#she was in her 40s and had been teaching for ages she wasn’t a first-timer

[vordemtodgefeit]

another assignment, another feedback deadline missed

[theplushmaker]

Sonic Headcanon please

Ok, here it is! another 40 headconnons! hope you enjoy!

• Sonic has a lot of family, his first being his biological family Queen Aleena, Sonia, and Manic, his second family (aka adopted family) is Jules The Hedgehog, Bernadette The Hedgehog, and Charles The Hedgehog, (also Scourge is Bernadette and Jules' biological son, making Sonic and him brothers) and last but not least, Longclaw, she was Sonics last guardian before Eggman took over the world completely, oh! And Tails is still Sonic's little brother

• Sonic knows sign language and he considers it his first language

• Sonic likes to view himself as the oldest, even though Scourge is older by ten seconds and Shadow is physically 16 (we are not counting the 50 years he was frozen in time)

• Given the fact that Sonic basically has three moms, he's come up with a way to distinguish them when he calls, he calls Aleena - momma, Bernadette - mom, and Longclaw - ma, he refuses to call any of them "mother" saying "it's too fancy for me"

• Whenever Sonic takes on a new form, they don't just disappear. They instead end up living inside Sonic's mind until he calls them to help (I can make another post explaining this a bit more if anyone wants it)

• Sonic didn't meet Tails until he was eight, which would make Tails 1 at the time (I have a complete timeline in my head, I just need to write it out XD)

• Sonic knows how to play the guitar and would take song requests from Tails. He'll sometimes write songs for Tails as well

• Sonic can sense spirits

• During the Phantom War, when Sonic was captured, he was chained to the wall (think of snatcher from ahit) with his legs locked up (similar to the cuffs Elsa from frozen had, except both legs are in one cuff)

• During Sonic's capture, Infinite would make Sonic feel as though he lost his arms/legs/hands with the phantom ruby's power, he'd also take advantage of Sonic's Aquaphobia by making him think that he was in the middle of the ocean during a storm

• Sonic doesn't want to worry anyone about what happened in the Death Egg, so he's bottling it all up, he thinks he's sneaky, but everybody knows somethings wrong

• Sonic still has Chip's necklace/bracelet in his room on a pillow. He makes sure no dust settles on it

• Sonic may be optimistic and not take things seriously, but there are times, rare as they are, when he sits down, skips all the jokes, and be serious

• Sonic's been teaching Silver sign language. He finds it funny how Silver lights up whenever he learns a new sign

• When Sonic was rescued, he was malnourished, he had lots of injuries, and most of his muscles atrophied. He spent the first few days bedridden and two months in a wheelchair and, after some physical therapy, he upgraded to crutches. He had to stay in the med bay area so the nurses could keep a better eye on him, but either way, he didn't want anyone to see him like that, and those who did don't bring it up, for his sake

• After the Phantom War, Sonic preferred to be outside more often than before. Tails stayed by his side, working on one of his smaller projects

• Sonic considers Mighty, Ray, and Knuckles as his brothers

• Sonic knows how to use a hoverboard thanks to Manic

• Sonic kicks in his sleep if he doesn't run around when he's awake, once he accidentally woke up Tails by breaking the lamp beside his bed, so now whenever Tails knows he didn't run around that much, he moves everything away from Sonic's bed before he goes to sleep

• Sonic and Tails are roommates

• Whenever there's a thunderstorm, Sonic lets Tails sleep with him

• When Tails was younger, Sonic would read him bedtime stories, sometimes even play a few lullabies with his guitar

• Sonic gave up his childhood when he was separated from Longclaw, having to learn to take care of himself, having to fight at the age of 5, lead an army with Sonia, Manic, and Sally a year later, and ending a war at 8, along with taking care of, and raising a 1-year-old two-tailed fox, Sonic didn't have much time to not worry about what would happen next (even though he never shows it)

• Sonic learned to be positive no matter what because not only did everyone around him need the positive energy, but it was also his way of telling a crumbling world under the rule of Eggman that, no matter what he did, he will never stop fighting, and he wasn't going to be knocked down by hopelessness

• Sonic is viewed as a symbol of hope by many (^)

• Sonic loves to tell stories of his adventures to children. It was also one of the things he looked forward to during the first war (aka The Robian War)

• Sonic's quills are sharp enough to pierce metal

• Sonic is an adrenaline junkie

• When Sonic was showing Knuckles around the city for the first time, he recorded the experience. Sonic will never forget the look of curiosity and wonder on Knuckles' face

• Sonic loves to record all sorts of moments, but his favorites by far are the first-timers, like bringing Tails to his first amusement park, or secretly recording Shadow trying chili dogs for the first time, or even Silver's first time seeing rain!

• Sonic doesn't remember the events of 06

• Sonic doesn't do it as often as he used to when he was younger but he does sometimes throw concerts with his siblings

• While raising Tails, Sonic hired Vector (who would be 13 at the time) to find info on Tails parents, Sonic doesn't hear back from him until a year later (Sonic thought he ran off with the money) where he's told that Tails' dad is nothing but scrap metal and his mom was killed during the Robian War, he was also told that Tails name was Miles Prower, Sonic thanked him and paid him extra for his troubles

• During the Robian War, after Sonic was on his own, he didn't meet a lot of hedgehogs, so whenever he had a health problem, he didn't go to the doctor (mostly because the doctor at the hideout didn't know how to take care of hedgehogs and would get frustrated with Sonic) instead he would learn to take care of his health by himself, this has lead to poor decision making

• Growing up wasn't easy, especially when the people around you are afraid of getting hurt by your quills, so when Sonic had his quills bent and pushed into his back during a fight, he couldn't ask someone to help remove them, so he would simply find a waterfall, sit under it and let the water dislodge the quills, afterward he'd go home and shower

• Sonic knows how to make flower crowns thanks to Cream

• Sonic likes to visit the Chao Garden, he also has a chao he calls Indigo

• During a new years party when Sonic was 9, he introduced Mighty and Ray to Vector who, then introduced them to Espio and Charmy. Sonic took lots of pictures of them and gave copies to Vector (Charmy was only a few months old while Tails was 2, and Ray would be 5 when this happened)

• Sonic didn't know how smart Tails was until he made a TV out of paperclips at the age of 5

• once, when Sonic was 12, Sonia tried to get him to comb his quills to be more organized. Sonic learned the hard way by having her drag him by his shoes back inside the castle, but not without dragging Manic down with him since he was laughing while Sonia chased Sonic

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[djokeery]

hold my heart and watch it burn (and i will hold on to you)

Or, alternatively, Steve reflects on the last three years of his life on Robin’s kitchen floor.

December 19th, 1985.

It was snowing, soft and quiet. Robin’s house was safe, sound, warm—Christmas lights were strung all along her pale yellow kitchen, making the already inviting space cozier than usual. Flour and sugar were dusted on every single surface you could see, and cookie cutters were lying everywhere else. Absentmindedly, Steve ran his fingers through his hair, definitely coating it with flecks of white. 

If you didn’t know him, or see the purple bruising around his left eye, you wouldn’t even suspect he’d just managed to save the world yet again. (Believe it or not, he won a fight this time around, too.) Three years of fighting creatures from alternate dimensions, and he figured he deserved at least one normal night. That’s why, when Robin suggested he come over to help bake Christmas cookies after he mentioned that he’d never done it before, he did. 

So, here he was, on timer duty, listening to Robin’s beat up radio alone while she cleaned herself up. The sugar cookies had roughly four minutes left and the room smelt like...home. Home. It was a word he’d come to understand in new ways, with the help of new people. 

It’s weird. Before he knew that monsters actually existed, he would’ve told you home was 1146 Norwood Lane. Nowadays, though, he’d tell you home wasn’t really a place—it was a feeling. Home was Dustin trying to educate him about Star Wars. Home was Lucas and Mike begging him to teach them how to drive. Home was dropping Max off at the arcade and giving her all the spare change he had. Home was something outside of King Steve’s castle, and the kingdom no longer existed. 

To be honest, he was starting to wonder if it ever really did.

He hummed along to “Everybody Wants To Rule The World” by Tears For Fears as it faded out, only to be met by the top 40 DJ greeting him.

“I’m Carl Jetson and you’re listening to B97! Here’s a new one for anyone spending this holiday season alone. This is “Last Christmas” by Wham!—good luck getting it out of your head.”

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart But the very next day, you gave it away This year, to save me from tears I’ll give it to someone special

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”

Steve slid to the floor, further covering his apron in various baking powders in the process. 

A year ago, he spent Christmas alone, save for a visit from Dustin on Christmas Eve where he had to convince him that yes, his parents would be home in time for Christmas, so no, he wasn’t going to be alone, and yes, he would be fine by himself until they got there.

And he was. He was used to it. For the past nineteen years of his life, the rare days when his parents were home were painfully structured and quietly deafening. He preferred their absence, honestly. But ever since demogorgons ripped through the ceiling of his life, he found himself leaving every light in his house on every single night. Not because he was scared, he’d be damned if anyone ever found out that he was, but in case his parents might see when they decided to finally stumble back home. In case they decided to knock on his bedroom door and ask him if he’s alright after climbing the stairs. In case they decided to tell him they love him, fingers stroking his hair, after not uttering those very words in years.

He never really talked about it. How he felt cursed because no one ever loved him back. How, when he was at his lowest, he blamed Nancy for everything, even though he knew she had no control over any of it. 

Perfect, pretty, poised, princess Nancy. 

Steve sighed.

All he ever wanted was to feel something more. Something like the movies. And in the movies, stupid teenagers went to parties, were beyond popular, and almost worshipped in their immense normal-ness. He figured he had it in the bag. Everything.

He was good-looking, athletic—being captain of the baseball team was something he’d never admit he was actually proud of—had more than enough money to throw around whenever he felt like making it rain, was friends with the right people, the kids of his parents’ friends. His grades weren’t the best, but they also weren’t the worst, and he had the Harrington name to fall back on if sport scholarships weren’t enough to carry him through to a top school. He was set. He was set for his entire life without even blinking an eye.

But then his swimming pool turned into a graveyard and his reputation drowned. 

Regardless of however many beers he managed to swallow, the number of appearances he made at various parties, he couldn’t move past that. It followed him everywhere. It was a constant reminder that, even though he’d graduated from high school, he still dreamed about being a stupid teenager. He doesn’t miss King Steve, he really doesn’t, but at least King Steve made sense to everyone. 

People liked King Steve.

They responded to him, listened to him, followed him. The world was at his fingertips until it suddenly wasn’t.

He, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t an idiot. He heard all the whispers in the hallways. He knew people were talking. He just couldn’t explain the king’s downfall without mentioning tunnels and blinking lights and a baseball bat covered in nails, and he signed all of that away the moment Dr. Owens handed him a stack of forms to keep quiet.

And he has. He’s been good and everything King Steve wasn’t—real, genuine, kind, a dependable emergency contact.

The biggest difference of all, though, was that people loved this Steve.

That’s why he thinks that the gate is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. King Steve had to perish for Real Steve to have what he has now. And what he has now is everything. 

He has friends. Not just people his own age using him for his money and personal gain. Real friends. True comrades. People that have seen him at his worst and loved him just as much as they did when he was on top of the world. Friends that care about him. Friends that don’t lie, fight monsters, and always, always have his back.

People to remind him that he isn’t alone on his invisible throne, a throne that never existed at all, because there was never even a kingdom to rule in the first place.

He has Dustin. God, he loves that little shithead. 

Sometimes he thinks the universe really heard him when he was seven and begged for a friend. He thought Tommy H was his solution, since he moved to Hawkins a week after he pleaded to his bedroom walls. Tommy had been inseparable by his side since they met. But he wasn’t what he needed. Steve needed cleidocranial dysplasia, curly hair with a hat every day. Steve needed someone who saw through him, someone who saw him for him and who he could be. Someone who didn’t care that he was a Harrington, and someone who loved having him around.

Steve needed someone who’d die if he died. He needed a brother.

That’s why Steve Harrington would do it all over again if he had the chance. Not to change things, or fix things, but to do it exactly the same. 

He’d leave that note in Nancy’s locker, fall for her with every bone in his body, just for her to crush him and end up alone.

He’d break Jonathan’s camera, cause a scene in the alley downtown, and then swing a bat to save him in a heartbeat. He’d do it without even thinking. 

He’d do absolutely anything for the kids. His kids. He’d take plates to the head, kicks to the ribs, slaps to the face, whatever he needed to do to make sure they weren’t feeling any pain or in any danger. It didn’t matter if he got battered and bruised in the process. They were his number one priority. He’d never had anything to stand for until Dustin requested his assistance with Dart. It felt good to be needed, to be actually wanted.

God, it was something he could get used to.

He’s thinking about all of this, and about last Christmas, and how this year is so wondrously different, when he notices smoke billowing into the air, turning everything slightly hazy, bringing a gray cloud into the bright atmosphere, breaking the moment.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” He’s up and on his feet faster than the speed of light, running straight towards the oven, so fast he doesn’t see Robin racing in from across the hall.

They collide into a tangled heap on the floor, laughter drowning out the radio and the timer that was buzzing its life away. (Because some things never change.)

“Harrington, I can’t even leave you alone for one minute without you causing a scene...give me some warning if you’re planning on burning the house down, okay?”

“Rob, I—” “All you had to do was open the oven and place the cookies on the stove. We went over this,” She was still laughing. Steve would do anything if she’d just keep laughing. It was his favorite kind of music.

He never wanted it to stop.

He took a breath and wiped his eyes. “I didn’t hear the timer go off,”

“What was that? I can’t hear you if you whisper, dingus.”

He tried again, a little louder. “The timer. I didn’t hear it.”

She looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Are you deaf now and didn’t feel like telling anyone?”

What he really meant was thank you. Thank you for everything—for being his friend, for standing up for him, for trusting him with who she is, for taking the time to see that he’d never really been a king in the first place, and for still sticking around after that. For caring even more about him after that.

He wanted to ask her to never become a stranger he could recognize anywhere. To never be someone who leaves.

Because this, this was good. This was something he wanted forever. This was something he could hold and never shatter. This was something that actually mattered. 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin’s voice snapped him back into reality and a familiar memory.

“No, sorry, I—just thinking, you know?” 

He didn’t have to say it. He could tell she knew and understood from the look on her face. She loved him back. She felt the same. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t ever going to be again.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” 

They both paused for a moment, the tiniest of moments, to remember the feeling, the unspoken “I love you, I’m so grateful you’re here right now and alive”, and then they stood up, Robin immediately grabbing their smoldering cookies from the still smoking oven.

They’re both shuffling around the kitchen, trying to determine if any of their blackened hard work is salvageable while simultaneously attempting to keep the smoke detectors from going off, when, in the middle of the commotion, there’s a series of knocks on the front door.

“Go do something useful and get that, won’t you?” Robin said it with a cheeky smile.

“For the last time, IT’S NOT MY FAULT I DIDN’T HEAR THE TIMER DIDN’T GO OFF,” Steve wiped his hands on his apron and stretched his arm out as he walked to the front door.

Out of every single person in the world, the one he least expected to see greeted him with a smile. He doesn’t realize it until she’s standing right in front of him and he sees her rosy face, traces of snow still in her hair, but then it’s all he can think about. It’s all he can feel.

“Hey, Dustin said I might find you here. Are you alright? Is that smoke?!” She motioned to his disheveled look and the smell of burnt sugar. Steve smiled to himself.

He’s okay. Honestly. Really. After two concussions, one broken heart, a scar from being interrogated by Russians, endless nightmares, after all of the bullshit—

“Yeah, Nance. I’m good.” And for the first time since his life turned upside down, he meant it.

[afraidof-thedark]

When my older sister turned 19, my parents started looking at me with the deepest pity and grief I have ever seen; like I was going to crumble and disappear at any moment.

I was 16 and listening to music in my bedroom when my mother came to me with a beautiful portrait in her hands. It was of my great-grandmother Eleanor.

“Pat, you know how Eleanor used to say that when she was 18, a she-devil offered her some kind of paradise if she agreed to die immediately, right?”

It was a weird question; whenever my mother had a little more to drink, she’d retell this tale over and over. She came from a long line of spiritual but pragmatic women, women who fought to study and to work in male-dominated fields. Women who also found a good man to marry, women who had everything.

But then tragedy struck in their lives and they would lose a daughter or a niece. Always.

“Yes, mom," I replied, and we recited together: “And she said fuck off, I have 7 siblings to help raising."

And Eleanor did. She worked her ass off to send her younger brothers and sisters to good schools, became a college teacher herself, and kept teaching every new generation of women to be strong and stand up for themselves.

My mother always loved her to bits, and did her best to raise her kids the way her grandmother had taught. Eleanor peacefully died of old age when I was a baby, and overall lived a great, accomplished, loving life.

But grief knocked on her door periodically, as she had to bury a daughter and a granddaughter, both at age 18. My aunt Cecelia died years before I was born, and that took a huge toll on my mother and on my other aunt, Christa.

Eleanor didn’t believe it was a tragic coincidence. No.

She thinks that the same she-devil who invited her to go live in a better place came to claim her descendants.

After Cecelia, there were no deaths.

My sister and my cousins have all crossed the line to 19, and none of them reported anything weird happening to them.

I’m the only female in my family who is still 18.

Despite the fact that I always admired Eleanor, I confess that I thought that she was being superstitious, or even mocking us—she was known for her savage sense of humor. So this conversation I had with my mother had been completely brushed from my mind.

Then today a gorgeous, magnificent woman approached me.

I am a part-timer at a frozen yogurt joint. As you might expect, the small store was empty. The little bell on the door rang, and I raised my eyes to meet a stunning, elegant woman who seemed to be on her early 30s.

She was wearing a simple and unassuming dress, but the fit was flattering. It was impossible to take your eyes off of her.

“Hello, Patricia." Her voice was velvety and melodious. “I see Eleanor’s granddaughter told you about me."

I forgot how to breathe for a while. She was just… God, I had considered myself straight up to this point, but then I had found a woman that I both wanted to be like and have for myself.

“Come on, get yourself some fro-yo on me. Mine will be salted caramel and strawberry, if you please."

I mechanically filled two little cups as she graciously sat.

I stared at her intently.

“When you see Christa, tell her to see a doctor about that persistent headache. Unpleasant surprise on the way,” she said very casually. “So tell me about you, Pat."

“D-don’t you know all about me already?” I asked. She smiled kindly, but the warmth never reached her violet eyes; it wasn’t like they were cold, but they were neutral. Neutral and incredibly sharp.

“I know everything there is to know about everyone on your little planet, darling. But I’d still like to hear your version."

“I’m not actually interesting, you know?” I sighed. “I am only okay at everything. My sister is brilliant and she’s pretty too, while I’m too average and not even sure what I want to major in."

She smiled so brightly I thought I was gonna go blind.

“Don’t you want to be part of something bigger and easier?” she asked. “I’ll offer you a great deal, the same one I offered your ancestor Eleanor, her daughter Bettina, and your aunt Cecelia. You know the results."

“I’m listening," I said. I don’t know the circumstances of their deaths, but I know that both Bettina and Cecelia took the offer.

“Well, take a look around the world you live in. You’re young, but old enough to know. Do you feel safe walking the streets? Isn’t this world rotten? Sure, you can say there are good people; people that mind their own business, at least. But the rotten apples always spoil the whole barrel. And lately you mortals have seen that happening a lot of people you used to deem good, huh?”

“I don’t… feel safe. Two of my friends have been assaulted. I admit sometimes I’m scared to leave my bed," I replied. “Still, I’d feel so bad about how my mother would miss me."

She smiled.

“You’re a good girl, Patricia. I’m Lilith, by the way," she grabbed my hands. “Let me tell you something, although I’m sure you already know this in your heart. All the women in your family are fit for this deal, but I have to choose only one. I chose you because you won’t be missed as much." I recoiled, feeling hurt, but I knew that Lilith wasn’t lying. There was a spark of compassion in her eyes too. “It’s not that you’re not loved, it’s just that your cousins and your sister…”

“Are so much better than me in every sense. I know. I panic easily, I don’t trust my own decisions, and I don’t have any special talent. Sometimes my life feels like such a waste."

“It’s not, dear. It’s not. Because you were born for something greater. Greater than these girls you deem better than yourself. They are fit for this world. You are fit for the Utopia."

“What’s the Utopia?”

“It’s everything there is out there, the only eternal life in the universe, offered to a select few. All the great people on Earth are nothing but a heartbeat. They will fade to nothing, like all the unassuming lives."

“So you mean there’s no heaven and hell? And what about God?”

“Oh, God exists. God created great things. Imperfect, inferior beings like you humans are just the collateral damage of his masterpieces; the residuum of the creation. He never even turned His face to you, or batted an eyelash when we told him our plan. Lucifer and I see potential in you. Well, some of you. Most are truly garbage”.

I was utterly amazed. “Why do you only take young women?”

She smiled again.

“That’s a great question. Lucifer likes to collect men in their 40s, so he can laugh at their moral dilemmas. How will my family live without me, the great provider?? What if Karen marries another man and Cody turns gay because he didn’t have a masculine figure?” She did a great impersonation of a generic middle-aged man. “But I take my girls while they are still beautiful and not completely tired of how unfair this world is to them. I don’t want the morons in your society to make you forget what Eleanor taught you. She knew there would be only nothingness out there after she died, but she opted to stay and take care of her loved ones. It was a bold, admirable choice, and I decided to reward her for it. She was the only one I ever approached to refuse."

“So you can’t both live a great life here and go to this place you call Utopia?” I asked.

“Oh, one usually can’t have it all, no. But I picked two or three of those. Like Marilyn and Cleo. They were almost 40 but still young at heart and completely unfazed by how the world tried to break them. You have to admire that."

“How is that Utopia? Will I like it?”

Lilith snapped her fingers. The walls and furniture around us, and even the street across the door started to fold and fold and fold, like the reality was only a 3D draft, until they became minuscule pieces of cardboard, and then they fell into the infinite under us.

We were now surrounded by a stunning, futuristic place. There was no sense of feeling cold or hungry, we could move by floating around as we pleased, and there were amazing buildings everywhere, decorated with statues of pure white marble and paintings so beautiful I wanted to cry.

I could see colors I never imagined possible, and the sky was always a warm shade of blue, but dotted with stars, and an immense full moon.

Everything was shiny, symmetrical and felt right; peaceful, but far from boring. A perfect, ordered chaos.

“This place is constantly expanding, so you’ll always find new things to do. You’ll never live another tedious day."

She snapped her fingers again, and everything unfolded and rose back into place.

“And if I accept your offer, which I will… can I choose the way I die and do something first?”

“Oh, you have a few days to deal with all your stuff. I’m not a monster, you know?” the she-devil smiled again.

“Great!” I said. “There’s only one thing I need to do before I go with you. I want to kill the man who raped by best friend."

Lilith agreed to allow me to do it, and we talked some more before she left.

And that’s all I can remember clearly. The rest of the day was a blur; knowing that I would die, I wanted to quit my dead-end job immediately, but I had no one to quit to, and I couldn’t leave the store unattended. So I stayed, surrounded by weird ice cream, thinking about what awaited for me.

The she-devil told me that I couldn’t tell anyone I was about to die, but I was allowed to discreetly say my goodbyes. My family was really nice and had taught me a lot, and I had valuable friends, but none of that was reason enough to refuse an eternal life of happiness where I could even be friends with Cleopatra and Marilyn Monroe.

I spent some quality time with my loved ones, then two days later, I took my mother’s handgun and headed to see the one who hurt and destroyed my beloved friend, both physically and mentally.

I won’t describe the details of the torture I put him through. I’ll just say that I only stopped when it seemed to me that he went through at least ten times what he made her endure.

And then I killed him.

“Oh, shit," was my only reaction as I realized that punishing this disgusting man felt even better and even more right than living in a perfect Utopia.

It feels like I finally found my purpose. If this world is all that there is, the only thing we can do is enjoy it.

And we’ll only be able to enjoy it if we cleanse it.

I decided to take this mission upon myself.

But there’s only a problem: I already agreed with dying tomorrow.

I signed the contract and now I'm terrified of what Lilith will do to me when I say I changed my mind.

-u/poloniumpoisoning

[hotelsweet]

Can you write a pregnancy scare one shot in the epic detour universe?

hi!! I had a couple other anons wanting this exact same prompt, so here it is!!!

“Ames, are you okay in there?Charles wants to shave his legs. He’s goingcycling later, saying something about aerodynamics.”

Amy jumps at the sound of Jake’svoice, her eyes shooting to the inside of his bathroom door, opposite which shesits, her bare legs chilly against the cool tile of the floor. A soft breezefilters into the room from the tiny window in the corner of the room- she takesthis air into her lungs slowly, largely in hopes that it’ll make her voice sound more stable when she replies.

“Sorry. It’s. Uh… girlstuff,” she says eventually, hervoice cracking a little, and actually finds herself cringing at the uncertaintyin her voice. She’s such a bad liar.

“Oh, okay. Tell me if you needanything, okay?”

She smiles inwardly at her boyfriend’s immediate sweetness, but no part of her relaxes; herhands are clammy, almost dampening the huge shirt of his she’s wearing where she holds it.

In front of her, on the bathroom floor, sits a pregnancytest. Next to it, her phone timer, currently counting down from two minutes andthirty seconds. She wasn’texactly fazed by the extra thirty seconds when she bought the stupid thing, butright now it’s the most irritatingly longspace of time she’s ever experienced in herlife.

The timer, currently at 1:46, ticks down so slowly Amy swearsshe can feel herself aging.

Every part of her is panicking at once.

This is not the plan. Not that there even is a plan for this; she’s in college, and she and Jake havebeen dating for about 18 months. Their lives together consist of takeout, movies,a hell of a lot of music, and fitting in dates around classes, the academy, andcollege parties.

If you could name one thing that is undeniably, completelyincompatible with these lives, it’dabsolutely be parenthood.

Amy’sstomach churns at the thought of it, even though it’s all she’s beenthinking about all morning. Somehow, the idea of a baby is able to petrify herwith fresh fear every single time it comes back into her mind.

She’s never late. That’s how she knew something wasn’t right- at first, she actually thought it could be acyst, or a hormonal problem, not a pregnancy. That is, right up until she’d had the harsh realisation that sheand Jake had, indeed, had unprotected sex, late after a night in, out of sheerlaziness.

Despite her strict adherence to the pill, Amy hadimmediately started to panic, and dashed to the store straight after her classto pick up a test. She’d thencome to Jake’s for a movie night, asplanned, and found herself completely unable to wait.

Which brings us to now.

Her eyes dart back to the timer.

1:40.

Six seconds? Amysighs, leaning back into the glass of the outer wall of the shower.

What breaks her heart is that there’s no way she’d be able to keep this thing, thischild, if it’s there. She’s got a life ahead of her, a career.A long, successful career. Her mother had had her first child at 19 andalthough she maintains to this day that parenting was and is her only dream,the mere thought of it exhausts Amy.

What if Jake wanted it and she didn’t’? What if,god forbid, an abortion hurts her somehow, and she can’t have children later on? What if she convinces herself tokeep it?

Her head pounds so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if someone could hear it, hammering awayagainst her skull.

“Amy,” Charles’ voicecomes from just outside the door, “how’re you doing?”

“Oh!” She responds instinctively. “Uh, I’ll bedone in about a minute and a half. Exactly, actually.”

“Is there any way I could comein there with you? I need to make these legs smoother a china cup.”

Amy grimaces at the imagery. Glancing down at her phone, shestiffens- there’s no way she canrealistically face Jake without knowing.She has to find out, and then she’ll talkto him.

“I’m not sure that’s agood idea…”

“Are you using the toilet?”

“Um. No,” she replies firmly, surprised by hisbluntness.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes, Charles.”

“Then I’m coming in,” hesays with a sigh, as if he has no other choice, and before Amy can say no, orpush back against the door, Charles and his bare thighs are inside thebathroom.

Amy scrambles to grab her phone and the test- but as Charleswalks in, he kicks the phone forward, so it slides into the- thankfully dry-floor of the shower behind Amy.

“Oh, sorry Ames,” he says, tutting at himself.

“Uh, don’t worry,” she mumbles, crawling into the shower to retrieve herphone. She sets it down beside her, where he can’t seeit, and presses her hand holding the test into the pocket of her hoodie. “So, leg-shaving, huh?”

“Yup,” Charles says with some gusto, smirking proudly. “All the professionals do it.”

“Do they?” she asks weakly, watching the timerdip lower and lower, now skirting past a minute.

“Uh-huh.” He wets his legs over the sink, andstarts shaving. Amy reminds herself to bleach it before she uses it next. “This is nice, getting a bit of girltime together in the bathroom.”

“Girl time?”

“You might not know this, butI’m a bit of a sucker for somepampering.”

“Charles, last week I walkedinto the kitchen and you were making scrambled eggs wearing a face mask.”

He shrugs.

“So what’re you up to in here? Shavinganything?”

“I- no,” she mutters, deciding immediately to move past his choiceof question, “I was just painting my nails.” She looks at her bare nails. “My toenails.”

“Huh. How come you’re wearing socks?” He looks at her a little oddly.

“I’m done,” shesays defensively, as if putting on a pair of socks is what every girl withfreshly painted toenails does. She stands up hastily, watching the timer dropinto the last twenty seconds.

For a moment, it seems like she’s going to get out of here scot-free- until Jake slamsopen the door into her side.

“Hey, why wasn’t I invited to the bathroom party?”

“Ow!” Amy grabs her side, shoving her hoodie to the side. For amoment she panics, realising this is the side where the test is hidden.

“Oh god, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Jake half-laughs as he asks this,clearly amused by the farce of the three of them wedged into this tinybathroom.

“Yes, no, don’t worry- I’m fine, but I guarantee I’ll havea bruise to show for it, and then you’ll feelsorry,” Amy rushes, laughingquickly. “Can I get out?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Jake shrugs.

She wedges herself in so they’re faceto face in the doorway, and tries to wriggle past him.

“This is the weirdest eveningof my life,” she mutters, glancing overat Charles, who, with the handle of the razor in his mouth, massages shavingcream into his leg.

Jake shifts to let her through, which should help- butinstead does the absolute opposite, pulling her hoodie halfway off and knockingthe test, with a clatter, to the floor.

Both of them stop as soon as they see it, completelystiffening, stuck in the doorway. Charles doesn’tnotice for a good five or six seconds, washing his hands of the shaving cream. Assoon as he does, though, Amy completely expects him to be the one to break thesilence.

She needn’t worryabout that, though- because, as if on cue, the timer on her phone startsringing at full volume.

“That’s-” Jakemanages, his voice a little weak.

“Yup,” Amy says quietly.

“Are you-”

“I don’t know.”

“A Jamy baby! A Peraltiago baby! Oh my gosh, guys, this is it! This is thedream!” Charles swoons excitedly.Amy turns to him, panic washing over her at full force. If she is pregnant, she’s not finding out stuck in a doorway with Charles and hisone hairy leg and one smooth leg. Not today.

“Oh my god,” Amy’s voiceis low, like she’s about to cry, but no tears come,only more and more worry, accumulating in a tight mass in her throat.

“We can all raise it here, inthe apartment! I’ll teach it differentlanguages, though predominantly the language of food, obviously-”

“Nope, I can’t do this here,” Amy ducks down and snatches the testoff the floor, then runs into the living area as fast as she can.

“Wait, Amy,” Jake’s voicecomes after her as he follows her down the hall. “Are youokay?”

“Not really,” she says, deciding honesty is thebest policy. She spins on her heel to face him. “Areyou?”

“I don’t know… we’re super young.”

“Super young.”

“And super broke.”

“Super broke,” sherepeats, thinking about the cold ramen noodle she watched Jake eat for lunchthe other day.

“Poor thing wouldn’t know what’s about to hit it,” Jakelaughs feebly.

With that, Amy’s kneesbuckle, and she drops to the couch.

“Oh my god,” she squeaks. “I can’t dothis.”

“Ames, it’s probably nothing.”

“But what if it’s something?I’m sorry, I know it’s hypothetical, but you know I liketo be prepared, and this is big thing, right? We have to think about the worst-casescenario.” She cuts herself offmid-ramble, gasping to herself. “Oh god,I potentially just referred to our future child as a worst-case scenario.” She puts her hand over her lowerbelly and grimaces.

“Babe,” Jake stops her, “if it’s in there, it can’t hear you.”

“If it is… can we lie and say that we were bothreally happy when we found out?”

“I don’t know,” Jakedeliberates, sitting down and pulling Amy against him by her waist, “I think the story with Charles’ legs and the shared panic is prettycute.”

She laughs relievedly into his chest, then groans tensely.

“Okay. We have to do this,” she says, looking down at the test. “What’ll wedo for each result?”

“Huh… what about- if it’spositive- we apply for a bursary so you can stay in school… and we buy the cutest kids toys andfurniture on earth… and we accept that our liveshave totally changed but I’m stillgoing to completely love you and our little accident, so freakin’ much.”

She looks straight at him, into those warm, kind eyes, andpresses a soft kiss against his lips.

“And if it’s negative?”

“We get tipsy, watch a dumbmovie, and have completely protected sex?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she laughs, kissing him once more,just for safety.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

She turns the test over in her hand.

“It’s negative,” shesighs. “I’m not pregnant.” Relieffloods her from the inside out.

“Oh thank God, can you imagine raising a kid here?”

“Clearly we would have raisedit at mine,” she rolls her eyes.

“With Rosa and Gina, thequeens of loud sex?”

“Good point.”

They relax for a second, both still looking at the test.

“For a second it really feltlike it was going to happen, there.”

“I know, right?” She breathes deeply. “Jake, did you mean all of that stuff?”

“Huh?”

“I mean… the bursary. And the toys. All of that stuff.”

“Are you kidding? Amy, you couldcome home one day holding a Barbie doll you found on the street, claiming it’s your daughter, and so long as youmeant it, I’d love the damn thing too.”

Amy laughs a little. He smiles back warmly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Pulling him towards her, she presses her fingers into hishair, suddenly filled with a newfound appreciation for him, the sense that shecould be completely off-the-rails, completely low, and he’d absolutely be there. It’s not necessarily that she didn’t know that before, she thinks,tasting his tongue on hers, but that now she knows.

“So. The drinking and themovie?”

“Both available,” he murmurs into her ear. “Just to clarify, the sex is still onthe table, right?”

“God yes,” she purrs.

“Noice.”