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cocobwrites · 4 years ago

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Pub Food and Southern Delights

Summary: Henry was many things. Deceitful being just another trait, and it is one that you cannot tolerate.

Pairing: Dark Henry Cavill x Black reader

A/N: This is my first attempt at something dark. I’m not going to lie. My intentions for this are pretty heavy. Please, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Character Death, Murder/Suicide. Dubcon (later chapters) and I’m sure some other things. 18+

Chop. Chop. Chop. Your hands mechanically diced the red onions. The strong scent of the root caused your eyes to water and the sight of the oak cutting board to blur. You paused taking a step away to the sink, and wetting a cold paper towel to press against your eyes.

You were stowed away in an unnecessarily large kitchen dicing vegetables for the evening’s dinner. State of the art stainless steel appliances, concrete counters, and ash wood cabinets surrounded you. The combination should have given off a warm and inviting atmosphere, but the gleam and too new look of the appliances left if too sterile and cold. Much like the relationship you found yourself in. Pretty to look at, but lacking in real substance.

You leaned against the sink, the cold press of the metal pushing into your lower back and heaved a sigh. Tears that were initially caused by the onion were blending with tears caused by utter defeat.

How had you been so blind? How could you have let it get to this point?

On and on your mind went around how you allowed yourself to end up in the situation. In the beginning Henry was amazing, an absolute Godsend. He’d been the perfect mixture of gentleman and brute with just the right amount of freak you needed to keep you satisfied.

Henry had swept you off your feet easily. All sweet charm and dazzling smiles. You’d been a goner the first time he’d pushed that pitch-black hair back winked at you.

He was able to provide for you in ways you that you had only read about in romance novels. A powerful CEO, he was as rich as he was handsome, and he loved to lavish you with those riches.

Focus. You mentally chided yourself and pushed away from the sink to return to your task.

Henry maintained a love of pub food. Bangers and mash being one of his favorites. You needed tonight to go off without a hitch, hence you bringing out the big guns by way of one of his favorite meals. The onions started sizzling along with the bangers in the skillet. Your mind drifted reliving instances over the past year and a half that lead you here, particularly the events of three days ago.

You could still feel the nervous hope budding in your chest, barely there, but enough to keep you moving. The voice of the GPS announced that you had reached your destination a full five minutes before, yet you remained in your car trying to muster the courage to walk inside.

You had moved to open the door several times, but you could not keep your hand steady enough to grip the latch. It was a miracle you made it there at all. The glass and metal doors of the police station were less than 200 feet from you. Given your location it was not a terribly busy place. Which was exactly what you needed. You had driven an hour to get here. Hoping and praying that it was far enough away that you could get the help you needed to escape.

After a few more minutes of mustering up courage and shaking off the feeling of eyes following you, you finally pulled the handle on the door. It opened farther than it should have considering you had only popped the latch and put no real weight into opening it.

It only took a moment for your mind to register the long fingers curving around the frame, knuckles white in their grip. The rest of him filled your view. First his black loafers shined to perfection, pressed charcoal grey trousers came next as your eyes traveled up the length of him, before his black wool coat came into view, your head whipped up the rest of the way. You barely registered the suit jacket and navy button down exposed beneath his open coat.

Fearful brown eyes clashed with icy blue that were cold with fury.

‘No! No! No! No!’ You mentally chanted, and felt the distinct stinging at the back of your eyes. You scanned the parking lot wondering if you could make a run for it. It was of no use. A sleek black town car was parked behind yours.

Henry must have registered your debate on fleeing and all but growled “Just get in the car.” Your eyes returned to his, and you could not stop the tears from flowing. You were so close, so remarkably close, and it was ripped away from you. Within seconds your shoulders were shaking, and you were sucking in air trying to keep from howling with the loss of your chance at freedom.

You heard Henry release a sigh, and then he said in a softened tone “Come get in the car, darling. We can talk about this at home.”

That car was the last place you wanted to be. That car would take you right back to the lie you were desperately trying to detangle yourself from. Henry leaned into the car, and unfastened your seatbelt before drawing you from the driver seat. Steven, one of the members of his security detail, caught your eye for a moment his gaze was sympathetic, and he gave a barely perceptible nod to Henry before taking your spot in the driver seat. He was complicit, they all were. They knew and would do nothing to help you.

Henry’s hand was on your back, scalding where it touched you. You wanted to worm away from it, but it stayed gentle guiding you to the black sedan. The blacked-out windows of the backside passenger door reflected the sad sight you were. Your eyes were puffy, and your make-up streaked with tear tracks. More urging from Henry had you sliding into the backseat.

It was the quiet snapping of the peas in your hands that called your mind back to the present. The smell of the bangers and onion was mixing with the aroma of the biscuits baking in the oven. This was your normal M.O., blending your cultures, and likes together. He loved those biscuits. It was a recipe taught to you by your grandmother. Shown to you with patience in the happy warmth of her kitchen and dulcet tones of her voice. You missed that time. Missed that place. You longed to be home, back in the states surrounded by the safety and protection of your family.

That wasn’t a possibility. You knew that without a shadow of a doubt now.

The food at this point was all but done. You left it warming in the oven while you set the table for two. The six chimes of the grandfather clock from the foyer let you know that Henry would be home in the next fifteen minutes.

You looked down at the porcelain plates, their elegant waving pattern with gold trim. They screamed affluence, privilege, and old money. You wanted to hurl them to the ground, pull the ivory white tablecloth to the ground and send the flatware skidding across the floor.

You must have stood there fantasizing for a long while, because you heard Henry calling your name, and announcing his arrival. He strode into the dining room, and the air immediately charged with tension.

The doorway realistically was wide enough to accommodate two people side by side, but Henry always took up more room than he should. The weightiness of his presence filled the space between you in a suffocating manner.

Four days ago, you would have easily returned the smile that he offered. You could feel the wrongness in your own. The muscles in your face ticked up uneasily when they attempted to remember how to move.

He winced but the smile easily returned to his. Liar. “You look beautiful.” He said and closed the space between you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat from his body warming your face and the smell of his cologne filled your nostrils. Even with the knowledge you had now of who he truly was, you still craved him. Craved this.

You sighed and could not help but lean into him. You felt the familiar pressure of his mouth against the top of your head, and you let your arms wrap around him, squeezing gently. You would allow yourself this small pleasure. His arms wrapped around you in the same way yours had him.

You felt his voice rumble in his chest when the words hit your ears. “We’ll get through this. Now that you know, it will be so much easier between us.” He paused and you could see he debated on if he should say the next words. “Everything I do.” He paused again. “Have done, was to protect you, keep you safe.”

It was the same thing he had said that night you found that all your text messages and emails were being shadowed onto his phone. Seeing that had solidified something you feared was happening throughout the course of your relationship. The nail in the coffin had been him showing up at the police station. That day the wool had been completely and irrevocably stripped from your eyes. The tracker on your car made it clear that his money was put towards more than helping your complete your master’s degree. What scared you the most was the realization of how isolated you were. Time zones away from your family, a long drive from your friends, and without a job you were dependent on Henry. He knew it. He wanted it that way.

“I understand.” You said looking up to meet his eyes, and you did understand. He believed what he said which is why you had to finish this tonight. You patted his chest and said, “Why don’t you get washed up for dinner and I’ll finish setting the table.” He flashed that brilliant smile again and pecked you on the lips.

You were going to miss that smile. Henry was very free with it tonight. It had been coming easier since he no longer had to hide the duality of his nature. Yours on the other hand had all but vanished. “It looks delicious.” Henry said and helped push your chair in before sitting himself down. “Are those your grandmother’s biscuits?”

You nodded and motioned to his plate. “Dig in.” And dig in he did. You wondered how many bites it would take before he started to notice something was off.

In three short bites Henry looked up at you and asked, “Did you do something different with the gravy?”

You answered pleasantly “I did. Do you like it?” Your tone held something that should have sounded like a smile but was too icy. “I took something from the garden that I thought might add a little something extra.”

He hadn’t stopped eating while you spoke. He was maybe five or six bites in before a light sheen broke out across his forehead. You watched him and took small bites of your own food. At first it was the shake of his head.

“Is it spicier than normal?” He asked and you looked up to see his cheeks were tinged pink.

“No.” You answered with a subtle shake of your own head. “Shouldn’t be.” Followed by a bite from your own plate.

His only answer after that had been a hum of acceptance. Not a solid two minutes later he started coughing, and you started talking.

“I just want you to know that I understand. I understand that you would never let me go.” Henry’s eyes snapped to your face while he pulled at the tie around his neck desperately searching for reprieve of the coughing fit, he was experiencing.

With a heavy sigh you continued “I just hope you can understand that I could never accept that.” Your head shook no, and your grip tightened on your fork. “This isn’t normal, Henry. It’s not normal to alienate the woman you love from the world and keep her locked away.” Your eyes never moved from his red face. Your eyes saddened hearing him gasp for air and seeing the veins in his neck and forehead protrude as he fought to catch his breath. “This was my only way to be free.” You finished on a whisper, quieting as Henry quieted opposite you at the table.

The plate of food in front of you blurred. The meal really was delicious, you didn’t want anything less for what you anticipated to be your last. You were amazed at your own resolve to carry through with the plan. You set calmly and ate large forkfuls of the bangers making sure to scoop up enough gravy.

You soon followed suit with Henry. Your skin felt flush, your breathing becoming labored followed by the strong urge to cough.

#henry cavill x black reader #dark henry cavill x black!reader #henry cavill x reader #au henry cavill #ceo! henry cavill #cocowrites

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

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52 Project #30 (Writeober #15: Mortality): Everybody’s Happy As The Dead Come Home

Ever since my mother died of breast cancer a few years ago, I’ve been making time to go visit my elderly father about once a month. That may be conjuring up the wrong image in your head, so let me clarify. My father’s over 70, but he still has a lot of the energy he had as a younger man. He works as a consultant for the big corporation he spent his entire adult pre-retirement life working for, for about three or four times as much money, and he enjoys it. He’s got an active social life, spending time with friends he had shared with Mom as a couple, and new friends he’s made from his bereavement group or his consulting work. And my sister, the baby of the family, lives with him, and my two younger brothers come to visit him a lot more often, since they live a lot closer than I do. So if you’re imagining a lonely, stooped old man pining away in a house that smells like stale cat food – that’s not my dad, and I can’t imagine it would ever be.

I arrived late on a Friday night, as usual. My sister met me at the door, and actually looked me directly in the eye. Stephanie’s autistic; she never looks anyone in the eye. “Eleanor,” she said, and that was another strange thing, because she almost never calls anyone by name… unless she’s doing it for emphasis. “When you find out, don’t say anything about it,” she said.

“About what?” Most of the time Stephanie makes sense, but every so often she says something that sounds like her mind has jumped ahead in the conversation without realizing all the missing pieces she never bothered to say.

“You’ll know,” she said. “And you’ll want to ask ‘why’ and ‘how’, and I’m telling you that you can’t do that. Don’t ask any questions. Just come talk to me after you’re done.”

“Done with what?” I asked.

And then a voice called me from the TV room. “Lennie? Lennie, is that you?”

Only my mom and dad are allowed to call me Lennie. And that was a woman’s voice. I froze in place.

“Go see her,” Stephanie said, and headed off to her room.

I turned toward the TV room, slowly. “Lennie! Come out and see me!” my mom’s voice called.

I didn’t know whether to be terrified, or to start crying and fling myself into her arms. I walked very slowly, very cautiously, to the edge of the kitchen, where I could see my parents in the TV room. Both of my parents. My dad was smiling.

“Lennie!” my mom said, standing up. She hadn’t been able to stand up without help for months before she died, but here she was, standing up easily. She didn’t look any younger than she had when she died, but she looked healthier. The extreme thinness she’d suffered from at the end after it had metastasized and she’d barely been able to eat was gone; her flesh was filled out, her skin as taut as you could expect from a woman her age, and healthy-looking. Pale, but her natural paleness, not the weird, sallow, almost yellow color it had been at the very end.

“Mom?” I whispered.

“Come here. I need a hug,” Mom said, sounding exactly like she always had – joking, but there was always that note of truth under it. She didn’t wait for me to make my way to her – she never had, not until she was too ill to get up – but came straight for me and gave me a hug, and she smelled like herself. Not like a rotting corpse, not like ozone or nothing or whatever a ghost is supposed to smell like.

When I was a kid, my brother Jeff and I watched the miniseries version of “The Martian Chronicles”. In particular, he was always impressed (and terrified) by the part where the astronauts meet their long-lost loved ones, who turn out to be Martian shapechangers luring them to their deaths. I always wondered, if the people they saw on Mars were dead, how did they fall for it? How did they not know that dead people could not somehow be on Mars?

As I held my mom, who’d been dead a few years now, I understood. They’d wanted to believe. I wanted to believe. Stephanie had warned me not to ask anything – no “how are you not dead”, “how can you be here”, “why are you alive,” nothing like that. I assumed that was what she’d meant, anyway.

“Mom, I’ve been trying to trace some of my past that I’ve forgotten. Do you remember the name of my third grade teacher?”

“Huh.” My mom seemed to be thinking about it. “I think it was Mrs. Wilder, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. Second grade was Ms. Jenner, right? And fourth was Mrs. White?”

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t, in fact, remember my third grade teacher’s name, and neither did my dad. The Martians in the story had been telepaths; they’d been able to perfectly impersonate the astronauts’ loved ones because they could read the astronauts’ minds. Now I had a piece of information whose answer I didn’t know, and no way to easily confirm it unless Jeff remembered; he was only two years younger than me and had had some of the same teachers. But some of the people I had friended on Facebook were high school classmates, and a tiny number of my high school classmates had also been with me in elementary school, and might remember my third grade teacher’s name.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” my mom said. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Things are going okay. Mom, if I’d known you were here I’d have brought the kids.”

“You can bring them up next time,” Mom said.

This was so weird. My mom was definitely dead. I had seen her body in the coffin, lying in state, looking nothing like she had in life. But here she was, impossibly, and I was holding an almost normal conversation with her. “Have Jeff or Aaron come over since you’ve… been here?”

“Jeff was here last weekend,” Dad said. “And Aaron lives next door, so he’s been over nearly every day.”

My grandparents used to live next door. When they died, my mom and my uncle inherited the house. My uncle bought out my mom’s share and rented the house out, and my youngest brother ended up renting it. My other brother lives in an apartment down in the city; I’m the odd one out, living in a completely different state, with a husband and kids.

So all of them had known, and none of them had told me. I expected Stephanie and Aaron to never tell me anything, but I was more than a little irritated with Jeff.

“Let me go drop off my stuff,” I said, since I was still carrying my bag.

I went back to Stephanie’s room, which used to be my room, a long time ago. The boys used to room together, but my room was too small for Stephanie to share with me, and she had needed a lot of space of her own… so they’d converted the loft in the garage into a bedroom. It had never been warm in the winter, though, so as soon as I moved out, Stephanie had moved in.

Stephanie was, as usual, on her computer. I shut the door behind me. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

“She’s not the only one,” Stephanie said, without looking away from her computer. “I’ve been doing research. They’re all over the place. There’s no explanation yet, and apparently none of them will talk about it. I asked Mom and she said I was really rude, and sulked and was really passive-aggressive.”

“So we’re not worried about Mom turning into a Martian shapechanger or vanishing, we’re just worried that she’ll get mad?” To be fair, making Mom mad had always been a thing worth avoiding at all costs. “When did she come back?”

“I don’t know exactly, but presuming that she came to see me right after she came back, it would have been Monday around 3 pm.”

“And no one told me? You have my email address!”

“…It just didn’t feel right, telling you something like this in email. I felt like I should wait for you to be here.”

“And Jeff didn’t? And Aaron didn’t?”

Stephanie shrugged. She still didn’t look away from her computer. “They probably felt the same way.”

“Does Dad… know? Like, does he even remember that Mom is dead, or does he think this is normal?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

I sat down on her bed. “Steph, I’m asking you to make an informed guess. Has he said anything to you that would either suggest that he’s aware this is abnormal, or that he isn’t?”

“I don’t read minds, but I haven’t heard anything from him one way or the other. He’s very happy, though.”

“I got that impression,” I told her. I went to the guest room, which used to belong to the boys, opened up my laptop, and sent Jeff a question on Facebook about my third grade teacher.

Mom appeared while I was debating whether or not to also ask him why the hell he hadn’t told me about her. “Lennie, don’t hide in your room. Come out and talk to me and your dad. You need to catch me up on your life!”

Part of me wanted to break down crying. Part of me wanted to run to the car. Part of me was annoyed the way I always used to be annoyed when my mom wanted to spend time with me and I had stuff to do. And part of me hated myself for being annoyed by my mom for any reason at all. She was back from the dead and I wanted to hide in my room? But I wanted to hide in my room because I wanted to do research to figure out if this was really my mom or not. And what had Stephanie meant by “all over the place”? People all over the place had returned from the dead? Why wasn’t this all over the news?

What I said was, “Okay, mom,” and I went out to the TV room to talk to her.

***

Here I was, having a completely mundane conversation with a dead woman.

Yes, my husband was doing well at his consulting business. Yes, my oldest daughter was doing well in college. My youngest daughter had a rough spot a few years ago but was doing better. The daughter in the middle was putting a lot of time into her music, and was getting really good. I didn’t mention that my oldest daughter had gotten a diagnosis of autism like her aunt, or that my middle daughter was failing all her subjects because all she cared about was music, or that my youngest daughter was openly bisexual and dating a nonbinary teen in her class, because those would be fraught topics around here. My mother would be openly disapproving of the failing in school – as was I, but I wasn’t here to listen to a lecture about what I should be doing differently to make sure Rhiannon passed her classes – and she’d be what she thought counted as supportive about the other things. Are you sure it’s a good idea for Janie to have an autism diagnosis on her medical record? Lots of people will discriminate against her, just ask Stephanie, it’s not a good thing to admit to the world. And if Lori wanted to date a person who claimed to have no gender, good for her, but was she sure it was a good idea to admit to the world that she was bi when the world is so prejudiced? Blah blah blah. No. I wasn’t going there, not with my mother back from the dead.

All the questions I wanted to ask. How? How was she back? Why? Was there an afterlife after all? What was it like? Are you absolutely sure you’re not a telepathic shapechanger who wants to eat us? Is anyone else coming back or is it just you? But I couldn’t do it. My mouth wouldn’t make the words, and I felt like Mom being alive was a soap bubble that might burst any moment. If I said she was dead, would she disappear? I couldn’t take the risk.

Now I knew why Jeff and Aaron hadn’t told me. The compulsion not to talk about it, the fear that talking about the circumstances of her death and her apparently-no-longer-deadness would cause her to stop being no-longer-dead. I wouldn’t be able to tell my husband about this, or my kids, not unless they came here. Not without feeling like Mom might disappear if I did.

Which was probably how Stephanie had gotten away with it, in the beginning. If this was some kind of emotional pressure, something emanating from the presence of a dead woman... Stephanie was typically immune to emotional pressure. Or pretended she was, anyway. She hid behind her monotone and her face that barely expressed anything until she couldn’t, and then she’d go and have a meltdown in the bathroom. But she wanted to please Mom. We all wanted to please Mom. So if Mom had told her she was rude for mentioning the death thing, Stephanie would be unable to mention it again. Because she wouldn’t want Mom to think she was rude.

This felt very much like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Dead mother back to life, check. Weird inexplicable pressure not to talk about it, check. But Mom clearly remembered things that had happened shortly before her death, and showed no evidence of knowing about anything that had happened since, unless it was public knowledge. She talked about interests the girls had had three years ago, interests they’d all outgrown since. She talked about my plan to remodel my own garage – I had completely forgotten that was even a thing we’d planned at one point, because I’d lost my job shortly after Mom died and then the money wasn’t there for the remodel. She didn’t know I was working with my husband in the consulting business now, which a telepath would obviously know because it dominates my life nowadays. Obviously a Martian telepathic shapechanger would have to pretend not to know things that supposedly happened while they were dead, but if I’d forgotten about the garage, what were the odds a telepath could pull it out of my head? There had to be more accessible thoughts in there, after all.

I didn’t know what to ask Mom. How do you feel? That was always a good one, back in the day, because Mom’s chronic illnesses meant there was always something she could complain about, but she wouldn’t do it until she was asked… she’d just quietly resent the fact that no one had asked her. But did dead people still feel things? Would that intrude on the topic I wasn’t supposed to talk about? What’s going on in your life? Oh, nothing much, Lennie, I’m back from the dead, how about you?

So I talked about myself. I was learning to work leather and I’d made myself a wallet, but I left it at home, I could bring it to show her next time. I was also learning to repair dolls. The girls had all abandoned theirs and I felt bad about it, so I was cleaning them up and repairing them and putting them in dioramas. Mom was very interested in both topics, and asked if I could repair some old dolls she had up in the attic. I was pretty sure I’d already done it – if it was the dolls I was thinking of, Dad had given them to me right after Mom died, and they were the ones I’d learned on. But was it safe to talk about? Dad wasn’t saying anything; had he forgotten he gave me the dolls, which was entirely possible, or did he think it wasn’t safe to talk about either?

I’d wanted for three years to be able to tell my mom that she was wrong about all the weight loss advice she’d given me because now it had come out that scientists had never proven that fat made you fat and the low-carb diets were probably better for you than the low-fat ones, but I didn’t know if she could still eat. Also, my mom was back from the dead and I wanted to start an argument with her about a topic I’d always hated when she talked about? Didn’t I have anything better to do? That really kind of made me a shitty person, didn’t it?

When Mom had been dying, I couldn’t talk to her about the future. I didn’t know how to bring myself to talk about things she’d never see. I’d never known how much my conversations with her consisted of me talking about future plans until I couldn’t any more. Now I couldn’t talk about the future or the past, at least not the past three years, and large parts of the present had to be left out too, because I didn’t know what would remind her that she was dead and make her go back to her grave. Even though, logically, I knew that was unlikely to happen because Stephanie had done it and had just gotten a rebuke that that was rude.

At the same time… I knew I had to say something that Mom could talk about, because if I just talked about myself all night, later on she’d probably make some passive-aggressive remarks about how everything always had to be about me. In desperation, I asked her if she’d seen anything good on television lately.

“Oh, I haven’t been watching anything in a while,” Mom said. “It’s been so long since I felt well enough to go anywhere, so I’ve been going for walks, and your father and I have been taking trips to museums and historic sites. We’re going to be going up to Boston next week.”

“I have a client up there,” Dad said, “and they want me to do a training thing. And I was telling them, no, no, Boston’s too far, but I remembered how much your mom loved Boston, so I asked her if she wanted to go and she said yes, so now we’re going. We’re going to fly, though. The days I was willing to drive that kind of distance are long over.”

“You could take the Amtrak.”

Dad made a dismissive gesture. “It’s gotten so expensive. Flying’s actually cheaper.”

“When are you going?”

“Next Wednesday we’re going to fly up there,” Mom said, which said something about her opinion of the future, at least. “Your dad’s got his presentations to do on Thursday and Friday, and I’ll wander around the city, and then we’ll spend Saturday seeing the sights together.”

“There’s this fantastic restaurant I went to last time I was up there on business,” Dad said, “and I checked their web page, and they’re still open. So we’re going to go there.”

So Mom could eat. Or Dad wasn’t afraid of talking about eating with her, anyway. Maybe ruled out vampire, but Martian shapechanger was still on the table.

I didn’t literally believe my mom – or the entity that appeared to be my mom – was a telepathic shapechanger from Mars like in The Martian Chronicles. But it was obvious that something so far outside the norm that it was only imaginable by making references to fantasy and science fiction was happening.

I tried, very carefully, “How have you been feeling, Mom?”

“I’m great!” She laughed. “I haven’t felt this good in ages. Sugar’s under control, I can see pretty well, none of the usual aches and pains… I’m doing pretty good!”

Did she remember she had died of cancer? Did she even remember that she’d died?

It was 2 am before I got to go to bed.

***

6 am and I was up and out the door before there was any chance of my mother or father being awake, assuming my mom even slept anymore. But at the very least, she was in her bedroom with the door closed and no view of the driveway I’d parked my car in.

Do I sound like a terrible daughter when I tell you I’ve never visited my mom’s grave? I haven’t been back there since the funeral. I always knew my mother wasn’t really there – that if any part of her had still existed in any form, it wasn’t trapped in a coffin under six feet of dirt. It made it somewhat difficult to find the graveyard, though, because I couldn’t remember where it was, or its name, or which church it was associated with, and it wasn’t exactly like I could ask my mom. When I finally found the place– it wasn’t that hard in the end, my parents live in a small town and there aren’t many graveyards – it took me half an hour to find her grave.

It seemed undisturbed. But if Mom had been back from the dead since Monday, that would have been time to fill in a grave. I went looking for the caretaker.

They get to work early in the graveyard caretaking business, I guess; I found him pushing a lawnmower over on the other side of the graveyard.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“This is going to sound stupid,” I said. “But I got an email from a jerk I used to know in high school claiming he was going to dig up my mother’s grave, and I just wanted to make sure nobody’s touched it.”

“Nobody’s touched any of the graves, ma’am,” he assured me. “Aside from a couple of funerals we’ve had this week, no one’s done anything to disturb the ground here at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that’s reassuring. He was talking like he was actually going to do it, but I guess he was all talk.”

“Well, if anyone comes by and disturbs any of the graves, we’ll have them arrested,” he said.

I had my answer. My mother had not climbed out of her grave. Which seemed impossible anyway, now that I knew enough about the funeral industry to know exactly how hard it would be to smash a coffin open, let alone dig through six feet of dirt. I couldn’t rule out her turning immaterial and floating out of her grave, but my mom had seemed very material and biological when she’d hugged me. I’d always thought of ghosts as something that were almost never solid enough to interact with the world, if they even existed.

***

If I was going to get up this early, I was going to get a pancake breakfast at the diner. My parents still think sugarless cold cereal is a reasonable thing to eat for breakfast. They were always night owls; I made myself breakfast and school lunch every morning but the first day of school, every year after about third grade. I was also a night owl, once I didn’t have to get up for school anymore, but I used to make my girls a lunch every night and store it in the fridge for them. Now they’re too old and too cool for Mom lunches. They’re eating something, but it might be cafeteria food, lunch they pack for themselves, or for all I know sandwiches from 7-11 or Starbucks with their allowance.

The point is, I hardly ever get a nice breakfast, because I am hardly ever willing to wake up early enough to cook myself one, and my parents certainly weren’t going to. So I went to the diner.

Normally I don’t talk to anyone at a diner, beyond smiling at them and telling them my order in an upbeat, cheerful voice because waitresses get too much shit from too many people for me to add to it inadvertently. Also because I don’t want them to think I’m eating alone because I’m a sad, lonely bitch no one would love; I want them to know I’m doing this because I really, really enjoy not having to socialize. But today I had something I needed to know.

“I’m a writer,” I told the waitress, “and I’m doing research on ghost stories in the area. Have you heard anything, you know, Halloweeny or spooky? Ghosts appearing, dead people walking around, poltergeists, that kind of thing?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’ll ask around, see if any of the girls know any good stories,” the waitress told me.

And then she took my order back to the kitchen, and I surfed the net on my phone while I waited, and then I got my pancakes, and I ate them. I was chasing the last blueberry around on the plate when another waitress approached me. “Stacy told me you were collecting creepy stories for a book?”

“From the local area, yeah.”

“I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you’re looking for, but… my cousin says that a lady on her street, her husband died a few years ago? But she just saw the guy walking with the lady down the street, having a conversation like the guy never died.”

“Do you think you’d be able to give my email to your cousin and have her reach out to me? That sounds like exactly the kind of story I’m looking for.”

“Uh, sure.”

I gave the waitress my email address. This was probably going to come to nothing; I doubted the waitress would even remember to give it to her cousin. But it’d be really good if I could get the details from someone who knew more about it.

***

Jeff’s more of a morning person than I am. I got a response on Facebook, but I had to wait to get back to my parents’ house, where my laptop was, to read it. On mobile, Facebook will only let you read messages if you have the app, which tells Mark Zuckerberg exactly where you are and what you’re doing with your phone, all the time. I don’t have the app. Sometimes this means I can’t read messages on mobile, but I prefer that to having an evil data empire know everything about my movements.

My parents weren’t awake when I got home. Or they were still in their bedroom. They used to do that a lot. Mom’s desk was in there, and Dad had a laptop… which he usually used on Mom’s desk, since she died. I wondered where her machine was, and if she had made a thing about it once she came back.

“I’m not sure I remember what your third grade teacher’s name was… I can barely remember my own third grade teacher. Were they the same? I can’t remember. I think my own teacher’s name was… Wil-something? Wilber? Wilkins? You’d be better off… well, you’re at the house now, or are you back at your home? Kind of important to know, because I could give you some advice about who to ask, but it’d be a different thing if you were at Dad’s house.”

He meant, “You’d be better off asking Mom, but I don’t know if you know Mom is back from the dead or not.” I was pretty sure, anyway.

I responded. “I’m at Dad’s house. Wondering how I’d be able to tell the difference between someone who’s real and a Martian shapechanger. Could the name have been Wilder?”

Five minutes later I got my answer. “Mom isn’t a Martian shapechanger. It was the first thing I thought of, so I checked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

That answer I didn’t get until half an hour later. “I… just didn’t feel right, talking about it in an impersonal medium like the internet. I know you have a cell phone and I probably even have your number somewhere, but I remember you’re not the biggest fan of actual phone calls, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I replied with my phone number and the message “Call me.”

And then I had to sit by my phone, doing nothing important, nothing that would engage my attention in any serious way, waiting for him to call. Which took twenty minutes, despite the fact that I could see that he was online.

Finally the phone rang. “You raaaaang?” I answered in my best parody of The Addams Family.

“I’m pretty sure I must have, or you wouldn’t have known to pick up,” Jeff said. “Of course, I might have buzzed. You could have your phone on vibrate. Or maybe I sang, depending on what you have for a ringtone.”

“’You saaaaang?’ doesn’t have the same je ne sais quoi to it.”

“Wow, how long has it been since I heard someone put je ne sais quoi in a sentence? I think we’re old. I think that’s an old person expression now.”

“What’s going on with Mom?” I asked, quietly, in case anyone might be in the hallway to hear me.

Jeff sighed. “I don’t know what is, but I can tell you what isn’t,” he said. “Stephanie confirmed that she eats, sleeps and goes to the bathroom normally, and I confirmed all of that for myself. The toilet in their bedroom is still broken enough that they don’t flush it unless they have to.”

I winced. That was a level of detail I could have done without. “So, not vampire or undead. How did you solve the Martian thing?”

“On Monday, Dad woke up and she was laying next to him in bed. If the goal was to kill him, it would have made more sense to do it then, before he woke up, than to put on this whole elaborate performance.”

“You’re taking me too literally. I’m not worried about aliens trying to take our family off guard so they can kill us. There’s any number of things they could be up to, and they don’t have to be aliens. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Stepford Wives. My Little Pony.”

“…My Little Pony?”

“There’s creatures called Changelings that feed on love. They impersonate ponies and take the love that other ponies feel for the ones they’re impersonating, as food.”

“Kind of psychic vampires mashed up with Martian shapechangers.”

“Yeah, but without the telepathy, so they’re not as good at it as you’d think. It’s a children’s show; they have to telegraph to the kids that these aren’t the real ponies. In real life, anyone who did something like that would be more competent.”

“How much verisimilitude do we need, though? She’s got moles in the same places Mom had moles. She’s missing a toenail just like Mom. Things I didn’t consciously think about, things I might not have remembered if you asked me to describe Mom.”

“That just means that if it’s not Mom, it has the ability to rummage deeper into our memories than we’re consciously aware of. That’s why I asked you my third grade teacher’s name. I genuinely don’t remember. Mom would, I’m pretty sure. Dad wouldn’t and Stephanie and Aaron were both too young.”

“I’m not sure I remember, but when you said Wilder, that sounded like it could be right. Do you know anyone from elementary school? Some of them went to high school with us.”

“I have some Facebook friends from high school, and maybe one or two went to the same elementary we did, but I haven’t been able to locate any actual people that I remember from elementary school. They don’t have a Classmates.com thing that works for elementary—”

“It says it does.”

“It lies, there’s nowhere to enter your elementary in your profile. All it lets you put in is high school, and it’s from a drop-down, not even freeform.”

“Huh. Guess I never tried it. I’m still in touch with anyone I cared about from back then.”

“I literally don’t care about anyone from back then, but that makes it hard when you’re trying to figure out your third grade teacher’s name.”

“If she can probe our memories,” Jeff said, “then nothing you or I know, or ever knew, would be safe. You’d have to come up with something to ask her that Dad wouldn’t know, or me, or Aaron, or Steph, or yourself, but that you know Mom would know and that you know someone else who would know it too.”

“I could ask Mariana for something.” My mom’s close friend and high school classmate was one of my Facebook friends. We don’t generally communicate directly with each other, but I follow her posts.

“That’s a good idea.” I heard the sound of a whistling teapot in the background. “That’d be my hot water for my oatmeal. If you get anything from Mariana, can you tell me about it?”

“Yeah.” I’d wanted to tell him about the story I’d heard in the diner, but no one got between Jeff and his oatmeal. “I’ll talk to you later. Probably online. Voice is making me paranoid.”

“I know what you mean. Do you need me to come up this weekend? I could make a day trip tomorrow.”

“That might be a good idea. I want to talk to Aaron, do you know what schedule he’s on?”

“He works nights now, so you’ll want to get him around 2 pm or so.”

“All right. Enjoy your oatmeal.”

“I will!” he said, putting a ridiculous amount of emphasis into it as a joke.

***

Before I could finish writing a message to Mariana – before I could really start, honestly, because how could I explain why I needed what I needed without admitting Mom was back from the dead? – someone knocked on my door. It was Mom. She was wearing one of her usual kind of shapeless but colorful nightgowns, and her hair was not brushed, so it was kind of a wreck. I noticed for the first time that it was grey. Mom had always dyed her hair since she started going grey, and it had still been auburn when she’d died. I’d never seen it fully grey. “Your dad and I are going to the arboretum,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

“Since when have you been into trees, Mom?” My mother had always been fascinated by history, and to some extent natural history like dinosaurs, but I’d never seen her express an interest in nature per se.

“I never was, much,” she admitted, “but the world is so beautiful. I was always more interested in the way humans shape the world than the way it came out of the box, but things like arboretums, Japanese gardens, zoos and aquariums… they’re made of nature, but they’re made by humans, and they say something about the people who chose to make them the way they are. And you know that your dad has always enjoyed nature.” My dad was interested in science, in general, and considered the natural world part of that. He was not exactly the kind of guy who would go camping.

In the past, I would have said “no, thanks.” I was never all that interested in nature myself, certainly not trees – maybe beautiful rocks or interesting landscapes, but looking at trees wouldn’t have seemed interesting to me. I still didn’t care much about trees… but my mom was back from the dead. I’ve gone much stupider and more boring places than an arboretum with her in the past, and now… if this was really her, if she was really alive again, I was going to spend all the time with her that I reasonably could.

“Sure, I’ll go,” I said. “I’ll take my own car, though. Just give me the address.” I always took my own car if I possibly could, because I’d get carsick if I wasn’t the one driving. “Should I ask Stephanie if she wants to come?”

“Sure, you can ask. I doubt she will, though.”

Stephanie, however, surprised me. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. We’ll meet Mom and Dad there?”

“Yeah.” Dad had texted me the address, so I pulled it up in my GPS. “About half an hour from here.”

In the car, she asked me, “Have you found anything out? I know you were looking into the whole Mom thing.”

“Jeff thinks she’s really Mom. We have a plan to get Mariana to give us a question that we don’t know the answer to, but that Mom and Mariana both would, so we can confirm she really knows things and isn’t just reading our minds. And a waitress at the diner said her cousin has seen what looks like someone else coming back from the dead.”

“It’s all over the place, actually,” Stephanie said. “I’m finding reports from everywhere.”

I glanced at her. “Why wouldn’t this be making the news, then? People coming back from the dead!”

“I feel like maybe no one wants to go on the record.” Stephanie looked out the window. “Nothing on Twitter or Facebook. No pictures of dead people on Instagram. I’m seeing things on Reddit and Tumblr – places where people use a consistent pseudonym, not like 4chan, but where that pseudonym can’t be tied to their actual identity. I’ve posted about it in both places, but I can’t make myself tweet about it.”

“Any idea why not?”

“It—” She shrugged, hands exaggeratedly widespread and head canted forward slightly. “It just feels wrong,” she said. “Like… we’re getting away with something. There’s a natural law we’re breaking here. I can post as toomanymushrooms or u/catonahottinroofsundae and no one knows who I am, but if I post as Stephanie Robbins and I tell everyone that my mom Suky Robbins is back from the dead…”

“What if that brought it to the attention of, what, some kind of authorities?”

“Yeah, pretty much. And even if I was just posting under my own name… I don’t have to say Mom’s name. I don’t have to put a mention to her Facebook in a post. But everyone knows my mother’s name, or they could find out from my name if they wanted to.”

“And you think maybe there are a lot of people with these weird feelings?”

“I don’t think so, I know so. A lot of posts explicitly talk about the fact that they can’t bring themselves to say anything in public, or talk about it with their real names on it.”

“Are they all parents?”

“No. It’s all kinds of people. Best friends, siblings, spouses, children… the only pattern I see is that nobody died a long time ago. It’s all, ‘my brother who died last year’ or ‘my aunt who died two years ago’ or something. Longest I’ve seen anyone talk about was a son who died five years ago.”

A thought occurs to me. “I can add something to your pattern, though.”

“Yeah?”

“You’d expect that, even if everyone with a resurrected relative feels this sense of dread about telling anyone about it with their name attached, because they feel it will, I don’t know, maybe cause the dead person to disappear back into their grave… you’d think somebody would do it anyway because they don’t care. Someone whose alcoholic abusive father came back and they wish he’d go away again, someone’s asshole brother, someone’s former best friend who betrayed them. But so far, no one has. How many people have you seen talking about this?”

“It’s hard to say because no one’s using their real names. Someone might post from their main blog and their side blog, or maybe they have a different name on tumblr vs reddit but they posted to both. But I’ve tracked thirteen separate names, and of those, I can tell for a fact there are at least nine unique ones because they talk about different people.”

“Thirteen isn’t ‘all over the place’.”

“I didn’t mean all over the Internet, I meant people coming from all over. I’ve tracked the UK, California, North Dakota, Ontario, France, India and New Zealand. Nobody’s tagging their posts and no one is willing to contribute to a master list, so it’s hard to find anyone outside of the people I follow or the subreddits I’m in, and I don’t know where everyone comes from. But it’s geographically widespread. I suspect it may also be happening in other places where people don’t generally speak English or maybe don’t have Internet access.”

“And what’s their sentiment? Like, are people frightened? Upset? Excited? Weirded out?”

She took a moment to think about it. “They’re happy. People are happy it happened. Weirded out, yes. But happy.”

“No whacked-out conspiracy theories about how it’s the contrails raining down adenochrome or something?”

“Not from the people it’s happened to. There was one flame war I saw where a religious person was saying that the person whose sister was back from the dead had to repudiate her. She’s not really your sister, she’s a demon from Hell sent to trick you, et cetera. And the person whose sister was back turned out to be just as religious, and they threw a holy fit. Literally. A holy fit.” She giggled. “A whole lot of stuff about how the righteous were coming back and Jesus had granted some people eternal life and this was that, and how dare you call these beings demons when they’re obviously blessed by Jesus himself and you’re the kind of person who would have called for Jesus’s crucifixion if you’d been alive then, and all that kind of thing.”

“Did anyone else who’d had returned people say anything?”

“This was Tumblr. None of the people who have had returns are communicating with each other in any way I can see. I reached out to a few on Tumblr private messaging but no one has answered. The only places I’m seeing conversations about it between people with returns have been on Reddit, because it has a forum structure. Tumblr is more like a whole hanging web of disconnected strings.”

“Still, you’d think that someone would be publishing a news article about it. Even if no one is willing to go on the record with their real name…”

“Maybe it’s not enough people. Nine unique instances, maybe up to thirteen, maybe more in places I haven’t surveyed. It’s not like I have access to literally all of Tumblr, after all. But that’s all I can confirm, and what if there isn’t any more?”

“If anyone came back from the dead I would expect the news to take notice.” I turned onto the final road; the arboretum was at the end of this stretch. “I went to the graveyard today. Mom’s grave hasn’t been disturbed. I checked with the groundskeeper. So either Mom’s body floated ethereally through the grave dirt, and her coffin, or her original body is still in there and whatever she is now, it’s not the same as what she was then.”

“It’s too bad we can’t have her exhumed,” Stephanie said.

“It probably wouldn’t tell us much anyway.”

“She’s younger-looking than she was before. Not by much, and the grey hair hides it, but she’s healthier-looking and less wrinkly. And I don’t see any evidence that she still has diabetes, or that she’s taking any pills at all. I haven’t seen her take any insulin shots, or anything.”

“Huh.” She wasn’t restored to her youth, or her hair wouldn’t be grey and there would be no wrinkles at all. She wasn’t restored to what she was at the moment of death, obviously. She wasn’t restored to what she’d have been at the moment of death without the cancer that killed her, if she didn’t have diabetes anymore. I felt like there had to be a pattern here I wasn’t seeing. I really wanted to talk to some of these other people having this experience.

I pulled in to the arboretum’s parking lot. Mom and Dad weren’t there yet; Dad doesn’t drive like an old man, but he doesn’t drive as fast as he used to, either. “Do they do this kind of thing a lot? Arboretums, parks, et cetera?”

“They don’t usually invite me, and I wouldn’t usually come if they did, so I don’t know. They do leave the house a lot.”

Dad’s car pulled in, and he and Mom got out. For the first time I could remember, Mom was actually moving a bit faster than him. Both Mom and Dad were the kind of people who walked quickly everywhere they went, but for a long time, Mom was slowed down by her various illnesses. Dad was still healthy for his age, but he’d slowed down a good bit since Mom’s death – grief was hard on his health, it seemed – and now Mom seemed healthier than he was.

“Did you know there are people who come here from all over just to see our leaves in the autumn?” Mom said.

I did know that; it was typically a factor in making it hard for me to come visit during the autumn. “I think it’s the mountainsides. There’s leaves turning colors all over the country, but not on mountainsides.”

“In California they don’t even consider these mountains,” Mom said. “They call them hills when they come visit.”

“No respect for the elderly,” Dad said.

“Yeah, these young mountains think they’re all that, but wait 100,000 years and see how tall they are then,” Stephanie said.

We strolled around, looking at the trees, reading what it said on the plaques in front of them. American Elm. Yellow Birch. Eastern White Pine. I’d seen trees just like these my whole life, and a good number of them, I’d never known the names.

“You never think about how beautiful the world is,” Mom said. “We’re all rushing through it, trying to accomplish the next thing. Or entertain ourselves. Read a book, watch TV. So few of us really want to interact with nature.”

“Careful, mom, your hippie roots are showing,” I said, teasing.

“I think if my generation had remembered what we were back when we were the hippies, the world would be better off.”

“We didn’t forget, Suky. The hippies were always big news, but you know as well as I do how many people our age just wanted to go punch a clock, buy a house, vote for Ronald Fucking Reagan… We thought we were the generation that would change the world, but it wasn’t our generation, it was us. People like us, who wanted to see a better world and weren’t content to just live like the sheep our parents were… but there’s people like that in every generation. And they’re always outnumbered by the assholes.”

“Actually, they’ve done a study,” Stephanie said. “The reason generations get more conservative as they get older is that at every point, the poor are more likely to die than the rich, and the rich are more conservative than the poor. So by the time you get to middle age, a lot of the people looking for social justice and diversity are dead. And there’s a lot more dead by the time they’re elderly.”

“I don’t buy it,” my dad said. “There’s entirely too many stupid poor people in this country who are brainwashed into supporting causes that help out the rich people and screw themselves over. They’re not living longer than anyone else in this country. The math doesn’t work.”

“Let’s not talk about politics,” Mom said. “I think we all know there’s something more important we ought to be discussing.”

“Mom?” Stephanie said, and looked at her, which is not a thing Stephanie does very often.

“Suky?” Dad said.

I didn’t say anything. I watched as Mom looked up at a tree and said, “It’s time we dealt with the elephant in the room, don’t you think?”

“Are you going to tell us about—” I couldn’t say anything more. I couldn’t bring myself to make the words.

“About the fact that I was dead, and now I’m not?” She looked at all of us. “I think we should talk about it, yes.”

It felt like there were eyes, watching us. I wanted to yell to my mother, to tell her not to talk about it, that someone might hear… but who? And why would it matter?

“Is that something you’re okay with, Suky?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine, but I’m getting the impression the rest of you aren’t,” she said. “Why haven’t any of you brought it up, except Stephanie, the once?”

“Well, you told me it was rude,” Stephanie said.

Mom sighed. “I guess I did. I’m sorry. This isn’t really easy for me either.”

She sat down on a bench, and Dad sat with her. Stephanie and I sat on a short stone wall around a tree. “I suppose I should start by saying, I don’t really know much more than you do. I don’t have any memories of being dead. I woke up in bed, next to your dad, on Monday morning, and for a while I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there… I assumed I went to bed the previous night, but I couldn’t remember what had happened the night before. I couldn’t pin down anything I remembered as to exactly when it happened, not in the recent past. And when your father woke up, the shock on his face and the fact that he kept asking me if I was really here made me think, wait, the last thing I remember was that I was in a hospital dying of cancer, so why am I here now?”

“So you don’t remember any kind of afterlife?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I believe I had some sort of existence, but I don’t remember anything about it. When I wake up, I have flashes, feelings that I dreamed something about it, but I can’t hold it in my head long enough to write it down or even talk about it. It just… disappears, leaving behind only the memory that something was there a few minutes ago.”

“You know how unlikely the idea that an afterlife exists is, scientifically, though. Right?” Dad said. “Consciousness is an emergent property of a trillion neurons working together. Imagining that there could be some sort of construct that exists outside the brain and body is like imagining that a video game character could be waltzing around in front of us.”

“And yet I’m here,” Mom said.

“Time travel or a Star Trek transporter with some modifications would make more sense than something supernatural, like an afterlife,” Dad said stubbornly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stephanie said. “If Mom doesn’t remember…”

“Have you had a medical exam?” I asked.

Mom laughed. “I don’t have health insurance anymore. I’m dead, remember? I can’t even begin to figure out how we’re going to address getting me a legal identity again, and to be honest… I can’t know I’ll be around long enough for it to matter.”

“None of us know that,” I said, “about ourselves or anyone else.”

“True, and it’s going to be hard to travel if I don’t have a legal identity. So I suppose I’ll have to address it eventually, if I last that long.”

“Thank God your state ID hasn’t actually expired yet, or there’d be no way we could fly to Boston. The passport’s expired,” Dad said. Mom had been legally blind when she died, so she’d had a state ID rather than a driver’s license.

“Is there any reason you might not? Aside from the things that could kill anyone?” I asked.

Dad said, “Your mother and I discussed… when she first appeared, I found it nearly impossible to talk about the fact that she’d been dead. When she broached the topic, I could talk about it to her, but I couldn’t tell you kids.” He shrugged. “My working theory is that there’s some kind of alien experiment going on or that time travel is somehow involved, but the fact that none of you kids were able to tell each other about it until you knew the other one knew suggests to me that someone with the ability to directly affect human emotions or thought is, for some reason, making it hard to talk about this. Maybe that means it’s a short-lived experiment.”

“Maybe I escaped from hell and no one wants to talk about it for fear the devil will take me back,” Mom said, but she was laughing. Mom had never believed in hell. Dad was an atheist; Mom definitely had strong spiritual beliefs, but they were kind of a package of woo that included reincarnation and ghosts, even though she’d been raised Catholic.

“There are others like you,” Stephanie said. “None of them have talked about it themselves, but family members or friends have talked about it online, under pseudonyms. I haven’t found any evidence that anyone has mentioned anything under their real names.”

“A lot?” Mom was surprised.

“So far I count between nine and thirteen unique individuals, plus Eleanor heard a rumor that someone who might live in town might have come back. We don’t know any details, though.”

“We need to find them,” Mom said. “I need to find them. I have a second chance at life, and I’m not ashamed of it. I won’t be silenced about the fact that I exist.”

“It might not be the best idea, Suky,” Dad said. “There are a lot more crazies out there than there were when you died—”

“—there were plenty of crazies then, Dee—”

“—right, and even then it wouldn’t have been a good idea. There might be some religious nut job who thinks that if you were dead you should stay that way. Or someone else thinks that you know how you came back, and wants to force you to tell them.”

“Those are valid points,” Mom said, nodding. “And to all of those people who might want to harm me because they think I shouldn’t be alive or they think I know how I came back, I say a hearty ‘fuck you.’ I won’t be silent because there are crazy people in the world. I’m not afraid of death, not anymore.”

“You’re going to risk Eleanor’s kids?” Dad asked sharply.

“I agree with Mom,” I said, standing up. “Nobody should have to keep quiet about the fact that they exist. But I have to tell Will.”

Stephanie made a face. My family doesn’t like my husband. They have justifications, but in the past few years, since Mom died, Will’s gone to therapy and has done a lot of work on himself. Mom was the only one in the family ever willing to forgive anything, though, so I’ve never tried to get them to change their minds.

Mom said, “Well, is he still a total asshole?”

“He’s… been trying not to be. He’s in therapy, and we’re doing couples counseling, and he’s working through a lot of baggage from his upbringing.”

“Why not tell him to bring the kids up and join you here, then. Coming back to life, might as well start a clean slate and see where things go from there. And you’re right, he needs to be involved in the discussion. Your girls, too. They all are old enough to understand what’s going on here, and what could happen.”

“You know I will never stand in the way of anything you want,” Dad said, which is the kind of thing Dad says rather than “I love you”. Things like, “If they ever fail to respect you, I will smite them” – talking about us and our treatment of Mom – or “You have always been my worthy opponent.” Yes. Sometimes my father talks like a comic book character.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Stephanie said, “but I know you taught me to be who I am to the world and fuck anyone who gives me shit about it, so… same principle. I don’t think you could be you and lie about who you are.”

“And we need to involve Jeff and Aaron,” Mom said. “I’ll call them and get them to come here.”

“We turned off your cell phone ages ago,” Dad objected.

“Dee, we still have a land line. I know we do because I hear it ring, and sometimes you even answer it.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s right, we do.” Dad shook his head. “This world where everyone carries around their phone in their pocket all the time… it’s strange how you get so used to a technological or societal change that you forget that you did it a different way for 67 years.”

Nothing ever stopped my mother when she wanted something strongly enough, if she believed it was right. I hadn’t even thought of the considerations my father brought up before he talked about them, but I’ve never believed it’s okay to hide in conformity and live in fear. I didn’t think Will had ever believed in doing that, either, and my daughters had grown up going to political protests.

“We need to find out more about these other people,” I said to Stephanie on the way home. “See if we can contact them directly, find out if any of the actual returned people are planning on going public like Mom. We could coordinate if they are. Strength in numbers.”

“The religious right are going to crap their pants,” Stephanie said, laughing. “A Deist who believes in reincarnation, is married to an atheist, and has a gay son, came back to life. Jesus Christ hasn’t got a monopoly anymore.”

“That is probably going to be the most fun part of this going public thing,” I said.

***

So now I don’t know what will happen. My husband’s driving up from home with our girls, my oldest younger brother’s on a train, and Mom’s been looking up contact information for journalist friends she had once, checking which ones are still alive, using Facebook – we never deactivated her account – and my dad’s LinkedIn. Stephanie’s found two other people who have family members who came back from the dead, and one of them’s been willing to talk to her in private messaging on Tumblr.

I still have a hard time telling anyone who doesn’t already know, but it turns out, I can write about it without feeling the pressure, the fear. Don’t know if I can post it, yet. I guess we’ll see. I’m hoping that if I can get more information from more people who’ve been through something similar, maybe we’ll find a pattern, a point of commonality… maybe even an explanation for why we all feel this pressure not to talk about it.

Tomorrow we’re all going to talk about whether we’re going to do this or not, but I know my family. What my mom wants, she gets, if it’s possible and if it’s ethical. My husband and my kids are going to be in favor of her going public, and my brothers won’t stand in her way any more than my dad would. So we’re going to do this. The thing we’re really going to talk about is how to keep ourselves safe when we do.

Everything in the world is going to change. I just don’t know exactly how yet.

***

Obligatory notes because I’m so fucking late with this piece:

I have fucked up royally. I went into this without an outline and about 6,000 words in I realized I had attempted to consume a ball of energy larger than my head. This is going to end up being novel length, most likely. I struggled really hard to find a place I could reasonably end it as a short story, and yeah, it is absolutely not an ending. No followup on the Martian shapechanger thing, new idea is brought in and then treated like it’s the climax, protagonist is almost entirely reactive and passive. As a short story, it’s shit.

Unfortunately I found this out after I was already late. Not going to bore everyone with why this was a week late except that it’s allergy season and I’ve been exhausted lately. So there was no time to try to write something else. I hope you found it entertaining, if somewhat frustrating; it’s shit as a short story because it’s plainly a piece of a novel. Which I’m not going to write real soon because I have like 3 novels ahead of this one in the queue, but if I live long enough it will get done.

It’s kinda cute that story #30 falls on the 30th now because I’m late and story #31 is the last of my Spooky 5 Halloween-appropriate stories. But not cute enough to justify how late this is.

BTW, while this is not as autobiographical as “Radio” from Inktober, it is heavily drawn from real life. I altered some things because this is fiction, but the mother and the father in this story are pretty close to real life. Except that my mother hasn’t come back.

#52 project #writeober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #spooky5 #late!

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alicemarion · 4 years ago

Text

OUTLAST : THE MURKOFF ACCOUNT ( PART 2 ) sentence starters !

this prompt was made using dialogue from issues #4 , #5 and #6 of outlast : the murkoff account by red barrels . feel free to edit any of these to make them more suitable !

“ _____ wasn’t fucking around about disappearing . ”

“ our chances of finding a lead in this are vanishingly slim . ”

“ what you got there ? ”

“ i hate it when they have families . ”

“ since when did _____ hurt women and kids ? ”

“ sorry , that was in bad taste . ”

“ he’s been gone for a while now . ”

“ i saw him back just last night . ”

“ i saw him , standing right over there . ”

“ drove my dogs batshit , which is weird . ”

“ they always used to like him . ”

“ _____ said _____ was here last night . ”

“ it’d take us days to find him under all this shit if he was . ”

“ guess we better get started then . ”

“ it’s garbage . ”

“ is ... is some of this garbage moving ? ”

“ ants . the place is infested . ”

“ what do you mean ? ”

“ emailed him ants . not the strangest thing i’ve seen . ”

“ these look like passwords . ”

“ ouch ! ”

“ little fucker bit me . ”

“ black ants don’t bite . ”

“ motherfucker ! motherfuckfuckfuck - ”

“ they’re all over me ! jesus ! ”

“ not there ! not there ! ”

“ water ! water ! ”

“ goddammit ! make room ! i’m coming in ! ”

“ fuck this ! ”

“ it’s not working ! ”

“ we need fire ! ”

“ take your fucking clothes off ! ”

“ now do me ! ”

“ got anything i could wear ? ”

“ nope . ”

“ what the fuck am i gonna do ? ”

“ hey , that’s the same homeless guy . ”

“ that’s not possible . ”

“ i’m sure it’s him . he’s following us . ”

“ hey ! stop ! ”

“ where’d you go ... ? ”

“ you work for _____ , don’t you ? ”

“ ... who are you ? ”

“ i believe you’ve heard of me . ”

“ you’ve been following us . ”

“ what’s your name ? ”

“ yes . i’ve been watching you . ”

“ you’ve got something most running dog mercenaries don’t . ”

“ i’m not a mercenary . ”

“ you’ve got shame . you know what you’re doing is wrong . ”

“ it’s a job . ”

“ but you’re somebody who’d chase after me , despite the fact that you’re injured and naked . who does that ? ”

“ ... i can’t stand not knowing . ”

“ tell me your name . ”

“ i’ve read your files , _____ . ”

“ six years ago you leaked company files and vanished . ”

“ been off the map ever since , encouraging other whistleblowers . ”

“ you’re trying to destroy _____ . ”

“ of course i am . ”

“ they’re evil . you work for the devil . ”

“ you’re protecting _____ ? ”

“ you’ll never find him . ”

“ i couldn’t tell you if i knew . ”

“ willful ignorance . i remember that . almost let me sleep some nights . ”

“ how do you sleep ? ”

“ how do you justify working for people you know are evil ? ”

“ _____ was a pebble in a pond . ”

“ that is where the real sickness spreads . ”

“ those are coordinates . ”

“ if you cannot look at what’s there and not eat yourself hollow with shame , you’re not human anymore . ”

“ i need your help . ”

“ i need somebody still inside _____ . ”

“ i’m not asking , i’m telling you . you’re going to help me . ”

“ ... i have to do my job . ”

“ what are you ... the fuck ?! ”

“ freeze ! i said freeze , motherfucker ! ”

“ i’m leaving . ”

“ please don’t make me hurt you . ”

“ he’s ... a monster . ”

“ what was he shoving in your face ? ”

“ fucked if i know . ”

“ let’s get you some clothes before i get too turned on . ”

“ dental records . my identification . he wasn’t done with me . ”

“ and we weren’t done with him . ”

“ this make any kind of sense to you ? ”

“ nothing i feel good about . ”

“ but at least it closes the books for now . ”

“ the evidence couldn’t get any more thoroughly destroyed . ”

“ there is one more thing . ”

“ nothing i know of . ”

“ i wouldn’t put too much faith in anything i heard from an animated pile of maggots . ”

“ maybe we should check it out . ”

“ nah , leave it alone . ”

“ you should get home , spend some time with your daughter ... make sure she doesn’t grow up to be somebody like me . ”

“ he ain’t gonna let us get away . ”

“ every step we take , the less power he got . ”

“ we’ll get to the wicked part of the world , and god hisself ain’t even gonna be able to find us . ”

“ do you know if yeshua - ha nostri was a real person ? like , in the bible ? ”

“ never heard of him . ”

“ when’s that book report due ? ”

“ you’re getting an early jump . ”

“ figured i’d be too beat to work on wednesday . ”

“ you didn’t touch your dinner . ”

“ i wasn’t hungry . it’s not like i need the extra calories . ”

“ _____ , honey , that’s crazy . ”

“ you’re a string bean . a beautiful string bean . ”

“ shut up , _____ , god ... ”

“ there’s somebody messing with our mailbox . ”

“ your daughter is connected . ”

“ my partner and i had agreed not to investigate . ”

“ turns out i was lying . ”

“ i hear you now . where are you ? it’s noisy . ”

“ sorry to interrupt you on a sunday ... ”

“ you’re not interrupting anything . ”

“ i was just ... folding laundry , listening to prairie home companion . ”

“ i don’t think i’m gonna make it into the office tomorrow . ”

“ i need to spend some time with _____ . ”

“ no worries . we all need personal time . ”

“ fuck me ... no service ! ”

“ i guess the heat and the sun got to me . ”

“ heavenly god . ”

“ _____ ? what’s wrong ? ”

“ are they out of hot chocolate ? ”

“ multiple perforations of the intestines ... spread throughout her blood ... had to induce a coma in order to arrest progress ... internal bleeding ... ”

“ surgery is no longer an option . ”

“ _____ is dead . i’m so sorry . ”

“ aiiee ! ”

“ i’m so sorry honey , i didn’t mean ... ”

“ we don’t want no trouble ! ”

“ i’m just gon’ take your pistol . ”

“ hey , hey , take it easy . jesus fucking christ ... ”

“ don’t you take that name in vain ! ”

“ safety’s on . ”

“ who’s the girl ? ”

“ jesus , how pregnant is she ? ”

“ god have mercy on your soul . ”

“ i’m not going to hurt you . ”

“ you need helllll ... ”

“ mmm - hmm . ”

“ that’s all you got ? ‘ mmm - hmm ? ’ ”

“ i heard you . it’s the least crazy thing you’ve told me so far . ”

“ fair enough . ”

“ you are in such deep shit . ”

“ i know . ”

“ you lied to me , you went off the reservation . ”

“ what the fuck are you doing , _____ ? ”

“ i fucked up . ”

“ don’t fuck yourself any deeper . i’m on my way . ”

“ spill . ”

“ okay , number one , you work for _____ , not _____ . ”

“ number two , you don’t interfere with ongoing experiments . ”

“ we only enter the equation when the science is done and the side effects need mopping up . ”

“ shit , you don’t even know if this is an experiment . ”

“ and number three , fuck you . ”

“ you don’t work without me . we’re partners , you stupid motherfucker . ”

“ sorr ... ”

“ don’t say you’re sorry . i hate that . ”

“ you want the silver lining to your shit show ? ”

“ you don’t suppose you brought me a suit ? ”

“ i even brought you a tie . hope yellow’s alright . ”

“ you called it a ‘ vision ’ . not a hallucination . ”

“ it felt real . ”

“ first rule in the playbook is don’t get high on your own product . ”

“ what about brain injury ? ”

“ the scan must have been corrupted . ”

“ is there more to your testimony ? ”

“ yes , of course , excuse me . i was just ... ”

“ could we see those brain scans ? ”

“ they’re already off to the lab , but we have copies . ”

“ evidence , all of it . this had become a matter of containment . ”

“ we’d love to meet the patient . ”

“ the little guy in here has been kicking up a storm . ”

“ is that a tattoo ? ”

“ a globe . no , wheels . ‘ wheels within wheels ’ . that’s biblical , from the book of ... ezekiel . ”

“ you can’t have him ! you can’t . i’ll die before i’ll let you kill him . ”

“ i seen the messenger and i know i ain’t burdened with the enemy . ”

“ my blood is true , i’ve sipped at the fountain and borne the pain and marks of salvation . ”

“ you ain’t gonna take my baby , you ain’t ... ain’t ... ”

“ get a doctor ! ”

“ doctor ! ”

“ we lost her . we need to leave , now . ”

“ she’s dead , gone . there was nothing we could do . ”

“ minimal footprint . ”

“ i realized too late i was operating above my security clearance . ”

“ are you sure she was dead ? ”

“ yeah , case closed . ”

“ it’s sad . ”

“ still , i gotta get home . i said i’d be there . ”

“ you’re a good dad ... you always take care of your girl . ”

“ _____ ! you home ?! ”

“ you work for us now . ”

“ we didn’t find dick . ”

“ there we go , my child . every last drop of salvation . your children are waiting for you in heaven . ”

“ god does not pour half measures . ”

“ the storm is abating . all these undeserved blessings . ”

“ he’s still not answering . ”

“ send people to his house . ”

“ they’ve been feeding _____ information . ”

“ that’s no good . ”

“ i’d put my money on _____ . ”

“ if we find him , i’ll put electrodes on _____ . ”

“ how many bodies we looking at ? ”

“ hundreds . it’ll take us days to get them all sorted . ”

“ lot of these local corpses show signs of cyanide poisoning . ”

“ god damn this guy’s heavy ... ”

“ that doesn’t look like cyanide . ”

“ yeah , a lot of them got creative about dying . ”

“ took a lot of what killed her to get the job done . ”

“ last name sounds like a crustacean you’re not supposed to eat . ”

“ how did you know ? ”

“ he was supposed to be making sure they didn’t find this place . ”

“ we got one breathing here ! ”

“ ‘ and i only am escaped alone to tell thee . ’ ”

“ is that from wrath of khan ? ”

“ it’s actually book of job , by way of moby ... ”

“ i know what it is , you don’t have to try and impress me . ”

“ well , holy shit . ”

“ his eyes are all pupil . completely catatonic . ”

“ we need to dig in his head . don’t be gentle . ”

“ they rarely are . ”

“ there’s blood on the walls . looks like something was written and smeared away . ”

“ what do you want to do ? ”

“ actually , no . do me a favor and find his corpse , because if he’s still alive , he’s fucking dangerous . ”

“ where’s _____ ? ”

“ you’re asking the wrong question . ”

“ i’ll still help you find the answer , but you’ll need to trust me . ”

“ dead , twice . ”

“ how about you just tell me whatever it is you want to tell me . ”

“ it’s not surprising religion would be such an effective delivery mechanism . ”

“ gods communicating with men , gods dividing themselves into components that men could understand . a trinity . ”

“ in the name of the father ... and of the son ... and of the holy spirit . amen . ”

#prompt.#sentence starters #sentence prompt #outlast rp

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monster-madame · 4 years ago

Text

Impulsive Decisions (Breanna x Jackson) | Modern Orc Boyfriend x Human Witch Woman

Hello hello!

Here is a hetero NSFW orc boyfriend story, featuring a human plus size woman witch and an orc named Jackson!

I couldn’t figure out how to photoshop the tempting rugby player photographed green (what a problem to have), so use your imagination. <3

Details: This is a reader insert story, but I do name the character becuase I find “Y/N” distracting.

Word Count: 6,305 [800 ish is smut]

* * * * *

You blew your hair out of your face, pushing through the kitchen doors into the dining area. You normally didn’t work lunches, as you were taking computer science classes at the local university. Classes made the lunch shift nearly impossible, but you were on break between spring and summer courses.

Walking through the packed dining room, you mentally noted to avoid taking lunch rushes during the future. You definitely preferred the more relaxed pace of the dinner shift. The lunch shift seemed mostly made up of patrons who were on a time crunch for their lunch hour. You winced as their stressed energy grated against your Senses.

“Here you are,” you said to one of your tables, putting down your tray. The guests smiled at you and continued talking animatedly to one another, they all seemed to be friends. Their energy was open, fun and a little mischievous.

Vinnie’s attracted a more diverse set than other restaurants, and the table sat a good assortment of humanoids – a half-orc, a tiefling, a human (probably a witch by the tattoos) and a minotaur.

“Did you see that Jackson Scott is here?!” the tiefling whispered to the table. “I can’t believe we’re lunching where JACKSON SCOTT lunches! Wasn’t he just declared one of the riches men in Boston by The Globe?”

You raised your eyebrows at that. Vinnie’s was a nice restaurant, but it wasn't nice nice, like 5 dollar signs on Yelp! nice. What was he doing here?

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” you asked the table. The minotaur asked for another side of Mayo. “I’ll go snag that for you and be right back,” you said, mentally noting what drinks needed to be filled.

Turning to go back into the kitchen you heard a crash in a far corner. Looking over, you saw that it belonged to one of your BFFs, Jill, who was red-faced and mopping up what looked to be marinara sauce around a really pissed off orc. Jill is a slight dryad, and you could feel her stress emanating at you.

Striding over, you slapped on your best Hospitality Smile, ready to flex your energetic charms as an empath to diffuse the situation. You strided over, noting that the patron was seated in what the staff called the “Do Not Disturb” table, that was situated behind potted plants and in an alcove.

Well, at least other patrons wouldn’t be able to gawk at the lot of you.

As you neared, you realized why he was seated at the DND table. Oh fuck. He was a VIP.

It was, of course, Jackson Scott. Jill had a knack for ticking off the wrong customers. He was ripped, with the kind of body that would make Jason Moma ask for workout tips. Beautiful tusks and a real energy of “fucking pissed off” about him. Nearing 7 feet tall with dark hair, he was seated in one of the special chairs designed to withstand a taller being.

“Hello,” you said greeting him. “We’re so terribly sorry for the accident. We’ll of course cover the dry cleaning bill and help you get into different clothes. We can send you home with a take out order and a giftcard on the house? We’ll cover the Uber, so you can get changed?”

“This,” he grit out, gesturing to his linen suit, “is bespoke. And ruined. Do you intend to cover the cost of a new summer suit?”

Um, no, the restaurant probably couldn’t cover a suit that would cover six months of rent. Seeing your hesitation, his frustration grew.

“Look, I came here for a quiet lunch between meetings, and if I had known the staff was so incompetent,” he said, looking at Jill, “then I definitely would’ve gone elsewhere. Do you typically keep on staff that are so bad at their jobs?”

Oh, no he fucking did NOT. Jill was one of their best servers! Accidents happen!!

“Jill is one of our best staff members, and we so apologize for this accident,” you said, upping your mental defenses, just in case his energy became more aggressive. “We have an excellent dry cleaner, and I so appreciate you helping us get this sorted out,” you said. Sometimes thanking someone for being on your side helped them actually be on your side.

Seeing your words had no effect, you let out a trickle of an calm energy to the restaurant.

Unfortunately, that little oomph of calm you tried to use totally backfired. His tension ratcheted up. Your Hospitality Smile vanished right off your face.

“Are you fucking magicking me?” he grit out, shoving his chair back from the table.

Technically, no. You were magicking yourself and the energy around you, but you didn’t think he’d see it that way.

Desperately trying to figure out how to fix a situation that had totally gotten out of hand, you saw Gio, Vinnie’s son, headed towards them. Oh, thank god. Vinnie was human, and he was able to effortlessly engage with all types of beings.

Gio arrived on the scene, strategically placing himself so that Jackson had to move a bit to address him, shielding their party from prying eyes.

“What seems to be the problem here, Jackson?” he asked, addressing the Orc.

“Your staff is fucking incompetent and magicking patrons, Gio,” he bit out. “What kind of restaurant did I just put money into?”

At the word “money,” you looked at Jill, shocked.

“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding,” shared Gio. “Breanna would never magick a customer, and her magick doesn’t even work that way –”

“Wait a moment,” you interjected. “He bought Vinne’s?!”

Jackson shifted his attention to you, realizing he had two shit shows on his hands. “I mean, he’s more of an investor–”

Well, crap. Spilling marinara sauce on one of Boston’s elite was bad. Ruining the suit of an investor was even worse. This could be disastrous for Jill.

Glancing at Jill’s face, you realized she had figured out the same thing.

Chewing your lip, your mind raced. BAM! You had a solution. Jill really fucking needed this job and, you, well, didn’t. The restaurant was trying to expand, and needed capital. Telling Jackson Scott to fuck off wasn’t an option.

You knew what you had to do.

Turning back on your Hospitality Smile, you turned to the Orc. Jackson. “Mr. Scott,” you said smoothly. “I so apologize for your experience today at Vinne’s. This is not the kind of service our staff is trained to give. Because I trained Jill, I take full responsibility for this issue. Faulty training isn’t up to our standards at Vinnie’s, so I’ll be replaced.”

You then took off your apron, and handed it to Gio. You then took out your mini-wallet that held your license, credit card and a few business cards. You peeled off one of your business cards.

“If you’ll please send the bill to the email address on that card, I’ll be happy to reimburse you.” You handed it to a stunned Jakson Scott.

The three of them stared at you.

“Miss, wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding –” Jackson started.

“No, no totally my fault,” you said with your Hospitality Smile, emanating graciousness and competence. This needed to work. If he asked Gio to fire Jill, Gio would probably have to. Although to be honest, if a prejudiced Orc now owned the restaurant – excuse you, invested in it – you weren’t sure how long Jill would have a job.

“I’ll let Gio sort out your Uber and meal. Have a great rest of your day, Mr. Scott.”

And then you spun on your heel on and left the dining room, headed to the staff room to grab your bag. You felt hot tears at the back of your eyes as you walked back. No. You would not cry. You kept your Hospitality Smile firmly in place.

The people at Vinnie’s were your family, the only family that mattered. You knew you weren’t going to work here for the rest of your life, but you for sure thought you’d finish your degree before leaving. And even then you had planned to work the odd weekend shift or get more involved in the back office.

But Gio and Vinnie had been looking for an investor for ages, needing cold hard cash to update the restaurant and expand to another location, for Gio to fully run. They needed Jackson Scott. More than they needed you.

You grabbed your purse, dropping off a side of Mayo and a refill on the Iced Tea at your table, before heading out. “Another server will be taking over for me,” you told them smoothly.

You left out the front doors, and you didn’t start crying until you were a few buildings down the sidewalk.

* * * *

You wake up the next morning, blearily scrubbing your hands over your itchy and puffy eyes. What a crappy evening that had been.

You’d spent the evening googling the heck out of Jackson Scott. He was an MIT grad, and he had built and sold several technology companies, and he was an investor in a variety of industries. Photos showed him with his large clan, and he seemed involved in a good amount of charities.

Studying his photos last night, you could NOT get over how good looking he was. He was broad shouldered with muscles, he had a rugby player’s build. His gleaming tusks curved over his upper lip. Dark forest green eyes and great bone structure.

Plus, he had recently had an interview in GQ, and the stylist had had fun with a few shots – Mr. Scott was apparently a Calvin's briefs kind of guy. If those briefs (and what was likely under them) had made their way through your dreams, you couldn’t be blamed! You couldn’t control your subconscious!

He probably had a good PR team, but your Senses told you that this wasn’t the type of guy to make a scene at a restaurant. But he had made a scene, and you had had to quit.

You rummage around to try to find your phone in your bed, eventually snagging it.

*** 47 Notifications ***

You groan to yourself.

You’d turned your phone on airplane mode as soon as you left the restaurant, and promptly carbo-loaded as soon as you got to your apartment.

Sighing, you went to the kitchen to make some coffee. As it started brewing, you began cleaning up after last night’s pity party, loading your dishwasher and wiping down the counter.The buzzer on your apartment rang.

**** BZZZZZZT ****

You ignored it.

**** BZZZZZZT ****

Go away!” you said aloud.

Couldn’t the world respect your need to mope?!?!

**** BZZZZZZT ****

The buzzing became more insistent.

**** BZZZZZZT ****

You harrumphed and walked over to the speaker, pressing the button. “I’m not in the mood to see anyone today!” you snarked into it.

“Ms. Alexander, I apologize for disturbing you,” said the voice of the and only Jackson Scott. “We had a terrible misunderstanding yesterday, and I’d like to meet with you to remedy it as soon as possible.”

Your mouth dropped open in surprise. What in the actual hell?!“How do you know where I live?!” you said tersely into the speaker. Surely this asshat had something better to do than creep on chubby witches?!

He cleared his throat into the speaker. “Ahem, well, yes I may have glanced in your personnel file. I grew worried last night when you didn’t answer messages from myself or Gio.”

You opened your mouth to speak. Closed it. Opened it.

Feeling like a fish, you cast your eyes desperately around.

Pressing on, he said, “Would you be amenable to a breakfast meeting? Or a lunch meeting? I have to go run a few errands, and then I could meet you at that little cafe down the street in two hours?”

Realizing he was determined to meet with you, yet respecting your boundaries by asking you to a public place, you decided to cut him some slack.

You pressed the buzzer. “Okay sure. I’ll see you there in two hours.”

“Great, thank you for being so accommodating,” he quickly replied. “I’ll see you there soon.”

As soon as the crackle of the speaker stopped, you were seized with a terrible realization.

You were going to brunch with Jackson Scott, and you had no idea what to wear.

************************

One hour and fifty-three minutes later, you were waiting outside the cafe. After agonizing over outfits, ou had gone for what you hoped was chic casual, high waisted jeans and a front tucked white cotton button down with keds. You put your long hair in a messy bun, braiding a headband to make it clear you put in effort – but not so much that you cared too much.

You went up to put your name on the list, “Hi, table for two? For Breanna?” The place was packed, and you weren’t sure how long the wait would be.

“Breanna Alexander?” the human hostess asked you. .

“Uhh, yeah?”

“Right this way please.”

She took you to the back garden, where tables were interspersed in amongst raised flower beds. The flower beds gave the feeling that each table was in its own garden, and also made the air smell divine.

You loved this cafe.

Turning a corner, you could see Jackson Scott seated at a table (in a corner, of course). He was almost too tall for the chair, one leg crossed flat over the other. He wore casual dark jeans and a light gray hoodie sweater.

You brought up your Senses, shielding yourself from any aggressive energy that may come your way.

You got to the table, and he stood to greet you. The hostess placed some menus down, murmuring something you didn’t catch.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, his hand outstretched for a professional handshake. He seemed earnest and a little nervous.

“Well, I was a little worried you would stay outside of my building until I did,” you joked lightly, stretching out a hand and clasping his.

His hand engulfed yours. Oh dear.

He warmly grasped your hand, and then released it. You put your bag down, and then sat.

Okayyyyyy, you said to yourself. This is a professional breakfast meeting. You need to make sure you call him on his shitty behavior, keep it together and not drool.

He cleared his throat. “I want to start this out right. First of all, I want to apologize for my terrible behavior yesterday. This has been a month from hades, but that’s no excuse for howI acted. I apologized and made amends with Jill and Gio.”

Oh god is this going to be a non-apology? Wait, why had this been a month from hell?

“And now, I’d like to apologize to you,” he said looking deep into your eyes.

He looked at you steadily.

“I am so sorry for what occurred yesterday. I am sorry that you felt you had to quit your job to help resolve the mess, and I deeply admire your quick thinking in a tough situation. However, I’m not the kind of Orc who would expect or demand someone to quit over an accident. I know Gio has reached out to you to be clear your job is still yours if you want it, and I wanted to meet with you in-person to promise that I would not behave that way in the future.”

He finished and looked at you, waiting. You lowered the defenses a bit on your Senses, to try to get an idea of how sorry he was.

His energy was truly apologetic, truly apologetic. You were getting embarrassment, self-consciousness and a good bit of hope from him.

Just then, the waitress came by. “Have you decided what you’re having?” she asked, looking at you.

You hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Can you give us another few moments?”

“Sure!” she said brightly. “I’ll just bring around some coffee if that’s okay?”

You nodded and then looked at Jackson.

“Have you had the waffles?” he asked. “Not that I’m biased or anything, but I think the combination of sugar and carbs could help put you in a more forgiving mood.” His eyes sparkled at you with humor.

“Or a food coma,” you joked back.

Now that the tension had eased a bit, you realized you didn’t really hate him. His apology had been full and fair, and hadn’t been one of those half-ass apologies you were used to the men in your life making. Aaaand, truth be told, you probably should’ve offered to quit and let him get a few words in, before marching out of Vinnie’s yesterday. You could be a tad impulsive.

“There’s no need for waffles to inspire forgiveness,” you said to him. “You acted like a total asshat, but I really appreciate you going above and beyond to fix things.”

His shoulders relaxed. “It’s good to hear that,” he said. “Do you want to look over the menu? I know what I’m ordering.”

“Me too,” you said instantly.

“Waffles?”

“No, pancakes! Which are better in every way.”

This then sparked a debate about breakfast foods, which turned into you talking about food in general and travel. Jackson was really smart and witty, and he was so fun to talk to.

As the meal winded down, you realized that you didn’t want brunch to end. You really liked spending time with him. And looking at him.

“So, there was another reason I was hoping to talk to you,” he shared, as the waitress took away the plates. His energy wavered, and you could tell this was important to him. “I invested in Vinnie’s because it’s one of the only restaurants in the city that accommodates different species, and I wanted to help grow that.”

You nodded. This was one of the many reasons you loved working there.

He continued. “That said, there have been limitations. Species that aren’t as humanoid, say Driders for example, are welcome to come – but the staff has to move around furniture and it can make booking complicated. Many beings want to come, but are worried about putting the staff out by having them have to go through extra work. I know you’re studying computer science, so I was hoping we could design some sort of online reservation system – like an app – that would help us better plan for and accommodate different beings. Someone could book through the app, and their profile would signal staff as to what changes need to be made. There’s a lot of kinks to work out – wait, before I go on, is that something you’d be interested in?”

Wow, you were NOT expecting this. You did have experience in app design, and you could probably license an existing reservation platform and modify it to your needs. Your mind starting whirling.

“Breanna..?” he asked, uncertain as to what you were gonna say.

“Oh, sorry!” you said, your face scrunching in embarrassment. “I would be absolutely LOVE to work with you on this project. How do we get started? How do you see this working, from a meetings and timeline perspective?”

His energy perked immediately, and you could feel his excitement.

“Well, we’d have to start with user interviews….”

****

About a month later, part of your apartment was covered in frameworks and sketches. Jackson had given you a small team to lead, and you were having a blast learning how to delegate different parts of the platform to the other freelance contractors on the project - as well as learning a lot in the coding and design portion. Jackson was pretty involved, meeting with you throughout the week and staying updated on progress.

Jackson acted more like a collaborator than a boss, trusting your experience and know-how. But, technically, he was your boss (client?) as he was approving your invoices for freelance development.

And you had a giant huge crush on him. You’d been having steamy daydreams about him for weeks, many of which involved you, him, the restaurant and a variety of sexual positions involving the bar.

Luckily he was an Orc with zero empathic abilities, or this would be really awkward. Guys like Jackson Scott did not go for chubby computer nerds, they dated, like, supermodels. Or high powered business women. Or high powered business women who were ALSO supermodels.

UGH.

Your pity party was interrupted by your phone chiming, and you jumped to grab it. You had assigned a specific ringtone to Jackson. You told yourself it was because this was your first fully professional project, but the butterflies in your stomach said differently. In a positively Pavlovian move, you scampered over to your phone, eager to see what it said.

Hey, Breanna – I’m going to need to move our meeting next week. I have to go out of town.

Ugh. Probably to take his supermodel-tycoon girlfriend on a trip.

The phone chimed again.

A screenshot of his calendar popped up.

Is there a time you see free that would work for us to meet? I realize it’s a lot to ask, but maybe in the evening?

Shoot. Looking at his schedule you realized your classes, study nights and group project meetings all happened when he was free.

The only time he was and you were free was tomorrow night, which was a Friday night.

Hey, no problem! You texted back. Our schedules almost totally clash, unfortunately. IDK if this works for you, but I could do tomorrow night? I realize you probably have some event or probably forgot to put something on your calendar, but I can move my Netflix marathon to a different night.

You sent it without thinking, then read it back as you waited for him to reply. Reading back over it, you groaned.

Great. You had just told Jackson Scott you had no life. You usually kept Friday night free to decompress, socializing on Saturday night or during the weekend.

Then another, even worse thought hit you. What if he thought you were trying to finagle this into a DATE?!

Nope, nothing on Friday night! He replied.

Thank all the gods.

Would you prefer to meet at the office? My home office? Wherever works for you.

Eugh, go into an office building on a Friday evening? No thanks. But also you were pretty sure you’d feel super nervous and out of sorts at his home. You didn't know what his setup would be like, and you’d probably get all jittery worrying about his tech working or having a whiteboard to brainstorm on or or or

Then it hit you. He could just come to your place. You had everything here already, and your walls were practically ready for a presentation. You had met with a few of the other contractors in your apartment, Skyping in the others who didn’t live in the city.

Would you be okay to come to my place? I already have everything taped up, gantt charts and all. You texted back, knowing it was definitely the best solution for you.

Sure! He instantly replied.

We could do a 6-9pm meeting? Order takeout and eat while we work?

Perfect! You replied. Just no waffles. ;)

****

“This is not a date,” you told your reflection sternly to your reflection in the mirror. “This is a professional project update. You are a professional. You are a leading business woman.”

You jabbed your finger at your reflection for emphasis.

“You are an empowered and capable business woman!”

**** BZZZZZZT ****

It was show time.

“Come on up,” you said through the speaker.

In a few moments, Mr. Jackson Scott was in your kitchen.

Righto.

“Hey,” he said. He swung his laptop bag off his shoulder and put it on the counter. Your mouth went dry seeing his shoulder muscles flex as he put it down. He wore his usual uniform of dark jeans and a button down dress shirt. You were wearing a jersey jumpsuit, your hair in a high ponytail.

“Food should be here any minute. I realized it would be faster if we had it delivered instead of me picking it up.”

“That makes sense,” you said. “Do you want to jump on in or should we wait for food to get here?”

**** BZZZZZZT ****

“Never mind,” you said with a laugh, and a few moments later you were dumping chow-mein onto a plate. You used your counter as a table, him on one side and you on the other, as your table was covered with project materials.

You chatted with him comfortably about school and Vinnie’s while you ate, and he told you some funny stories about his nieces and nephews. Whipping out his phone, he started showing you pictures.

“This is Carrie learning how to hula hoop,” he said laughing, swiping through photos of an adorable orc kiddo, who looked to be about 7-years-old. She was gleefully laughing in the photo, and she seemed pretty proud of herself.

“She’s so cute!” you exclaimed.

Just then a bubble notification appeared at the top of his screen. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes darted up to the top of the screen.

Just make a move already, dude!

Then another bubble

Just be honest with her, she’s not going to think you’re a creep…..

Then another bubble popped up

Waiting until the app is done isn’t gonna work, because it’s gonna need updates. It won’t ever be totally….. [read more]

Jackson made a choking noise, then pushed the lock button his phone, putting it facedown on the countertop. You stared at it. Why was his friend talking about making a move and their app…?

Oh.

Your face felt hot. Oh goddess, were you blushing? You bet you looked like a tomato right now. Your eyes met his.

He cleared his throat.

“So, um, this was not how I wanted to have this conversation,” he said, sheepishly running his hand through his hair. There were those dang arm muscles again.

“I didn’t want to say anything, because it puts you in a really awkward spot if you’re not interested in me, too.”

He glanced down at his phone. “But, since we’re here, I guess I’ll just try to be an honest adult about this.”

“‘I’m, uh, really into you. Like really into you. and I’m really attracted to you. You’re smart, gorgeous, funny, and I love spending time with you. I’d like to date, if, um, well, you’d be interested in seeing where this goes…?”

Your brain had fitzed out. Date Jackson Scott? Jackson Scott thought you were gorgeous?

Your daydreams and, ahem, sex dreams came running through your mind. Spending time with Jackson? Talking with him more? Kissing Jackson? Getting naked with Jackson? Sucking Jackson off on the bar at Vinnie’s–

“Breanna?” he asked. “If you need some time to think about this, I can totally go..? We can reschedule?”

You snapped back to the present, where real sexy-ass Jackson Scott had just told you he was into you.

“Oh, um, no! I’m sorry, I spaced out for a minute imagining jumping your bones. I’d love to, um, date you.”

His face broke out in a grin. “Jump my bones, huh?”

You felt your face return to its previous tomato state.

“Sorry, I definitely need to do a better job of thinking before I speak –”

He came around the counter, standing in front of you. “No, I think you did a pretty good job of stating your position,” he said, bending down a bit, so that his mouth was about an inch away fro yours. “I’m up for whatever you’re up for.”

Galvanized by his lips so close to yours, you leaned up into him. You kissed him hard, standing up and leaning into him. His hands came around you, starting at your waist.

You arched your back into him, going on your tip toes to get his hands to go a bit lower. He obliged, kneading your lower back as he tongued your mouth. His hands went lower, cupping your ass cheeks.

Needing to feel him against you, you jumped up on the counter, wrapping your legs around his torso. You had fantasized about this so many times, and you ached to just rub yourself on him. You loved the feeling of rubbing your clit over jeans.

He gasped into your mouth as he felt you grind your pussy over his crotch. “I’ve wanted to feel that for so long,” he said, panting and kissing his way along your neck.

“Mmmm, me too,” you moaned as he nipped where your neck met your shoulder.

Your breasts felt heavy, your nipples aching as they rubbed through your lacy bralette against his chest. God you really wanted his hands on your nipples.

You tore at the top of your jumpsuit, pulling it off your shoulders so you could feel his mouth on your breasts. He kissed the newly exposed skin of your shoulders as you shrugged out of it, his hot mouth making you ever more wet.

His hands traced along the edges of your bralette, teasing you. “Jackson,” you whined.

“Oh, am I allowed to see what’s under here?” he lightly teased you, as you writhed under his caresses.

“Yes, please,” you whined. “I need to feel your mouth on me–”

He shoved down your bralette, exposing your breasts. Your nipples were completely erect. He tweaked one breast and drew his mouth over the other. Sucking and nibbling your breast, you moaned low for him.

“Oh my god, just like that, please, oh my god I need more –”

“What do you need baby, tell me what you need,” he murmured.

“Harder, I need you to bite harder” you said, ending your words in a wail as he bit your nipple harder and twisted the other one.

“Oh FUCK,” you moaned, feeling an orgasm begin to build.

“Please, my pussy,” you whined, and his hand dipped down to your crotch.

“You want my fingers inside of you?” he murmured, his hand cupping you.

“Yes, please, fuck me, fuck me hard!”

He moved away from you, swiftly pulling off the rest of your jumpsuit in one fell swoop.

“You’re so wet for me baby,” he crooned in your ear, slipping a finger inside. “I can’t wait to have you ride my face. I can’t wait to feel you ride my cock.”

His finger pumped in and out of you. He added a second finger, looking at your reaction. “More, please!” you begged.

He added a third finger, and you could feel your juices running down your thighs.

“Please Jackson, please!! Fuck me hard!”

He growled, his chest rumbling. “Oh, I’ll fuck you hard, baby,” he said. He pistoned his hand in and out of you, and you met every thrust. Your orgasm built up inside of you, and he masterfully brought you to the edge, once and then twice – backing off before you could orgasm.

“Jackson, please!” you wailed.

“Please, what, baby?” he asked, grinning down at you as he continued fucking your pussy.

“Please make me cum!!”

His grin broadened, and he increased the speed. “Like that, baby? You want it like that?”

“Yes!” you screamed, the sound cut off as his mouth covered yours. You felt your pussy convulse around his hand, and you bucked with pleasure.

Wow.

Your head fell against his chest, as you tried to remember how to fill your lungs with air.

“How you doing?” he asked, tipping your chin up to be able to see your face.

“I’m feeling pretty ready for round two,” you said, your hand trailing around to cup his still hard cock.

He thrust into your hand.

“I have condoms in my room,” you said, rubbing his length.

He swung you up into his arms and into the bedroom.

“Jump his bones,” indeed.

I hope you enjoyed this story!! I’m excited to be writing more, and as with all authors, if you like it – reblog it! <3

Send me a KoFi here, or check out my fave erotic monster novels on Amazon here!

#orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #exophillia #exophilia creators #orc/reader #orc/human #modern orc

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 4.6

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Four – Five Billionaires and No Wives – Part 6 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 4.1 | 4.2 | 4.3 | 4.4 | 4.5 | 4.6

Author: Gumnut

24 May 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 3495

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background. A little angst in this one along with a little minor sexual reference.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos I started this fic before we saw it.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D

Wow, written all in one day. I’ve been rereading the fic and running out of it and wanting more. Unfortunately, for there to be more I had to write more. I checked my archive and the last bit went up on May 11 right before everything at work went to hell, so I’m guessing that was the cause of the delay of this bit. I hope it was worth waiting for. This fic is nearly finished. A few threads to tie up in the next chapter, which, depending on what the characters do (cos they’ve thrown me two curve balls in this ::glares at both Grandma and Virgil:: so who knows what else they will do). i hope you enjoy it.

Many thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom @scribbles97 and @onereyofstarlight for reading through various bits, fielding my many wibblies, and for all their wonderful support.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott stared as his home crawled over the horizon. Lit from the west, the peaks of Tracy Island were sculpted in gold, the water surrounding her sparkling in the dying sun.

It was a beautiful sight.

Virgil shifted against him, snorting softly in sleep.

Scott had been out on the bow of the boat for hours. First talking to Virgil, working through some of the events of the day until his exhausted brother slowly tipped sideways, falling asleep despite the breeze and the soft toss of the boat.

Scott just wrapped an arm around him and held him while his brother slept.

His butt was numb from lack of circulation, but he didn’t care.

John had approached at one point and quietly handed him a tablet full of information about whales. It was full of data he didn’t understand and he desperately needed to talk to his genius brother about what it all meant.

But for the moment, he was content to listen to Virgil’s breathing, the wind and watch their home inch closer and closer.

He was aware of Gordon keeping an eye on both of them, the pilot adding more speed to the journey today than he had any other day. There had been relaxation, but all of that had disappeared with recent events.

Hell, it had disappeared the moment they had discovered the trapped calf.

Fire ignited in his belly at the thought. He needed to speak with Penelope and follow up on what had happened to those responsible.

His father’s desk lay waiting on the Island.

Relief and dread waited with it.

He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing. It had been such a relief to let go last night. Mel had met his energy with her own, her hands in his hair, a pardon on her lips. No ties, no obligation, just a moment to be himself, find comfort in her arms and let go.

He was ever so grateful. His brothers may laugh, but it was the only way he could truly release everything that built up day after day. Life was a challenge and he was willing to take it on, but everyone needed a moment.

Mel had given him that moment...and a little more.

Virgil shifted against him as Gordon turned the boat slightly and began to slow on approach.

Scott opened his eyes to watch Mateo shift to starboard. The bow dropped a little as their speed lessened, the background noise of the engine changing pitch.

Virgil muttered something and shifted again.

Scott held him that little bit tighter.

A Little Lightning arced around the smaller island that protected their caldera from the open ocean and the yacht entered the sheltered lagoon smoothly.

The petrel colony raised a ruckus and squawked like crazy as they motored past, Gordon cutting their speed to almost nothing as the yacht coasted over coral.

There were two docks on Tracy Island. One on either side of the villa. Gordon chose the one adjacent to Two’s runway for obvious reasons. It was harder to dock such a large vessel, but it would be easier to get Virgil onto land, and, via the hangars, up to the villa. The other dock, near the beach huts, required a hike up to the house that Virgil was in no shape to make. Scott had checked his brother’s incisions earlier in the day and they were well into healing, but...it had been a weird day and Virgil was still asleep.

Gordon nudged the yacht ever so slowly up to the little used dock. It had been designed for supply delivery early on in the venture, but once the runway had been built, it had been used for little other than the occasional Thunderbird Four testing regime and a little recreational boating.

Nothing as big as A Little Lightning.

Gordon had mentioned early on that they would likely use the inflatable when they reached home, but the aquanaut had obviously changed his mind.

Virgil was definitely the reason.

John darted past Scott and Virgil, docking pole in hand, turquoise eyes targeting both of them. He didn’t say anything, but the concerned frown shot at Scott said everything.

Ropes were launched at the wharf bollards and the engine dropped down to a bare rumble. Alan yelled an acknowledgement at the back of the boat and John held up a hand to signal to Gordon. A slight shift sideways and A Little Lightning nudged up against Tracy Island and was secured.

Gordon cut the engine and its absence was profound.

John turned and smiled at him.

They were home.

-o-o-o-

Soft fingers touched his cheek.

“Honey, it’s time to wake up.”

He screwed up his face. He was in that pleasant warm place just below consciousness and he didn’t want to leave it.

But his pillow rumbled just a little with quiet laughter. Cotton moved against his temple and an arm tightened gently around him.

“You’re going to have to be more direct than that, Grandma.”

Those words, said in his brother’s voice, and enough neurons came online to recognise that he was curled up on something hard, leaning against...the warm cotton shifted and a breath was drawn in. A heartbeat pulsed against his ear, slow and sure.

The whirr of a scanner made him frown.

Light flickered under his eyelids and he clenched his eyes shut.

“C’mon, Virgil, we’re home. You can’t sleep out here all night and my butt is going to drop off if it doesn’t get circulation soon.”

Another voice piped up. “And then you’ll have to face Mel for the loss of that perfect butt.”

“What do you know about Scott’s butt?” Higher pitched. Alan?

“Remember number twenty-nine? Or was it twenty-eight? The one that worked in that circus we saved from the flood? She wrote letters about it.”

His pillow shifted sharply. “What the hell, Gordon?”

“Hey, you’re the one who left your email open for all to see.”

“It is encrypted!”

“Only to those who don’t know the encryption code, Scotty.”

“Boys, keep it down. Give Virgil a chance to wake up properly.”

He found his mouth. “Too late.” A groan and he was pushing himself upright. Everything complained.

Everything. His gut, his back, the numb leg that had somehow been denied blood when he leant on it.

Several hands helped him sit up and he found himself blinking against the golden light of sunset.

Sunset?

What the hell?

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Long enough.” His eldest brother was standing up, stretching his limbs and obviously rubbing blood back into his extremities. “You’re heavy.” But the smile Scott sent him was fond and happy. “We’re home, Virg.”

John, Alan and Gordon were arrayed beyond Scott, but as he turned his head, two other presences made themselves known. Grandma was in front of him, scanner in hand, blue eyes frowning at him in concern.

And on the dock, beyond the railing, stood Kayo.

Her frown vanished the moment she realised he was looking at her and was replaced with a small smile. “Welcome home.”

It was addressed to all of them, but she was looking at him when she said it.

“Let’s get you off this boat, young man.”

Yes! He was home. His ‘bird’s runway stretched along the cliff above them and the whole purpose of the boat trip came home to rest in his heart. As he stood, Scott helping him to his feet, he turned to his brothers. “Thank you.” He could claim that his voice was rough from his half drowning a few hours ago. “Thank you for taking me home. You didn’t have to, but you did anyway.” Okay, now he was getting emotional. “Thank you.”

An arm slung about his shoulders. “Anytime, Virgil, anytime.” Scott’s eyes flashed almost green in the evening light.

Alan muttered something and darted past Gordon to wrap his arms around Virgil. “Don’t do that again.”

Virgil blinked. “Not planning on it.” He wasn’t sure whether Alan was referring to his appendix or the whale thing, but whatever. His arm came around his brother and held him tight.

John’s smile was soft, but full of enough to swell Virgil’s heart.

Gordon...

A moment and Virgil untangled himself from Scott and Alan, took those few steps to his fish brother and smothered him in a massive hug. As expected, Gordon squawked and struggled just enough to make his protest shown, but Virgil hung on.

“Thank you, Gordon. Best idea ever.”

Arms encircled his waist, but his brother didn’t answer.

The moment was broken by Grandma placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Virgil, I would like to do a full medscan. John reported that you’ve been rather active today.” Virgil shot a look at his younger brother. John just smiled a little more and shrugged.

It was to be expected. Virgil would have done the same thing under the circumstances.

He sighed and let Gordon go.

Russet brown stared up at him a moment before Gordon stepped aside and gestured Virgil towards the gangplank that connected A Little Lightning to the dock.

Scott materialised on one side and John on the other and he had to force himself not to roll his eyes in exasperation.

Between the two of them, they made sure he stepped securely onto solid ground, ghosted him up the hill to the runway and to one of the little runabouts they used to transport cargo about the Island. It was clear that he was the cargo.

Well, at least it wasn’t a hoverstretcher.

He let out a sigh as Scott drove him into Two’s hangar and his ‘bird loomed over him.

Home.

It was a matter of elevators and examinations after that. Grandma was very thorough. The word ‘pneumonia’ was bandied about as a possibility if he didn’t look after himself properly. Apparently, he had breathed in a little too much seawater.

Fortunately, his incisions were quite happy and well on the mend despite the two dunkings for the day. Grandma didn’t frown at him, but the firm line of her lips was enough to keep him quiet.

You did not mess around with Grandma regarding medical matters.

Hell, when cornering his brothers as a medic himself, often the only threat that kept them corralled was that he would bring in Grandma if they didn’t behave.

When Virgil was ill, there was no-one else. Grandma was always the one who looked after him. She always had.

And, in turn, he now looked after her.

“What happened out there, Virgil?” Her voice was soft. They were alone and his grandmother was putting away her instruments. She had run him through everything, even a brain scan. She was obviously concerned.

“I don’t know, Grandma.”

“John says you spoke to whales.”

He shook his head and let it drop. “I don’t know.”

A finger caught his chin and drew his head up to look into her eyes. “You keep yourself safe, Virgil. You hear me? You have family who need you. Family who love you.”

“I’m okay, Grandma.”

She stared at him a moment longer before letting out a breath and turning back to her instruments. “You’re off rescues for another week, but I suspect you knew that.”

He did, but part of him had hoped he could shorten it. One glance at Grandma and he knew he didn’t have a hope. “Yes, standard recovery period for an operation of this type.”

Blue eyes shot a suspicious glare at him, but he didn’t respond.

“Lots of bed rest. None of your heavy lifting. No gym until next week.”

Damn. “Yes, Grandma.”

She turned back and he was in her arms. “Welcome home, Virgil.”

He blinked and returned the hug. “I’m fine, Grandma.”

Those arms tightened just a fraction.

He frowned. “Grandma?”

She let him go and turned away. “You better go downstairs. Kayo has dinner ready for all of us. It’s Christmas Eve.” She straightened up and looked at him, her eyes saying something he couldn’t quite decipher. “We should celebrate as a family.”

“Okay.”

Her hand landed on his arm and squeezed gently before letting go. He took that as a dismissal, slid off the bed and grabbed his shirt. “Thank you, Grandma.”

She didn’t turn. “I’ll see you down there shortly.”

He frowned, but did as she asked and headed off to the comms room.

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at John and Gordon. “You think he is actually communicating with the whales.”

A pair of copper eyebrows rose. “We think so.”

“But Virgil told me himself that he doesn’t understand it.”

Eos’ voice was deceptively wise. “Commander, he may not understand consciously, but subconsciously.”

“Explain.” Scott glared at the simulacrum of spinning lights on the holoprojector.

“His brain is at least partly processing the information, enough to receive an impression of the content, but not enough to clarify it. He has processed enough to produce a vocalisation that connects with the whales despite the lack of range in his vocal cords. Humans cannot produce the sound required to emulate whale song without electronic enhancement. Virgil’s physical contact appears to have amplified his emissions enough for the whale to recognise his voice as a form of communication.” A graphic appeared on the ‘projector. A small portion was set aside and fit into the larger like a puzzle piece. “The whale was able to clarify his vocalisation into something that could be understood.”

“What did Virgil say?”

John answered him. “We don’t know.”

“We should ask him.” Gordon stood up. “And I think he should be part of this conversation.”

Scott bit back a retort. Every bone in his body wanted to protect Virgil from this.

But he knew he couldn’t.

Sagging, he sat down on the couch behind him and nodded.

Gordon stepped around the ‘projector and perched beside him. “Sam and I will find out more. I promise, Scott. This is a major breakthrough, you know that.”

Scott turned slowly to look at his little brother. “You saw what it did to him.”

“Do you trust me, Scott?” Russet brown bared his little brother’s soul.

He stared into those eyes. Little rapscallion Gordy, the prankster of the family. The ray of sunshine on moments so dark Scott feared his own survival. Did he trust Gordon? Trust him with Virgil’s life?

All the time.

“Yes, I do.”

Gordon swallowed. “Then trust me with this. I’ll keep him safe. I promise. We’ll work this out. Discover what it means. What exactly is going on.”

John cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should both speak to Virgil first?”

Scott turned to find his engineer brother standing by the kitchen stairs, staring at them.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil-“

“No!” His older brother threw his hands up and Gordon took a step back. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

So, of course, Scott took a step forward. “Vir-“

“No, Scott! Not now. Just leave it. I need to work this out for myself. I...I thank you for the information, John, Eos.” He nodded to the ‘projector. “Gordon, I understand the interest and I...empathise.” He sighed. “I just need time, guys, okay?”

“Okay.” It was parched and apparently his voice. The frown creasing Gordon’s forehead was deep enough to hurt. Why wasn’t Virgil letting him help?

His brother reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just some time, Gords, please.”

“Okay.”

“Then I’ll come to you.” Eyes a deeper brown than his own were pleading for understanding. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Gordon swallowed and cleared his throat. “Well, in that case, I vote we go eat before Alan inhales everything.” It was a simple distraction, but it worked.

Virgil squeezed his shoulder, his expression flashing thanks before turning away. The tension in the man’s back was pulling his shirt tight.

Maybe he was right. Maybe they should wait.

A blink and another swallow and Gordon followed Virgil from the room, Scott and John behind him.

-o-o-o-

The evening was a quiet one. All five brothers were tired after the day’s events, even Virgil who, despite having slept a few hours in the morning and afternoon, still looked like he was going to fall on his face at any moment.

Even Grandma was more reserved than usual, her gaze landing on Virgil repeatedly, her eyes distant as if in thought.

It was unnerving.

Kayo served dinner. A buffet of Asian dishes accompanied by rice and noodles. Most were purchased, but she had also made her own stir fry, a family favourite with just the right amount of chilli and cilantro. An appropriate welcome back feast, but none of them had the energy to truly appreciate it as much as it deserved.

After dinner saw them stocking presents under the massive Christmas tree in the comms room. Alan made various comments, especially when Virgil lugged out what was likely a painting wrapped in several layers of wrapping paper.

The fact he lugged it by himself led to words from Scott and the present being confiscated. Virgil’s protest that it wasn’t heavy was followed up by John stepping between the two of them and declaring he was going to help Virgil with his load. The two of them disappeared upstairs and Gordon was left with a grumpy Scott.

The whole lack of spirit finally cracked the aquanaut and he grabbed some tinsel off the tree, wrapped it into a ball and threw it at Scott’s head.

The astonishment on his big brother’s face was worth it.

Scott carefully placed the painting-shaped present down beside the tree and turned to verbally retaliate only to have his face muffled by a lounge cushion thrown by Alan.

“Bullseye!”

Gordon idly noted Brains taking one look at the resultant expression on Scott’s face and, grabbing Max, making a beeline for the elevator.

“Alan!”

“Yes, Scott?”

Gordon threw another ball of tinsel, silvery strands fluttering in the air as it flew.

“Gordon!”

Another couch cushion whacked Scott in the face.”

“Ala-“

More tinsel to the head.

Hmm, this tree really did have a lot of tinsel on it, but just in case, Gordon darted in and grabbed two of the balls he had already thrown.

He was not surprised when the remaining tinsel ball retaliated and hit him between the eyes.

Alan was landed by a return cushion volley. Scott really was a good shot.

“Oh, you are going down, bro.” Alan was positively gleeful and before they knew it, cushions, tinsel, several Christmas baubles and a pile of tribbles were hurtling back and forth across the room.

Kayo stood to one side and just rolled her eyes. Grandma joined in and was the likely source of the tribbles.

When John and Virgil returned, it was to utter chaos and not a small amount of laughter. Both got tribbles stuffed down their shirts and tinsel bounced off their heads.

John protested loudly at the use of his tribble stash, but Grandma told him to lighten up...right before she bounced one off his nose.

What followed that was a free for all.

The night got better, much to Gordon’s relief. His brothers loosened up, a little alcohol was dragged out and moods mellowed.

Of course, Alan was the first to nod off, curled up beside Gordon. He was fast followed by Virgil who yet again fell asleep on Scott. The worry that appeared on Scott’s face only made Gordon’s heart sink.

Grandma called it then, sending them all off to bed.

Virgil was nudged awake enough for Scott and John to get him on his feet and guide him to his bed. Gordon shouldered Alan and dragged him to the elevator.

“Thans, Gords.”

“Not a problem, bro.” The elevator was taking forever to return.

Alan turned into Gordon’s shoulder and slumped against it, half snoring.

“C’mon, Allie.” The elevator arrived and he helped his little brother aboard. If there was one thing Alan had in common with Virgil it was his ability to sleep.

Some complaints about the boat still rocking and Gordon tumbled his little brother into his bed. Shoes off, covers on. Gordon sat down beside his sleeping brother.

It had been one hell of a trip and now it was over. It was less than a week since Virgil folded in his pilot’s seat, yet it seemed years ago. One boat, four days and five brothers.

Alan rolled over and snorted in his sleep.

Gordon reached out and placed his hand on his arm.

“I’m gonna getcha, John.” It was quiet and mumbled into Alan’s pillow, but it was enough to push Gordon to his feet.

Blimey.

A blink that lasted longer than it should have and Gordon realised he was exhausted. One more glance at his little brother who was now muttering something about space resources and was no doubt plotting his brother’s video game demise, and Gordon made his way to the door.

One boat, four days, five brothers...and tomorrow.

Gordon went to bed.

-o-o-o-

End Day Four.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #kermadec fic

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signor-signor · 4 years ago

Text

Trending 27th (November 2020)

Could Netflix make a third season of Wander Over Yonder?

I’ve been contemplating this for about two years, right after I found that @crackmccraigen would be working on Kid Cosmic for Netflix.

Considering I can think of a number of reasons Netflix could, nay, should buy the rights to the show, I say, “YES, PLEASE.”

Reason # 1

The popularity of Disney’s other animated shows just can’t be topped. Phineas and Ferb, Gravity Falls, Star vs. the Forces of Evil, DuckTales (2017), Amphibia, The Owl House, and yes, Paul Rudish’s take on Mickey Mouse (plus The Wonderful World of Mickey Mouse on Disney+, also under Paul’s supervision), to name a few. I always thought Wander Over Yonder would be treated the same way Fish Hooks was treated - given three seasons and moved into obscurity before becoming accessible on D+. Seeing as how Disney has been ignoring WOY for a long, long time, I could see that it wasn’t the case. They’ve also been consistently leaving out anything related to the show when promoting the aforementioned shows on certain occasions, like World Kindness Day. It’s obvious to me that they still have something against WOY and no interest whatsoever in bringing it back. In fact, they’re so focused on the shows they love best, including the ones that already legitimately ended (most especially GF), that they wouldn’t give a fig if WOY was taken away right under their noses, I think.

Reason # 2

The “higher-up bosses of bosses of bosses” aren’t particularly responsive and they don’t seem to care. Sending letters and emails is the best way to reason with the executives, but in the past 4+ years, our objections have been seemingly wasted on them, which might explain why the fandom has been dwindling. Just because the higher-ups aren’t answering your letters doesn’t mean you should stop writing them, though. Still, there’s simply no denying that they screwed up big time. Craig McCracken clearly stated he pitched S3 to the bosses of DTVA and DXD back in early 2015 (around February, if I’m not mistaken), at which point writing for S2 had already wrapped up. However, when late July came, one week before S2 premiered, the higher-ups decided to cancel the show after two seasons for no good reason, leaving the plans for S3 in limbo and the space pod cliffhanger unresolved. You can’t cancel a show loved by a decent number of people without a clear and concise reason. A good executive should know better than to deny an experienced cartoonist a chance to end a cartoon his way.

Reason # 3

Craig McCracken LOVES working at Netflix. It’s there where he’s finishing up his work on Kid Cosmic, which may come out sometime in 2021 due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Supposedly, he has way more creative freedom there than he did while working at DTVA. Considering how he feels about working there, I suspect he doesn’t want to return to Disney, and given the circumstances, I don’t blame him for leaving. If I were a cartoonist who created a visually and audibly appealing cartoon that was prematurely cancelled and constantly one-upped by some other shows and I had doubts of it coming back, I’d have a good enough reason to give away all the information I had for one more season (the new main characters, the backstory, the subplots, the names of previously unnamed characters, the whole basket of fruit). Heck, I would share a PDF copy of the pitch bible for that season with those who are interested. In the case of Netflix doing better than Disney, however, I’d wait until Netflix obtains the rights to my show and gives it the final season I’ve been keeping under my proverbial hat for years.

If Netflix is going to buy the rights to WOY, they’ll have to leave out any bits of evidence of the show being Disney property. You know, omit the name from the upper left corner of the logo in the title sequence and the DTVA and DXD logos at the end. Of course, My Fair Hatey won’t be a problem, since the WOY logo on the curtains has no company name on it. Let’s not forget the cameo in Future-Worm that helpfully gave us an idea of what we’d see in S3 and the Wander plush in the claw machine in Big City Greens - if Disney doesn’t bring WOY back in the next few years, those cameos will probably have to go and so will the WOY-related images decorated on the walls of DTVA. They made their bed and they must sleep in it.

Disney may own the first two seasons right now, but I’m sure Netflix can afford to not only pick up where WOY left off, but take it all off their “stepbrother-and-platypus-spoiling, high school fish-favoring, Oregon town-obsessing, warrior princess-pampering, long-haired lady-loving, rich duck reboot-relishing, heroic sextet-savoring, country bumpkin-craving, anthropomorphic frog-adoring, witch-in-training-worshipping, Paul Rudish-praising” hands. It’s like I always used to say, “What’s the point of Disney owning the rights to the show if they won’t let Craig finish it his way?”

Imagine what would happen if Netflix does buy the rights to WOY from Disney. A massive semi truck with Netflix on either side, backs into the DTVA vault from the back breaking down the wall. The back of the truck opens up. Inside it stands Kid Cosmic himself. He steps to the edge, holds out a hand to Wander, Sylvia, and the other WOY characters, and says, “Come with me if you want to continue.” Everyone climbs aboard the truck, even that alien resembling the one from Mars and Beyond. Wander says to the characters from the other shows, “Farewell, my Mouse House friends! I’ll send each and every one of you a postcard from Netflix’s animation studio!” Lord Hater, of course, exclaims to the characters from overrated shows, “So long, you overachievers! If I never see your executive-proof faces again, it’ll be too soon! Woo! (blows raspberry)” The truck closes up and takes off. When it does, the DTVA vault promptly repairs itself. All evidence of Wander Over Yonder being Disney property vanishes.

OR...

If Disney does want to let Craig finish WOY his way but can’t afford to, Craig might have Netflix put the money made from Kid Cosmic’s performance towards that third and final season. Of course, we want to make sure he gets back to the company to oversee its production after KC is finished. We’re not asking Disney to revive GF, put SvtFoE on DVD, make a movie based on Paul Rudish’s take on Mickey Mouse, or re-release Song of the South, all we want is to see S3 become a reality, and we sure as heck don’t want Craig and the folks who worked with him to take it all to the grave.

The more we show our support for the show and its planned third season, the more likely either Disney, Netflix, or Hulu (yes, Hulu, the home of new episodes of Animaniacs) will give it to us.

@disneyanimation

@netflix

@hulu

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tsuki-chibi · 5 years ago

Text

BlackBerries (Adrinette April) Day 5: Statue

Or see it on AO3: Blackberries

--------

"I'm telling you, it was so amazing," Lila gushed, looking off into the distance. "There is nothing like the moment when the sun starts to set over the ocean in Hawaii. It's nothing short of magical."

"It sounds amazing," Rose said, her eyes dreamy. "I'd love to visit Hawaii someday."

"Maybe I can take you! My father owns stock in a private airplane company, you know," Lila said importantly.

Marinette tried not to grind her teeth as she stared down at her math book. She was pretty sure that this wasn't what Madame Bustier had meant when she gave the class time to work on their homework. Supposedly, Rose and Mylène had sat down where Alya and Nino usually sat in order to help Lila out. But all the three of them had been doing for the past fifteen minutes was talking. Well, that wasn't quite true: Lila had been doing 99% of the talking, leaving Rose and Mylène to be appropiately awed by the stories that Lila was spinning.

Because Marinette was pretty sure that's what Lila was doing.

"Oh my gosh, that would be incredible!" Rose exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

"I'd love to come too," Mylène piped up. "I don't like heights, but the way you talk about the scenery... I don't think I could miss it."

"Of course you can come," Lila said with a smile. "Of course, some parts of Hawaii can be dangerous. My brother almost drowned in the ocean."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Rose said.

"He stayed with my aunt in the United States. He didn't want to come to Paris," Lila replied.

'Or maybe she just doesn't have a brother,' Marinette thought sourly.

'You don't know that,' Adrien thought back, glancing up at her from where he was seated beside Chloé. Adrien was the only one working. Chloé was working on filing her nails.

'I know that Lila has lied about being friends with Ladybug and being your soulmate. I also know she's full of more stories than an anthology,' Marinette thought, trying to pretend that she couldn't hear Rose and Mylène lapping up all the details about a brother that may or may not have actually existed. She wondered what Lila would do if Marinette asked to see a picture of her brother. Probably panic and dig up some random photo on the internet. It was tempting...

'Mari,' Adrien mentally chided. 'Don't antagonize her.'

"That's terrible!" Mylène said, pulling Marinette's attention away from Adrien. "And you swam into the ocean and pulled him out all by yourself?"

Lila nodded. "It was terrifying, but he's my brother. I just couldn't let him die," she said. "That's how I got my hearing problem."

Marinette's head snapped around so fast her neck ached, and before she could stop herself she blurted out, "Wait, I thought you had a problem with your eyesight."

Rose and Mylène both looked at Marinette in surprise, while Lila blinked. "What?"

"The first day of class, you said you had a problem with your eyes that meant you had to sit near the front," Marinette said, staring Lila down. She knew that everyone else assumed Lila wore contact lenses. Marinette was pretty sure there was absolutely nothing wrong with Lila's eyes, but she couldn't exactly prove that Lila didn't wear contacts. This, however, was pretty telling.

Lila gave a slightly shrill laugh. "Well, of course I have an eye problem. But I also have a hearing problem too," she said quickly.

"Then wouldn't it have been better for you to sit in the front row, where you're closer to Madame Bustier?" Marinette said pointedly.

"I sat here because - because of the acoustics, of course!" Lila said.

"The acoustics," Marinette repeated flatly.

"That makes sense," Rose piped up. "Luka is always saying that a room's acoustics have to be just right. It has to do with the way sound bounces off the walls."

"Exactly!" Lila said, nodding. "That's exactly right, Rose." She sighed. "It's really hard having so many problems at the age of fourteen."

Marinette had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something that would be very impolite. She was now 100% sure that there was nothing wrong with Lila Rossi except for an addiction to lying. But rather than say that, she just gathered her schoolwork together, picked up her backpack, and walked down the steps. She wasn't even sure that Mylène, Rose or Lila noticed that she was going, which was fine with Marinette. Adrien was already scooting over on his bench, pressing himself up against Chloé in order to leave enough room for Marinette to squeeze herself in at the end.

"You've got to give her credit. She's great at lying," Chloé said, finally looking up from her nails and smirking at Marinette.

"You were listening?" Marinette said.

Chloé shrugged. "Pretty hard not to. I actually thought you had her there for a moment. Too bad she's quick at thinking on her feet."

"Too quick if you ask me," Marinette muttered. "It's pretty bad when you can't even keep your lies straight."

"Maybe she really does have a hearing problem," Adrien said.

Marinette and Chloé exchanged looks of disbelief. Then Chloé shook her head. "Adrikins, you are so lucky you've got Dupain-Cheng. You would get eaten alive otherwise."

"Hey!" Adrien protested. "Just because I like to give people the benefit of the doubt -"

"It's gone way beyond that now, Adrien, really," Chloé said, her playful smile vanishing. "Come on now. Even you must be able to see that Lila Rossi is nothing but a liar. I'd bet a lot of money that not a single truthful word has come out of that girl's mouth since she came to Collège Françoise Dupont."

Adrien sighed. "Does it really matter?" he asked, looking down at the desk. He didn't like conflict, Marinette knew, though she wasn't sure if that was just the way that Adrien was or if it was a byproduct of growing up with an overbearing, controlling father like Gabriel. Or a combination of both. Either way, he was uncomfortable at the thought of confronting Lila. Marinette took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and mentally pushed comfort his way.

"It might matter more than you think," Chloé said darkly, casting a glare over her shoulder. Marinette followed Chloé's gaze and was dismayed to see that Sabrina had sat down in Marinette's spot. No wonder Chloé was annoyed.

"Oh hey," Adrien said suddenly. "They're unveiling that statue of Ladybug and Chat Noir today."

"I forgot about that," Marinette said, biting her lip. Adrien's sorrow hit her on a deep level, making her ache. The city was paying homage to two heroes who technically no longer existed. She knew that the city was expecting Ladybug and Chat Noir to be there tonight. Adrien had created a fake email and sent a message to the mayor's office informing them that the heroes wouldn't be there, but they had no way of knowing whether the message had been received or believed.

"Just in time!" Alya exclaimed, nearly scaring Marinette out of her wits.

"Al-Alya!" she stuttered in surprise. Alya leaned over her, grinnng.

"I was gonna post the interview after Lila did it, but I've been waiting for the moment when I'll get maximum traffic and tonight is the night," Alya said proudly. "People will want to know all about Ladybug and Chat Noir and they'll come right to the source. First thing they'll see is the interview with Lila."

"Maybe you can ask Ladybug to give you a soundbite about Lila today," Chloé said innocently. Adrien choked.

"That's... actually a really good idea," Alya said as Marinette facepalmed. "I think I'll do that. It would be the perfect finishing point to Lila's interview. Hey Marinette, what time are you going? I'll drop by the bakery to pick you up."

"Um... I wasn't sure I was going," Marinette said.

"You have to come!" Alya exclaimed. "This is like your first time seeing Ladybug, right?"

Marinette hesitated. 'I don't really want to go, but how can I say no?' she thought. Seeing the statue would be painful, but so was the hopeful excitement in Alya's eyes.

'Maybe it's better if you go. You might be able to make Alya feel better when Ladybug doesn't come,' Adrien thought.

He had a point. If Alya got too upset, she'd be at risk of being akumatized. "Okay, sure," she said finally. "But I won't bother going home first. The five of us can walk over together after school."

"Five?" Alya repeated.

"You, me, Nino, Adrien and Chloé," Marinette said.

"What?!" Chloé squeaked.

"Uh, sure," Alya said, shrugging. "The five of us." She retreated back up the steps towards Nino and Alix.

"I did not agree to that," Chloé hissed.

"You'll survive," Adrien said without even looking at her, and Marinette had to cough to hide a laugh.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #lila rossi lies #established relationshio #adrienette #blackberries #adrinetteapril2020

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johnrossbowie · 4 years ago

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LEAVING TWITTER

I wrote this earlier in the fall, before the election, after dissolving my Twitter account. I wasn’t sure where to put it (“try up your ass!” – someone, I’m sure) and then I remembered I have a tumblr I never use. Anyway, here tis.

How do you shame someone who thinks Trumps’ half-baked policies and quarter-baked messaging put him in the pantheon of great Presidents? How do you shame someone so lacking in introspection that they will call Obama arrogant while praising Trump’s decisiveness and yet at the same time vehemently deny that they’re racist? How do you shame someone for whom that racism is endearing and maybe long overdue?

You don’t. It’s silly to think otherwise.

Twitter is an addiction of mine, and true to form, my dependence on it grew more serious after I quit drinking in 2010. At first it was a chance to mouth off, make jokes both stupid and erudite and occasionally stick my foot in my mouth (I owe New Yorker writer Tad Friend an apology. He knows why, or (God willing) he’s forgotten. Either way. Sorry.) I blew off steam, steam that was accumulating without booze to dampen the flames. Not always constructive venting, but I also met new friends, and connected with people whose work I’ve admired for literal decades and ended up seeing plays with Lin-Manuel Miranda and hanging backstage with Jane Wiedlin after a Go-Go’s show and exchanging sober thoughts with Mike Doughty. When my mom passed in 2018, a lot of people reached out to tell me they were thinking of me. This was nice. For a while, Twitter was a huge help when I needed it.

I used to hate going to parties and really hated dancing and mingling, but a couple of drinks would fix that. Point is, for a while, booze was a huge help, too.

But my engagement with Twitter changed, and I started calling people my ‘friends’ even though I’d never once met them or even heard their voices. These weren’t even penpals, these were people whose jokes or stances I enjoyed, so with Arthurian benevolence I clicked on a little heart icon, liked their tweet, and assumed therefore that we had signed some sort of blood oath.

We had not. I got glib, and cheap, and a little lazy. And then to make matters much worse, Trump came along and extended his reach with the medium.

There was a while there where I thought I could be a sort of voice for the voiceless, and I thought I was doing that. I tried very hard to only contribute things that I felt were not being said – It wasn’t accomplishing anything to notice “Haha Trump looks like he’s bullshitting his way through an oral report” – such things were self-evident. I tried to point out very specific inconsistencies in his policies, like the Muslim ban meant to curb terrorism that still favored the country that brought forth 13 of the 9/11 hijackers. Like his full-throated cries against media bias performed while he suckled at Roger Ailes’ wrinkly teat. Like his fondness for evangelical votes that coincided with a scriptural knowledge that lagged far behind mine, even though I’m a lapsed Episcopalian, and there is no one less religiously observant than a lapsed Episcopalian. But that eventually gave way to unleashing ad hominem attacks against his higher profile supporters, who I felt weren’t being questioned enough, who I felt were in turn being fawned over by theirdim supporters. If you’re one of these guys, and you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably right, but don’t mistake this for an apology. You suck, and you support someone who sucks, and your idolatry is hurting our country and its standing in the world. Fuck you entirely, but that’s not the point. The point is that me screaming into the toilet of Twitter helps no one – it doesn’t help a family stuck at the border because they’re trying to secure a better life for their kids. It doesn’t help a poor teenager who can’t get an abortion because the party of ‘small government’ has squeezed their tiny jurisdiction into her uterus. It doesn’t help the coal miner who’s staking all his hopes on a dying industry and a President’s empty promises to resurrect it. I was born in New York City, and I currently live in Los Angeles. Those are the only two places I’ve ever lived, if you don’t count the 4 years I spent in Ithaca[1]. So, yes, I live in a liberal bubble, and while I’ve driven across the country a couple of times and did a few weeks in a touring band and am as crushed as any heartlander about the demise of Waffle House, you have me dead to rights if you call me a coastal elitist. And with that in mind, I offer few surprises. A guy who grew up in the theater district and was vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage or felt you should own an AR-15? THAT would be newsworthy. I am not newsworthy. I can preach to the choir, I can confirm people’s biases, but I will likely not sway anyone who is eager to dismiss a Native New Yorker who lives in Hollywood. I grew up in the New York of the 1970s, and that part of my identity did shape my politics. My mom’s boss was gay and the Son of Sam posed a realistic threat. As such, gays are job creators[2] and guns are used for homicide much more often than they are used for self-defense[3]. I have found this to be generally true over the years, and there’s even data to back it up.

“But Mr. Bowie,” you might say, though I insist you call me John - “those studies are conducted by elitist institutions and those institutions suck!” And again, I am not going to reason with people who will dismiss anything that doesn’t fit their limited world view as elitist or, God Help Us, fake news. But the studies above are peer-reviewed, convincing, and there are more where those came from.

“But John,” you might say, and I am soothed that we’re one a first name basis - “Can’t you just stay on Twitter for the jokes?” Ugh. A) apparently not and B) the jokes are few and far between, and I am 100% part of that problem.

I have stuff to offer, but Twitter is not the place from which to offer it.

After years of academically understanding that Twitter is not the real world, Super Tuesday 2020 made the abstract pretty fucking concrete. If you had looked at my feed on the Monday beforehand – my feed which is admittedly curated towards the left, but not monolithic (Hi, Rich Lowry!) – you’d have felt that a solid Bernie surge was imminent, but also that your candidate was going surprise her more vocal critics. When the Biden sweep swept, when Bernie was diminished and when Warren was defeated, I realized that Twitter is not only not the real world, it’s almost some sort of Phillip K. Dickian alternate timeline, untethered to anything we’re actually experiencing in our day to day life. This is both good news and bad news – one, we’re not heading towards a utopia of single payer health care and the eradication of American medical debt any time soon, but two, we’re also not being increasingly governed by diaper-clad jungen like Charlie Kirk. Clouds and their linings. Leaving Twitter may look like ceding ground to the assclowns but get this – the ground. Is not. There.

It’s just air.

There are tangible things I can do with my time - volunteer with a local organization called Food On Foot, who provide food and job training for people experiencing homelessness here in my adopted Los Angeles. I can give money to candidates and causes I support, and I can occasionally even drop by social media to boost a project or an issue and then vanish, like a sort of Caucasian Zorro who doesn’t read his mentions. I can also model good behavior for my kids (ages 10 and 13) who don’t need to see their father glued to his phone, arguing about Trumps incompetence with Constitutional scholars who have a misspelled Bible verse in their bio (three s’ in Ecclesiastes, folks).

So farewell Twitter. I’ll miss a lot of you. Perhaps not as badly as I miss Simon Maloy and Roger Ebert and Harris Wittels and others whose deaths created an unfillable void on the platform. But I won’t miss the yelling, and the lionization of poor grammar, and anonymous trolls telling my Jewish friends that they were gonna leave the country “via chimney.” I will not miss people who think Trump is a stable genius calling me a “fucktard.” I will not miss transphobia or cancelling but I will miss hashtag games, particularly my stellar work during #mypunkmusical (Probably should have quit after that surge, I was on fire that night, real blaze of glory stuff I mean, Christ, Sunday in the Park with the Germs? Husker Du I Hear A Waltz? Fiddler on the Roof (keeping an eye out for the cops)? These are Pulitzer contenders.). Twitter makes me feel lousy, even when I’m right, and I’m often right. There’s just no point in barking bumperstickers at each other, and there are people who are speaking truth to power and doing a cleaner job of it – Aaron Rupar, Steven Pasquale, Louise Mensch, Imani Gandy and Ijeoma Oluo to name five solid mostly politically based accounts (Yes, Pasquale is a Broadway tenor. He’s also a tenacious lefty with good points and research and a dreamy voice. You think you’re straight and then you hear him sing anything from Bridges of Madison County and you want him to spoon you.). You’re probably already following those mentioned, but on the off chance you’re not, get to it. You’ll thank me, but you won’t be able to unless you actually have my email.

_______

[1] And Jesus, that’s worse – Ithaca is such a lefty enclave that they had an actual socialist mayor FOR WHOM I VOTED while I was there. And not socialist the way some people think all Democrats are socialist – I mean Ben Nichols actually ran on the socialist ticket and was re-elected twice for a total of six years.

[2] The National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, “America’s LGBT Economy” Jan 20th, 2017

[3] The Violence Policy Institute, Firearm Justifiable Homicides and Non-Fatal Self Defense Gun Use, July 2019.

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tempestaurora · 4 years ago

Note

Hi I just need to share this idea before I fall asleep: AU where Beck targeted Harley instead because Tony left Harley EDITH instead of Peter

read on ao3

They showed up in the hand of a suited man who looked uncomfortably hot in the Tennessee sun. E.D.I.T.H., the card in the glasses case read, Even In Death I’m The Hero – T.S.

Harley had been to his funeral the month before, had stood outside the lake house with a collection of plain-clothed superheroes. He’d recognised some, but not all. Captain America, Falcon, Hawkeye, Bruce Banner. They were all red-eyed and sombre, donned in black suits and congregating in small groups after the ceremony. Harley had come alone, without his mother or sister, and had spoken to barely anyone, bar Colonel Rhodes who recognised him, Pepper and Morgan, who’d invited him, and the kid called Peter Parker, who looked about his age - though, post-snap, it was hard to tell anymore.

He hadn’t touched the glasses for two days before finally working up the nerve to try them on, then he’d played with them in complete awe for three days before finally putting them away again. He’d read the texts of strangers on the street, peered inside the Mustang’s engine and dissected every part, stared at the maths problems on his homework sheet and watched the numbers float off the page and solve themselves. It was a lot of power, Harley figured. Too much for a kid in fuck-all nowhere Rose Hill.

He made a small hole in the floorboards of the garage, and hid the glasses away.

He’d vanished in the snap, like half the universe, but his sister and mother had lived on for five years, continued to grow and change. He’d been in his senior year when he’d died, and now his sister was too. They shared the same classes, and though she’d desperately tried to get into science and engineering; to make use of the tools in the garage that Tony had provided Harley with, she just wasn’t interested, and leant heavily towards history, with dreams of archaeology and excavation.

They looked like twins now, and started to tell people that they were.

His little sister was five years younger than him, but they were both eighteen now anyway.

In all, despite having E.D.I.T.H. under the floorboards of the half-gutted garage (the equipment inside was both too sentimental to sell, and too expensive not to), nothing much changed with Harley as the world tried to right itself after the second snap. Time continued on, the world slowly rebuilt itself and struggled to house all the new homeless folk, and superheroes re-emerged from the cracks, fighting the everyday bank robbers and crazy scientists, rather than colonising aliens.

Harley and Ariel graduated side by side, her name read out first, then his, and they wore matching robes and smiled matching smiles for their mother’s photos. They packed up their things and both headed for New York, both of them studying at Columbia, and both of them scoring rooms in the same dorm. On the day they left; Harley’s Mustang idling out front with his sister’s music blaring from the stereo, Harley wandered around the garage, decked out by a dead man, and pulled back the floorboard. E.D.I.T.H. still sat there in the case, just as it had when Harley had first received it a year before, and he removed it, replaced the floorboard, and started the long drive north.

His classes were the good kind of difficult, and he threw himself into electrical and mechanical engineering, scoring high grades and making new friends. Parties were a rare thing in Rose Hill, as everyone lived so far apart and kids his age were rare, so now he and Ariel had new experiences to make; dorm parties and frat houses, night clubs and bars. Despite the new laws about post-snap identification, his I.D. from before still worked in some places; technically twenty-three rather than the lived eighteen.

“We’re twins,” he and Ariel would say to whoever asked; the two Keeners living on the same floor and going to the same parties. They shared a lot of friends, though drew themselves to different areas; Harley falling easily into the D&D Society, and Ariel finding herself in three separate book clubs.

“Family has become more important than ever,” the post-snap counsellor would say in their mandatory session in their first semester. Every student had to meet with them, only a year since the world came back, but Harley and Ariel attended theirs together, more joined at the hip than they had ever been when they were five years apart in age.

They went home for Christmas and returned in January, starting classes anew. It was then that Harley met his new teacher, Quentin Beck, an M.I.T. graduate who’d once been a successful head developer in R&D at Stark Industries. Harley took every reference to Tony like a stab in the side; Tony’s face was everywhere, painted in every mural. All his classmates were obsessed with the arc reactor and the Stark tech, they all held Starkphones like once everyone had held Apples. Beck’s entire first class was essentially a spiel about what he learned at S.I., and Harley felt sick by the end of it.

Just as he was rushing out of the class, Quentin – all the tutors insisted being called by their first names – called him back. “I hear you’re the student to look out for,” he said easily, resting against the edge of his desk. “Tell me, where did your interest start?”

Harley had never been asked this question, but he had always thought he’d lie if he were. Instead, facing a man who’d also known and cared about Tony Stark, he said, “I’ve always liked building things, but I don’t think it was until I met Tony Stark myself that I really got invested.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’ve met Tony Stark?”

“It’s a little hard to believe,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but back in 2013—the Mandarin incident? With the President?—when Tony vanished after his house got bombed, he ended up in my hometown. Broke into my garage to hide out from the snow, and well—I dunno. I got to hang out with him for a few days.”

He thought he’d be scoffed at, honestly – it wasn’t a particularly believable story, though Harley had realised that was the case with a lot of truths – but instead, Quentin smiled, like he’d found someone similar to himself, a friend. They talked for a bit about Tony, and then after the next class, they talked again. They went to Quentin’s office and told stories about working with Tony and their experiences with Iron Man. Harley showed him the photos from when he was fifteen and visiting New York mere weeks before Ultron, when he and Tony worked on the code for his own helper bot and later went to a museum together.

It was—strange, honestly. Having someone to relate to about this stuff. Having someone who cared—about Harley, about Tony, about his legacy. Quentin was the only person who got it. Ariel had never met Tony, had been too young to really remember the events anyway, and Harley hadn’t wanted to bother anyone he’d met at the funeral; their connections to Tony far stronger than his could ever be. He hadn’t known the man like Colonel Rhodes had, like Pepper had – but he still grieved, still mourned, still wanted him back.

Talking to Quentin, then working with him on his project, was a little like that; like finding Tony in the world again.

So, one day, as they worked in the shop he said, “Tony left me a gift actually.”

Quentin paused and leant back on his stool, saying, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. When he died. Some lawyer showed up at my door with it; said he’d left it in his will for me.”

“What was it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Glasses,” Harley replied. “They’re—it’s an A.I., called E.D.I.T.H..” He shrugged. “I don’t know why he left them to me, honestly. He already gave me a whole workshop and a vintage Mustang. And we weren’t—we didn’t talk a whole lot, even before the snap. Couple times a year, I guess. I came up to New York like, twice, and he would email out of the blue to see if I wanted to test the new Starkphone…”

“What does the A.I. do?”

“What doesn’t it do?” Harley sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s a borderline surveillance state A.I., I mean, if the government had it. It can see everything, I think. In the wrong hands… it could be catastrophic.”

“Are your hands the wrong hands?” Quentin asked.

Harley hesitated. “I hope not. Tony trusted me with it, so he must think… must think they’re right.”

“Well,” Quentin said, “I’d love to see them sometime. They sound incredible.”

That afternoon he returned to his room, where he knelt by the drawer he’d fixed a false bottom into, pulling out the E.D.I.T.H. glasses for the first time since he hid them away in September. He tried them on, and E.D.I.T.H. greeted him in the warm tone, information pouring out before him. He peered around his room slowly, and as the sight caught on his roommate’s laptop, their tablet, E.D.I.T.H. captured the data and sent it scrolling before his eyes.

“E.D.I.T.H.,” Harley said quietly.

“Yes, Harley?”

“Why did Tony leave you to me?”

“Tony Stark left gifts for all loved ones in case of his demise. He did not tell me the significance or reasoning behind his actions.”

Harley sighed and flopped backwards onto his bed. “What did other people get?”

“Virginia “Pepper” Potts and Morgan Stark received the majority of the wealth, assets and properties under the name Anthony Edward Stark. Virginia Potts was also left controlling ownership of Stark Industries. Colonel James Rhodes was bequeathed several vintage cars, a large sum of money, and several sentimental items. Harold Hogan was bequeathed the same. Should I go on?”

“Sure.”

“Mr. Stark left various moneys, cars, sentimental items and properties to individuals he worked with under the Avengers Initiative: Robert “Bruce” Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Steven Rogers, Clinton Barton and Thor Odinson. Other moneys were left to various organisations, foundations and charities supported by Mr Stark. He bequeathed myself and a college fund to you, Harley Keener, and a matching college fund and equipped workshop space in Queens, New York, New York, to Peter Parker. He left—”

“Stop,” Harley said.

Peter Parker had been the other kid at the funeral. The one with the internship with Tony. The one at the front of the dock, who’d cried beside his Aunt, who’d been introduced to Morgan for the first time mere minutes after Harley had.

“E.D.I.T.H.,” Harley said, “do you have the contact information for Peter Parker?”

“Of course, Harley.”

Peter’s phone number, email and address appeared before his eyes. His personal information scrolled beside it; seventeen, in his senior year, Midtown Tech High School. Harley thought about calling him; about saying Hi, we met at the funeral, want to be friends? About the bond he had with Quentin, the only person who understood what Harley was going through, even a little, and how he could have it again, with someone else. Someone who had worked beside Tony and looked up to him, just like Harley.

He was about to ask E.D.I.T.H. to call the number when his phone started ringing.

QUENTIN BECK CALLING his glasses read. He and Quentin had shared numbers because Harley’s college email was glitchy and Quentin had needed a way to contact him about class schedules and extra shop time.

“Hi, Quentin,” Harley said as he picked up.

“Harley! I’m glad I caught you. I was just thinking about those glasses Tony left you…”

It didn’t take much, really, for Quentin to persuade Harley to let him take a look at them. He was a friend, he was trusted – he, too, might be the right hands. Quentin and Harley talked for hours about them, trying them out and asking E.D.I.T.H. about her various functions. Harley had been right about how incredible they were, but he’d also been right about how much power they held for trouble. How far the wrong hands could take them; they were connected to satellites across the globe, had an enabled drone strike, and could send missiles to any given place on the planet. And Tony Stark had made this?

“They’re… truly something,” Quentin had said when the sky grew dark. Ariel was texting about dinner and Harley was packing up to leave. “Don’t… please don’t take this the wrong way, Harley—but do you think they’re too much responsibility for you to have?”

“Quentin, I—”

“I know you’re not a child, I know. You’re eighteen, you’re an adult – but these glasses,” he gestured to them on the table, shaking his head. “You could destroy the world with this, Harley. You could literally take it over. And that’s—that’s terrifying. It’s terrifying that Tony would’ve made something like this in the first place, and frankly, more so that he would leave them to someone else upon his death, rather than destroying them.”

“You think they should be destroyed?”

“I think these are simply another foray into weapon building,” Quentin sighed. “Though rather than selling it to the U.S. military, he’s privatised it and kept it for himself.”

“Then why did he give them to me?” Harley asked, nervous hands picking up the glasses. Quentin was right, of course, they were too much responsibility for him. He’d stuck them under the floorboards where they couldn’t be touched because of it. Left them in the drawer and pretended they didn’t exist. Practically ignored the one thing Tony had left for him.

He bet, bitterly, that Peter Parker wasn’t ignoring the gift Tony had left for him.

“I’m not sure, Harley. And this isn’t something I’m saying about you—rather, about him—but I don’t think it was the right decision.”

Harley swallowed, turning over the glasses in his hands. “You think I should get rid of them entirely?”

Quentin sighed, passing a hand over his forehead. “I’m not sure, Harley. I’m not. Perhaps they’ll save the world someday—but only in the hands of the right person.”

Harley bit hard into the inside of his lower lip. He wasn’t the right person. His hands weren’t the right hands. What had Tony been thinking, leaving a weapon this powerful to him? He was a kid from fuck-all nowhere Rose Hill, not a superhero. He was no Captain America, no Thor, no Iron Man.

“Quentin,” Harley said, his mind made up. “If I gave them to you, would you hide them somewhere?”

“What?”

“Hide them. Like you said, they might save the world someday—but that day’s not today, and they need to be somewhere where they can’t cause trouble until then. And if I’m not the right hands—then I shouldn’t know where they are.”

Quentin took the glasses in careful hands. “Are you sure, Harley?”

He nodded, resolute. “I’m sure.”

Quentin hesitated, turning the glasses over in his hands. “Perhaps you should—you should pass over the control to me, too. They only work for you, and if you don’t know where they are…”

Harley swallowed then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll keep the control.”

“But, Harley—”

“No,” he repeated. “Maybe I’m not the right hands, but maybe you’re not either.”

“Harley—”

“If you were, Tony would’ve given them to you in the first place. I just need… I just need them hidden. Until I am the right hands, or until the world needs them. Whichever comes first, I guess.”

On the way home, he called Peter Parker and arranged to get coffee in some Queens café the next weekend. After dinner, he shot off an email to Pepper Potts, too, to see how she was doing and apologise for not reaching out for so long. Her response was prompt, and the weekend after, he was to meet her at her Manhattan apartment for dinner with her and Morgan.

He felt strange, that night, and the nights after it, going to bed without the glasses in the drawer beside his head, but it was for the best, he thought, not knowing where they were.

During class on Friday, Quentin seemed busy, side-tracked, and on Saturday, Harley met Peter, who was happier than the last time he’d seen him, and more than willing to share stories about Tony all afternoon, until it grew dark and the two of them went next door for a bite of pizza.

Classes all the next week were cancelled due to Quentin being sick, and he responded to Harley’s get well soon text positively, saying he was already on the mend. At dinner with Pepper and Morgan, Harley told her about college, about meeting Peter even. He didn’t mention Quentin or the glasses, and neither did she. Instead, they laughed at Morgan’s bad jokes and afterwards played a board game and let her win.

And then Quentin didn’t show for class the week after. Didn’t cancel it either, so Harley and his classmates sat around, confused and waiting, until they got bored and went home. Harley tried Quentin’s number and he didn’t pick up. The next day he did the same and the number was cancelled.

“This number no longer exists,” the voice at the end of the line said, and Harley shuddered to a halt in the middle of the packed corridor. People bumped into him from all sides and he squeezed his way over to the wall, the truth playing in front of his eyes on loud, flashing repeat.

Quentin Beck had hidden E.D.I.T.H. and then vanished. He’d taken E.D.I.T.H. He was in possession of the most powerful and dangerous A.I. since Ultron. And Harley had given it to him.

Harley called Pepper as he from campus, searching for a cab.

“Hi, Harley,” Pepper said, “I’m actually about to head into a meeting, so could I call you back—”

“No!” Harley cried, skidding to a stop on the pavement. “It’s important!”

“Is everything alright?”

“No, everything’s not alright! It’s E.D.I.T.H.!”

“Edith? Who’s Edith?”

“E.D.I.T.H.!” Harley repeated. “The A.I. Tony left me! I was kind of overwhelmed by the responsibility of it, and my teacher Quentin convinced me that I shouldn’t have it at all, so I asked him to put it somewhere until I could use it, and now he’s gone! He’s gone and he’s the only one who knows where E.D.I.T.H. is!”

Harley was panting out on the street, but Pepper’s voice was even, hard, “Harley,” she said, “did you hand over control of E.D.I.T.H. when you gave it to your teacher?”

“No,” Harley said. “I didn’t think I should, so it’s still under my control—”

“Alright. That’s very good of you, Harley. E.D.I.T.H. can only be used by the person who has control. Tony gave that control to you, and so long as you don’t ask E.D.I.T.H. to obey anyone else, control will remain with you. Now, can you tell me the name of your teacher?”

“Quentin. Quentin Beck.”

“Oh, fuck,” Pepper said, eloquently. “Amy, would you mind rescheduling my meetings? Harley, come to the apartment. We’ll call in some help and get this sorted.”

Harley grabbed his sister on the way, relaying the events and watching as she chose between a scoff that he could be so dumb, and a pitying smile. She chose the latter and the two of them climbed in a taxi, taking it to the Upper West Side, where Pepper lived when she was in the city. The elevator opened not on the penthouse floor like last time, though, but on the floor beneath, where Pepper stood by an array of computers and Happy paced around behind her.

On one of the screens was Quentin’s face, though a good few years younger, and a long list of information.

Pepper greeted them and then told them all about Quentin Beck, the man who became his college teacher. He had worked for Stark Industries, that much was true, and he had led the development of what eventually became B.A.R.F., an incredibly complex piece of technology that extracted memories and could replay them in 3D, just like Tony had displayed at M.I.T. in 2016. But Quentin hadn’t designed it for use as a billion dollar therapy tool; he’d seen it as a weapon, as a way to manufacture events, hallucinations. With B.A.R.F., the user could extract memories exactly as they were remembered, or exactly as they decided to remember them. It could be used for interrogation, for criminal cases – or it could be used for exonerations. And in other events, it could just as easily be taken advantage of; a guilty person misremembering a murder; a victim being forced to replay a traumatic memory again and again.

He was infuriated what Tony wanted to do with his technology, and had eventually been fired for it too. He was off the deep end, Pepper said, a little crazed and dangerous. His reference had been anything but glowing, and yet he’d still managed to doctor the facts and land himself a role at Columbia during the five years between snaps. He still managed to end up as Harley’s teacher – though, it seemed, by coincidence. One Quentin took advantage of as soon as he discovered how close Tony and Harley had been, and who owned the large fund that was paying Harley’s tuition.

After Pepper told her story, Harley told his – about how dangerous E.D.I.T.H. truly is, about the responsibility of a world killer that he could wear like a pair of smart glasses. Quentin had been right, as awful as it was; Harley wasn’t ready for them, wasn’t prepared to own something like that, and in the wrong hands…

“Why do you think Tony gave them to you?” Pepper asked softly, hers hands on his arms.

“I don’t know!” Harley complained. “I don’t know why he gave them to me—”

“He gave them to you because you are the right hands,” she said. “Because you are responsible. And yes, they’re a weight to carry, and they can be scary—hell knows I feel that pressure with F.R.I.D.A.Y. standing over me at all times, knowing what she can do if I asked—but he wouldn’t have handed them down to you if he thought you couldn’t handle it. And maybe… maybe you can’t yet. Maybe you do need to grow into them, but E.D.I.T.H. is yours, and will be for as long as you want it.”

“But it can do so many bad things.”

“And it can do so many good ones, too,” she replied. “Tony was a futurist. He saw the way forward and brought it to the present. He could see the value of A.I.; of a being that learned and grew and changed, but wasn’t human. They can do a lot of bad, if you ask it to – and they’re installed with safeguards for that exact reason – but they can do a lot of good. F.R.I.D.A.Y. is a personal assistant and security system as much as she can be used as a weapon. She can keep an eye on Morgan, can deploy security measures if someone breaks in, can keep an eye on body temperatures, on health and how hydrated we are. She’s a friend as much as she’s technology. If she sees dips in mood, she can work to relieve it; when Tony was struggling after the first snap, she was also the one that alerted me, so I could help. And maybe—maybe they’re small things, compared with missiles in the sky and drone strikes, but they’re also good things.”

She sighed, smiling. “It’s like being a good person or a bad person, Harley. Just because you think bad thoughts, doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It’s what you do that counts. We all have the potential for chaos, for hurt and harm – we have to choose not to act on it. In the same way, with A.I.s in our hands, we have to continuously choose to use them for good, not evil.”

Harley felt his chest loosen a little, where it had tightened and knotted up. Maybe Pepper was right.

“But E.D.I.T.H. isn’t in my hands,” he said. “I lost her!”

“Anything lost can also be found,” she said easily, turning to the monitors. “I have F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” she said, “and I am using her for good by locating Quentin Beck using New York’s CCTV cameras and S.I.’s advanced facial recognition software—not for sale, distribution or government use,” she added, with a smile. “I could go out there myself, too, but I figured there was someone closer by.” Pepper pressed a button on the dash. “How’s it going Spidey?”

“Hey, Pepper!” a voice responded; the cheery, upbeat tone of Spiderman. “I’m actually just watching him through the window of his buddy’s apartment. They’ve been trying to hack into the glasses since way before I got here and its fun seeing them stressed. They haven’t even noticed I’m here.”

“Spidey,” Pepper sighed, “would you mind getting the glasses back sooner rather than later? And finding out who the buddy is?”

“Oh, KAREN’s already figured that out. Ex-S.I. employee. Guess they all have it out for Mr. Stark, huh?”

The image of a balding man appeared on one screen, clearly taken through the bedroom window. His name popped up next to it, with his details.

“Guess so,” Pepper replied.

It was less than an hour later that Spiderman vaulted through the window of the lab, glasses in hand.

“Oh, pizza?” he said, looking at the boxes Happy had ordered to keep himself busy. “Save any for me?”

Pepper tapped her hand on a closed box. “Pepperoni. Just for you.”

“Oh, you’re the best,” he said, passing Harley on the way to the box and handing back the glasses as he went. “For you,” he added along the way.

Harley eyed the glasses in his hands; they were very Tony, just like the ones he used to wear. He wasn’t ready for them, really. Not yet. But someday, he might be – someday, he might be able to use E.D.I.T.H.’s reach and power for good. Might be able to use her to build good things that help people, to change the world just as Tony had done.

Harley said, “Thanks, Peter,” and grinned as Spiderman, Pepper and Happy froze.

Then Spiderman whined, “How did you know? I didn’t even tell you! I swear, Pepper, I said nothing,” and Harley laughed, waving the glasses around.

“E.D.I.T.H. knows everything,” he said, remembering all the details that appeared when he asked the glasses for Peter’s phone number, “from your class schedule to your secret identity.”

Peter pulled off the mask and Ariel sniggered into her pizza as he did so. He looked so put out. “No telling,” he said, slumping onto a free chair. “I can’t believe everyone I come into contact with figures out my secret identity.”

“It’s probably because you take off the mask every time you want to talk to someone or look dramatically into the middle distance,” Happy replied, with his mouth full.

They all laughed, and Harley grinned, placing the glasses carefully on the table.

Not yet, he thought, but maybe someday.

#marvel #mcu #harley keener #quentin beck #peter parker #bethany talks #bethany writes #could've responded like a normal person and YET i didn't #i wrote this in like 3 hours and then did a quick read through #let me live #jim-hopper-superhero

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veronicadm · 4 years ago

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hi, it’s elle with one of my two muses, veronica jean demontfort. i can’t wait to play her in this group !

i’ve been keeping a close eye on VERONICA , JEAN , DEMONTFORT lately . by all means , i’ve started to notice the striking resemblance between her and constance zimmer , but something sparked my interest more . as it turns out - the demontfort family have indeed tried their best to tuck away veronica ’s controlling tendencies , but it only seems to bring out her abrasiveness more . according to close confidants , on rare occasions , she can be humorous , last time they saw this side of her was , and i quote - “ON HER FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY” . but most shocking of all , seems to be the fact that ever since i dug deeper in her life , i somehow couldn’t shake the image of a grand collection of tequila, long-line coats, pencil skirts, inappropriate laughter, dedicating her time to keeping things buried, frequented cursing when things fail to go her way, a judgemental stare over her glasses frame & deleting emails without reading them out of my head .

triggers: alcoholism, abandonment, parental death, paranoia

despite preconceived notions about veronica and her family’s riches, she did not grow up full rich. she grew up in seattle, born veronica zellman james, her mother was her father’s former secretary and her father a big ceo of a telecoms company. the two never had any more childen because she was unwanted in the first place. her mother was flighty and her father chose either work ot alcohol and drugs over her every time so it was up to veronica to make sure she got what she needed.

from a young age she had been forced into a resourceful mindset and stepped in to fill her own parental role. her parents would fight, her mother would leave and not come back for weeks, her father would succumb to his vices and eventually her mother would return. this was a cycle that kicked in like clockwork so it was one that was far too played out.

she got her first job at thirteen because she wanted money for herself so she could leave without any hesitation. they didn’t check up on her school work so it was a good job that she was self-motivated. her parents were getting worse as the years went on and the little sympathy that she had for them slowly vanished; they were making life so much harder for her. she wasn’t supposed to be their counsel or support, they were meant to be hers.

veronica adopted a harsh exterior, one that was always on the defensive side to make sure she stayed on top of things and grabbed opportunites. when she was seventeen, her father passed away and the company stocks and all his savings went to her. her mother had been m.i.a. for quite some time and it wasn’t like she was written in his will to begin with. automatically made a billionnaire overnight, she would be quick to sell her shares of the company for a hefty sum to distance herself from it all.

the girl was upset that he was gone and that he’d never be able to make it up to her. veronica had always felt that he would snap out of spiralling constantly and try his best to step into his fatherly role but that was never going to happen now. she did try to reach out to her mother but the woman rarely responded and when she did, she wanted money from her. that was shut down immediately. some would call that heartless but the woman didn’t deserve her help; she had helped her enough throughout her short life time.

she had always had an aptitude for languages; she was near fluent in spanish and french by fourteen. veronica would go on to major in spanish and minor in arabic at berkeley. she never had any intention of becoming a translator but she believed that she had a lot of transferrable skills for jobs in business. although she was abrasive, she could be charasmatic if she wanted to.

veronica met father demontfort at the time she was at berkeley and for her to say that it was love at first sight was a lie. almost a romantic comedy, she didn’t like the entitled rich boy that thought he had one up on her. veronica was intelligent and would reject him until he was willing to accept him as an equal. her interest peaked when he’d mention the family business and she did want to be involved. she was ready to take on responsibility that she had dodged in the past by selling her shares and she had more than enough money to finance developments and expansions they talked about.

she had never been in love with father demontfort and hadn’t been in love with anyone before that. she would be the type to sleep with people and not get attached but she became attached when they’d plan together; ‘world domination’ was what they called it. an onlooker would tell you that they were a toxic pair and would have compared them to the macbeth’s. veronica was described as having ‘masculine’ traits as she was forceful in her own right and did curse more than a ‘lady’ should but she didn’t care about that. abrasive moments could be fixed by a smile.

it was a shock to her when she found out she was pregnant for the first time. veronica had never dreamed of having a family; she was too focused on work and it wasn’t like she had any good role models for parenting. she wasn’t going to go through with it but father demontfort found out she was pregnant and was insistent that it helped with the image purpose and that they’d be great parents. veronica was extremely worried about it but she felt like she couldn’t voice her concerns; father demontfort and the business was all she had and she wasn’t willing to part with it.

she did love madeline when she was born, that was no question. while veronica didn’t dismiss her doubts completely, she did want to give her the absolute world. however, she quickly became overwhelmed when the two others came along. it was too much for her and she felt herself crumbling. it was foreign territory for her because she was meant to be a winner and that wasn’t happening with her being a mother. that was when the revolving door of nannies came into play.

veronica wouldn’t be able to pin point when the scheming came into full force but it was caused by them being so competitive with each other. the woman wasn’t clean herself as her resourcefulness came into play and covering up the illegal activity was her idea. she hadn’t been aware that the company was operating by those means but took it upon herself to clean everything up. it leaded her to start to resent her husband and the bickering began.

the two of them tried to keep it away from the children but they couldn’t help but take little digs at each other. it was concerning when their tensions was picked up by one of their acquaintenance at a gala and noting in monterey stayed a secret - people loved to start rumours and their marriage seemed to be a hot topic.

being pragmatic, veronica suggested the publicity stunts such as the family meals out with cameras, a spread in a magazine about ‘having it all and maintaining happiness’. it was a bunch of bullshit but at this point, bullshit was veronica’s middle name. she didn’t care about charity but would find herself organising many charity galas to clear rumours of dirty money; veronica was good at cleaning up messes she helped to create. she definitely had an issue with control and always assumed responsibility to fix things and then proceeded to be angry that no one else had volunteered to do it.

the woman wasn’t happy but she was putting on a stellar act. she doesn’t feel like a person anymore and what she has can’t be considered a family. her children dislike each other and she feels partly responsible for that. she did push them hard because she never had anyone do that for her but perhaps she had gone in too hard. she has started drinking a little more these days and is scared of becoming her father. veronica also feels like she can’t express her concerns to anyone, not even her husband. monterey gossip travels too fast and she doesn’t trust any of the women in her circle.

christopher matthew was a threat to everything, especially when he was trying to discredit everything they had ever done. there were some underlying issues but that didn’t mean she hadn’t achieved anything. it made veronica paranoid about where he was getting this information as every time she would sue, the case would be dropped because something else would be threatened to uncover. this was something she couldn’t control and that was difficult for her to accept. her worry was making her physically ill. she didn’t want this. she thought about moving her money into another bank account and leaving monterey but that would have made her just like her mother and she wasn’t to know what would be said in her absence.

veronica was constantly defensive as she was so worried and it caused her to snap at her family. she was supposed to be very successful but her ambition has landed her in a mess that she doesn’t know how to clean up.

she would be lying if she said she didn’t feel relieved to hear of christopher’s death. it left a weight off her but some problems still remained. veronica still wants out, of the family and the business but doesn’t feel like she can handle the fall out.

#monterey.intro #alcoholism tw #parental death tw #paranoia tw #abandonment tw

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fandomfanfics12 · 5 years ago

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For Blue, Blue Skies-Part 1

Title: For Blue, Blue Skies Pairings: Steve x tony Part: 1/5 Warnings: swearing, bullying, abuse (physical and verbal), blood, angst, fluff. Summary: Steve was sure he’d aced his latest test in his forensics class but as it turns out, Professor Fury failed almost everyone. In order to get extra credit Steve and his friends join a program that Fury called The Avengers to deal with a bullying problem at the nearby high school. Hidden behind the glitz and glamour of his father’s money, most people can’t see that Tony Stark’s life is a nightmare. All Tony wants is to get out of this hellish school as quickly as possible and get as far away from his abusive father as soon as possible. A/N: This is based off of a nonnie’s request, hope you enjoy.

Tony knew three rules.

Rule number one: remain invisible-hence the overly large black hoodie that disguised him amongst the crowd.

Rule number two: never tarnish the Stark name-homework was completed and assignments were ready to be handed in over a week early.

Rule number three: never let anyone know how much pain you’re in.

Rule number three was the rule that Tony struggled with the most, but if he kept to the first two rules then he didn’t really have to worry about the third rule. He stuck to the edges of the hallway to ensure he didn’t get jostled by any of the other kids. They were all so much bigger than Tony. He made it to his chemistry class and practically collapsed into his chair in the front row. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he sensed the attention of some of his classmates shift to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could turn invisible. Wished that he could vanish, just so they’d stop looking. Just so he could get through the end of high school. It was bad enough that Tony had skipped a grade, bad enough that his clothes were all too big on him, bad enough that he was the short scrawny kid, but he had no friends and his father was rich. Everyone knew it and they all hated him for it.

“fuck you.” he whispered underneath his breath as the others around him stage-whispered insults.

“look at his hair, is he growing a mullet?”

“Would go with the homeless look, wouldn’t it?”

“do you think he’s just rebelling? No kid that rich dresses like that.” He wanted them to leave him alone. But he knew that ignoring it was better than addressing it. so he let them whisper, let them talk. And then Justin Hammer walked in, and Tony’s stomach dropped down and out of him. Please keep walking. Don’t notice me, take your seat at the back and move on. Please.

But Hammer didn’t take his place at the back, he kept walking towards Tony’s desk. The bright fluorescent lights perfectly illuminated the malice on Hammer’s face and Hammer reached into one of his pockets.

“Morning Stark, have you lost your marbles today?” Hammer asked and sat down in the empty seat beside Tony.

“Justin.” Tony said by way of acknowledgement and stared down at his homework. Justin was laughing, at what Tony wasn’t sure. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could just float away.

“Stark raving mad, that’s what you are. Just like your mother.” Tony flinched and dug his nails into his palms. They didn’t know what they were talking about. They were just dumb kids and one day Tony would be free of them. He could go to college and be surrounded by people who cared about learning just as much as Tony did. They wouldn’t bully him for being smart, they’d encourage him.

“Alright class, settle down.” It was Mr Coulson but Justin didn’t move to his assigned seat. Just watched Tony with eyes like a hawk and Tony’s stomach began to twist and churn.

“Stark raving mad.” Justin whispered right before he spilled water all over Tony’s homework. Tony shot up and out of his seat, but stopped before throwing a punch. He squeezed his eyes shut, let out a deep breath and counted to ten. He wouldn’t be violent, he wouldn’t be like his father. He couldn’t allow that kind of darkness to infect him. Tony sat back down but knew he had the attention of everyone in the room.

“What’s up Stark? Having an aneurism or something?” Justin asked and Tony gritted his teeth. He would keep calm, he wouldn’t lose it. he couldn’t afford to. If he got suspended he’d be left to his father and Tony couldn’t do that. This school, this hellish nightmare where he was teased and taunted and pushed to the edge, was Tony’s safe haven.

“go sit down in your seat Justin.” Mr Coulson snapped but said nothing about Tony’s homework. Tony slumped down in his seat and stared blankly at the whiteboard. He wasn’t insane, they were wrong. he just liked to learn and that made him different. But being different wasn’t so bad, right?

Steve walked to class, chewing some peppermint gum and carrying way too many books. He had to stop by the library to drop them off after class. But when he stepped inside his forensics class, the room was silent and grim.

“Take a seat.” The professor said and Steve dropped down into his chair beside his best friend Bucky.

“What’s going on?” Steve whispered while they waited for the last couple of students to show up.

“I don’t know, he just said he needs to talk.” Professor Fury could be a bit of an asshole, but he was an excellent teacher. Steve had originally hated the idea of taking a forensics class, but he soon found he enjoyed it. and he was pretty sure that was because Professor Fury was teaching it.

“someone said it had something to do with our last test.” Natasha whispered as she dropped into the seat on the other side of Steve.

“Good now that everyone is finally here,” Fury shot a glare at Natasha and Steve and they both sank down lower in their seats. He was in a bad mood today. “I would like to discuss the fact that almost every student in my class is failing.” Uh oh.

“Failing?” someone called out and Professor Fury nodded.

“Correct. Not one student got above thirty percent on the last assessment.” Shit.

“But I thought I did well on that!” someone cried. Steve forgot how to breathe. If he failed this class then he could be at risk of losing his scholarship. And then what? all his money went into his share of the rent, he couldn’t afford to fail this class.

“no, you all overthought it. you were so….clinical. there was no humanity in any of the answers. The subject suffered from a laceration to the throat which must have been difficult for the witness to see.” He read from someone’s test.

“Well it wouldn’t have been easy to see.” Bucky grumbled and Steve couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m disappointed in all of you. on the very first day of class, I told you all to hold on to your humanity. And you all failed me. but I’m going to go out on a limb here and offer you a second chance.” Steve straightened, his heart pounded in his chest. A second chance?

“There’s a program that the Dean has developed in collaboration with the local high school. He’s called it the Avengers Initiative. The high school has a serious bullying problem and you will be tasked with a student to look after. You will get to the bottom of the bullying and you will solve it. you will do this for the rest of the semester and earn extra credit for doing so.” Fury crossed his arms but Steve relaxed in his seat. That wasn’t so bad. And extra credit sounded nice.

“Aren’t there better qualified people to do this?” someone complained and Fury rose a brow.

“the dean hopes that your youth will enable you to connect better to the kids. Each student that solves one kid’s bullying problem gets an A.” Steve’s jaw dropped and the whole class was suddenly way more interested. An A would look excellent on his report card. It could help him keep his scholarship, and how hard could it be to tell a kid to stop bullying someone?

“When do we start?” Steve called out and Fury grinned.

“Tomorrow. I’ve emailed you all the details. Now, back to the lecture…” but Steve wasn’t listening. He could do this. he could get an A and save his scholarship. This would save him.

Lunch was its own infested nightmare. Everyone was shoved into one room for an hour and expected to get along. Tony would have hidden in the bathroom during the whole hour if it weren’t for the fact that this is Peter’s only opportunity to eat. So he got in line with all the other kids, tray in hand and he scooped everything that looked like it wouldn’t give him food poisoning onto his tray. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he flinched, dropping his tray.

“don’t touch me!” Tony hissed and found it was Justin, grinning and Tony frowned.

“What’s wrong Stark? It was just a friendly pat on the back.” He punched Tony in the arm and Tony had to count to ten again. He just had to get through this lunch hour.

“Leave me alone.” Tony bent down and picked up his tray off the floor, most of the food had spilled everywhere. Fuck.

“what’s wrong Stark?” justin asked tauntingly but Tony shook his head. Stay calm. He told himself and moved to sit at a table. He sat down and began to eat the one remaining half of his mac and cheese that hadn’t been utterly destroyed. Tony ate slowly, salvaging the taste, finally. His stomach rumbled loudly at just the taste, glad to finally get food. Tony couldn’t wait until he was old enough to move out. Then he’d be free.

“Stark raving mad! Stark raving mad! Stark raving mad!” Justin had started a chant and the others all chorused the words, booming around the cafeteria. Tony ignored it, food was his top priority right now. making it through the day, healing.

“come on Stark!” Justin pulled on Tony’s arm, dragged him up to his feet.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Tony hissed, his anger rising.

“Oooh I’m shaking.” Justin laughed and Tony took several deep and calming breaths.

“Leave me alone.” His tone was pleading and Justin fed off of that.

“Are you going to cry? It looks like you’re going to cry. God, you’re such a fucking baby. Go back to your own year group.” He shook his head and slapped Tony’s back again, the cafeteria cheered. But Tony was seeing red from pain.

“Don’t touch me!” he shoved Justin back and Justin crashed into the closest table. The whole cafeteria fell silent. Everyone was staring, but Justin began laughing.

“you’re going to fight me?” he asked and came closer, getting right in Tony’s face. Justin was two heads taller and Tony had to crane his neck to look up at him. He was shaking, he didn’t want this. he wanted this to stop, but he felt trapped. It was going too far, too fast.

“Leave me alone.” Tony ground out, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. But justin pushed Tony and Tony stumbled back. He regained his balance, grabbed his backpack and began to walk away which made Justin laugh harder.

“I knew you were pathetic.” Tony faltered, his mind rolling back to the previous night. pathetic murdering piece of shit. Unwanted spoiled brat. Ungrateful beast. Monster.

“Fuck off.” Tony snarled, and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Justin swung, landing a punch on Tony. Tony immediately dropped to the floor, hands over head and breathing heavily. No. he wouldn’t be able to cover that up. Howard would know. Justin landed a kick to Tony’s ribs and Tony snapped.

Steve, along with his classmates, stood in the office of Midtown high school. The school, while famed for their harsh program and intelligent students, had a severe bullying problem and that was evident from the short walk to the front office. Steve was starting to feel nervous about this whole thing, what if he couldn’t pull it off? What if he failed? Then what?

“We’ve all matched you up with a kid who we want you to help out. Some of you have been matched with the bullied and others with the bullies. Help these kids find their way and professor Fury will give you an A.” god, it sounded so simple when he put it like that. The headmaster started calling out names and they all waited patiently, Bucky was paired with some kid called Justin.

“Steve Rogers and uh, Bruce Banner.” Steve nodded his head and took the slip of paper that said where Bruce’s first period class would be. He had an English class first period. The principal called out a few more pairings and then showed them all to a pile of school maps.

“good luck.” Were his parting words before he retreated back to his office. Steve shared a look with Bucky as they grabbed their school maps.

“I’ll meet up with you after and we can get some pizza.” Bucky said and Steve nodded.

“I’ll see you around.” And then they went their separate ways, entering the belly of the beast.

“You broke his nose.” The headmaster said yet again and Tony rose a brow.

“Did i? I don’t remember that. Think I might’ve blacked out.” Tony admitted and the principal sighed.

“And your father called, apparently you didn’t go home yesterday?” Tony stared up at the ceiling. He’d slept in a park, well, sleep was putting it generously. He’d closed one eye and been on edge the whole night. but it had been better than going home.

“So?” Tony asked and the principal shook his head.

“tony I really don’t want to suspend you, that will go on your record and your brain deserves to be challenged at a great college. But I will have to suspend you if you keep this up.”

“What was I supposed to do sir?” Tony asked, growing angrier with each passing second.

“from what’s been reported by other students, you were very violent. I want you to start seeing the school counsellor.” Tony crossed his arms and shook his head.

“No.”

“It’s that or suspension.” Tony sighed and looked up at the fluorescent light that was flickering.

“Fine.” He ground out, he had no other choice apparently.

“Excellent, your first session will be during lunch break.” Tony shot up out of his seat at that, his stomach growling at the mere thought.

“Lunch?” his only meal, vanishing.

“It’s quite alright Tony, I’ve already informed one of the lunchladies to bring a meal to you. now you should get to class.” Tony relaxed and nodded.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” He grabbed his backpack and practically ran out of there, the hallways were quiet and empty. He was late.

“Ah, Mr Stark, finally decided to make an appearance?” the teacher rose an unimpressed brow and the whole class snickered.

“Sorry, I was with the headmaster.” Tony said as he sat down in his seat. The teacher rolled her eyes and turned back to the board. Tony glanced to the kid next to him-Bruce, and glanced at Bruce’s notes.

“You were an idiot for attacking Justin.” Bruce whispered and Tony’s eyes met his.

“Someone had to do it.” Bruce rolled his eyes and when Tony saw he hadn’t missed anything, he settled back into his seat.

“Entitled rich boy.” Bruce muttered and Tony sighed. He wondered what Bruce would say if he knew that Tony had slept in a park like a homeless person. What he would say about the bruises underneath his clothes, the ribs that stuck out a little too much to be healthy and the welts on his back caused by his father’s belt. Would he still be called an entitled rich boy then?

Ten deep breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Can’t believe he broke Justin’s nose, imagine the law suit that’s waiting for him. They’ll send his ass to juvie, that’ll teach him a lesson about assault.” Someone stage-whispered.

Four.

Five.

Six.

“I guess Justin was right afterall, he really is Stark raving mad.”

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

“Did you know he killed his mom?” Tony’s temper snapped and he turned around in his seat, he couldn’t calm the temper, couldn’t silence the rage, how dare they accuse him of that?

“Shut the fuck up before I break your nose.” Tony hissed and the girl rose her brows in surprise. She then burst into tears and her friend shot Tony a glare.

“That’s enough.” Miss Hill snapped and Tony hung his head, the anger dissipating. He’d given in to the anger, he’d made a girl cry. It made Tony feel all sorts of angry and ugly inside, angry with himself, angry at the world.

“Steve could you please escort Tony to the office.” Fuck.

“Sure.” The voice was unfamiliar and when Tony looked for the source he found it was someone sitting in the desk next to Bruce’s. the guy was undeniably attractive, with his messy blonde hair, fair skin and bright blue eyes-who wouldn’t be attracted to him? The guy stood up out of his seat and Tony followed in suit, only to notice that the other guy-Steve- was a full head taller than Tony. Tony followed Steve out of the classroom, keeping his movements slow and careful, his back ached from sleeping on a park bench all night.

“why do you feel the need to attract so much attention to yourself?” Steve asked and his voice echoed ever so slightly in the empty hallway.

“would you just sit back in silence if people said those things about you?” Tony snapped and Steve rose a brow. Tony could practically hear the thought go through Steve’s head, entitled rich boy.

Steve stared at the Tony kid in disbelief. Bruce had mentioned that there were kids who had it worse, had even mentioned Tony specifically, but Steve felt like the kid almost deserved it.

“You can’t just bully people out of retaliation.” Steve said and Tony rose his brows.

“bully people?” Steve crossed his arms, this kid practically had it coming.

“Yeah, you show up to class late, with a weak excuse might I add, and then you disrupt everyone and make some poor girl cry and-“

“She said I’d killed my mom.” Tony interrupted and Steve rolled his eyes.

“you interrupt people, I noticed you trying to copy Bruce’s work without even asking and you broke some kid’s nose.” Tony shut his eyes and Steve could’ve sworn the kid was counting. Steve felt like a jerk then, his purpose here was to improve the high school, not make things worse by upsetting one of the students.

“Are you like new here or something?” Tony asked at long last and Steve tilted his head.

“No, I’m a college student.”

“and you just usually hang around in high schools?” Tony asked, sounding more annoyed with each passing second. Steve just rolled his eyes.

“The Avengers program, my classmates and I are here to sort out your bullying problem.” Tony snorted and Steve stared up at the ceiling, the lights all glaringly bright.

“And so you decided to come on in here and judge me?” Tony asked and Steve felt a wave of guilt crash into him.

“That wasn’t my intention.” Steve admitted and Tony shook his head. Steve was aware that they were wasting time and that he really should get back to Bruce. But a part of him felt compelled to stay, to help this kid who was entitled and acted as if the world owed him.

“Let’s just get to the headmaster’s office.” Steve said after a long silence and Tony didn’t argue. They walked the rest of the way, Steve felt like he was supposed to say something to make things better. But he didn’t know what to say, so he dropped Tony off in the office and headed back to class.

#stony #stony fic #Steve Rogers #tony stark #Bucky Barnes #bruce banner #howard stark #high school au #au #for blue blue skies fic #Avengers #The Avengers #avengers fic #avengers fluff #avengers angst #stony fluff #stony angst #Iron Man #captain america

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dontbesoweirdkira · 5 years ago

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Ok, I was gonna ask you about something else, but after reading the part 2 of the Mic and the exchanged student, I'm in DIRE need to see the part 3 where she has to start her hero career and she, obviously, need his help(not because she is not capable of starting it by herself but because she just needs him to continue to be by her side like it always has been)! Pretty please! Thank you! 💗

A/N: SKSKSK hOw cOUlD i sAy nO to tHat prEtTy PwEasE uwu. Haha yeah totally i’ll do this. Sorry if this comes out a bit late i’m working on some things. Thanks for requesting <333 Any requests let me know!

-So you know that bonus thingy i did in the last one? Where the parents were mean and all that? Well let's continue with that story line, I feel like that’s a bit more interesting for this!

-So i feel like after everything went down, realistically your parents would have forced you to come home and not contact Hizashi. Which sucks because he was the only one that really believed in you, And Japan became like a second home, even though your japanese isn’t the best and you may not look like everyone, you grew to love it and appreciate it. The thought of going back home to your parents stormed in your stomach

-Hizashi hated the idea too, he felt like your parents were mentally abusive and he really hated the idea of you going back. He talked to you and wanted to know if you wanted to get others involved and what not so you didn’t have to go back and leave the school. But you didn’t want to go through that whole process

-Besides you were “almost an adult” and soon able to start your hero career. You somehow convinced him to let it go and have faith you’ll be okay.

-”Alright Y/N, If you ever want it, you can always have a job under me and my agency. Even if you don’t wanna be a hero, you can work on my radio show.”

-Damn leaving Present was like the hardest thing. He was like a positive father figure that you always wanted and finally got, then when everything was good it got ripped away. It hurt so badly.

-Plus present took it so hard because he felt it was his fault, ‘Why did i have to say something?’ ‘It’s all my fault’

-Going back to your home country was like heck? Your parents forced you to stop with all this “hero mess” and made you go on a “more stable” path. They took away all your devices and stuff so you can “focus” but in reality they wanted to make sure you weren’t contacting Present or looking into hero stuff.

-Damn You’re really wishing you took Present up on that offer and let him help you stay

-You couldn’t work on your quirk or train so while everyone was asleep you’d do exercises and warmups Present taught you

-In those few years you were so miserable, and all you wanted to do was go back to japan and go on the path you always wanted to. You missed Hizashi and the friends you had made, Here you were lonely and tired, but there you had so much life and happiness.

-So secretly you were saving money so as soon as you get a chance, you can get away. So occasionally you’s ask for 20 or so dollars to get “books” or “go to the mall” when in reality you were just storing the money away in your secret trust fund lol.

-By the time of graduation you had enough money saved up to go travel, thanks to the extra help of graduation money from family members of course.

-As soon as you got home you brought a ticket, reserved a hotel and packed all you bags and left to the airport by the early morning. Whew you felt as if you were running from the Feds and for some reason that gave you a rush of excitement you hadn’t felt in a long time.

-finally you get to see Hizashi after all this time

-When you got to Japan, you went to the first place you could think of. Present’s agency. You couldn’t quite think of where else to get to him, so this was your first resort.

-Upon arriving you were so nervous. What if Hizashi didn’t even work there anymore?? What if he didn’t want to help? After all you kinda of cut him off even though you promised to keep him posted every once in a while. Although that wasn’t your fault but maybe he hated you for it?

-Either way it was too late now and you were already at the front desk, standing awkwardly standing

-“Hello dear, is there anything I can help you with?”

-“u-Ugh wEll uHhh???”

-“....“

-“....”

-“Do you have an appointment...or….”

-“nO...yeS? Haha i'm sorry, I'm looking for Hizashi Yamada. I’m an old friend and he told me to come here if I ever needed him..?”

-“...right...Your name?”

-“Y/L L/N.”

-“I don’t see you name under any notes or messages for him. By safety protocol I cannot let you up past this floor without a proper appointment or verification.”

-“Well is there anyway that I can leave him a note..with my contact and such? Or a way to set an appointment?”

-“Yes I can leave a note but I cannot guarantee he will see it and you can only make an appointment if you’re an endorser.”

-“Ah I see, Well I guess I’ll just leave a note then? Here is my name and number and can you just tell him I’m back in Japan. I need to talk to him.”

-“of course.” The lady at the front desk smiled as she finished writing the small note and moving it aside with the others

-You began to make your was towards the exit only to be stopped dead in your tracks when you heard an all too familiar voice boom through out the lobby

-“YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH WHATS UP OFFICE LAAAAADDYYYYY! ANY NEW MAIL FOR ME??? HMM HMM????”

-Turning around, your eyes met the sunflower blonde male that leaned against the counter with a Gigantic smile across his face.

-suddenly a similar smile he wore, slapped across your face as you unconsciously shouted

-“H-hizashi?!”

-instantly his eyes landed upon you, yet his award winning smile vanished and turned into a tired expression

-ugh another crazed fan waiting at the front desk for him.

-except you weren’t, you were his most favorite person on the planet. However you looked so different. And he could hardly recognize you.

-For a moment he just stared at you with the utter most bleak face, until it hit him.

-“America?”

-“Mr. Hizashi!”

-HE IS SOOOO HAPPY SKSKSKSKSKS LIKE BRO HE THOUGHT HE WOULD NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN.

-HE SMILES SO WIDE AND LITERALLY JUMP HUGS YOU

-“MRSSSS. AMERIIICAAAA.”

-he has a moment where he pulls apart and just gazes at you

-i-is that tears in his eyes??

-awww so soft

-sMotheRs yOu In kIssEs (friendly forehead ones lmao)

-He’s just so happy to see you looking healthy and safe. He loves you so much, even if it’s been years.

-“I thought something bad happened to you, I tried emailing and contacting you but no response. Oh I’m so happy I get to see you again! Are you okay? Are you hungry?? Wait let’s go talk at a restaurant.”

-So you guys go to a restaurant and talk and reconcile about the past. Apologized for not responding and talking so long to come back.

-“No worries I’m just glad your here now! How has hero work been? Signed with any major companies.”

-“Haha um actually no not yet.”

-“WHAAAAT?! What are you waiting for?? I’m sure by now your quirk skills and everything has gotten waaay better now with all the training you’ve probably had there. I’m sure you’ll get signed just like that.”

-“Actually Hizashi. The last time I actually trained or really used my quirk was the last time we trained together.”

-He literally thought you were joking. No that’s not possible that was years ago.

-“No I’m serious, my parents wouldn’t let me do hero work after all that went down and they limited the use of my quirk. These past years I’ve been studying to be a pharmacist because my parents says it’s a more realistic job for someone like me and hero work is nonsense.”

-What no? They couldn’t of held a grudge that long? No you were on such a good path to become a hero. He was sure of it. The world really needed someone to step up, with the rise of crime and he knew you could do it. So for your parents to say “nonsense” was so unbelievably stupid.

-“What?” that was all he could muster hearing your news

-“yep! And I couldn’t respond to you because my parents took away all my devices, and gave me ones that were restricted and only for school research purposes. Everything about heroes or quirks that wasn’t related to Pharmaceutical Purposes wasn’t allowed. I actually saved up cash for years and gathered up the money I got from graduation to buy a ticket and a small apartment here. Although I’m sure my parents will be hot when they noticed I left the country, but at least I’ll be thousands of miles away and safe from their antics right? Haha.”

-He was so shocked. He didn’t think him telling off your parents and protecting your from them while you were in Japan, would cause them to go to such extremes. What kind of people?

-“Y-yeah. But don’t worry I’m alive aren’t I!” You laughed out

-He smiles at your attempt of optimism and nodded in agreement

- “Do you still want to become a hero?” He asked twirling his spoon around in the soup he earlier ordered

-“W-Well yes. Actually I do a lot, this world is becoming more cruel and I really hate sitting back and seeing these innocent people who can’t fight back get hurt everyday. But I know it’s hard but It’s something I really still want to do.”

-“Okay then, Y/N I’ll train you and help you become a hero. In the moring I’ll start paper works and a letter to get you into my company under me. I’ll make sure you become the hero you always wanted to be...that I always knew you could be.”

-“Wait are you serious.”

-“Only if you are. We’ll train in the early mournings and I’ll take you with me on patrol at night so you can get a feel of what it’s like. I’ll guide you Y/N and do better than I did before. I owe it to you.”

-And after that, that’s exactly what happened

-you guys were out on a morning run by 5 and working out at the gym around noon. Around 11 at night you guys were on patrol until 3 am. And this went on for months

-He pushes you harder than you possibly knew your body could be pushed

-You your quirk became much stronger and stable.

-teaches you different techniques and gives you pointers on where to go out on patrol and how to look for suspicious behaviors

-you’re under his company and training for about a year or so before you break off and go on your own. He makes sure you’re fully confident and he knows that you’re at a good spot beforehand though.

-You actually get signed under a big company and recruited for a few others all over.

-Before you left his wing, you made sure you thanked him for everything and that he was totally fine with it

-which he was

-He’s still always beside you though. You knew in your heart you still needed his guidance and his friendship in your life, and same for him. He really adores you and doesn’t want to just say goodbye. It hurt so bad the first time, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel departing again.

- He checks up on you everyday and make sure to go out to lunch every one in awhile.

-When you’re kind of lost or stuck or need a shoulder to cry on, he’s always right there.

-“Hizashi...I don’t know. Maybe my parents were right and I’m really not cut out for this. It’s so hard and I’m so tired. I just really want to cry.”

-“Hey shh, don’t worry you’re doing great. It just gets hard sometimes but trust me it’ll get better. I’m right here for you.”

-If you parents did come back to Japan and came to harass you or what not, Hizashi is instantly there protecting you and makes sure they won’t ever do that again. You are not going back to the U.S. with them, even if he has to get the legals involved he would.

-Send little gifts to him every so often as a thank you.

-You stay in Japan for the first couple years of your hero career but then branch out a bit to different countries

-collecting Souvenirs and postcards to send back to hIzAsHI

-When you become super successful he’s like “See Y/N, what did I tell you? You’re going to be fucking great.”

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