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nadziejastar · 5 years

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Well, first of all I loved his outfit. It’s similar enough to what he wore in BBS to make it feel like Isa, but still felt fresh. It looked like something a fashionable young person would wear. It’s based on a Roen-Gackt collaboration design. Nomura sure loves Gackt, lol. So Isa was considered important enough to get a lot of care put into his new outfit. This collaboration was probably done a long time in advance, like with FFVersus XIII. I’m sure Isa’s backstory was supposed to be WAY more fleshed out so that his character would make a MUCH stronger impression on the player by the end of KH3. So, the outfit was kinda wasted in a way. Isa’s whole character was just wasted potential, though.

In a room made of white marble, a large mirror reflected Demyx as he prepared to leave for the mission. He took particular care with his hairstyle, painstakingly manipulating the brown strands with a comb to make them stand straight up. Saïx observed him from behind with what appeared to be distaste. In stark contrast to Demyx, Saïx left his long blue hair unstyled. The X-shaped scar on his forehead was all the style he needed.

Having an outfit based on a J-pop star might tell us something about how Nomura originally viewed Isa’s personality. He actually seemed like a rather fashionable young man who took pride in his appearance. He even wore stud earrings. His style was different from other kids like Hayner, Pence, or Lea. Saïx didn’t have any interest in his appearance. But Isa certainly seemed like the type to style his hair and then some. For some reason, I picture him ironically spending even MORE time in front of the mirror than Demyx. Especially post-KH3. Isa was already shy. I think he would probably struggle with insecurity over having a scar covering most of his face. So, he would try even harder to compensate with nice clothes and accessories.

The KH3 ending outfit really doesn’t fit someone like Saïx, who had such a harsh and dreary personality. I can’t see Saïx choosing to wear anything like that outfit. Way too youthful and trendy. And definitely not the star and moon accessory, either. He’d throw up at the cute little moon on Isa’s BBS outfit. Isa obviously was supposed to have such a different personality than Saïx. I bet Isa is going to be SUCH an awkward character going forward, because they’ll feel obligated to keep his Saïx personality traits, which will clash so badly with the rest of his character. He’ll be this pseudo-villain/quasi-good guy that just will feel so out of place in a series like this. It breaks my heart.

A great number of Nobodies have lost human form, as have the Heartless. Yet the Nobody born of someone with a strong heart retains its shape, with but the faintest visible changes.

As far as the rest of his design goes, I thought it was pretty lazy. In my opinion, Isa’s character design needed much more of an update than what he got. Kairi looked more different after her haircut than Isa did in the ending. If anyone deserved to look different for KH3, it was him. But…he still looked almost exactly like Saïx to me. He has a bit more color to his hair and face, and his scar is faded. But that’s about it. Which I guess was intentional. Why bother changing his look? It seems like they gave up on whatever plan they originally had for Isa to be his own character who was totally distinct from Saïx. They’re gonna just pretend that he wasn’t Norted and treat him like he was the same as Axel. Which sucks.

Axel and Riku get along very well somehow. Since Riku has become a figure of Ansem, I don’t speak much with him, but he laughs like a different person when he eats Ice cream with Axel. Axel says he “Laughs to face bad feelings”, but it seems that Riku isn’t a bad person. At that Axel said ‘don’t laugh when you’ve got a gross face’, but Riku didn’t seem all that annoyed.

Also, Axel really liked sea-salt ice cream. You’ve eaten sea salt ice cream ever since you moved to that house. I wonder how you don’t break your stomach! It felt like he ate them to an unthinkable extent. Axel ate so much ice cream that the freezer in the computer room emptied every day.

Now as a villain, Saïx had a very cool design. He was handsome and had long hair, but...he looked mean and scary. He was supposed to. He WAS mean and scary. He was Xemnas’ right-hand man, after all. And if he was Norted, this makes sense. He was envisioned as a sociopathic guy who has bouts of uncontrollable bloodlust when exposed to moonlight. I like Saïx’s design. He was pale and almost vampire-looking? Or maybe Addam’s family. He was created as a bad guy. The whole idea was that he was a scary, unapproachable dude. He was sinister and creepy. Yet ironically his original self was the polar opposite. It made for a pretty cool twist, IMO.

“…Aw, is it good?” Axel teased. “Seriously, you’re like a little kid. Even though you look like a mean old man.” Riku made no response, keeping his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The comment did rub him the wrong way. But mentally, Axel was definitely older than him by at least a little. Not that you could tell from looking.

They were clearly going for a VERY different vibe with Isa. When I first played BBS, I thought that the visual difference between Isa and Saïx was extremely noticable. Isa looked a lot softer, sweeter and more friendly. The idea behind Saïx's design was: harsh and scary. The idea of a cute bunny rabbit representing his personality was supposed to be absurd. Saïx would be utterly disgusted if he was seen as “cute”. But the idea behind Isa's design was: cute and innocent. And Isa was indeed a little cutie. And he was innocent, too.

Saïx: We'll ensure he receives the maximum punishment.

Axel: Okay, since you worked really hard today, you get a reward.

Saïx’s Casual Gear is called “Dessert Time,” but the localization named it “Just Desserts", and I thought that was very clever. To get one’s just desserts means to receive the appropriate punishment for one's actions. But sea-salt ice cream is supposed to be a treat to reward someone who did a good job.

Saïx gave him a cruel grin. “You will lose everything!” And then the Claymore pierced Axel’s chest.

Saïx rarely smiles because he is cold and cruel. But he would smile when he’s giving Axel his just desserts.

“But sweet!” Lea added, and Isa smiled a bit. That was rare for him. Well, eating ice cream together, talking about silly stuff, laughing together—it was just what friends did.

Isa rarely smiles because he’s shy. But he would smile when he’s eating ice cream with Lea because he has a sweet tooth and loves dessert. It was such a cool idea. I loved it.

dichotomy

1. a division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different.

2. the phase of the moon in which half its disk appears illuminated

Saïx’s Pandora Gear is called “Dichotomy” in the localization. Saïx had weapons called Lunatic, Berserker and Werewolf. The weapon representing his real personality is a bunny rabbit. The HUGE difference between Isa and Saïx was the whole point. My impression was that BBS wanted to emphasize as much as possible that Isa and Saïx were two very different people. And character design was one way they chose to do that. That dichotomy is what made Isa so interesting to me. If you want to make Isa his own character, you should go with a different character design, in my opinion.

“You’re in a pretty good mood,” Axel remarked. Riku glanced up.

“Seeing Sora just made you that happy, huh?”

“I don’t feel like telling you.” A little smile crossed Riku’s lips as he took another bite.

“Y’know, it’s creepy when you smile with that guy’s face,” Axel said dryly, following suit and nibbling on his own ice cream.

Silence fell over the room. He paused in his munching to stare hard at Riku, then finally asked, “What is Sora to you?”

The question caught Riku off guard. He groped for words. On the sofa opposite him, Naminé spoke up instead. “Sora and Riku are best friends.”

Like Terra, Isa was supposed to be cursed. Being Norted is no joke. That’s what a lot of the Beauty and the Beast parallels were about. Axel started teasing Riku for his ugly ass face the same time they were trying to figure out the organization’s next move. They were going to target those with strong hearts, and the Beast was one of those targets.

Belle nodded and silently walked out of the room. The trio went after her. The Beast was left alone with no company but the moonlight.

“You’re really just going to give up on everything now?” Sora said all at once. But the Beast only stared up at the moon.

Isa was supposed to be just as cursed as Riku was in KH2. And Riku changing his appearance fit perfectly with Lea and Isa’s story. Axel said Riku was creepy when he smiled with that face, and unfortunately that’s kind of how “Isa” made me feel in the KH3 ending. Since they took away the possession angle, I didn’t really see him as Isa. He still felt like Saïx to me. And seeing Saïx play and smile like that was kinda unsettling. And weird.

Axel’s eyes crinkled as he remembered his own best friend—the only friend he’d ever had, in fact.

“If your best friend goes away, you’re sad, and if you get to be with them, you’re happy,” Naminé added. “Isn’t that how it is, Axel?”

“…That’s about the size of it.” Axel nodded and sat down on the remaining empty sofa, staring at the sea-salt ice cream he held.

“So you are capable of sincerity,” said Riku.

Axel only shrugged at the jab and finished his ice cream pop.

Probably for this very reason, I could tell that Nomura wanted to take a different direction with Isa’s character design after he decided to make him a good guy and Lea’s best friend. You can see what Nomura had in mind for an adult Isa based on his illustrations of Saïx for 358/2 Days and KH2FM+. He looks different than he did in his vanilla KH2 concept art. His features lean a lot more heavily toward Isa in BBS. I really wished KH3 went in this direction with his updated character design. He looks much more youthful here, like Axel does. Also, I loved the fact that his scar was gigantic. It went all the way from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his nose. In KH3, they stuck with the old Saïx design, so his scar was a lot smaller. I like the bigger scar because it really shows that he was treated like a human lab rat (of course that idea was scrapped, anyways).

Beside the Beast, who had once been a handsome prince, stood a man in a black cloak. “It’s time you dealt with the girl. She’s scheming to take everything you have,” said Xaldin, his hood pulled low to hide his face. “Your castle, your treasures…and then your very life.” The Beast hung his head. His castle was a desolate place, ruled by a monster.

“Trust no one. Feed your anger. Only rage will keep you strong!”

“I’ve had enough of strength. There’s only one thing I want…” The Beast gazed, unmoving, at the glass bell jar around a single red rose.

What he wanted was—

“Hah,” Xaldin spat. “To love and be loved in return? Who could ever love a beast?” The Beast whirled again, his cape rippling. He glared and let out a roar of fury.

“Good. Let your anger rise!” With that, Xaldin vanished.

Axel didn’t really see his best friend when he looked at Saïx. He felt like Isa went away and Saïx took his place. His relationship with Saïx was based on his memories of the past. He self-medicated with ice cream to cope. It was heartbreaking. After the scene where Axel was sad about his best friend going away, the chapter about the Beast’s Castle begins, describing him as a formerly handsome prince. So on that basis, I wish there was more visual differentiation between Isa and Saïx. Most of the fandom is just going to see Isa as the same mean old Saïx since there was no attempt to differentiate Isa’s personality from Saïx’s personality and they look exactly the same, too.

“I don’t trust you,” Saïx replied flatly, the enormous Claymore in his hand.

“Traitors like you deserve to lose everything,” Saïx said.

Saïx gave him a cruel grin. “You will lose everything!”

They originally wanted Isa to have a distinct personality and appearance from Saïx—a lot more than just a new outfit. Isa was supposed to be a beautiful love interest cursed into being a beast. In the novel you can tell that Xigbar and Xaldin were pressuring Saïx to eliminate Axel. He was reluctant to do so on his own. Xigbar doubted whether he was even looking for Axel. Just like with the Beast, they were manipulating him to think Axel had been plotting to take everything from him. Deep down Saïx probably felt similar to the Beast. Like nobody could ever love him in his condition. I think that’s why he was so furious. Axel grew a heart, and then left him. But the only reason Axel grew a heart was because he remembered his feelings for Isa. It was a really cool idea. It's just a shame it never came to fruition.

#kh saix #kh isa #kingdom hearts #kh meta

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spiderman-spoilerman · 5 years

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I. Am. Spider-Man.

AO3: lisa_yo

Summary:

“What exactly do you see here?”

It is a calculated question. Jim Morita, Principal of Midtown Science and Tech High, is more than capable of answering. But he let his mind wander for a bit.

He sees his students, five years gone in a flash. All dark clouds, and bad grades, and empty smiles.

And when Jim Morita looked into the eyes of that one student, the one who seems the most harrowed by it, that kid, Peter Parker, he couldn’t just stand by anymore.

He knew he had to do something.

Or, Peter’s school goes not only on a field trip but also on a two-day camping trip to the Stark Tower and Avenger’s Compound upstate, a year after the events of Endgame.

And Peter, well, Peter doesn’t want to go.

Notes:

Warning: lots of angst, dashes, italics

The trope has been done a gazillion times and I have read twice of it, but I decided that I will also write my own version, especially after getting so angsty after Endgame.

SO, please enjoy and talk to me after! Please?

(This is a repost from AO3. You can read it there and drop a comment :D)

Chapter 1: Peter doesn't want to go

“I know you can see it. If you listen hard enough, you’ll hear it, too. But you’re not even trying. I’m sorry for having to ask this of you. But it’s been a year. And I’ve done everything I could. Nothing’s working.”

Silence.

“I don’t beg Pepper. I don’t, not usually. But. I’m teetering on the edge of desperation here, and I know you can help.”

The silence stretches out.

And then.

“No, Jim. I want to, really, but, I just can’t, not now. It’s too soon.”

“Look at this—that’s our school’s academic decathlon. They won Nationals in DC, before the snap, and they didn’t even have their chem kid there. And when I visited their session today, they were worn out in a way that I’ve only seen in the eyes of my troops. In the military.”

There is a loaded look. It is heavy, but Pepper seems to be carrying something much heavier, so she doesn’t falter.

A lock of strawberry-blonde hair falls to her face.

She doesn’t move it.

“I asked Harrington. He said they were more alive, then. They joked about, laughed. They were kids, then. But after the snap, it was all just different. These students are one of the brightest in America. But even their grades and performance leave a lot to be desired. They’re failing, Pepper, they’re falling through. And it’s not just them. Robotics, Mathletes, Vanguard—they’re all stuck.”

There is a certain croak to his voice that doesn’t have to do with talking for hours, trying to convince the immovable Pepper Stark-Potts. It comes from something deeper. Like a year-long clawing, searching, and failing to find a solution. Until now.

“And I’ve been doing everything that I can to bring them back. But everywhere I go, it always leads me here.”

This time, Pepper speaks.

“What exactly do you see here?”

It is a calculated question.

Jim Morita, Principal of Midtown Science and Tech High, is more than capable of answering. But he let his mind wander for a bit, the long table stretching out even further, bringing him to the place he’s been calling home for a few years now.

There, he sees his students, five years gone in a flash. He sees the dark clouds that fly over their heads. He sees their grades and their papers, and he doesn’t see the usual excellence, the usual exuberance, the usual love for learning.

He thinks, after talking to the guidance counselor, that they are using their studies as a distraction for the five years that went and gone.

Or, they’re not studying at all, because whatever happened in those five years had been a big enough toll on their young minds to take.

And when Jim Morita looked into the eyes of that one student, the one who seems the most harrowed by it, that kid, Peter Parker, he couldn’t just stand by anymore.

He knew he had to do something.

“I see the future here,” he starts.

Pepper raises her eyebrows, in a you can do better than that look¸ and he agrees, so he ploughs on.

“I see the foundations of something bright here, something that could speak to my students in a way that an aging man in a suit cannot. I see that this is the best possible place that my students could gain something essential, something life changing. This is the place of Ton—Iron Man— after all,” Pepper’s eyes quiver, but she holds her head high, “and there is no better place to learn about life once again than the castle of the man who gave his life for it.”

“Really, Jim?”

She is tired. More so than he has ever seen. Perhaps, it is because they are friends that she lets him see a fraction of her heart. This is all he needs, because at least he knows Pepper is strong enough to show him that she does, indeed, still have a heart.

That it didn’t die along with—

Jim gives her a rueful smile. He did take public speaking before, and he wasn’t a general in the military for nothing.

But when he begs, and he usually doesn’t, he tries to cover it up with beautiful words. As compensation.

It doesn’t work here. And so, with the look of a man as tired as she, he rasps:

“Could you at least—please, consider it?”

There has been a rumor circulating around Midtown Science and Tech High that involves their Principal Jim Morita coming to school from a visit at the Stark Tower upstate, looking very pleased.

It is an understatement though, to call him that. Because Principal Jim Morita wasn’t just pleased¸ he was chipper¸ elated, ecstatic, hell he was skipping down the hallway towards the principal’s office while singing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen—(Abe swears in his life that was what he saw, but the others won’t believe him until he got Ned to hack the school cameras and show the disbelieving students—Michelle—that he was, indeed, skipping.)

The teachers all know something as well. Seymour saw the teachers all huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, and then proceeding to casually scramble when he burst into the teacher’s lounge.

It has been going on for a month now. The excitement and speculation over the whole thing bringing a sort of lightness around the dreary setting.

Peter has been ignoring most of the talk, blocking out everything at the very mention of Sta—. But you could only get so far when, everywhere he goes, he is looking at him.

It’s been almost a year now, since The Awakening.

The whole world took a collective break from school, all adjusting as best as they could—the government, the system, the positions left behind and attempting to be reclaimed.

It had been messy. That’s why it took a while until Midtown High opened its gates again for the students that have just Awoken.

They all tried to be the same old students, same old kids, but when you look back across the room to share an inside joke, and find your best friend’s seat empty, because, right, right, he’s in college now, it forces you to reevaluate about the whole life thing and smacks you head first about what could have happened if Tony Stark didn’t sacrifice his life for the world.

But that’s what he heard from the sobbing kid in lunch earlier.

It’s quite hard not to hear it when you’ve got enhanced hearing.

Sometimes, Peter wishes he didn’t have this—everything Spider-Man, the internship, Tony—

Ned nudges him in his side. Peter turns to him. Ned smiles.

For now, everything is quieter. Everything is alright.

A pause.

Pepper closes her eyes.

A breath.

Her eyebrow furrow, and then relaxes.

A sigh.

He doesn’t know what this means, but Pepper is looking at him now and he knows he should listen.

“Alright.”

Principal Morita blinks.

“Is this—really?”

Not his most eloquent, but whatever.

“Yes, Jim. I’ll help you.”

In a beat, he collects himself and smiles, “Thank you, Pepper.”

Pepper returns his smile and tilts her head forward as a silent ‘you’re welcome’.

There is a gentle fire in Pepper’s eyes, a smoldering flame, not unlike a fireplace during winter, when the guests have left and the children are asleep, and there is only the two of them, Pepper and Anthony, on the couch, talking, and Jim knows he should not be thinking this, but he sees Tony in Pepper’s eyes, and he sees love—a love for life that is so monumental that he gave his, in exchange for half the world.

It could be said, then, that Anthony Edward Stark is worth half the population on Earth. And that’s if you haven’t met him. If you did, you might say, more than half of Earth, or the Universe—he’s worth infinity— Jim knows, because he’s been in that conversation before and he doesn’t want to delve into it again.

And he should really be starting now, the presentation, the plans, but he thinks of Tony and his shocked thank you suddenly isn’t enough.

Jim starts— “Really, truly, Pepper, this, everything, thank you.”

Pepper’s face flickers for a split second, but she recovers immediately, “You, as well, Jim. Give yourself some credit.”

And then comes in the child.

She ambles towards her mother, all pretty dress and blue Iron Man helmet on her head.

Morgan Stark.

Pepper turns toward her daughter, hands outstretched as the five-year-old hugged her, “Morgan, honey, did you run away from Judy again?”

Pepper presses a button, revealing the child’s pouting face.

“Yeah… she’s boring. And I wanted to play with this,” she taps her helmet, “but she said I can’t, so, I hid!”

“Alright,” Jim watches as Pepper laughs genuinely for the first time since he came, “Better run and hide somewhere else, she’ll find you here!”

Morgan squeals and scampers off, the two adults watching as she does so.

“She’s…”

“Yes. She is,” Pepper agrees, love in her eyes, “And she’s as amazing as he.”

It comes out of nowhere.

Well.

No.

That’s not right.

They’ve been waiting, listening, watching, for the teachers to spill. What is this secret that’s gotten everyone so busy?

Club presidents are called over one afternoon, and when they come back to a barrage of questions, they reply with secret smiles.

The robotics club offers a parcel of information, that their president told them to prepare their best drones and gadgets, and to hone their presentation skills.

The Vanguard’s Betty Brant, Editor-in-chief, calls in a meeting, informing them of a big event where they are all to attend, because it is going to be the biggest scoop of the year, and that they should recruit more photojournalists.

Student leaders—from sports captains to mathletes—are always out of class, bustling around, talking in their quiet circle. And everyone wants to know why.

There is a buzzing in the hallway, a deep contrast to the hollow silence and the silent murmurs that always pervaded before. Peter feels it. The undercurrent of energy, a breath of life, they’re laughing.

Peter lets out an easy smile after that. He tries to forget, for that second, the burden of Spider-Man.

And he succeeds, for a few gracious moments.

Until.

Flash bumps past him. He sneers.

“Watch it, Penis.”

There is a heat to it that was never quite there before, a sort of resentment that speaks of a deeper wound.

Flash here, Eugene, he lost his father. In the bus one second, woke up in the streets the next and then goes home to an urn and a sobbing mother.

Both Flash and his mother had been turned to dust. His father stayed. Until he couldn’t take it anymore and shot himself in the head. Flash’s uncle manages their business. Technically, Flash owns everything now. At the cost of losing his father.

And that’s something Peter understands.

“Flash,” Peter calls out, his voice failing him halfway—

What was he gonna say? That he was sorry? Bullshit. Flash doesn’t need an apology; he needs his father.

And right now, even though it hurts, when Flash mentions his internship and Mr.— and his ‘lies’, he takes it. Because he can take it. Because he has to take it or both of them will break, and it is better for only one of them to crack—Peter is prepared to be that one, plus, he deserves it—

“What, Penis? Here to clear up the internship? Heard that’s what the fuss is all about. You’re probably scared now, huh? Shaking in your boots, trying to stand up to the only one brave enough to call your bullshit.”

Peter stands and takes it all.

“What could you ever possibly say about that to make me, or, or anyone, believe that a fraction of that is true? Even if you try now, Tony Stark is dead, no one will believe—”

Peter does not hear the rest of it because he has already turned and walked away before Flash could even finish his name.

They’re in Chemistry when it happens.

The sound system cackles to life.

Their teacher stops talking midway.

Everybody knew there was going to be an announcement one day, but they didn’t know it was going to be through this.

So much speculation, and with such an anti-climactic reveal?

Or so they thought.

It is Principal Morita that speaks through the system, his voice echoes, “You can clear them now.”

Their Chemistry teacher, Ms. Warren, bolts to life.

She is giddy and breathless when she starts—a wild excitement barely held back in her eyes—

Everyone is on the edge of their seats.

If they can make even Ms. Warren like this, then it must be something.

“Okay, class, I know you have been waiting for this for a long time, but now is the time that we finally tell you.” She looks around the class with a smile that stretches to its full capacity, an undeniable exhilaration ripples through her body. “Through the efforts of countless teachers and student leaders, and of course, primarily Principal Morita, who was able to get us the deal, it is my pride and enthusiasm to announce, that—”

A room burst into cheers and screams and someone is definitely crying—

Everyone stops breathing.

“—Midtown Science and Tech High School will be visiting the one and only Stark Industries—”

Everyone is screaming.

“—which has relocated upstate, so that means, we will also be going to the Avenger’s Compound—”

It is like a stadium in the classroom—

The students are stomping their foot and banging their table, but Ms. Warren isn’t finished, oh, she was just getting to the good part.

“But that’s not all! Of course, that’s not all!” Ms. Warren’s grin is as wide as it can get, enjoying the student’s reactions, “Pepper Stark-Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, also just approved our plan for a two-day camping trip there—”

If the screams before were close enough to rupture Peter’s sensitive ears, then this could probably do it in completely.

The students are all standing up, hugging each other, crying—

If this was before the snap, the reaction could have been milder. Really. But because this is the first exciting thing that happened to them after everything, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they would be shrieking in earnest.

They also know that ever since the Awakening, the Stark Industries has been closed off from the public, recovering whatever it can from the ruins of the war.

Pepper singlehandedly raised the company and Avenger’s Compound together, taking on her original role and her husband’s responsibilities on her own. Although, there was talk of an apprentice but no one was really able to prove it, given the privacy.

So, they know, that whatever is happening right now, that it’s special and they’re the only ones who are going to experience this, and witness a phoenix rise from the ashes, the rebirth of a fallen tower, from the ashes of a fallen man.

Peter blinks, hard.

MJ rests her knee on his, sitting on his left, as Ned leans toward Peter’s shoulder.

Ms. Warren isn’t finished yet.

“I will be discussing the plan with you, until next period, so there won’t be the next period, but! But, I need you all to settle down, yes, sit right down Ms. Moon, you too Ms. Avril.”

As the last students sit down, with the spontaneous cheers from across classrooms echoing in their sentiments, Ms. Warren continues on.

“As I said, this will be a two-day trip. During the first day…”

Pepper listens intently, nodding along as Jim highlights plans and reasonings.

“…during the first day, it would be best to start with the tour in the Stark Tower. It would be the perfect jump-off point for the next day. Which is the mini-Midtown high festival. But before that, a little bonfire by the lake accompanied by music will be good for letting off steam. Plus, it’s the perfect bonding experience for the students—to cool off and be kids again.”

Pepper hums.

Everyone is looking at each other. Friends vibrating in synchrony and barely contained energy.

Ned shares a look of worry with MJ, above Peter’s head, who is slumped in his chair with his hands covering his face.

“…we will be staying in the Avenger’s Compound, where it is big enough to house us all. Bring your sleeping bags, because we will be staying there during the night. Yes, in the compound, on the floor, they’ll be clearing up two floors for us, yes, it’s that big—

“Now, the second day is the most important one. You could even say; it is the highlight of the whole trip. It will be a very busy day, indeed. Because, that is when we will conduct the mini-festival—where all creators of all fields from the school will be given the chance to present their works, the theme: life.”

At this, Peter looks up.

“And the thing that also makes this so special is, Principal Morita and Pepper Stark-Potts had agreed on making this an official event, a tribute for the hero, Tony Stark—”

Ned scampers toward Peter, who is already out of the door, his chair scraping and falling on the floor with a loud THWACK!

There is a collective silence at the suddenness of the movement.

MJ sighs, “He’s sick Ms. Warren. Leeds is already on it, so if it’s alright…”

Ms. Warner simply nods and then continues on.

“And now, on to your behavior during the trip…”

Peter doesn’t want to go.

Not so soon.

Not… not for a tribute, because that would mean he’s—

(He’s dead Peter, he’s never coming back, he’s—)

Peter is doubling over the sink, he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t think he should, because if he does, he’ll do something worse—he’ll cry—

(There is a certain wetness in his cheeks, trailing down from his eyes and to his lips—it is salty, but he doesn’t think it is what it is—he’s not, he’s not crying—)

Ned bursts into the men’s room, catching his breath and honing in on his shaking, breaking brother.

Peter notices him in a dull, peripheral way. Somehow, the water is running and if he could, he would drown himself in the sink water, but since he couldn’t, he just drowns in his tears instead.

Ned is by his side now, rubbing circle on his back, and he seems to be talking, he could make out some words, but not enough to understand what he means by it.

He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t, hedoesnthedoesnthedoesnt—

“I know, Peter. And nobody’s making you. You don’t have to go.”

Did he say that out loud?

(Yes, yes, he did. That’s all he’s been saying since he ran out of the classroom. And Ned understands.)

Later, when the bell rings for third period, and Peter and Ned are sprawled on the bathroom floor, with the latter rubbing circles on his shaking friend’s back, Ned tells him that he doesn’t want to go, as well, and that he would join him wherever he wants to go, because that’s what best friends do.

They stick with you till the end of the line.

“The students are all going to love it here, Pepper,” Jim says, picking up his folder as Pepper stands.

“Well of course. You’ve thought and you’ve fought this out for them after all.” She looks down, “And, I think this is really good of you, Jim. For caring as much as you do.”

Jim stares back at her. He smiles softly.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve seen the best in a person and you’re seeing them at their worst, you would want to bring them back up. Only, multiply it to a hundred for me.”

Pepper returns his smile. He is right. In every way that matters, no matter how much it hurt her, he is right.

Please reblog or comment or heart or whatever! Thank you!

#spider-man far from home #avengers endgame #spider-man #peter parker #mcu #tony stark #michelle jones #ned leeds #steve rogers #i.am.spider-man chapter 1 #pepper potts #may parker #flash thompson

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jackblankhsh · 7 years

Text

Why I Quit: Public Relations

“Wow, that is a lot of blood.”

“Thanks. It’s not mine. I hit a pig on the way over.”

“Cop pig, or pig pig?”

“Cop riding a pig actually. It’s a whole thing, I don’t really have time to get into. Could I get a waffle cone full of mint chocolate chip?”

“No problem.”

I handed the woman her ice cream cone. She took a lick that inspired a deep lusty bite. The look of elation on her face – comforting cold wrapping around a burning soul – I envied that degree of satisfaction, wanted to be her. Then a bullet whipped through the front door. Her head exploded. Though her body fell she did not drop the cone. I distinctly remember a bit of brain erupting from her skull, flying over the counter, and landing in the slot full of cherries. It sank into the maraschino pool, and I doubt anyone but me saw it vanish. There to lurk until one day spooned onto a sundae.

On the news that evening, a perky anchor addressed the city, “Good evening, Chicago. This is the news. 25 people shot yesterday, all of them dead. Cubs won their home opener, and the weather may get up into the 80s this weekend. Isn’t that great?”

Co-anchor cocked an eyebrow, “Cubs win, and 80 degrees on the way? Can’t get much better.”

All smiles then, leaving the grim behind. No details. The less known the less thought about, except I couldn’t stop wondering if office work might now be a safer profession. In a skyscraper high above the streets full of swarms of stray bullets unintentionally murdering randomly – I decided to jump ship, but not until sight of land. In other words, I’d stick it out at the ice cream parlor until another job came along. I would not have to wait long.

The next day I arrived to find my manager listening to an androgynous figure in a three piece suit. Introductions quickly ensued.

“Indigo Jackson,” turned out to be a representative of a family, whom for legal purposes will have to remain anonymous, though suffice it to say they felt yesterday’s event warranted some kind of response on their part. To that end, without suggesting any culpability, they saw fit to replace the entire front of the store with bulletproof glass, in order to allay any concerns from patrons or employees as to the safety of our establishment; and offered to compensate me to the tune of ten thousand dollars for having witnessed the “unpleasantness;” though of course all such matters required, first, the signing of several documents Indigo summarized adroitly, escorting us through a murky swamp of legalese without ever really explaining what signing those papers meant, despite implications abounding: here big sack ‘o’ cash, sign for it, and shut up forever.

When at last Indigo inquired, “Do you understand?”

I said, “It must be interesting to have a job where you need to be so definitely opaque, yet somehow understood enough people do what you ask.”

Indigo nodded, “It is.”

“I kind of want to give that a try.”

“Are you saying you want a job instead of the money?”

“Can’t I have both? It was a very disturbing sight.”

Indigo said, “Something can be arranged.”

Clapping my hands together, “Great. Then before I quit, how about I make you a cherry sundae?”

“Sounds good.”

The next day I ascended to the top of the Monadnock Building. Once upon a time the largest skyscraper in America – circa 1893 – it still towered in its own way, evolving over the century into a marvelous amalgamation of early aesthetics and modern technological convenience. Brick full of invisible wifi threads connecting the past, present, and future; tap a foot on red tile mosaic patterns, while listening to the lasted streaming playlist, killing time till the rush hour clog gives way. Then up steps adorned first in ornate aluminum cast decorations then on upper floors, bronze-plated cast iron staircases, shunning the elevator for a chance to walk through history… and maybe feeling no hurry to be at work on time.

Into the office to start a brand new –

“You the new guy? Follow me.” A balding man in a sweat stained shirt grabbed me by the elbow. He pulled me into the office muttering as he poured over emails. His phone rang. He threw it on the floor. I felt it crunch under foot, and before I could apologize an intern materialized from behind a file cabinet, handed him a fresh phone, and the muttering commenced once again. Though this time I deciphered a bit, “Goddamn turkey fuckering pirates.”

The office buzzed with activity. Hordes of hollow eyed business people in various states of decay, internal and external, paced the space examining documents, paper and electronic. A middle aged man in a thread bare double breasted suit sniffed ketamine off a tablespoon, while his colleague, a young woman in a pencil skirt, slugged vodka the way the thirsty chug water. I only caught a snippet of their exchange:

“We can’t apologize for lactose intolerance.”

“But we can apologize for a cheeseburger having cheese.” In another space a grey skinned wax figure waited for a nurse to change an IV bag dripping morphine. Surrounded by an assortment of young professionals, the room seemed like a cult of silence devoted to holding a secret. A woman in tortoise shell glasses spun the cylinder of a revolver, put it to her temple, and when she heard the click, sighed, took a shot of whiskey, and started reading a letter. I heard the distinct clatter of keyboards being hammered, and riding crops striking bare flesh.

“Thank you Miss! May I have another?”

Yet in all the seeming chaos the workers managed to flow between one another efficiently, an almost elegant ballet of the damned.

The person towing me through the scene remarked, “I’m Bernie. For now. Tomorrow, I don’t know. It depends. Don’t ask on what. Point being, your job is to write back to the beggars. Got it?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Here’s your space.” And with that Bernie detached his hand, leaving me adrift by a state of the art computer atop a turn of the century desk. Stepping over a chalk outline, I took a seat at my desk.

“Don’t worry about that.”

I looked up to find a young lady in red.

She nodded at the chalk outline, “Horace Fletcher. Good guy. Killed himself.”

“Does everybody here talk in staccato sentences.”

She smiled, “Force of habit, I’m afraid. There’s a lot to do, and no time to do it in,” extending a hand, “I’m Patty.”

Thanks to Patty, I discovered the true parameters of my job. Public relations is almost a tautology. It’s name defines what it is: relating to the public. However, that covers a broad spectrum of ways to relate. The top floor of the Monadnock Building devoted itself to public relations for the {redacted} family. This involved everything from composing explanations, summaries, and denials regarding the family’s various scandals, philanthropies, business, and political concerns. Each concern being the focus of different groups, or perhaps divisions is more appropriate: mercenary artisans trying to paint realities.

As Patty put it, “We wrap the shit in gold, and draw all eyes to a drop in the bucket.”

When I said, “Bernie put me in charge of the 'beggars?’”

Patty got a bit misty, “Entry level stuff. Enjoy your innocence.”

I wanted to inform Patty about my time as a sounding assistant, sterilizing metal rods used by a dominatrix to widen the hole in a penis so that objects such as fingers could be inserted into said dick-hole; however, I could tell she enjoyed the idea of my innocence so much that it would be wrong to rob her of it. So I kept my penis stories to myself.

The “beggars” turned out to be anyone writing to the {redacted} family asking for money. This also constituted a broad spectrum. On any given day I went through about fifty missives soliciting money in myriad ways. Long lost cousins sought financial reconnection with relatives; for the low, low price of 20 grand, black sheep offered to keep silent about buried bodies; and any number of other unrecognized spawn demanding financial acknowledgement. Meanwhile, inventors who swore to be on the verge of paradigm shifting breakthroughs – teleportation, antigravity, freeze rays, and orgasm pills – just needed another few thousand to revolutionize the world. Folks from places like Telluride, Colorado, Marfa, Texas, and Stockbridge, Massachusetts sought coin to start hospitals for broken hearts, agencies devoted to finding lost pets, and the Fuck You Ashley Tillerman Institute. Cash to stop the Martian invasion. Funds to get the invasion going.

Every day I dipped into a cornucopia full of the well intentioned, insane, and grifters. After about two weeks, it got hard to tell the difference between them. This mainly having to do with the fact my response to each, as instructed, remained forever always NO.

Patty said, “You have to read the letters. That way you can put in a personal touch. Then they feel like someone actually considered giving them money, and we get less hate mail. Believe me, you don’t want to piss off that department. They have the best drugs.”

So I did my best to be accommodating:

“Dear madam,

We appreciate your desire to build a National Hardware Store Historical Society. Hardware stores provide Americans with the means to build the future, and maintain the present. However, we don’t feel that our company is the best one to get behind this endeavor. Perhaps a major home improvement retailer might be a better fit.

Best of luck in your pursuit.

Sincerely, {redacted}”

An intern near the coffee room enjoyed the task of rubber stamping signatures onto all correspondence. The kid sat in a weed slack fog of delight, stamp, stamp, stamping the day away. On more than one occasion I found myself along with others enviously eying that intern. According to office folklore, the top floor of the Monadnock Building was purchased because a bygone patriarch of the {redacted} family said, “The city is in charge of cleaning the sidewalk. So if they’re going to kill themselves, let them jump to their death. Then we won’t have to pay for the mess.” So it’s no surprise how many of us came to envy that intern’s pacific demeanor while happily assisting in the distribution of our gilded shit. It didn’t seem to wear on the soul quite the way it did on ours.

Having to tell a racist no we won’t be funding a School of Higher Aryan Education (and whatever hideously malignant stupidity that would lead to) does make one feel good. However, having to deny someone asking for help with medical bills, cancer killing their bank account before it goes after them, obliterates any of that joy. Overhearing the press release about {redacted} Junior’s latest monstrosity – “Maybe that hooker wanted to die, she didn’t say, 'Stop choking me.’” – knowing the expense of his legal defense, and ad campaign to polish the family image – we could ease a few burdens with those millions. But no. Cancer fighters, refugees, the infirmed, those honestly sick, dying, and in need: fuck 'em.

Granted, it seems like an equal fuck you, aimed at anyone asking for a penny, yet, the disparity is taxing.

The postmark puts the letter in some part of Texas. It’s from an elderly woman writing on behalf of her grandson. He can’t write himself because 45% of his body is covered in burns after an oilrig catastrophe, and seeing as how [redacted} owns those oilfields, well sir, it seems right proper maybe we could help with the medical bills is all; and sure, there’s a real possibility she’s a grifter pulling some bullshit con – start thinking of everyone as full of shit – old bitch probably writes to a dozen companies a day asking for any kind of cash. Yeah! Suck down a fifth of bourbon writing the politest fuck you the world’s ever heard. Don’t even wonder if it’s at all true. Or if so, consider it sarcastically: sorry about your extra crispy grandson, but we can’t help because there’s nothing that says we have to.

On a Wednesday, Bernie stopped into my office. He said, “You’re doing great. Promotion assured. Pretty soon you’ll have my job.”

I opened my mouth to reply. His phone rang. He held up a finger. In the momentary silence he answered, listened, nodded then walked to a window, and jumped out.

Few people are ever so blessed to witness their future made plain.

Patty stuck her head in, “Did Bernie just go out a window?”

I said, “Yep, and I quit.”

#whyIquit #honestyisnotcontagious #writing #short story #comedy #humor #satire #dark humor #weird #publicrelations #fiction

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