped backwards to inspect Amanda, consequently getting into Mr. Harrington’s personal space. Her history teacher didn’t budge when there were only a mere few inches separating them. She peeked around them, searching for Lj and finding her talking to Gerald in front of the lawyers table. She turned back to the two men in front of her and kept her voice low when she spoke.

“Mr. Harrington doesn’t have a wife,” She paused for dramatic effect, something she learned from Mary, and let the two men share a glance before looking back to her. “He has a husband.” She clapped her hands, excited by her discovery. It all made sense now. Realization washed over both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson. They looked at each other, Mr. Munson pursing his lips to suppress a smile and Mr. Harrington with both hands on his hips and an exasperated look on his face.

“How did you piece that together from my presentation?” Mr. Munson asked, head tilted in amusement.

“It wasn’t your presentation, it was the stuff you said before you started talking about the music. Mr. Harrington talks about you all the time in class. The stuff you said right now matched up to what Mr. Harrington said before and all the signs, the poster, ‘People like us...It just clicked right now. What all that meant.” Amanda said, hands waving wildly in front of her. They froze mid-air when another realization washed over her. Her eyebrows knit up in confusion as she looked Mr. Munson over once more.

“You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Munson to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids.” He turned back to Amanda. “It’s 1995 Little Red, people are so much more than their stereotypes.”

Amanda stared at Mr. Munson, soaking in all the new information, when another question popped in her mind.

“Wait. If you’re both boys, how did you get married?” She kept her voice low, so the other tables wouldn’t over hear her. Mr. Munson crouched down to Amanda’s level.

“Well, to the government, marriage is a piece of paper saying ‘This is who I chose!’. And tax benefits. We didn't need a piece of paper and a big fancy party, though we did have one, to say that we chose each other for life. I love him. And the government doesn’t get to tell me if that’s okay or not, it is okay.” Mr. Munson then looked up at Mr. Harrington from his spot on the floor. They shared a look, one that said a million more words than they’d be allowed in such a public place.

Amanda looked away from them, the connection between the two becoming almost suffocating. It was so surreal to be standing in front of two people who understood what she was going through. They went through it already and came out the other end. They were living breathing proof that it’s not always this hard, and it’s not always this confusing. That one day you’ll be able to wake up every morning next to the love of your life, no matter their gender. You’ll get to visit your favorite spots from your childhood as you grow old together. That we get a fancy wedding and the promise to be together forever too. They were proof that our fate isn’t subject to becoming a forgotten name in the newspaper for a case the police won’t try to solve. People like us, get to have our happily ever after, and Amanda was looking right at one. She couldn’t quite put into words what that meant to her.

On top of that, Mr. Munson wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Besides the fact that she was expecting a woman up until yesterday, he wasn’t anything like she expected for someone who presented themself like he did. He was kind and gentle while being loud and dramatic. He picked flowers for his husband with the same hands he used to shred electric guitar. He was unapologetically himself, even if that confused some people. Amanda looked forward to the day she could say the same about herself.

Mr. Harrington offered Mr. Munson a hand, and helped him off the floor when Lj approached the table.

“There you are Amy, I was wondering where you went,” Lj immediately reached for Amanda’s hand and interlocked their fingers, like she couldn't go another second without touching Amanda. Mr. Munson offered a small, knowing smile. “Are you done here? I heard the veterinary table is giving out cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

Amanda looked away from Lj and back up at Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington.

“After the promotion ceremony, and we’re officially high schoolers…am I still allowed to come back and say hi?” Amanda asked. Sure, it was only October but Mr. Harrington had already changed her life in such an irrevocable way. When she gets her first girlfriend or when she moves away to find people who are like her, it’ll be because Mr. Harrington was the first person who told her that it was okay and that she wasn’t alone.

“Of course, Amanda. Come back anytime! I’d love to hear about how high school goes for you. Even beyond that!” Mr. Harrington said. They shared a smile, and she let Lj pull her away.

“So you talk about me in class all the time, huh?” Mr. Munson teased as Amanda walked away.

“Go back on tour,” was her teacher's reply.

—

I don't know if i really have the words to explain what this fic means to me and how cathartic it was to write. Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie stranger things #st #plu #100 #1k #oc #ducky writes

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