#like simmons is just. some white boy name | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luluwquidprocrow · 2 years

Text

good things come in threes

harry, hawk, ed, margaret (mentions of frank and hank)

gen

5,874 words

One slow autumn afternoon in the fall of Harry and Hawk and Ed’s senior year.

for @countdowntotwinpeaks ’ wonderfulxstrange 2022, i got @doesnt-own-a-sportscoat, who asked for og bookhouse boys doing good deeds and having some hijinks! (margaret and frank wound up sneaking their way in, too.)

Hank had detention, so it was just Harry and Hawk and Ed that afternoon, walking through the school parking lot.

(Hawk frowned when Harry told him during lunch. “Again? What for?”

Harry shrugged. “You know,” he said. He hadn’t been there when it happened, but he could guess; some smart comment Hank’s trig teacher hadn’t liked. Mr. Simmons didn’t stand for any backtalk, and especially not for Hank’s. Senior year probably wasn’t going to make Hank any less of the good-looking troublemaker he’d always been, but Harry was holding out hope. Hank was one of his best friends, after all. Still time for him to turn around. And at least it wasn’t on a day with football practice. Coach had stood on the field for morning practice and looked at the sky and said, “Not today, men,” and walked off.)

“What’d you get on the English test?” Ed asked.

“90,” Hawk said. “Mrs. Garson didn’t like what I said about Keats. What about you?”

“I don’t know what you said about Keats.”

Hawk went in to push his shoulder up into Ed’s; Ed, one of the best defenses on the football team, dodged away from him, chuckling.

“Too much red pen,” he said, falling into step with Hawk again. “I couldn’t read a single thing she wrote. There might be an eight in there, somewhere?”

“Let me see it later,” Hawk said. “I’ve got pretty good at reading her handwriting.”

Harry lagged behind Hawk and Ed for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder at the long side window where the detention classroom was. He couldn’t see anything, not from this distance. He pulled the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder and turned to Hawk and Ed.

“Hey Ed,” Harry said, coming up on Ed’s other side, “you see that new show the other night? Mod Squad?”

“Nah,” Ed said. “Been out with Norma a lot, must’ve missed it.”

“You sure she was with you?” Harry grinned. “Cause there was this girl on it that looked exactly like Norma—”

Ed raised both eyebrows. “No fooling?”

“Oh yeah, I saw that!” Hawk said. “Ed, you’ve gotta watch it next week. She’s the spitting image of Norma.”

“Huh,” Ed said. “That oughta be something.”

Harry and Hawk and Ed wove their way through the parking lot, coming to a stop a few feet away from Ed’s car. It was a deep blue 1960 Chevy Impala, and they stood there and took it in. It really was a honey of a car, Harry thought. She was, he amended. Ed never named the car, but he called every car she, like a true mechanic. The outside shone in the sun like the sea itself, the white hood and stripe down the side like hints of foam. It was like riding inside a wave, one that could carry the three of them away one day, riding across town and out down Highway 21. (Harry hoped it wouldn’t. At least, not all that far. He didn’t know for sure about Hawk and Ed, or Hank, but Harry had plans in Twin Peaks.)

Ed sighed. “Well, let’s get on to it,” he said. Harry and Hawk gave him neat salutes and got into position.

It went like this—Harry and Hawk and Ed took off their bags and piled them in a corner of the backseat. Ed got in the driver’s side, tried to start the Chevy, and the Chevy refused to start. There was one weekend, legend had it, in junior year, that Ed swore the car started completely on its own, but Harry and Hawk hadn’t been there and both doubted whether or not it happened. Harry and Hawk got around back, and Ed lowered all the windows, and the three of them steered and pushed the car off the slope Ed parked it on and down through the parking lot until it got enough of what Ed called umph that the engine stuttered to life and the Chevy started to pick up speed. Harry dove into the backseat, and Hawk leapt in the passenger side, and they were off, driving out of the lot and down the road.

(Hank—of course it was Hank—gave Ed a lot of grief about the Chevy, saying it didn’t make sense for a such a good mechanic to own a lemon. Actually, “lemon” was the most polite thing he said about the Chevy. Ed insisted it wasn’t that bad, it just needed an extra touch here and there, and Ed was willing to do it. Harry understood that.)

Ed always took the long way, whenever he drove. He cruised around through town, left arm leaning along the edge of the car door, right hand splayed over the edge of the steering wheel, and went at it with his usual casual confidence. Harry liked Ed driving around. It gave Harry a chance to see everything, make sure there wasn’t anything in town he’d forgotten about. Not that he ever could, but he had to keep an eye on it.

Hawk bent over the back of the passenger seat, motioning with his hand. “Hey Harry, could you—”

“Sure thing.” Harry dug around in Hawk’s bag until he found the little notebook with the pen stuck in the spiral and handed it over to Hawk. It was a word scramble book Hawk brought with him everywhere, with a puzzle on each page, blank on the other side. Hawk did a puzzle every day on the ride home, and on the other side, he wrote poems, in smooth, perfectly straight lines of blue ink. Hawk was never self-conscious about it, and even showed them to Harry and Ed sometimes, when he was real proud of them. Harry didn’t always get them—Hawk had a great way with words that Harry sure didn’t—but Hawk was his friend, and Harry was proud of his talent.

The Chevy slowed up. Harry didn’t have to look up to know where they were now—Ed went there practically every day. The shadow of the diner sign passed over the car, and Hawk and Harry grinned at each other where their reflections met in the passenger side rearview mirror.

“Be just a minute,” Ed said, and left the car idling while he got out and half-jogged into the diner. Harry could see him through the big glass window in the front, going up to the counter and leaning over it to kiss Norma on the cheek, like they hadn’t seen each other a whole half hour ago when school let out.

“He could just drive Norma here after school,” Harry said, sitting up and leaning his arms on the headrest of Hawk’s seat. He wouldn’t mind Norma crammed into the car with them on the way home. (Hank might mind, but—Hank wasn’t here today, anyway. Was it bad manners to ask a girl to push a Chevy? But they’d gone on enough dates, Ed and Norma, she knew how the Chevy worked. She probably wouldn’t mind.)

“He could just ask Norma to homecoming instead of just hinting at it, too,” Hawk said. He turned in his seat, putting his back against the dash. “You know, if I have to hear him talk to Norma about the homecoming decorations one more time, or how neat the theme is—”

“He thinks ‘under the sea’ is neat? Wasn’t that last homecoming too?” Harry would swear on anything that all of Frank’s homecomings were “under the sea” too.

“—I’m going to ask her to homecoming myself.”

Harry laughed against the headrest. “Yeah? How’s old Diane gonna feel about that?”

The previous summer, Hawk’s dad took him on a road trip, and somewhere along the way he’d met Diane Shapiro, on her own family vacation coming from the east coast. They sent each other letters regularly; Hawk wrote her real long ones.

(Once, Harry’d tried to write—something—for, well, someone. He didn’t think anyone would have given him a hard time for it, not really, but Harry had been so embarrassed at the thought of it all that he threw the paper away with only a doodle of a fir tree in the corner. He wasn’t that kind of person.)

“Old Diane has heard enough about Ed and Norma dancing around each other,” Hawk said. “She’d be glad to hear the end of it.”

“They’re not gonna do much dancing if Ed doesn’t ask her.”

Ed emerged from the diner a moment later with a big grin on his face and ducked into the car. “Norma says hi,” he said, a little breathlessly.

Harry leaned across the seat to the open window on the other side. “Hi, Norma,” he shouted, waving at the diner window. Norma couldn’t hear him, but she was definitely still watching the car, and she waved in return.

“Hey Norma,” Hawk called, stretching across Ed and towards his window, “about homecoming—”

“Aww, come on,” Ed said. This time he was the one trying to get Hawk in the shoulder, but Hawk, the best defense on the football team, dodged even better than Ed and dropped into the passenger seat. “I’m getting around to it—”

“Ed,” Hawk said, “I’m saying this because you’re my friend, and I care about you. You gotta just ask her.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Ed said. He reversed out of the parking lot and pulled onto the road, leaving the diner behind them. “I got it all planned out. Got a Tammy Wynette tape and everything.” He fished in the joint of the seat and the backrest and pulled out the cassette, jiggling it in its case, then put it back.

Harry saw Hawk roll his eyes in the mirror. He decided to spare Ed the commentary on whether or not a Tammy Wynette cassette tape was the right way to ask your girlfriend to homecoming. For all his and Hawk’s teasing, Ed must’ve been doing something right with Norma. They’d been together for four years, and asking her was just about the principle of asking your girl. It could be worse, Harry thought. There was this short red-haired girl with big eyes, whose name Harry could never remember, who he saw in the hallway sometimes and seemed to disappear whenever anybody walked by her. Whatever romance she wanted, it didn’t seem like it was going well.

(Harry wasn’t jealous. Not all that much, not really. He wasn’t the only senior without a girlfriend. He talked to plenty of girls, he—and Norma was a real sport to hang out with Harry and Hawk and Ed and Hank altogether sometimes, but it wasn’t—Harry had other things to think about.)

Ed drove on. Past the cleared lot the town wound up not building a house in, grass growing up out of the piles of dirt left behind. Past that tiny store that had had six different owners in Harry’s lifetime. What was it now? He squinted at it. An antique shop, with a bunch of porcelain in the window. Over to the busier parts of town and past the half-done foundation of the new department store, past Calhoun Memorial, down a short side street with houses lined with orange and yellow mums. Around to the residential streets again.

Harry saw a moving van sitting parked by the curb below a big white house with a sloping yard and concrete steps. All the doors and windows were open, and the front porch piled up with cardboard boxes. The Palmers, Harry guessed. Leland and Sarah Palmer got married earlier in the year up at Pearl Lakes, in a big lavish wedding. Dad had gone, because Dad went to every wedding in the area. They’d heard tell the Palmers were searching for a house in the area after. He watched the house even after Ed passed by, turning his head to see the hint of a curtain flutter in one of the windows. It was the strangest thing, all of a sudden. Harry couldn’t think if anyone had ever lived there before them.

The Chevy turned the corner, and Harry sank into his seat. They were in the last cluster of quiet streets before the road would take a sharp curve and cut through the nearby section of woods. Smoke stung in Harry’s nose, a surprising and sharp tang. He rubbed at his nose with the side of his hand and looked around again. White smoke wisped its way out of some of the chimneys along the road, fireplaces working away as the weather started to get chilly.

It wasn’t the same, but it always made Harry think about it again.

They’d been freshman, he and Hawk and Ed and Hank, and the school year had just started when the fire broke out. It only burned that night, one too-hot evening in the middle of September, when the four of them were sitting on the floor of Harry’s living room, pretending to do English homework but really watching The Fugitive and talking about how football tryouts went during the commercials. Frank was home for the weekend and supposed to be supervising while Dad was out, but he was as interested in The Fugitive as the rest of them, and gave pointers from his own football career. It was one of those good and slow nights, Dad liked to call them, spent with people you liked.

Hawk and Hank did their long-standing thumb wrestle for the last piece of dessert in Harry’s kitchen, and Hawk won, like he always did. Hank hovered behind him, trying to snag a bite of the danish from Wagon Wheel Bakery, and Hawk was fending off Hank and his fork with his elbows when they heard it. The fire siren, wailing out across town.

Frank opened the front door, and the four of them crowded behind him to see what it was. But there was no way they could miss it—a thick, black plume of smoke was billowing over the woods like a stain, spilling up into the clouds.

The smoke choked Harry then, too, the smell of burning wood filling up the whole house, even after Frank herded them inside and left to see what he could do. He looked back at Harry before he left their house, and they nodded at each other. Their unspoken agreement, what they’d always been taught.

Harry and Hawk and Ed and Hank got themselves ready. They checked the street for excess debris that might catch if the fire came their way, made sure the radios had working batteries, got the food and water ready, enough for them and enough to hand out to people who might need them. Harry even made Hawk and Ed and Hank call their parents. They already knew where they were, but it was worth it to double check and be safe, in the event of a fire.

(He hoped it might be like the last big fire, when he was nine. That was a night to remember. The Elk’s Club caught fire, and everything had been so dry that the blaze managed to spread and jump the river before it could even get close to contained; the Martell dogs got loose; a transformer blew and knocked out half the electricity in town; Mr. Packard broke his ankle trying to get to his car. He said he tripped over one of the hounds, and the Martells said Mr. Packard was a—Harry never exactly heard what it was they’d said, because Dad hadn’t wanted to repeat it, but he got the gist of it.

And the whole entire town came together to help in the aftermath. Mr. Packard commandeered rebuilding the foundation of the Elk’s Club with his own lumber straightaway from his hospital bed, and coordinated an effort to recapture the hounds, and people from out of town came to help restore the electric. School was canceled for a couple days, and Harry and Hawk and Ed and Hank had biked meals to the firefighters still cleaning up the ash.)

But it was like the fire was gone as soon as it started. Hours later, it was over, and Dad and Frank came back home, and Hawk and Ed and Hank went home. Dad said the fire was contained quickly, and just a few acres of wood had been scorched. None of the trees were even felled. But there was one casualty.

Harry didn’t know Mr. Lanterman very well, but Harry thought it was awful, that he’d died right after getting married. All the Trumans went to the funeral. Harry didn’t know Margaret Lanterman all that well, since she was older than him, and that was one of the first times he really saw her. She stood tall in her grief, wrapped up in black, her eyes red but her face dry. He hadn’t remembered her ever carrying a log before, though.

Dad had gone up to her, Frank and Harry beside him. He put a hand on Margaret’s shoulder and said something to her in his slow, deep voice. But Margaret’s eyes found Harry instead, staring straight at him. Almost like she could see right through him. Harry stood up a little straighter, because that was polite. Then Margaret shook off Dad’s hand and leaned down to Harry.

“Good things come in threes,” she said. Then she nodded at Dad and Frank and walked away.

He turned it over in his head a lot after she’d said it. Four years later, Harry still didn’t know what she’d meant. He thought about it sometimes when he was with his friends—they were three good things to Harry. But then Harry wondered where that left him. Harry wanted to be one of those good things too. All his life, that was the only thing he wanted, especially in a town like Twin Peaks. You took care of a town like Twin Peaks, because it was the kind of town that needed you to take care of it. And Harry wanted to do it with people he liked. That’s why he always roped in Hawk and Ed, and Hank. (And he could take care of them, too.)

But it was pointless to think about it, probably. Margaret said a lot of stuff like that, stuff that didn’t make sense, especially after the funeral. Some of the people in town called her the Log Lady now, and he’d heard the other things they said about her too. (The other things Hank said, too.) That she was crazy, that she deserved to live alone in the woods. Harry’s face scrunched up thinking of the way Dad would reprimand him if Harry repeated the things he’d heard. Harry didn’t agree with them, but he didn’t think Margaret was someone he was going to go out of his way to see, either.

Something flickered in front of him; Hawk, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face again.

“Where’d you go there, Harry?” Hawk asked.

“Hm? Oh, uh—just thinking,” Harry said.

They’d passed the curve while he was daydreaming. The trees bent over the road here, making giant patches of shadow, the afternoon sun only showing in the occasional gap. Ed hadn’t taken this road in some time, and it was like a split between two worlds—on the right side, remains of the controlled burn Hawk’s father had overseen back in the spring. The town had started doing a while ago to try and limit the amount caught up in forest fires. The bottom edges of the trunks were burnt black, but the brightest, most lush and green fledgling trees burst up out of the soil. On the left, though, was a pocket of the remains of a fire that had never grown back right. The leaves that were left weren’t like the changing autumn orange a lot of the town was now, but a burnt, cold orange, with thin branches hanging limp and broken along the ground. The bark wasn’t as dark, but the trees were withered and brittle, like any moment they could fall apart. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Then the road opened up again, the branches stretching away from the road, turning into strong, towering Douglas Firs, untouched by anything and spaced farther apart. It was like taking a deep breath. (Harry even took one himself.) Harry knew all of Twin Peaks, but this part in particular was familiar like the back of his hand. He and Hawk and Ed and Hank had gone through there a lot as kids. It seemed like a whole age since they’d done it, now.

“Hey,” Ed said suddenly, “you see that?”

Harry turned. “See what?”

Ed slowed the Chevy down to an idle again and stuck his head out the window, staring at the woods. “I don’t know,” he said. “Thought there was something in there.”

Harry and Hawk and Ed sat there, watching. Harry didn’t see anything suspicious, but, it wouldn’t do to let something like that go, now would it? Ed even turned the Chevy off completely, pulled the keys out, spun the keyring around his finger once and pocketed it. They looked at each other, one by one—and then the three of them jumped out of the car and ran together into the trees, laughing in turn as they each leapt over an old fallen tree trunk, dark and rotted out with time.

Autumn was really coming on fast now, wasn’t it? Red and yellow maple leaves crunched under their shoes as Harry and Hawk and Ed tromped along, and the chill Harry noticed earlier was more present in the shade there. The cool breeze kicked up, lifting sections of Harry’s hair, and he tried to smooth the curls back down. Maybe he should get a hat to wear, one of these days. A nice, big hat.

“You think I should get a hat?” he asked.

“Have to be a pretty big hat for all that head,” Ed commented.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What about, like a, like a cowboy hat,” he said. “How’d I look with a cowboy hat?”

“Like a cowboy,” Hawk said, shooting Harry a grin over his shoulder.

Ed started whistling that these from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Harry had begged Frank to drive them to Newport two years ago to see it, since it likely wouldn’t make its way to the town drive-in. Harry and Hawk joined in, whistling along until a high, warbling birdsong swelled out of the trees around them, louder than their whistling.

“Guess we’ve got some competition,” Hawk said. “Look at that—look!” He pointed up at one of the tree branches. Harry and Ed stood on either side of him and looked, just like he said. “I forgot my binoculars, but—”

Harry and Hawk and Ed could still see it. Picking along a tree branch was a small orange smudge of a bird, one of the varied thrushes Hawk was always trying to see when he went out birding with his family. It whistled down at them, once, and then twice, and then took to the air around them. Harry and Hawk and Ed turned in a half-circle to watch it go.

There was more to see. Harry and Hawk and Ed tracked a garter snake for a little while, walking alongside it a few feet away as it slithered through the underbrush, a weaving stripe of brown with white down either side. Eventually, they lost sight of it when Ed pointed out a nearby cabin. There were lots of them spaced out in the woods, not along any of the half-made paths, just wherever they wound up being. Harry swore, in fact, that some of them moved. He felt like he never saw the same cabin in the same spot twice. As Harry and Hawk and Ed wound their way around a cluster of firs, Harry felt sure there had been a squat, long cabin with a brick fence and thick red curtains drawn over the windows the last time they’d been through there. It couldn’t have gotten up and walked away, he knew, but it sure wasn’t there now.

But there was another one, up over a small hill. A dark wood cabin in the shade of a close ring of trees, with an empty clothesline strung out back. The windows were open, and a good-sized pile of wood sat by the far side of the house, but other than that, it seemed completely isolated and undisturbed, like nobody lived there at all.

Somebody could live there, though, Harry thought.

“Let’s go check it out,” he said, and Hawk and Ed followed behind him on either side.

They crept up slowly to the cabin, taking their time. It was probably the angle of all the trees, but it was even more shadowy up close, and the wood even darker. The front porch was stacked with possessions—an old butter churner, a dresser that had seen better days, a bench with a fringed blanket on it. Harry and Hawk and Ed peeked through one of the open windows at the front as they passed. It didn’t look all that scary on the inside. He could see big shelves in the walls with books tucked neatly on them and cozy blankets draped over the backs of chairs. In the center of the room was a circular wooden table with a scalloped teapot, white with a ring of orange butterflies.

With a loud, quick creak, the front door opened. Harry and Hawk and Ed jumped back, stumbling into each other, scrambling for balance.

Margaret Lanterman stood in the doorway, gazing at them without surprise or reproach, but with careful consideration. She still held that log in her arms. Harry felt Ed shuffle beside him, jamming his hands in his pockets. Ed didn’t care much for anyone he didn’t already know his whole entire life. Hawk looked curious, because Hawk liked and respected most people, unless he had cause not to. Harry was curious, too. This was the first time he’d seen Margaret since the funeral for her husband. He didn’t know why he thought she’d be the same, but she was a little older, like anyone would be four years later. She wasn’t wearing black, and her glasses had different frames, and she looked more stern than Harry had seen her before, but the corners of her mouth were soft. He could picture Dad again and the reprimand he’d imagined for thinking bad of Margaret earlier. Harry wondered what she’d say to him this time, if she’d say anything.

“You can come in,” Margaret said. “I’m having tea.” Without waiting for a response, she turned around and walked into the cabin.

“D’we have to?” Ed asked.

“It’s not gonna hurt to have some tea,” Harry said.

“I hope it’s chamomile,” Hawk said.

“It’s chamomile,” Margaret called back. “And I have cookies.”

That got Ed’s interest. Harry’s too—school lunch was some time ago now. The three of them filed in, Ed shutting the door. Margaret was already sitting at her circular table, fixing her skirt and setting her log in her lap. She’d brought out plates and cups for them, the same style as her teapot, and put a bigger plate near her piled with the largest chocolate chip cookies Harry had ever seen.

Harry and Hawk and Ed sat down in the wooden chairs around the table. Margaret poured them all tea, and then offered the plate of cookies to them in turn. Ed even took one with a “thank you, ma’am.” It was almost like eating with a grandmother, although Harry didn’t think Margaret was going to ask how they were doing in school.

“I heard you in the woods,” Margaret said.

Harry choked on the tea in his mouth. He and Hawk and Ed exchanged sheepish glances.

But Margaret took a sip of her tea. “You should be careful. But I think you know that. Did you see anything you liked?”

There was a great pause. Ed took an enormous bite of his chocolate chip cookie.

“We saw a garter snake,” Hawk said.

So they told her about the garter snake, and the cabins in the woods, and the burned trees by the road, and the varied thrush. Margaret didn’t smile a lot, and she didn’t laugh at all, but she seemed pleased to listen to them and tell them in return about a few of the things she saw in the woods too. It was nicer than Harry thought it would be, really talking to her. He still thought she was strange, and most of what she said still sounded odd, but it was better than Harry imagined. And the cookies were great, too.

As they talked, Harry got the strangest feeling. Something about Margaret’s house seemed so familiar, he thought. He and Hawk and Margaret, sitting in her cabin, drinking tea, the plate of cookies by her elbow. An afternoon in the woods, coming upon Margaret out of the blue. Everything felt like he’d done it before, even if that wasn’t possible at all. He’d dome some of those things regularly, though, without Margaret. Maybe that’s all it was. Harry did a lot of the same things all the time in Twin Peaks.

Margaret hadn’t expected them to drop by, so it was only fair that Harry and Hawk and Ed offer to do her dishes for her. They took the dishes into the small kitchen in turns, first the plates and the cups, and then Harry with the teapot last. But when he went to join Hawk and Ed in the kitchen, Margaret stood from her chair and stopped him. Harry was a lot taller than four years ago, but he still found himself staring up at her, suddenly apprehensive.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Margaret asked.

Harry straightened up again, like he had before. He shifted the still-warm teapot in his hands. “Uh—you said, good things come in threes.”

Margaret sighed. “I asked if you remembered, not what I said,” she said. “I remember what I said.”

“Well—I remembered,” Harry said. He balanced the teapot in one hand and scrubbed at the back of his head. “I did.”

“Good.” Margaret put a hand on her shoulders and steadied him, just like when Dad had put his hand on her shoulder before. Then she said, quietly—“Keep it close to you, when you go looking for the truth.”

“Uh—” Harry swallowed. “Thanks, Margaret.”

She dropped her hand from his shoulder and then pointed at the kitchen. “The dishes are waiting for you.”

The dishes weren’t the only thing waiting. It turned out there was a loose bulb in Margaret’s kitchen, one that flickered over the sink, and Harry and Hawk and Ed set about fixing it for her before they left. It was really the least they could do.

Margaret stood at the door and watched them go after. They all waved, even Ed, but Margaret didn’t wave back. Harry saw her nod at them. Just once, just like Frank always did. He smiled a little and waved again, and then turned away.

Ed’s Chevy was still right where they’d left it, by the side of the road where they’d entered the woods. Harry and Hawk and Ed stood there and looked at it again, and then got into positions once more.

Getting the Chevy up and running a second time proved more of a challenge than it had at school. Rolling it along didn’t help it to start, and Ed wound up with Harry and Hawk at the trunk, walking on Hawk’s other side, helping the Chevy coast into town, the sun on their backs as it kept slipping down through the sky.

“You two can go on home, if you want,” Ed said, somewhere around Sparkwood. “I can get her to my dad’s shop.”

“Nah,” Harry said, “I don’t mind.”

“Good exercise,” Hawk added.

“Gives you what you don’t got, and all that,” Harry said, because Ed’s dad had always said that when they were younger, and Harry and Hawk would go over Ed’s house and no one felt like eating his mom’s brussel sprouts.

“Better than the brussel sprouts,” Hawk commented.

Ed hid his face in his arm, but Harry knew he was smiling.

They got the Chevy back to Ed’s dad’s garage, and his dad gave Harry and Hawk a ride home in his own car. There was barely enough light by that time, and Harry saw his way up the front steps of his house by the porch light Dad always kept it. There were things he had to do now. Figure out something for dinner, for one. Homework, for another. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Dad?” Harry called out. He waited a couple seconds, but there was no response. He hadn’t figured on one, but he always checked, just in case Dad came home early. He stayed real late at the station these days, and sometimes he was more tired than Harry ever remembered him being before. It meant Harry was usually alone in the house, unless Frank visited for the weekend, but it wasn’t all that bad, not always.

Hank should be home from detention by now, anyway. Harry dropped his bag by the front door and went to the hallway by the kitchen, where they had a small wooden shelf with the phone on it, and dialed Hank’s number.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Harry let it ring on for longer than he should’ve before he dropped the receiver onto the hook. He sat down on the floor next to the shelf, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.

(He didn’t want to think about it, but—sometimes that’s all Harry had the time to do.)

There was something Dad said a lot lately, when he was home, and it was the one thing Harry didn’t agree with him on. Dad said—sometimes you could care about something a whole lot, but that didn’t mean it cared about you back. But Harry didn’t know how to stop caring. He was going to make it matter, all that care, he had to. Because you had to take care of things, especially the things that might not always care about you. This whole town, with the new things and old things, with the fresh leaves and the burnt trees, with Margaret, with Hawk and Ed and Dad and Frank, with Hank. What else could he do? And somebody had to care. Somebody had to hold on.

Somebody had to do his math homework, too. Harry went and got his notebooks out of his bag, switched on the small light above the phone to see better, and sat down again with his back against the wall.

A while later, it rang. Harry scrambled to his feet and grabbed for it. “Yeah?”

“Okay,” Hawk said, sounding pleased. “Get ready—new poem, fresh from the notebook. I wrote it about pushing the Chevy home. Do you want to hear it?”

Harry smiled. “Lay it on me, Hawk.”

#twin peaks #doesn't-own-a-sportscoat #countdowntotwinpeaks #wonderfulxstrange

9 notes · View notes

patricia-von-arundel · 1 year

Note

I've started a class on US history ( particularly around the colonization ) and it's fascinating! Do you have any period you would recommend to look more into?

You picked an interesting time to ask me about US history, through absolutely no fault of your own! (I haven't studied US history since high school, and my AP US History teacher has spent the last 20 or so years in jail for, uh... having relationships with little boys that were 100% NOT OKAY. And I recently found out he's out of prison and has been attempting to track down some of the boys involved [who are all now in their 30s and 40s]. I only know because one is one of my old roommates, and he was dating my best friend, and... well. I saw his name on the list and was just like "okay, this has to be a parole violation of some sort. Also, dude, what the actual fuck?! Several of the boys you hurt later committed suicide. One was found dead by his little sister and her best friend. They were nine. Nine years old. You are a fucking monster. Jesus christ.")

Aside from that... I'm not super well-versed in US history as a whole, but I have enjoyed some books dealing with it, so okay if I mention those? I particularly loved A People's History of the United States (Howard Zinn) and Lies My Teacher Told Me (James Loewen), both of which were seminal in presenting less "whitewashed" versions of US history. I've also enjoyed in recent years The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson (about the disapora of Black Americans from the Southeast into the Midwest during the 20th century), The American West and Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, both by Dee Brown (classics of the expansion of settlers into the West in the 19th century, the "cowboy" years), and White Trash by Nancy Isenberg (looking at class in America). Other good, popular writers of US history: David McCullough, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Ron Chernow, Candice Millard. There's some awesome fiction that tackles US history in interesting ways - my favorites are A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith), The Little Friend (Donna Tartt), Forever (Pete Hamill), The Jungle (Upton Sinclair), and basically anything by Steinbeck.

I find the great migration periods particularly interesting, especially the Asian arrivals in the West in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Early Hollywood is fascinating. There's a wonderful book about it called Silent Stars by Jeanine Basinger. The US also has some honest really good classics in True Crime, especially Truman Capote's In Cold Blood and Norman Mailer's The Executioner's Song. (Truman Capote is also interesting in that he was a very good friend of Harper Lee, who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird.) There were some writers in the mid-20th century who took travel writing and turned it on its head: try Travels with Charley (Steinbeck again!), On the Road (Jack Kerouac - not my personal style, but I understand why it's an American classic!), and Roughing It (Mark Twain). (Honestly, all of Twain's stuff is great, and fucking hilarious. Twain and Wodehouse - in England - had no business being as brilliantly hilarious as they were.)

Also, a weirder rec?

Stephen King's 11/22/63.

Just trust me. And yes, it's that Stephen King.

Again: trust me.

(Other fictional creepiness built around or dealing with North American history [I say North American because I'm including Canada and Mexico]: Alma Katsu's The Hunger, Dan Simmons' The Terror, Silvia Moreno-Garcia's Mexican Gothic [and I just got her Velvet was the Night, but haven't read it yet!], Toni Morrison's Beloved, basically anything by Cormac McCarthy. [Content warning, some of these are a little stomach-churning to get through. Reader beware!] I've also recently been recommended S. Craig Zahler's Westerns, but haven't read them yet, so be warned there that he's the guy who wrote Bone Tomahawk! If you know... you know. If you don't... not recommended viewing while eating. 🤷‍♀️ And speaking of Westerns, Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove is absolutely wonderful. And not stomach-churning!)

Hope that helps! If there are any specific periods that catch your interest, I can dig into recommendations for further reading/watching. US history isn't always my personal cup of tea, but my mother's been writing books and articles about it for 30 years, so I can always ask for recs! 😁

6 notes · View notes

legaciestold · 4 days

Text

@everythingheard (leon) october 28th, 2024evening, white house

there had been no time after the military transport had landed at the air force base to go home and freshen up. benford wasn't a man who liked to be kept waiting and based on her last communication with him claire redfield had gotten the feeling tensions were higher than usual in whatever meeting the national security advisor and deo director had come out of. idly, she'd wondered, while turbulence had washed over the flight and her hands had gripped the straps, if benford's mood had to do with how close the election was or the growing tensions between him and secretary wilson's stands on foreign policy or even if something had gone screwy with leon's mission in philadelphia with the incident that happened there.

she knew leon was fine, relatively speaking.

call this one of the very few things she was superstitious about but claire knew she'd know if he wasn't. that didn't mean she didn't worry, no matter how capable she knew him to be. it was the life they'd signed up for, or rather, been forced to sign up for yet five years on she thinks maybe they'd accepted their place in it. they both disliked simmons but he wasn't the one in power-- at least not to the same level benford and graham were at the moment, and for politicians, claire did trust them more than she ever thought she would. maybe in a world where she'd be more on the outside of things that wouldn't be the case but in her position working for benford she was aware of a lot more than the average person. there was plenty of red tape even for such powerful people but they wanted to affect change and she wanted to help them, so did everyone she cared about since most of them were in the dso in some capacity. in any case, this finds claire still in the green pants and jacket the aid convoy had worn in penamstan when she goes through the security entrance and finds herself in benford's office, a file tucked protectively inside her jacket.

they discuss what she's learned on the ground, her meeting with a dso informant in some labyrinth of dangerous streets she'd navigated that maybe she'll leave out of telling leon about especially because when she'd gone back for a second meeting she'd found him dead and gotten the hell out of dodge and back to the aid site having had to manage some kind of macgyvered disguise on the way in case his home was being watched. claire had training, more training than she'd had in raccoon city, even if she wasn't in the field regularly. that had been something benford had ensured for her after spain and before she'd come to work for him. he wanted her to go through the dso training program even if she wasn't going to be an agent. it meant, he could send her on covert assignments like this when he wasn't sure who to trust, her position as his assistant giving her the cover needed to establish an official reason for her to be in places. she shows him the picture the boy she'd encountered had draw too. the images only confirming what the informant had told her and the rumors had indicated. there'd been an outbreak in penamstan. an outbreak that was hauntingly like raccoon city which meant the t-virus. it meant there was a hell of a lot more at play than was previously believed.

benford's about to tell her about something else, leon's name just on the tip of his tongue when the power cuts out and brows crease. anywhere else maybe there could be a reason for it but it's the white house. there's immediate sounds of running outside and she knows the process has started to protect the president. the timing seems odd yet there's little time to ponder such too much. benford turns in his chair and punches a code into the safe on the floor behind him, takes out two weapons and ammo, handing half to her and in that moment with how quickly, calmly, and composed benford is, claire can see a glimpse into the cia he once was. she's only just gotten her hand on the weapon when someone falls through the door, hiting the ground with a loud thud and then raising their head again and moving across the floor toward her. no. no, no no. her heart rate picks up and she aims the gun at his head, firing immediately with the echo of memories resurfacing in her mind and transposing with what she's seeing.

it was happening again. there were zombies in the white house.

it's a bit of a blur of activity over the next bit of time, her and benford moving through halls and encountering secret service agents and workers along the way. some are zombies, some aren't. some are bitten and haven't fully grasped what that means for them in their last few minutes of life. that last one had been where claire and benford had temporarily parted ways, him telling her to continue down the corridor as he aided the bitten worker another around corner. she doesn't look back when she hears the shot but understands the last few moments had played out she hadn't had to be the one.

it's moments later, she turns a corner to a corridor, a flashlight blinding her for a moment before her eyes refocus to see a blob of darkness with a weapon and then dart over his shoulder to a zombie that's just come out of the open door a few feet behind him. if the blob was capable, he'd likely have realized soon enough and gotten a shot in without her help but there's no times for 'what ifs' so she tells him to 'duck' shooting it directly in the head. once the zombie drops to the floor in a pool of blood, claire's blue eyes find the blue hues of her boyfriend and she lets out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. despite the horror of the situation, a small playful smirk crosses her features as her voice emits. "i love you but we really gotta stop meeting like this."

#everythingheard #v; biohazard reimagined (secondary timeline)#muse; claire redfield #thread; infinite darkness #sorry i didn't really format it too much i wanted to get the starter out before work

0 notes

dearyallfrommatt · 5 months

Video

youtube

"Cry, Cry, Cry”

This is pretty neat.

Okay, so this is a cover of a Johnny Cash song, his first single actually, which hit Number 14 on the Country charts in 1956. Tommy Ray Tucker (credited here with his middle name so as to not confuse him with “Hi-Heel Sneakers” Tommy Tucker) was a Memphis boy who was one of the thousands of greasy-haired hopefuls who came to the city by the river after the Sun rose on the newly crowned King.

He first caught the ear of Memphis svengali “Cowboy” Jack Clement, who’d recently been fired from Sun Records. He recorded Tucker’s debut single “Lovin’ Lil/A Man In Love,” co-written by rockabilly wildman Charlie Feathers. Clement encouraged the young singer to sound as much like the Man In Black as he could, and by golly, he did. He sounds more like Johnny Cash than Johnny’s own brother Tommy did, but that’s neither here nor there.

Tucker’s second single “Miller’s Cave,” written by Clement, has become something of a country standard with charting covers from Hank Snow (#9) in 1960 and Bobby Bary (#4) in 1964. Both of these singles were released on Hi Records, which would later be known as the second home of Memphis Soul thanks to Willie Mitchell, Al Green, Syl Johnson, and Ann Peebles. At the time, it was the second home of Memphis rock & roll, taking a lot of the folks who were either cut from or ignored by Sun Records. They didn’t produce a mess of charting hits but it was the rare jukebox in the South that didn’t have its share of Hi Records singles from Carl McVoy or Jumpin’ Gene Simmons.

Like I said, Clement encouraged Tucker to sound like Cash, and this cumulated in a sequel to Johnny Cash’s 1958 Number One smash “Ballad of a Teenage Queen.” Also written by Clement, Tucker cut “Return of The Teenage Queen” in late 1960. Even better, Clement had just been hired by Chet Atkins to work his magic at RCA Nashville and brought Tucker with him.

While it didn’t make any chart noise, things were looking up for Tucker. Unfortunately, while racing on Highway 61 outside Memphis in his ‘57 Olds the next year, Tucker rear-ended another driver. That driver’s car spun into another, resulting in four deaths. Tucker ran from the scene and called his manager Eddie Boyd (another Nashville stalwart, notable for rejecting Elvis Presley just before the latter cut his first single for Sun).

Tucker was sentenced to a year for manslaughter, doing nine months for good behavior. RCA dropped him like a bad habit and he remained on the fringes of Nashville and Memphis music since. This low-down, R&B-flavored cover of Cash’s “Cry, Cry, Cry” was cut in 1965 for the Challenge Label (founded by singing cowboy Gene Autry) and produced by another Memphis music legend Stan Kesler. He wrote some songs Elvis recorded.

Interestingly, Tucker would record two more times with Hi Records. Once was in 1968 backed by the famous Hi Rhythm Section (remember what I said about Al Green?) and the duality of the tunes sort of fits the man as a whole, I think. He cut a fairly standard version of the country nugget “Shackles & Chains” that harkens back to his days as a Cash impersonator. However, the real jewel was a low-down, harmonica-drenched version of Jimmy Reed’s “Shame, Shame, Shame” which gives Tony Joe White a run for his money when it comes to swamp funk.

One of his last recordings was in 1975 and for Hi’s attempts at selling records to a country market. Everyone did this, mind. Motown, Stax, Casablanca, they all tried to sell country records and didn’t. His last song was entitled “You Hitched Your Wagon To a Loser.” I’ve never heard it but I want to because, goddamn, if that ain’t a country song.

Tucker died in 1985 after falling asleep with a cigarette. His apartment caught fire and he died of smoke inhalation. There was a collection of his Memphis recordings released on LP but that’s it. I first heard him from the 1999 two-disc collection Hi Records: The Early Years and as far as I know, that’s the only place you can find him.

Damn shame and this is a good tune. Dig it.

#youtube #Tommy Ray Tucker #Cowboy Jack Clement #Johnny Cash #Hi Records #Stan Kesler #rockabilly #rock & roll #Memphis #Memphis music #beer joint music

0 notes

dykereid-moved · 3 years

Text

i feel like. matt actually prefers his mom’s maiden name which is chae bc he’s more korean presenting and he also has a korean name which most people don’t know about

#liKE U KNO #like simmons is just. some white boy name #fhck canon it’s matt chae now #matt simmons nation. (me)#k talks #matt simmons

9 notes · View notes

rubykgrant · 3 years

Text

Wash gets everybody into helping him with foster cats, and it was all part of his devious plan to trick them into adopting kitties! Master of manipulation!

Church; gets one of those looong cats, who is also very fluffy. she’s a white kitty named Marshmallow, who he sometimes calls Marsh, or to get her attention “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!”. she’s one of those very talkative cats who constantly makes little chirps and beeps, which Church starts doing too

Tex; got a tiny little orange kitten, who turned into a lanky cat that likes to jump. she trained him to sit and wait for her to lift up one knee and then pat her shoulder, and he jumps to the knee first and then the shoulder to perch. he was just a baby, so she got to name him, and went with Austin (because she’s a dork like that)

Tucker; insists he only got a kitty for Junior... and then insisted he only got another one to keep the first one company. now he’s got two kitties, a black-and-white boy named Tux (he’s got a stubby bob-tail) and something that looks like an Abyssinian (but is probably a mix)- a girl named Ginger (they sleep on both sides of his head at night)

Caboose; has one big chunky brown cat named Teddy (this cat isn’t just fat, he’s HUGE, like almost the size of a medium dog. his full name is “Teddy Bear” because he looks like a bear cub). Caboose also takes in 2 more, one cat who is missing an eye and ear (she’s named Daffodil, mostly white with creamy/yellow tips), and one who is missing the right front leg (he’s named Zip because he still likes to run, dark gray with black tabby-stripes). Caboose is very good at taking care of their specific needs

Carolina; has two cats that are sibs, both calico girls. one has more white with many small orange/black spots and yellow eyes, the other has more black with a few large orange/white spots and green eyes. the mostly white one is Jasper and the mostly black one is Jade. They are the best at wearing harnesses/leashes, and are very well behaved when going on walks

Kai; has a mix that is some kind of Norwegian Forest Cat/Ragdoll, a very fluffy guy with dark-brown/orange fur that fades into a lighter belly. his name is Ash, and he is one of those cats who can actually pay attention to a TV, and he oddly likes watching action cartoons/anime

Sarge; first took in an big older dark gray boy cat that had been feral and covered with scars on his face. Sarge took his time to slowly get the cat to trust him (earning several scratches in the beginning), but after a couple of months the cat was super affectionate. Sarge named him Maximus, and also calls him Max. At one point, Sarge was visiting Wash with Max, and the old cat started cuddling up to two young kittens that had been abandoned. Sarge obviously wanted to keep them too, and learned how to hold little bottles to feed them properly (both girls, one is a little ginger tabby named Clementine, the other is a little white short-hair named Sugar). he spoils them all

Simmons and Grif; together, they got one kitty that resembles an Egyptian Mau with rusty fur and spots (probably a mix of unknown breeds). they name her Blaze (and had to convince Donut that it was NOT a reference to drugs). she likes to give them affectionate head-butts (they get two more kitties later when family times happen)

Donut; has one kitty with glossy brown fur, lighter blonde-ish tips around the feet, one green eye/one blue, and a floofy tail named Diva (she WILL get your attention when she wants it, and is very dramatic). he later gets another kitten who likes to rough-house (but doesn’t actually hurt anybody, just playful attacks). she’s a dusty-colored little fluffball he calls Cookie, “because she’s a tough cookie”

Lopez and Sheila; they have a quartet of 4 kitten sibs who were rescued from a fire. Sarge taught them how to use the little nursing bottles. the babies didn’t even have their eyes open yet. all 4 are white with patterns of brown stripes (when you line them up, one has only a few pale stripes on her back, the next has more darker stripes that reach his ears and tail, the third has even darker stripes that go down his legs, and the last has the darkest/most stipes with solid brown on her ears/feet/nose). they’ll get names when they’re older

Doc; he got a cat first, a big boy named Domino (two-tone white and black, split right down the middle. his head and front legs are white, his back legs and tail are black). he’s a very cuddly and comforting pet... once O’Malley finally admitted he wanted a cat too, Doc got another kitty. a little kitten that has gray fur on the back that fades into a cream color that O’Malley names Stephen (yes, after Stephen King... Doc talked him out naming the kitty after a specific character from Pet Sematary, at least)

Locus; kept the all black stray cat that seemed to take a liking to him. he started saying “ki-ki” when calling her (you know, that short for kitty-kitty call), and now her name is just Kiki. she’s much more calm around other people now, but pretty much doesn’t come up to anybody but Locus (she’ll sit and watch other people, like she’s saying “Get off my property”)

Wash; still has like, 10 cats

#red vs blue #cats

36 notes · View notes

conradscrime · 3 years

Text

Amelia Dyer: World’s Most Prolific Female Serial Killer?

April 28, 2021

Amelia Dyer (born Ameila Hobley) was born in a small village called Pyle Marsh east of Bristol in 1836, being the youngest of 5 children born to Samuel and Sarah Hobley.

Amelia’s mother suffered from mental illnesses caused by typhus and from a young age Amelia watched her mother fly into violent fits and had to take care of her until she died in 1848, when Amelia was 12 years old.

After Amelia’s mother died she moved in and lived with one of her aunts in Bristol, gaining an apprenticeship with a corset maker. Amelia’s father died in 1859 and in 1861 at the age of 24 Amelia married a man named George Thomas. George was 59 at the time and both had lied about their ages on the marriage certificate.

Amelia trained as a nurse after marrying George. However, soon after this Amelia met a midwife where she discovered that an easier way to make money was by opening up her home as a place to stay for women who were having babies illegitimately, that is, getting pregnant without being married first. The women could stay until they had their baby and then the babies would be farmed off for either adoption or they would die from neglect and malnutrition (similar to the Butterbox Babies, previously covered on this blog).

Amelia’s husband died in 1869 which left her needing an income fast. She began to advertise her services which included nurse care, adoption services, and just childcare for parents who needed it and they could come reclaim their children at a later date. Amelia told the women that she was respectable and married and their babies would be safe with her.

In 1872 Amelia married a man named William Dyer and they had two children of their own. Amelia eventually left William but kept his surname throughout the rest of her life.

There is no specific details of when this began exactly but at one point during this baby farming career, Amelia began to forgo the expense of letting the young babies and children die through starvation and after the receipt of each child she would murder them. This allowed her to keep most of the fees.

It was easy for Amelia to get away with this for quite some time because the mothers of the babies and children usually did not go looking for them after birth, and if they did they were too embarrassed to get a welfare check done on the child because it was very looked down upon to have an illegitimate child.

In 1879 a doctor became suspicious of Amelia due to the number of child deaths he had been called to certify. However, Amelia was only sentenced to complete 6 months of hard labour for neglect. According to some, this sentence of hard labour was extremely difficult on Amelia and resulted in her having poor mental health and suicidal tendencies. She was also heavily drinking alcohol and abusing opium-based products when she first began to kill which some think attributed to her poor mental health.

Because of the doctor’s constant suspicions, Amelia decided to stop involving him to issue death certificates and so she began to murder the babies and then dispose of the bodies herself. A lot of people were keeping eyes on her, not only authorities but also parents who wanted to reclaim their children again. To try to avoid this, Amelia and her family would relocate to different cities and she would use a number of aliases to keep her true identity hidden. Keep in mind this is the end of the 19th century -- it was easy to relocate and start a new life at this time.

Due to her suicide attempts and mental health struggles Amelia was sent to asylums a few times in her life and in 1893 she was discharged the last time from the Somerset and Bath Lunatic Asylum near Wells. In 1895 she moved to Reading, Berkshire with a woman named Jane “Granny” Smith, Amelia’s daughter, Polly, and Polly’s husband Arthur. “Granny” was to be called “mother” in front of the unwed mothers handing over their children so that they felt safe, knowing they were giving their child to a caring home.

In January 1896 a woman named Evelina Marmon, 25, gave birth to a daughter illegitimately and she was named Doris. Evelina placed an advertisement for a respectable woman to come take her child for a short period of time while she went back to work. She had full intentions of reclaiming her child.

Evelina saw an advertisement for a couple who were looking to adopt a healthy child and she responded to a “Mrs. Harding” (Amelia Dyer) who promised she would take care of the baby. Amelia took the baby one week later, wrote a letter to Evelina telling her all was well and then she was never heard of again.

Amelia had told Evelina that she was taking the young Doris to Reading, Berkshire, however she actually took her to Willesden, London where Polly was living. Amelia took some white edging tape used for dressmaking and wound it twice around the baby’s neck, tying a knot. Then Amelia and Polly wrapped the body up in a napkin. The next day, April 1, 1896, a 13 month old boy named Harry Simmons was given to Amelia and because she had no edging tape left she took the tape from around Doris’ neck and used it to murder the boy.

On April 2, she took both bodies and stacked them on top of each other into a carpet bag along with some bricks to add some weight. She then took the bag and took it to the River Thames, forcing it through the railings.

Unlucky for Amelia, her scheme was up. On March 30, 1896 what appeared to be a package that was not weighted adequately from the Thames had been spotted by a bargeman. Inside was the body of a baby girl who was later identified as Helena Fry. They discovered the package belong to a “Mrs. Thomas” and found an address.

On April 3, 1896 Amelia was expecting a new client to show up on her doorstep but didn’t know this “new client” was actually a decoy set up by police. When she opened her door, police raided her home. They found no human remains in the house, though the whole place smelled like decomposition. They found a lot of other evidence, such as pawn tickets for children’s clothing, telegrams with adoption arrangements, white edging tape and letters from mother’s asking about their children.

Amelia Dyer was arrested and charged with murder on April 4, 1896. Police estimated that in the previous couple of months at least 20 children had been placed in her care, and they also discovered she was getting ready to move again, to Somerset. Some estimated that Amelia Dyer murdered over 400 babies and children.

They also searched the Thames and found 6 more bodies including Doris and Harry’s who were the last victims. Amelia pleaded guilty to only the murder of Doris on May 22, 1896. The defense used insanity, claiming that Amelia was unstable and had been committed to asylums in her life. However, the prosecution claimed Amelia only was committed to asylums as a ploy to keep her undetected, she only went to these asylums when she felt her crimes may be exposed.

The jury found Amelia Dyer guilty in 4 and a half minutes. Amelia Dyer was hanged by James Billington at Newgate Prison on June 10, 1896. Her last words were, “I have nothing to say.”

Stricter adoption laws were put in place, allowing local authorities to police baby farms to stop abuse from happening within them. Despite this however this abuse didn’t stop. In 1898 two years after Amelia’s execution, a couple of railway workers found a parcel with a 3 week old baby girl inside. The girl was still alive and had been the daughter a widow named Jane Hill who claimed she had given the baby to a woman by the name of “Mrs. Stewart” for 12 pounds. It has been claimed that “Mrs. Stewart” was Polly, Amelia Dyer’s daughter.

#solved #true crime #Crime #female #serialkiller

50 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 3 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 33

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this one...⛪️

August 7th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was nervous as fuck.

It was Game 4, less than 24 hours after giving up a 3-0 lead, and the Leafs were on the brink of elimination. The boys were quiet. Focused. Only had one thing on their mind. They didn’t want to leave the bubble. They wanted to prove everybody wrong – everybody. Their coaches. Their bosses. Their fans. Their haters. The media. Themselves. This was their opportunity to show everybody what they could do.

Aberdeen couldn’t even think about it without trembling. She never in a million years thought hockey would make her feel this way. It didn’t help the love of her life was a major part of it. And it didn’t help that Alec had texted her early this morning.

Looks like the boys might cost you a writing job if they get eliminated early. Not many shenanigans to get up to in, what, ten days? Article might be a bust.

I’ll have 10,000 words written for you as promised was what she texted back. She didn’t want to stroke his ego, play along with his games, or have him think she wasn’t going to produce just because he thought they might leave early. It didn’t matter to her. Even if they did leave early, she could still do it. She knew she could. She knew she had to, because she couldn’t blow this opportunity.

They morning had been anxiety-ridden at best. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning after getting off the phone with William, and then because of the text, she was barely eating breakfast. Apparently, it was noticeable to the boys, because John had come over to her table and brought her a plate stacked fruit. “If we can eat, you can eat,” he said as he set it in front of her. Mitch ended up coming to sit across from her at the table, and John took the other seat. William approached, standing six feet away, and Auston too. They were congregating, which made her even more nervous.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, forking a strawberry and putting it into her mouth reluctantly. “You guys aren’t nervous?” she posed the question to all of them.

John shrugged. “We know what we need to do. We just have to go out there and do it.”

Aberdeen didn’t know how he could be so calm, as the captain of the team. Then again, he was John fucking Tavares, and calm seemed to be his middle name. She nodded her head. “I don’t mean to be a nervous wreck. I’m just not used to playoff hockey, as you can imagine. This is all new. I never knew I could feel this way about a sport.”

That made John laugh a bit. “Not about a sport, but definitely about a book, right?”

She couldn’t help but smile slightly as she forked at a piece of watermelon. “Definitely about a book.”

“How’s the article coming along?” William asked.

Aberdeen almost dropped her fork on her plate. All the guys turned their heads towards him at the same time skeptically, then towards her at the same time, their eyebrows furrowed. Her body felt like it was on fire. She hadn’t told anybody about the article – except William, of course. She assumed Brendan sort-of-kind-of knew since he set her up for it, but she hadn’t said anything to him. William was the only one who knew. Her cheeks flushed red.

“What article?” Mitch asked, turning his head back and forth between the two of them once more.

“Yeah, what article?” Auston asked.

“It uh, it’s—um, it’s a thing for Toronto Life,” Aberdeen stuttered out.

“Toronto Life?!” Mitch repeated excitedly.

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly. “Brendan uh, Brendan put me up for it. It’s, like…an audition. I don’t know.”

“An audition? So like if it’s good they’ll publish it?” Mitch kept asking questions.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Well what’s it about?”

Aberdeen gulped. “Um, life in the bubble.”

The boys looked taken aback for a brief moment. She knew they were trying to hold back the emotion, but she could see it in their eyes. She wondered if they were thinking the worst now. She wondered if Auston was looking at her and thinking that all she wanted to do in this bubble was get a scoop like Steve Simmons. She wondered if Mitch was looking at her and thinking that she was going to write some scathing article about how he was being paid $10.8 million to not show up in the playoffs, like most articles were saying. She prepared for the worst, honestly. She really did. Because she knew these guys had been betrayed before. She knew the media were constantly down their throats. She knew all they wanted was a little reprieve from that. And now, someone they knew, someone they worked with – someone they trusted completely – was writing something about life in the bubble? When she was in the bubble with them?

“Life in the bubble, huh? So, like how we play video games the entire day ‘cause we can’t do anything else in here?” Mitch asked.

Her stomach was in knots. But that follow-up from Mitch was definitely not was she was expecting. Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was expecting – anger, maybe? Caution? Suspicion? – but it definitely wasn’t Mitch saying that. “Something like that,” she said. “I’m trying to, like, capture how hard it is for you guys to be in here. How hard it is to be away from your families. How you guys are…you know, human, and not just hockey players.”

Mitch smiled. “I think it’s gonna be a great article, then.”

“How’d William know?” Auston asked. “How’d he know before any of us?”

William knew he had to think fast. “I saw her writing it the other day when we went out to the gym,” he said. He had approached her on the sidelines that day for a brief minute or two, during a break in his workout, so if anyone was paying attention and saw them, it was an entirely plausible scenario. “She told me what she was writing.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” Auston asked him.

“Because it was Aberdeen’s news to tell, not mine,” William said.

Auston looked towards Aberdeen. “You’re not writing, like, gossip about us, are you?” he asked.

“Auston, what the fuck—” William began.

“Buddy—” Mitch intervened.

“Hey now—” John piped up.

“No no, it’s fine,” she waved the boys off, staring directly at Auston. She knew exactly where Auston was coming from. She knew he trusted her. He admitted so during the phone call when his Covid-19 story became national news. She knew she had to be one hundred percent honest with him if he was going to have no qualms or suspicions about this article. “They want me to. They want me to write about shenanigans. The stereotypical stuff. But I’m not. I refuse to. I wouldn’t…you guys know I wouldn’t do that to you. And I mean…I—I haven’t told them yet that I refuse to pander to that shit, but they’ll know when they get my article.”

Auston’s entire demeanour softened at her words. It was like his entire body relaxed. He knew – he always knew – he just needed the affirmation. But then he realized what that meant. “But then what happens if you don’t get the job because you don’t give them what they want?” he asked.

Aberdeen shrugged. “Then I have keep looking for writing jobs at other magazines.”

Then and there, he realized what was on the line for Aberdeen.

***

As Aberdeen wallowed in her room, she was nervous. As she showered before the game, she was nervous. As she did her hair, she was nervous. As she got dressed, she was nervous. As she opened her door and walked out into the hallway, meeting some of the guys, she was nervous. When she got off the bus and the team went one way while she, Brendan, and Kyle went another, she clutched at her iPad pro. She looked at the boys one last time, catching Willy’s eye, before the disappeared down the hallway, where no doubt a photographer was waiting to get pictures of their outfits before they went into the locker room.

As she sat in the box with Brendan and Kyle, as always, she saw Brendan look her way. “Don’t even think about asking me how it’s gonna go tonight,” she said before he could even open his mouth.

He held his hands up in front of him. “Excuuuuuuse me.”

“I’m so nervous. I barely ate today,” she elaborated.

“Somebody get Aberdeen a Coca Cola,” he called out to no-one in particular. “She’s gonna need the sugar and the caffeine or else she’ll crash by the third period.”

She couldn’t believe how light-hearted he was being. She didn’t know if it was some type of coping mechanism or if it was because he was generally in a good mood. “How can you be so…calm? Such a jokester?”

Brendan shrugged. “If I was doom and gloom all the time, I wouldn’t still be president.”

***

Aberdeen was on the verge of tears.

Cam Atkinson had scored in the first period. Vladislav Gavrikov scored in the second period. Her heart was heavy. Her stomach was in knots. And now, the impossible: she was watching Jason Spezza fighting. The last person who should be fighting. A part of her understood what he was doing, somewhat – trying to fire up the guys – but the other part of her kept asking why the fuck does he have to do this? Where the fuck are they? Why aren’t they playing? WHY AREN’T THEY PLAYING?!

“I can’t believe they’re fucking doing this to him,” she mumbled under her breath through gritted teeth as she watched Jason skate off the ice. Her knuckles were white for how tightly her hands were in fists in front of her mask. Her leg was bouncing uncontrollably. She couldn’t believe what was happening.

“What was that?” Brendan asked, apparently hearing her, his own voice indiscernible but also just…void of any emotion.

She glanced at him quickly before shaking her head. “Nothing.” She looked over at Kyle. She couldn’t tell what he was feeling, either. What was it with these men and being so stoic?

She pressed the palms of her hands together and intertwined her fingers. “God, if you love me…” she began, mumbling into her hands. “If you love me, God, don’t let them go out like this. Not. Like. This.”

***

Boone Jenner scored in the third period. It was 3-0. This was it.

Aberdeen had to come to terms with the fact that they were leaving early. She had to come to terms with the fact that the boys would lose, again. They’d be out of the bubble. She knew that was probably a silver lining, but these guys so desperately just wanted to play hockey and play hockey and win, and for them to crash out like this was just going to be the worst. They’d never hear the end of it. Bee McTavish told her about last year, about how they lost to the Boston Bruins in Game 7 and how hard it was on the boys, particularly Morgan, and how awful the media was to them, and Aberdeen didn’t want to think about what the media would say now. She didn’t want to think about what they’d say about Fred. About Mitch. About Morgan. About John.

About William.

But just as Aberdeen came out of her thoughts, she noticed something weird on the ice. It wasn’t the regular line out there. Sheldon was doing something different. It was…well, it seemed to be the nuclear option. All the top goal scorers were on the ice. William, Mitch, Zach, Auston, and John. Hustling all over the ice. Passing the puck. Shooting at the net.

And then, with just less than four minutes left, William scored.

Aberdeen jumped out of her seat and screamed. The boys celebrated briefly, but they knew more work needed to be done. She looked over at Brendan, who wasn’t blinking as he looked down at the ice. She looked at Kyle, who wasn’t blinking either.

“Please God…please…” she whispered to herself.

Sheldon kept out the nuclear option. They were young. They could do it.

John Tavares scored only forty seconds later.

“Holy fucking shit,” Aberdeen stood up from her seat, saying her words loud enough for Brendan and Kyle to hear. “Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit.”

She barely breathed a single breath for the next two and a half minutes. She was standing with her hands over her mouth over her mask and her body was completely still as she watched every move on the ice like a hawk.

William, to Auston, to Zach, who scored to tie it at 3-3.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!” she screamed as the boys really celebrated on the ice now. She banged her fists on the counter in front of her as she watched Zach jump on top of William as all the boys on the ice huddled together excitedly. She swore she heard some happy swears from Kyle, and she definitely heard some happy swears from the extra players who were sitting in the seats right below them where the seat covers ended. She barely remembered the period ending.

“They’re gonna fucking do it,” she said to no-one in particular. “They’re gonna fucking do it. They’re gonna make a comeback.”

Everything was a blur as Aberdeen sat back down into her seat. The overtime period. The lines. The minutes. She felt like she was in the twilight zone – some alternate universe where time stood still and nothing else mattered besides hockey. Not even just hockey – nothing else mattered besides this game and what was happening right here, right now. Seven minutes into overtime, Morgan drew a tripping penalty. An enraged Nick Foligno was sent to the penalty box. The puck dropped. It was passed. Marner to Tavares. Tavares to Matthews.

Auston let it rip and scored.

“WHAT!!!!! WHAT!!!!!” Aberdeen screamed louder than she ever had in her life as she jumped up from her seat like a rocket and threw the pen she was holding out into the stands. She began pumping her fist in front of her and pointing out onto the ice. “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, BABY! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” she shrieked, her jaw somewhere between her face and the floor but her smile taking up her entire face. Then came the excited, can’t-believe-what-I-just-witnessed high pitched uncontrollable laughs. She looked over to Brendan and Kyle. They were stoic. She liked to believe they already freaked out and she missed it.

“Down 3-0 in the third period!” she screamed at them. “Down 3-0 in the third period! Can you believe it?!”

“What are you doing waiting up here? Go down there,” Brendan said, nodding his head towards the exit.

Aberdeen bolted out of the box and rushed towards the locker room as quickly as her feet could take her. Once she got there, she saw the boys filing in, screaming ‘Woooo!’s and ‘Let’s fucking go, baby!’s. William entered the locker room first. He noticed her standing in the room almost immediately and rushed over to her.

She held her breath.

He picked her up and spun her around, causing her to squeal until he set her down. He was wet and sweaty and she could see the droplets of sweat dripping down his face but God if he didn’t look incredible and like the perfect human specimen. “Let’s gooooo!” he screamed once he set her down.

“Let’s gooooo!” she repeated, noticing more of the boys make their way in. Clifford. Spezza. Kerfoot. Barrie. Kasperi. Hyman. Engvall. Rielly. Tavares. Holl. Dermott. Everybody. Everybody. They all came in screaming and did the exact same thing that William did, lifting her up and spinning her around excitedly as they continued to scream and go their stalls and start stripping in front of her. They probably weren’t allowed to do that – they definitely weren’t allowed to do that, be that close together – but it didn’t matter right now. Nobody cared.

“You guys gave me a fucking heart attack!” she yelled at them, clutching her heart as she looked around the room at all of them. She saw a couple of them giggling as they undid their hockey tape and threw it into the garbage.

“Wouldn’t have been a Leafs series without one!” Morgan joked.

Sheldon walked into the room and high-fived Aberdeen. Then Auston walked in and the boys started screaming and yelling all over again. “Let’s fucking goooo, Aberdeen!” he screamed as he picked her up too, one last twirl, before setting her down. “Let’s fucking go, baby!” he screamed to everyone in the room.

It was at that point that Brendan and Kyle walked into the room. Aberdeen composed herself as much as possible as she faded into the background, watching Sheldon give his post-game speech. Everybody looked so happy. So excited.

They could fucking do this.

***

Aberdeen was typing like a furious mad woman in the Notes on her phone. She wanted to write – needed to write all the authentic feelings that were in the air right now as she waited on the bus for everyone. She needed to remember this moment. Every single detail of it. What was said. What was heard. The smiles. The spins. How she was still dizzy.

“Hey Aberdeen! You made it on to TV!” Mitch yelled from the middle of the bus.

Everyone’s head popped up, and she watched as all the guys already on the bus took off their headphones. “What?!” she shrieked.

“They caught you celebrating in the box!” he said, turning his phone and showing her the video.

Aberdeen heard all of the boys get up out of their seats and crowd behind her to watch the video. She noticed the Sportsnet logo on the bottom of screen first and foremost, then listened as she heard the announcers describing the scene, which they replayed in slow fucking motion. “I think that young lady is indicative of most of Leafs Nation right now!” she heard Jim Hughson’s voice as the video showed her jumping up from her seat and throwing her pen. The boys behind her were howling as they watched, and when she began pumping her fist in front of her, they laughed some more. Slightly embarrassed, Aberdeen buried her head in her hands and shook her head. “It’s always me! Why is it always me that gets caught doing these things?!”

“The camera loves you, Aberdeen!” Mitch giggled.

“It happens to all the wives and girlfriends at some point,” Morgan said as most of the guys went back to their seats on the bus.

“But I’m not a wife. Or a girlfriend!”

She could tell Morgan was smiling behind his mask. “Not yet,” he mumbled to himself, shrugging.

Aberdeen turned red. She sat back down in her seat and continued typing away on her phone furiously, making sure nobody saw her skin hue.

***

It was only when everybody got back to the hotel when Aberdeen had to stop typing, but by then, she was sure she’d gotten every feeling. Everybody was still buzzed as they rode two at a time in the elevator up to their floor, and she could still feel the energy even when she was bottled up in her room – like everybody else – and it was eerily silent after just having been so loud.

She had just finished changing into her pajamas when she heard her phone buzz. She knew it was William texting, so she grabbed her phone immediately, ready for his request to FaceTime.

open ur door really slowly so it doesn’t make any noise

Her eyes bulged out of her head. She set her phone down and rushed over to her door, not bothering to look out the peephole, but doing exactly what she was told. She opened it slowly, carefully, making sure not to make a peep. She looked out into the hallway, down to the other wing, and saw William’s head popping out of his own room. He rushed out, closing the door quietly before rushing over to her wing.

“William,” she whispered. Her heart was beating out of her chest. He was not allowed to do this. He was not allowed to do this. She watched as he made his way over. “William what are you—”

She was silenced by his slipping past her and into her room, putting his hand over hers to shut the door slowly so it didn’t make a clicking sound. When it was closed, she tried one more time. “Willy—”

Her attempt was futile. He crashed his lips against hers, wrapping his arms around her as he squeezed her against his body, so much so that he could lift her up in his arms and she could wrap her legs around his torso. He stuck his tongue down her throat. She moaned out at the sensation before realizing that he was walking them into her bathroom – her bathroom that faced the open area in front of the elevators, and not facing or sharing a wall with her room neighbour. He kicked the door closed with his foot before setting her down on the marble vanity sink, her legs still wrapped around his body keeping him close.

“Take this off,” he mumbled as he tugged violently at her pajama shirt, almost ripping it as she shoved her off her body and threw it across the bathroom. She pulled on his t-shirt too, throwing it in the same direction as they crashed their lips against each other’s again.

“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she whispered out after he bit down on her bottom lip and pulled it away from her. “You’re not supposed to be in my room. We’re breaking the rules.”

“Isn’t that half the fun?” he quipped, a small smirk on his face. Aberdeen could feel her body get hot – hotter than it already was. This was so wrong. So wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be in her room. They weren’t supposed to be touching. They weren’t supposed to be kissing. They weren’t supposed to be doing any of it, yet here Aberdeen was, her body heating up and her core getting even hotter. She scratched her nails down William’s broad and toned chest as he kissed a trail down her neck and to her breasts, sucking and biting down at her nipples gently, causing her to gasp out.

He immediately put his hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide. He looked up at her from where he was at her breasts. “You can’t be too loud or else we’ll get caught.”

Oh my fucking God. Now she really felt her body light up like a fire. She whimpered slightly. “But Willy—” she tried to mumble against his hand.

“Shhhh…” he cooed. “Can you be quiet, Aberdeen? Can you be quiet while I fuck you?” He was waiting for an answer. She felt a shiver run up her spine. She nodded her head. “That’s my girl.”

William continued paying attention to her breasts before kissing his way back up to her lips and sticking his tongue down her throat again. Aberdeen ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on it slightly before scratching down his back and pulling down his trackpants and underwear. He did the same to her, letting his fingers play with the wet folds of her pussy until he heard whimpers from her again. “Quiiiiiet, Aberdeen,” he cooed once more, bringing his hand that was just playing with her pussy up to her lips.

She grabbed his hand in both her hands and sucked his fingers into her mouth. “I’m not going to be able to,” she whispered, shaking her head.

William pulled her off the marble vanity, grabbing her hips and spinning her around so her back was against his chest. They were able to see each other through the mirror. Aberdeen watched as William’s hand snaked around her body and down to her hot core again. “You’re going to have to be quiet or we’ll get caught,” he whispered huskily in her ear as he played with her core again. Her legs were shaking at the feeling. She gripped on to the vanity.

“Fuck me raw, Willy,” she begged. She had her own tricks up her sleeve. If William was going to play this game, she was going to play hers. She watched his reaction in the mirror and could see his pupils dilate. “I started birth control. It’s okay.”

“You what?”

“I started birth control a month ago. It was supposed to be a surprise but—”

“—Aberdeen—”

“—Please Willy,” she begged, her voice breathless. She could feel his hard cock against her body and was so desperate for it, she didn’t care how wrong this was. “Fuck me raw. Fuck. Me. Raw.”

He bent her over the vanity. She stuck her ass out and kept her eyes on him through the mirror, watching as he positioned himself at her entrance, sliding into her easily. She cried out at the sensation, feeling his hand almost automatically cover her mouth to silence her. When he began moving in and out of her, the sound of their flesh smacking together, she didn’t know if she should close her eyes to revel in the feeling of his slick, hard cock filling her up, or if she should keep her eyes open to watch him fucking her hard and fast through the mirror. She chose the latter. She and William had had many sexual escapades before (sexcapades, if you will), but nothing had been as hot or as raw or as dangerous as this was. The exhilaration of doing a completely banned act – banned since they figured out they were working together, even more so banned now – was giving her the ultimate rush.

His hand was still over her mouth as she arched her back and William pulled her back against his chest. She could feel herself getting close, and when William’s other hand snaked around once more to play with her clit, she tried to cry out but couldn’t. “Are you gonna be quiet when I make you cum?”

She shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.”

He thrusted into her harder, trying to make a point. She whimpered again and his hand somehow tightened around her mouth. “Are you gonna be quiet?” he asked again. She looked at him through the mirror, seeing the absolute fire in his eyes. She knew what he was looking for. She knew he would tease her and tease her and tease her until she agreed to what he was asking. She nodded slowly. He smiled. “Good.”

He quickened his pace, harder and faster and rougher than before, and Aberdeen continued to watch them fucking through the mirror until she could feel closer and closer to her sweet release. Eventually, her legs began to shake, and she could feel an intense orgasm rush through every single inch of her body. She tried to stay as quiet as possible, but the feeling was too much, and her whimpers escaped her, though they were much quieter than the usual vocal performances she usually gave when she and William had sex, and though William still had his hand over her mouth. At the sound of her stifled whimpers she could feel William’s hot cum spill inside her. The feeling was hot and raw and simultaneously everything she imagined it would be and feel like but also completely new and unlike anything she could have ever expected. His own small grunts escaped his mouth as he felt himself empty inside of her, revelling in the feeling of filling her completely. He eventually let go of her mouth, and her body bent over against the marble vanity again, unable to stand up straight due to the long, intense orgasm. He tried to catch his breath as he continued to watch her body shake, the last of her orgasm rushing through her. He could see her chest rising and falling from her trying to catch her breath.

It was a few minutes before Aberdeen and William could regain their breaths. He slipped out of her slowly, and she whimpered again at the loss of him, still bent over the vanity, though she could still feel a slickness between her thighs. She felt his body bend too, his chest on her back, and felt him kiss her shoulders delicately. She craned her neck to get a look at him. “I better get a writing job soon. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to hold it back for much longer,” she whispered.

William giggled – a low, rumbly giggle from his chest as he smiled and continued placing kisses on her shoulder. “I agree,” he whispered back. “We gotta make sure you get that Toronto Life job.”

She bit her lip. “Did it feel good for you?”

He nodded. “Of course. What about for you? Did it feel different?”

“It felt fucking amazing,” she nodded. “It…it did feel different. I…you’re the first one I’ve ever let fuck me raw,” she admitted.

William nodded in understanding. He knew what she was really saying – that this was, at least physically, the ultimate form of trust, and he was the only one in her life, ever, who she trusted that much. “We can keep doing whatever you’re more comfortable with,” he said.

“I liked this. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back,” she giggled slightly.

William smiled. He pulled her back upright and, at that point, she could stand on her own again. She spun around so she was facing him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss him. They stood in her bathroom kissing for a while until William pulled away slightly. “I love you so much,” he mumbled.

“I love you too.”

“Sorry I made you break the rules…yet again,” he smiled mischievously.

Aberdeen winked. “Isn’t that half the fun?”

163 notes · View notes

cherubcow · 3 years

Text

“Invincible”, Season 1 (2021) Review

Somehow both very cool and very fucking stupid :D

About Created and written primarily by Robert Kirkman (principle writer for The Walking Dead comic and TV show), this Young Adult cartoon basically synthesizes a number of comic book characters (e.g., Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Hellboy, Wonder Woman, Gambit) and tries to balance their heroism with cynical twists and dark realities. It's an exercise like Brightburn (2019) in that it mirrors existing comic writing all too closely in order to make violent twists. The cool stuff arrives pretty much immediately. You can tell right away that the physics have some level of realism, and it quickly gets serious because of this. The easy comparison would be to The Boys (also by Amazon, also about violent heroes, and also very well-produced). So, if you like The Boys (2019–), you'll probably like Invincible only a little less.

(( Some spoilers but nothing too specific ))

Wrong Focus But, the stupid stuff comes from the same error that the Kick-Ass movie (2010) made: it focuses on the wrong person(s). In Kick-Ass, the error was focusing on.. well.. "Kick-Ass", an irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. Invincible makes the same mistake, focusing on.. well.. "Invincible", a (so far) irredeemable loser and waste of screen time. So, despite its virtues, this show cannot escape that it made the decision to go for the Young Adult viewing demographic. It reminds me of Alita: Battle Angel (2019) in that way too: some very cool adult concepts ruined by the dramatic devices of unrepentant teenage stupidity and irrelevance. I didn't even like that stuff when I was a teenager, though Jordan Catalano gets a pass.

Main Cast and Characters The supporting characters were also very stupid. The most annoying was definitely Amber Bennett (voiced by the otherwise cool Zazie Beetz from Deadpool 2 (2018) and Joker (2019)),

who is supposed to be attractive somehow to Mark Grayson ("Invincible", voiced by Steven Yeun, who played Glenn on The Walking Dead)

despite the fact that she constantly judges him, fails to understand him, often fails to give him any kind of benefit of the doubt, and continues to scowl at him and be hurtful towards him even when she has information that should change her outlook towards him. And because she is part of the love triangle shared between herself, Invincible/Mark, and "Atom Eve"/Samantha (voiced by the awesome Gillian Jacobs from Community (2009–2014)),

audiences simply have to bear with it that Amber's annoying character will be present and wasting time until Mark can realize that Amber is in fact toxic and that Eve actually understands him and can improve him in more positive directions. That love triangle should have been a 20-minute distraction, but I'm guessing that it will eat up a season or two more, especially if the writers become cowardly and fail to change things for fear of messing up a perceived "winning" formula. In my ideal story line, they would skip ahead 10 years, drop the teen drama, the love triangle, and the stupid jokes and have Invincible and Eve paired in defense of Earth, with the main tension being from their worry that the other would be horribly gored in front of them during lethal fights against cosmic enemies ;)

Aside, I am aware of Amber’s motivation for being a bad person, I just think her justification is not based in understanding, empathy, and a regard for the gravity of Invincible’s situation. In a strict political sense, Invincible should not commit a lie of omission by keeping her in the dark about his identity — even if for the “noble lie” reason of protecting her — but in a real sense, he is a fucking teenager who just developed his super powers. For her to pretend that he should reveal his entire identity to her — a potentially transformative and even dangerous decision — after a few months of teenage romance paints an absurd portrait of her mind. It does, however, align her with Omni-Man, because where Omni-Man forces Invincible to become an adult in the fighting sense (pushing with full force early on), Amber forces Invincible to become an emotional adult by getting him to understand that toxic people such as herself need to be given boundaries — and he needs to learn to clearly delineate and communicate his real desires. By knowing that he does not want Amber, people who regiment his free time, or people who do not suit him, for instance, he can realize why Eve was an obvious decision: Eve understands, can make time when they have time, and will let him find his decisions. Part of a coming-of-age story tends to be realizing what one actually wants, and Invincible’s hesitation in telling Amber his identity shows that he does not truly want her. This separates Invincible from, say, Spider-Man, who avoided telling Mary Jane his identity not because he did not want her but because he wanted at all costs to protect her.

The next most annoying character has to be Debbie Grayson (voiced by TV-cancer Sandra Oh and who luckily was not animated to look like the real Sandra Oh and who should have been voiced instead by Bobby Lee due to Lee's successful MadTV parody of Sandra Oh).

Debbie basically fills the role of Skyler in Breaking Bad, except that Debbie's character tends to be slightly more understanding before her inevitable and toxic Skyler-resentment and undermining behavior. Despite having an 8-episode arc of change, Debbie's character flips too quickly and lacks the empathy and Omni-Man motive-justifying that would make her interesting (the comic's development may vary). For instance, if she refused to believe that Omni-Man meant his own words, that would make her empathetic and perhaps virtuous even if misled, but instead she dropped their "20 years" of understanding after viewing Omni-Man in action, which makes her appear shallow, easily manipulated, and unsympathetic. That was a definite "Young Adult" genre move because it shows immaturity by the writers to break apart a bond of 20 years so quickly. Mediocre teens might accept such a fissure because their lives have not yet seen or may not comprehend that level of time, but adults know that even long-standing and problematic relationships (which, beyond the lie, Omni-Man's and Debbie's was not shown to be) take a lot of time to break — even with lies exposed.

Omni-Man The biggest show strength for me was of course Omni-Man, who in a success of casting was voiced by J.K. Simmons in a kind of reprisal of Simmons' role as Fletcher from Whiplash (2014).

The Fletcher/Omni-Man parallel shows through their being incredibly harsh but extremely disciplined and principled, forcing people to become beyond even their own ideal selves (this via Omni-Man's tough-love teaching of Invincible — comically, Omni-Man was actually psychologically easier on Invincible than Fletcher was on Whiplash's Andrew character). Despite the show's attempts to villainize Omni-Man, he, like Fletcher and also like Breaking Bad's Walter White, becomes progressively more awesome, eventually representing a Spartan will, an unconquerable drive, and a realistic and martial understanding of a hero's role.

To the show's credit, while it wrote Omni-Man to be outright genocidal and from a culture of eugenicists (again, Spartan), they could not help but admire him and his "violence" and "naked force" (for a Starship Troopers reference), giving him a path to redemption. That redemption comes in part because — despite the show's attempt to be often realistic and violent — its decision to be directed at young adults via dumb jokes, petty relationship drama, the characters’ reckless lack of anonymity and security in their neighborhood (loudly taking off and landing right at the doorstep), and light indy music also made the portrayed violence far less literal. With a less literal violence, the real statement becomes not that Omni-Man really did kill so many people (though he certainly did kill those people within the show's plot) but that he was symbolically capable of terrible violence but could be reformed for good. That's the shortcoming with putting violence under demographic limitations. If it's a PG-13 Godzilla knocking down cities, the deaths in the many fallen skyscrapers don't matter so much (the audience will even forgive Godzilla for mass death if it happens mostly in removed spectacle), whereas if it's Cormac McCarthy envisioning a very realistic fiction, every death rides the edge of true trauma.

By showing light between the real and the symbolic, it is much easier to identify and agree with Omni-Man. For instance, when Robot (voiced by Zachary Quinto of Heroes and the newer Star Trek movies)

shows too much empathy for the revealed weakness of "Monster Girl" (voiced by Grey Griffin), the audience may have thought, "Pathetic," even before Omni-Man himself said it. And this because Omni-Man knows that true and powerful enemies (including himself) will not hesitate to use ultra-violence against these avenues of weakness. "Invincible" can make his Spider-Man quips while in lethal battles, but he does so while riding the edge of death — something that Omni-Man has to teach Invincible by riding him to the brink of his own.

Other Cast/Characters and Amazon's Hidden Budget It was impressive how many big-name actors were thrown into this — a true hemorrhage of producer funding. Amazon has so far hidden the budget numbers, perhaps because they don't want people to know that the show (like many of its shows) represents a kind of loss-leader to jump-start its entertainment brand.

Aside from those already mentioned, the show borrows a number of actors from The Walking Dead (WD), including.. • Chad L. Coleman ("Martian Man"; "Tyreese" on WD),

• Khary Payton ("Black Samson"; "Ezekiel" on WD),

• Ross Marquand (several characters; "Aaron" on WD)

• Lauren Cohan ("War Woman"; "Maggie" on WD)

• Michael Cudlitz ("Red Rush"; "Abraham" on WD)

• Lennie James ("Darkwing"; "Morgan" on WD)

• Sonequa Martin-Green ("Green Ghost"; "Sasha" on WD)

There were also connections to Rick and Morty and Community, not just with Gillian Jacobs but also with... • Justin Roiland ("Doug Cheston"), who voices both Rick and Morty in Rick and Morty,

• Jason Mantzoukas ("Rex"),

• Walton Goggins ("Cecil"),

• Chris Diamantopoulos (several characters),

• Clancy Brown ("Damien Darkblood"),

• Kevin Michael Richardson ("Mauler Twins"), and

• Ryan Ridley (writing)

That's a lot of overlap. They even had Michael Dorn from Star Trek: TNG (1987–1994) (there he played Worf) and Reginald VelJohnson from Family Matters (1989–1998) and Die Hard (1988), and even Mark Hamill. Pretty much everyone in the voice cast was significant and known. Maybe Amazon got a discount for COVID since the actors could all do voice-work from home? ;)

Overall Bad that it was for the Young Adult target demo but good for the infrequent adult themes and ultra-violence. Very high production value and a good watch for those who like dark superhero stories. I have heard that the comic gets progressively darker, which fits for Robert Kirkman, so it will likely be worth keeping up with this show.

#invincible #tv review #robert kirkman #invincible tv series #invincible tv show

23 notes · View notes

ssa-dg · 3 years

Text

Undercover Part 1

part 1, part 2

Overview: the BAU has gone undercover to find a potential unsub who has been drugging, raping and murdering women. It own becomes a potential victim. Having to play her part to catch the bad guy, you go to the party all dressed up and dance with a potential murderer all while pretending he is someone else, Spencer Reid.

TW: drugs, rape (it is mentioned how the unsub rapes his victims. the reader is drugged and the unsub takes advantage of her being drugged and begins to take off her dress), murder, sex, adult themes. if these types of things are triggering for you please don’t read. I’m just a average person who tried their best to not cause people to be upset. If this is problematic I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to be and will take it down.

Relationship: Spencer Reid x (female)reader

word count: 3,384

Author’s note: so this is my first ever Criminal Minds story. If it garners enough attention I will do more parts (honestly even if it doesn’t I probably will lol) PSA: I have never been under the influence of MDMA and honestly I don’t judge if people who do it consensually and safely (which is harder said then done). this is how I imagine it to be like to be on it. Also I like writing and I like sharing my writing because all of the great fan fics that cause me happiness, if I can cause that reaction just to one person that’s enough for me

You would do anything to save the world. Maybe it was a hero complex, maybe it was some form of glory seeking, or maybe it was the only way you knew how to fill the dark abyss you felt when you did nothing of importance. Being a part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, helped with that. Being on the team gave you everything you needed, a family and a way to save others. Maybe saying you love your job isn’t the correct way to explain your emotions but you knew no better way. Although you wish a job like this wasn’t necessary and didn’t even exist, it did.

Your team meant the world to you and you would contribute almost in any way to help find an unknown subject. So when Penelope Garcia was able to connect the killings in New York City to some private “rich people” clubs, her and the team created a plan to infiltrate.

The victimology was specific. It was all rich young women ranging from the ages 19-30 who just moved into the city to find themselves.

The profile was an easy one to figure out. He was obviously a troubled young white male who was probably an heir of some sort. He was richer than what most people think is rich. He usually meets the victim at a high society social event. Then he’d take them to a more exclusive social event. After that he would drug them with MDMA, rape and kill them.

It was hard for the BAU to get much out of the enclosed and tight group of New York’s most elite families. So going undercover at an event where the unsub could potentially hunt for prey was what made most sense. Your jobs was to observe the women and men there and try to see if any of you could fish out the unsub.

They had done it in the past but usually they did their best work by watching and observing. So here the team was, their second night in a row all dolled up in fancy cocktail dresses at some art gallery. Tara Lewis and Luke Alves stood around a table pretending to talk to each other as they observed potential victims. Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, and Matt Simmons stood at another end of the room checking for the potential unsub, while your unit chief, Emily Prentiss, and you were pretending to be alone at the event eavesdropping on rich families. You listened to those around you while also scanning the room looking for potential young white men talking to lone young women. “Ten o’clock to the creepy face painting,” you heard Alvez say in your small earpiece. You calmly turned pretending to look at the other art pieces and saw a white male in his mid-thirties walking up to a female. He placed his hand on her low back as he leaned in to talk to her. Emily being the closest nearby out of you two, moved closer acting like she was going for some hors d’oeuvres. “That’s not him. He’s too drunk. I can smell all the alcohol he has consumed. He would need to be smoother than that,” Emily whispered as she took a sip of her glass. That’s how most of the night went. We followed and stared at people who might be the unsub and then filed them out. You felt yourself losing hope. You hated this part of the job. The one that made you feel like the profile was wrong and you all would have to start over, which there was never time to start over. Someone could die. That’s when you felt a hand touch the small of your back, your body tensed up immediately. “Relax,” he whispered in your ear. But you didn’t need to force it, because when you turned to look at the person who touched you, you were met with the face of beauty and your body instantly relaxed. You knew this was a dangerous reaction, as would probably many of Ted Bundy’s victims.

The man before you had slicked back short dark hair, bright blue eyes, strong symmetry in his facial features, and strong cheek and jaw bones. He smiled wickedly at you, causing you to intake a sharp breath. It was so sinister but also so beautiful. It wasn’t the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen, no that was reserved for your teammate, best friend, and love of your life (even if he didn’t know it) Spencer Reid. Now, Spencer’s smile was one you could get lost in. You refocused yourself to the beautiful man in front of you. “They say the artist intended for this particular piece to show trauma while he was drinking. His other pieces are other emotions on different drugs,” his deep voice rattled through your ears. You wanted to unwrap yourself from this man’s embrace. How dare he touch you like that without your permission. “Play along,” Luke spoke as he saw a scowl beginning to form on your lips, “he could be the unsub.” You smoothed the scowl into a smile. “It doesn’t look like it depicts trauma,” you responded dumbly. The man before you cocked his head to the side giving you a lopsided smile. “I guess it all depends on how someone experiences trauma,” the smile now wicked, and scarier. A shiver went up your spine. “Are you cold?” He asked, noticing it, while looking you up and down like he could devour you. “No,” your voice came out scratchy as your throat went dry. You cleared it politely. “Just thinking-” “About your own trauma?” He asked. You could hear the fake tone of concern. That snapped you out of your fear. The pictures of all the murdered women that brought the BAU to this case flashed before your eyes. “Maybe,” the smile you plastered on your face was a one you knew he wanted, a sad smile. You were going to play this role like it’s no one's business because you were here to catch a bad guy and if flirting with a creep got you there then so be it. He leaned in closer to your ear, “my name is Alistair Constantine,” you immediately recognized the name. It was on the list of potential unsubs for the profile. His family’s money was old, going back to the revolutionary war. The family seemed to always be updating with the times and never losing that money. You leaned into his other ear and introduced yourself.

Spencer’s hands were clutched at his side as he watched you interact with the Constantine boy. He felt in his gut at this moment, Alastair was the unsub. The way he was looking at you, it was like you were a quest to conquer. Spencer knew he couldn’t just come up, break you two apart and blow the whole investigation but boy did he want to.

Alastair paraded you around the room. Every now and then he would talk to fellow members of the society. It took everything in you to pretend that you didn’t want to beat his ass right then and there. You were always an imaginative kid growing up so you blocked out the gruesome pictures of the crime scenes and instead pretended this was your life a young New York woman getting special treatment from a handsome man. It was easier to fit the rom-com role then what was actually happening. Alistair stopped in front of a painting that was particularly psychedelic looking with bright pastel colors. “This is my favorite piece by the artist. This was when he was on Ecstasy. Look at the happiness and distorted-ness to the art. It’s amazing,” he gushed. It would have been odd that he picked this particular painting to attach too, but it was a strong tie to the method of his killings. “Humankind cannot bear very much of reality,” you spoke out, breaking Spencer from his thoughts about if they had enough information to convict Alistair for the murders. Alistair looked at you funny, not understanding why you would say that. “T. S. Eliot” you told Alistair while Spencer whispered it at the same time. a ghost of a smile playing on your lips when you heard Spencer’s voice. “It’s what I think of when I look at this art. T. S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets,” you blushed at your admission. It felt like for a second, with having just heard Spencer’s voice, that you were talking to him instead of Alistair. Spencer was now looking straight at you two. His eyes held bewilderment, he has known you for years and you never once mentioned this, and he knew you knew this was something he cared about.

“Indeed,” Alistair yawned.

The next 30 minutes was you telling him how you’d grown up in Boston, Massachusetts, that you had no close relatives anymore, and how when your parents died their life savings all went to you (all of it true), the lie came when it was to talk about why you moved to New York City, what you wanted to do with your life etc. And he ate it up every second. You played the roll of being the lonely damsel in a big city trying to find the answer to life. You were his ideal victim and you knew that he didn’t even question how perfect you were.

The night ended with an invite to the society’s ball tomorrow night, and Prentiss fed your ear a fake address for Alistair to send a car to tomorrow. You ordered an Uber to the address where Emily said they’ll pick you up to not seem suspicious in case Alistair sent someone to follow you. Once at the address the FBI’s SUV pulled up and you got in. It was Spencer who picked you up, which was unusual, as he never liked driving. You climbed onto the passenger seat and saw his knuckles were white from the strength of his grip on the steering wheel. It didn’t take a profiler to know Spencer was mad. “Spencer, are you alright?” You approached with a soft whisper. There was a pause of silence, Spencer calculating if he should be honest. He eventually gave into the truth as he knew that he couldn’t hide it from you. “No,” he growled, the anger in his voice causing you to jump in surprise. “No, I am not okay. That man is a murderer and he was holding you in his arm! You two were practically dancing around the room in there. We have put you in danger and now, now you are his next target, his next victim!” he hit the wheel in anger. You had never seen Spencer this angry before. Most times when Spencer got angry, he got smart and he used his logic to fight but now he sounded emotional. “Spencer,” you raised your voice, “I am not a victim, I’m an agent. I will do what it takes to protect others. Just like you.” In anger Spencer swerved the car to the side and put it in park. “Dammit, You don’t get it,” he yelled and turned towards you. “If he is our unsub, which we both know he is, I’ve run the calculations and the risk is too high for you,” his hands flying everywhere in gestures, “There are too many dependent variables. There isn’t enough for us to control. The probability of you getting hurt or,” he stopped to collect himself, and in a quieter voice said, “or worse, it’s too high. I’ve run the math.” Now that sounded more like the Spencer you knew. A soft smile crept onto your lips, then you quickly neutralized your face, in hopes he wouldn’t see the way his concern for you made you feel. And You couldn’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t let yourself feel happiness when Spencer showed you affection, because it eventually just leads to heart break. Subconsciously, you turned more towards him in your seat, “In your math is there probability that we get this guy and he never gets the opportunity to hurt another woman again?” You asked. Spencer gave you a pained look like he knew where you were going. You countered that look with one that told him to answer the question. He let out a heavy sigh, “yes. There is that possibility.” You smiled at him knowing you won the argument, “That settles it then.”

With everyone back in the small conference room at the police station, the conversation began about what to do tomorrow. No one was pleased that one of their own is now the target but there was truth that the situation was now more in the BAU’s control than before. Everyone also believed in you. They knew the risk and that scared them but also you are a Special Advisory Agent for a reason. Relief did not fill you but neither did dread, when you thought of the plan. You were doing the right thing. It didn’t matter if you were going to put yourself in danger.

Spencer kept pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Something that happened when he started to get headaches and you could guess this headache was caused by stress. As the rest of the team started packing up, you stared at your best friend hurting over the stress you were causing. You took a seat next to Spencer. He was still wearing his suit from the party. “We are going to be okay tomorrow,” you comforted him. He looked up at you, “I’m not worried about all of us, I’m worried about you,” he confessed. Once again, you knew these words shouldn’t have an effect on you like they did, but it did and this time there was something that felt hidden behind those words, something more. “I trust you not to let anything happen to me,” You countered and placed your hand on his forearm to comfort him. You looked in his eyes and tried to let him know that there is more than just trust there.

The day of the ball, you got ready in the police station bathroom. It wasn’t exactly how you imagined to be getting ready for your first ball in New York City. You’d rather be wearing this gown for other reasons than going undercover to catch a murderer rapist. The Givenchy dress Garcia picked out was gorgeous (as you instructed her to get a designer to fit in the crowd and you would float the bill). It was a long evening dress in blue and green with a gradient-effect. The top had long puffed sleeves, deep V-neckline, and waist accentuated with smooth lamé and long flared skirt. You put your hair up in a loose low bun. The makeup you did was a smooth eye with long flair eyeliner. You put a heavy amount of glow highlighter on your cheek bones and collar bones to accentuate the deep v cut the dress.

You felt ridiculous walking out of the bathroom into the police station wearing your dress. But the way Spencer looked at you was something powerful and intoxicating, making you forget your embarrassment. You strode up to him. A small smile played on your lips looking up at him. You saw him also smiling at you “You’re almost as tall as me,” he blurted out. You let out a small laugh, “‘I guess that’s what heels will do,” you smiled looking down at your feet. Spencer felt ridiculous that’s what he said. He should have told you how amazing you looked or how your beauty felt like the sun- always pulling him in and having his thoughts orbit around you. But he wasn’t good with voicing his feelings (especially in a room with his colleagues).

“We are going to have Officer Melinda Jackson drive you over to the apartment, And stake out the car. She’ll be on the radio the whole time till you are in range with us. We will be at the Capitale when you get there.” Emily disclosed as she strapped on a microphone and earpiece.

You stepped out of the car with your head held high even though your anxiety was on another level. “i’m here,” you whispered. “We are here too,” Tara responded. Everyone disclosed where each one was to you. The venue was massive and beautiful. The ceiling was tall with ornate decorations. The lighting was a bright orangish glow. As you examined the room, checking each point of your team, you also saw Alistair. He was at the bar with what looked like to be a group of his friends. Spencer not too far behind them. You walked towards Alistair but kept your eyes on Spencer. He took your breath away dressed in a tux and his hair slicked back like he used to when he was younger. It felt like your heart was lit on fire just by looking at him all dressed up. He was staring at you intensely. It wasn’t that the world stopped the moment your eyes met his, but it was more like everything else just didn’t matter. You knew you’d have to look away soon to not give away anything but you took him in for just one more second. “You look amazing,” you heard a voice next to you say. You turned to see the ever good looking Alistair. He wore a navy 3 piece suite with a large Gucci tag on the sleeve, and a large Gucci flower pinned on his chest. You gave him a soft smile and returned his compliment. “I want to introduce you to my family. Their approval means everything,” he offered you his arm. You took it tentatively, Spencer watched him lead you away, and he pondered on Alistair’s odd statement about family approval.

Alistair’s family was everything you’d expect. They were proper and pompous. However they liked you, a lot. You fell right into the role you had to play. You stood there laughing and engaged in the conversation with his mom and cousin.

“Shall we dance?” Alistair asked, giving you his hand, as your conversation with his sister came to an end. You nodded and let him take you to the dance floor.

He spun you out and brought you back in close to start the dancing. You gave him a bright smile at his eccentric action. You closed your eyes and let your mind pretend it was Spencer holding you. You followed his lead as he twirled you both around the dance floor. “Stop dancing, we can’t see you,” Spencer frantically said into your ear piece. You snapped your eyes open. Taking in that you were on a secluded corner of the dance floor by an exit door. “You are special. My family, They like you” Alistair said with a sense of manic to it. “you aren’t like the others,” he admitted. His voice sounded different. It was sinister with a tinge of adoration. He pulled you close, so close that his fingers dug into your hand and back. You felt like your brain was freezing up in fear. How many times had you been in fear inducing situations and why did your brain pick now to not work. “you’re hurting me,” you groaned trying to pull yourself away. “Where are you” JJ yelled but then you felt mist hit you, and your mind begin to make things fuzzy, “the left corner, the spray…in the flower,” you breathed out, hoping the team could hear you. You heard a rattle of commands to your co-workers from Emily. Then it went black.

Spencer rushed through the crowd to find you but by the time he got to the corner you told him you were at, you were gone. “She’s not here,” Spencer panicked into the ear piece. “I just saw a black Tesla leave, license plate delta, alpha, hotel nine, one, two ” Luke informed them. “Call and ask them to run it”, Rossi said urgently. “on it,” Luke replied. “JJ and Reid, go talk to the mom and sister, Tara and Matt split up and talk to his friends and the other family members. They have to know where they are,” Emily demanded

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #david rossi #matt simmons #Penelope Garcia #criminal minds fic #luke alvez #jennifer jareau #tara lewis #criminal minds fanfiction #ssa-dg #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine

86 notes · View notes

fitzfangirl · 2 years

Text

🔥🔥🔥Hot as Hell🔥🔥🔥

Leopold Fitz x OC

OC: Jennifer Russo, a SHIELD probie trying to prove herself in order to become an official member of Coulson’s team.

A/N: Takes place during the episode “Seeds,” but references the episodes “Aftershocks” and “Laws of Nature.” Grant is not a double agent, but Fitz still had a drowning accident. Skye has already undergone terrigenesis and is now called Daisy. Includes flashbacks.

CHAPTER 3: Melt my Heart

(chapter 1) (chapter 2)

Previously: Jennifer underwent terrigenesis and now her hands can heat up. She thaws out a frozen Donnie and the team is tasked with solving this mystery.

Daisy lead Jennifer to a plane. She called it The Bus. She could see the fear oozing from Jen’s pores. Daisy reassured her, “No one is going to hurt you.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“Seriously?”

Daisy guided her into a white box, like one of those moving pods, but with a window. Jennifer wasn’t claustrophobic but didn’t like the feeling of being locked in a cage. Her guard went up. “Who are you? What is SHIELD?”

“We try to protect people like you from the world or from yourself.”

“People like me? What is happening to me?”

“You’ve experienced what’s called a bio-morphic event. Short version, your DNA changed.”

“Long version?”

“I’ll have Fitz-Simmons explain it to you.”

“Why aren’t my hands glowing like before?”

Daisy knocked on the box. “It’s poly-tectic adaptive materials, to neutralize powers. So you’re safe in there and we’re safe from you.”

“Powers? Do I have super powers? Like an Avenger?”

“Not quite. What do you remember right before this happened?”

“Uh, I had lunch and took my pills.”

“Fish oil?” Jennifer nodded.

“Jen, you went through a process called terrigenesis. It’s caused by terrigen crystals. The fish oil supplements were contaminated after the crystals leaked into the ocean.”

“Fish oil pills? Shouldn’t this be on the label? May cause you to turn into stone and burn shit down?”

“All Inhumans have different abilities. I can cause earthquakes, or tremors with my hands.” A young woman in a grey lab coat appeared. “This is Simmons.”

“Hello, Jen. I’m going to take a blood sample if that’s alright. I suggest you rest while I run this and then we can discuss the findings. OK?”

“Sure.”

Daisy brought Jennifer to the lab. Simmons and that blue-eyed boy from before were there. Simmons started, “We separated your DNA using gel electro—.”

“—phoresis. I did that in high school. Daisy said my DNA changed?”

“Your DNA didn’t just rearrange, Jen, it contains extra macromolecules.”

“Am I like GMO corn?”

“That’s quite an apt simile.”

Daisy explained what the Kree did and why, which did not sit well with Jennifer. She started pacing. “So my whole life is a lie? I’m an alien? Nope. You’re all lying. I am Jennifer Russo, my family is from Italy, I have a brother and sister and we all look alike.”

Jen’s cheeks and hands turned red. “Jen, you have to calm down,” Daisy cautioned.

“Am I a monster? There is something very wrong with me.”

“No, you’re just different now,” the young man interjected. He came forward and addressed Jennifer. “You’re just different now, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You still have your family’s genes, your culture, your memories, and relationships. Now, you have something extra.”

“What’s your name?”

“Fitz.”

“Thank you, Fitz.”

Jemma led Ward, Daisy, and Jennifer to the “Boiler Room”, a non-stop club, complete with billiards, a bar, bright lights, and blaring music. So many people. She felt the tightness in her stomach and her body froze. The team spread around to talk to students but Jen left to get some air. She wandered the campus, feeling small around so many people. Smart people. They probably looked down on her, the way she did to others when she was in the top 3% of her class. Why was she with SHIELD? She never spent a day at the Academy before today. Her throat and chest tightened and she balled her hands into fists. She tried some deep breathing to calm down. She relaxed when she saw a familiar face. “Agent Weaver.”

“I didn’t get your name, Agent, you’re with Coulson’s team?”

“Oh I’m not an agent, at least not yet. Jennifer Russo.” She offered her hand to shake. “Can I talk to you?”

“I’ve already disclosed all that I know in this investigation.”

“I’m not talking about that. I want to ask you about Agent Fitz. Let me buy you a coffee.”

Jennifer grilled her with questions, trying to uncover everything she could about him. What he researched, what he created. “But what was he like, you know, as a person?”

“He was kind, quiet, and shy. Didn’t have friends from what I saw, well not until he paired up with Jemma Simmons.”

That was a punch to the gut. Jennifer would never stand a chance against her. “No uh,” — Jen looked side to side — “girlfriends?”

“That is none of my business, he was my student. This conversation is highly untoward.”

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m still trying to get to know everyone and he’s the only one I can’t figure out. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Coulson. I know my place. I don’t belong here at the Academy. Lord knows I couldn’t have been admitted here anyway.”

Weaver took pity on her. “Miss Russo. I don’t know your background or your education, but I saw you save a young man’s life today using your bare hands. You fit in just fine at SHIELD.”

Jennifer’s heart swelled. “Thank you.” She began to walk away.

“Oh Miss Russo?” Jen turned around. “Never saw him around girls. I think he was afraid of them.” She smiled warmly and walked away.

“Now let’s see what you can do,” Fitz began, staring at the tablet in his hands. Various objects were set on the table. Fitz was assessing Jennifer’s abilities. She started by melting ice cubes and boiling water. Fitz, already impressed, smiled, “I’ll come to you next time my tea gets cold.” She touched paper, wood, and different metals. The paper ignited and Jen looked terrified; the memory of the pizzeria flooding her mind. “It’s OK, I got it.” He extinguished it in the glass of water they used moments before. She was more careful with the wood. She was able to burn some markings on it. “Go on.”

“What?”

“See if it will ignite.” She shook her head. “It’s alright, I’ll put it out. We’ve handled far more explosive things in this lab.” That calmed her, and she smiled.

“You know, once I set a petri dish on fire in microbiology class. Well, it was either the petri dish or the beaker of ethanol. So long ago I can’t remember.” They shared a laugh. Jennifer crushed an empty soda can and it transformed into goo. Her hands didn’t heat up enough to melt down other metals like she did the soda can. Some metals she could soften or bend, depending on the thickness. She was able to bend a thin metal pipe. “Like Superman,” she joked. She had little to no effect on stronger metals, however.

“It appears your not as hot as you look. I mean, your hands are not as hot as I thought. Sorry, I seem to have forgotten how to speak the Queen’s bloody English!” Fitz blushed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s OK, Leo. Do I make you nervous? Maybe I’m too ‘hot’ to handle,” she flirted. Is it OK that I called you Leo? Everyone here calls you Fitz.”

“I’m used to people calling me Fitz, it just sort of stuck, but you can call me Leo if you want. Just not Leopold, please.” She nodded in agreement.

“So what were you saying about my hands not being as hot as you thought?”

“The temperature of your hands has reached a threshold of about 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Anything with a higher melting point, you will have no effect on.”

“But how did I set fire to the paper, and those curtains?

“Because your hands reached beyond their flash point, which means they ignited once they reached the ideal temperature.”

Fitz disclosed his findings to the team. He called it Thermal Manipulation. She can generate heat when in direct contact with an object, but up to a certain temperature.

“What about the fire?” Daisy inquired.

“While she cannot generate fire, she can ignite substances with a low flash point, such as paper or fabric. That’s why the curtains caught on fire. My report will expand on the full extent of her abilities. Furthermore, Jen and I theorized that she can burn through flesh, however, it would seem highly unethical to test that hypothesis on a live specimen.”

“So no holding hands then, Leo?” Jennifer couldn’t help herself.

“Uh-well…” He tugged at his collar.

“Oh, I did find out that I can’t burn myself,” she disclosed, as she pressed a gold finger to her opposite arm.

Stay tuned for chapter 4...

#agent fitz #leo fitz #leopold fitz #AoS #agents of shield #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.#leo fitz fan fiction #leopold fitz fan fiction #iain de caestecker

4 notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 3 years

Text

Honor Bound 4 - The Final Chapter

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Content warning: past noncon, death discussion, off-screen death

Zachariah huddled lower and lower in the seat. The car rattled as Gray drove up the bumpy driveway to the house. They put the car in park and glanced at him where he shivered. He clutched his backpack on his lap on the front seat, his knuckles white. They wet their lips and turned off the car.

“It’ll be alright, Zachariah,” they said gently.

Zachariah nodded distractedly, his eyes unfocused. “Mm-hm.”

“Hey,” Gray said softly. Zachariah brought his eyes to theirs. “I’ve already told them you’re coming. No surprises. And they won’t… won’t, ah, hurt you.”

He nodded again. “I kn-know,” he whispered.

Gray pushed out a slow breath as he looked at them. So damned young, no older than Sam. No older than Edrissa.

“What are you worried about, Zachariah?” they murmured, speaking soft and low, just like they did with their family when they all were frightened.

Zachariah gulped and blinked tears away. “I… um… I d-didn’t, um, h-hurt them. But I… I was on the team that did. I… um…” His cheeks flushed and he looked down. “I h-helped… d-drag… Isaac, his name is Isaac… into his cell, once. I’m not the one who, um, who hit him, but… I… j-just, I just… watched. And S-Simmons…” His throat worked as he tried to swallow again. Tears stood in his eyes. “S-Simmons… held a, a gun to… to Sam’s head.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Their name is… is Sam. And I did… nothing.” His hands clenched in fists around the strap of his backpack.

“Hey,” Gray soothed, and gently placed a hand on Zachariah’s shoulder. “You helped them. Right? Isaac told me you helped carry Sam to the car after they—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Zachariah whispered. “They were… they were being tortured for weeks. I wasn’t part of it but I… I knew. And I did nothing.”

Gray fell silent and pressed their lips together. Their hand stayed firm on Zachariah’s shoulder.

“They let me live,” he breathed. “And I don’t know why.”

Gray tipped their head. “My family is largely a good judge of character. I’m sure they knew—”

“They knew I was willing to work for the Stormbecks,” Zachariah whispered. “And I begged them not to kill me. That’s all they knew about me. That’s it.”

Gray chewed their lip. “That’s all true,” they said softly. “But you also told me you didn’t have a choice but to work for them.”

Zachariah looked up at the house. He shivered. “I didn’t think I’d see any of them again,” he rasped.

Gray laughed before they could stop themself. “I don’t think they expected to see you, either, if I’m honest. But I…” Gray paused. “We’ve all done bad things. All of us. But we try again. And by doing what you did in the end, to help them…”

Some of us have done far worse. They bit down on their lip.

Zachariah nodded sullenly. “Okay,” he whispered, and wiped his nose.

“And…” It’s not permanent. When we find you a permanent home…

That probably wouldn’t help anything. Gray closed their mouth and climbed out of the car. Zachariah followed, his head bent, his eyes shining with tears. He trudged behind Gray as they made their way to the front door. Gray opened the door and stepped into the house.

Everyone was in the front room. Finn and Ellis sat on a couch together, bent over the coffee table, the puzzle there momentarily forgotten as their heads snapped up, their eyes fixed on Gray. Tori sat in an armchair. Vera balanced on the arm of it, a bowl of cereal in her hand. Sam and Edrissa sat on another couch, the sides of their legs touching, their fingers laced together. Isaac stood against the doorway to the kitchen. Everyone was there, except—

Gray’s brow furrowed. “Where’s—”

Gavin walked through the doorway from the kitchen and handed Isaac a mug of tea.

Zachariah gasped. His backpack thumped to the floor in front of him. “You… you have… G-Gavin Stormbeck…”

Gray took a step back. “I… I thought you—”

Vera took a bite of her cereal. “We call him Gavin Uriah now,” she said, seemingly unbothered by Zachariah’s reaction as she crunched at the bran flakes.

Zachariah blinked and shot a glance in Vera’s direction, eyes wide, before he stared again at Gavin. “Y-you…”

“Zachariah, I thought you… you knew?” Gray said, their gaze darting between Zachariah and Gavin.

Zachariah slowly shook his head. His eyes went wider as Isaac took a small step in front of Gavin, placing his mug of tea on the kitchen table. He reached back and clasped Gavin’s hand.

“But I… you… h-he hurt you,” Zachariah breathed. “H-he raped… he tortured you.” His chest heaved with gasping breaths. “I don’t… understand…”

“He was lying,” Isaac said, the faintest hint of a growl in his voice. “He was lying so his mother would trust him. He never wanted to. He was ours, the whole time.” Gavin gazed at Isaac with a look that made Gray’s heart ache. There was trust, there. Sorrow. Love.

They blinked and took a step towards Zachariah. “I’m so sorry,” they murmured. “I thought… I would have prepared you. I thought you knew he made it out with them.”

“Everyone thinks Gavin Stormbeck died on May eleventh,” Zachariah whispered. His eyes were still riveted on Gavin. “I… how…?”

“When you helped us,” Vera said, resting the bowl on her knee while her other hand squeezed Tori’s shoulder, “Gavin was getting Ellis.” She nodded in Ellis’s direction.

Ellis waggled their fingers at Zachariah. “Nice to meet you,” they said sardonically.

“N-nice to meet you, too,” Zachariah mumbled distractedly. He blinked and looked again at Gavin. “He… h-how long… has he…?”

“Ever since I left. The first time.” Gavin spoke up from behind Isaac. He took a step forward and folded himself under Isaac’s arm.

“You… I’m so confused,” Zachariah confessed. He shivered again, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

“He’s good, Zachariah,” Sam said softly from the couch. Zachariah whimpered softly as he finally turned his gaze on Sam. “He’s with us. He has been, the whole time. The whole t-time we were… were there.”

“Sam,” Zachariah whispered. “I… I w-wondered if you… I worried…” He wrung his hands in front of him. “How…?”

“Finn fixed me up,” they said, pride warming their voice. Finn flushed where they sat on the couch. “They’re a medic. They—”

“I know,” Zachariah mumbled. “I know they… they helped… fix you. After. I knew about that.”

Gray’s chest ached with the sadness, the guilt lacing Zachariah’s voice. Everyone was silent for a moment.

“Gray,” Isaac said softly from where he stood with Gavin. “What happened with DFS?”

Gray’s lips quirked into a smile that the nickname had caught on. They opened their mouth to speak.

“What’s… ‘DFS’?” Zachariah said, looking around, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Daniel Fucking Schiester,” everyone said at once.

Vera burst out laughing. “Yesss,” she hissed.

Gray smirked. “We aren’t, ah, fond of our fearless leader of the north. So that’s our nickname for him. Well, it was Vera’s nickname, but I see it caught on rather quickly.”

“Oh,” Zachariah said in a small voice.

Gray nodded as their gaze move over the room. “We’ll discuss what I learned today,” they said, pushing down the cold thrill of dread that welled up in them as they said it. “And after that we’ll get you cleaned up, get you some new, warm clothes. We have a spare bedroom where we’ll get you set up.” They resisted the urge to glance at Isaac. They knew he’d be blushing anyway, at the mention of the room he never slept in. It would be cleared now, prepared for Zachariah in the three hours the team had had since Gray called them to tell them they were coming.

Zachariah stood frozen with his backpack at his feet. Gray gestured into the room. “Sit anywhere,” they said gently. “We don’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ellis said with a grin.

Gray rolled their eyes. “Except for Ellis, apparently.”

“You can sit here,” Sam said from their spot on the couch. They moved over, gently maneuvering with their right arm still slinged. Zachariah stared blankly at them for a moment before he bent and grabbed his backpack. He shuffled forward and sat awkwardly on the couch, as far away from Sam as he could get.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m kinda gross. Haven’t had a shower in—”

“We used to live on the road, Zach,” Vera said with a smile. “We’re used to it.”

“Um…” He wet his lips nervously. “P-please… I want to be called, um, Zachariah.”

Vera straightened. “Oh. Sorry.” She pressed her lips into an apologetic line.

Sam pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and passed it to Zachariah. He took it gratefully and pulled it around his shoulders, his eyes unfocused.

Everyone’s gazes slowly made their way back to Gray. They cleared their throat. “So, about… about the mayor.”

“Tell us all about Danny boy’s shady shit,” Vera grumbled. She took another bite of cereal.

“Well…” Gray let out a breath. “He’s, ah… he’s killing people.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

“Who?” Isaac said, his voice careful and measured. His arm tightened around Gavin’s shoulders.

“Anyone he wants,” Gray said through their teeth. “Anyone who comes through with any syndicate affiliation. And anyone who comes through with a syndicate tattoo. That’s what the screening questions are for. He’s weeding out… syndicate agents.” The words tasted bitter on Gray’s tongue.

“But…” Sam’s voice shook. “If people lie… Z-Zachariah, did you tell…?”

“It wouldn’t matter,” he whimpered. He pulled up his sleeve. The Stormbeck crest stretched across the top of his arm in black ink.

Edrissa gasped and shrank back from him. She bit her lips and squeezed Sam’s hand tighter.

“We know what it’s like,” Gray said quickly. “We know that sometimes, you only have the choice between working for the syndicates, or starving. We know that you did what you could. And we… we know you didn’t hurt any of us.”

Edrissa blinked and relaxed slightly.

Zachariah folded forward and buried his face in his hands. He shook his head and muffled a sob. “But I didn’t stop it,” he whispered. “And you…” He lifted his head and looked at Isaac. Miserable tears shone in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “I helped them hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Isaac said, his voice tight. “You helped carry me to my cell once. That’s it.”

“After they almost shot you,” Zachariah whispered. “After they… after they beat you.”

“Zachariah,” Isaac said forcefully. Zachariah flinched and glanced at the floor. “Listen. I’ve been put through enough shit to, to tell you that…” Isaac shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me. So… don’t add that to your conscience. Okay? And you… you left. You helped us.” Isaac drew Gavin even closer to his side, almost like it was an unconscious movement.

“Not soon enough,” Zachariah whispered.

“Yes, soon enough,” Sam murmured. Their hand found Edrissa’s again. Zachariah stared at the floor.

Gray cleared their throat. “As far as I know,” they said as they crossed their arms over their chest, “The people going missing are going missing because Daniel is pulling them off of their caravans.” Their throat burned with the echo of tears.

Isaac’s eyes went wide. “But… l-like Caleb…?”

Gray’s eyes fell closed. “Ah. Yes. Caleb is… is dead.”

“No,” Isaac snarled. Gray opened their eyes. Zachariah and Edrissa both flinched away from his anger. “He… that motherfucker… you’re, you’re sure?” He looked at Gray, his eyes blazing with desperation.

“I’m sure,” Gray murmured. Their voice broke. “When we helped Aryn… he was killed that afternoon.”

“Fuck me,” Vera breathed. Tori reached up and clasped her hand. Tori’s eyes were bright, focused. She looked more present than she had been in several days. And even with the appearance of Zachariah… Warring hope and despair twisted through Gray’s heart.

“We’re… g-going to do something about it, right?” Finn asked, hesitant. They squeezed Ellis’s hand. “We can’t just…”

“No,” Gray said through numb lips. “We can’t.”

“Does he know you know?” Isaac said. Darkness brewed in his eyes, trembled in his limbs. And beside him Gavin looked…

He looked terrified. But below that, there was a hardness. Gavin looked murderous.

Gray briefly wondered what it would be like to go to war against Daniel, if the team had the ingenuity of Gavin Stormbeck at their disposal.

They shook themself slightly. I will never, never ask that of him. I’ll never ask him to use himself for destruction. He’ll never have to do that again.

“Yes,” Gray said softly. “He knows. He told me himself.”

Vera scoffed. “And he thinks we’re okay with that? He thinks we’re just gonna… what… let that go?”

“I don’t think he gives a damn what we think,” Gray said heavily. “He made that perfectly clear.”

“But we’re gonna stop him… right?” Sam said. They sat up straighter. “We can’t let him just… do this.”

“No,” Gray said, clenching and unclenching their fists. “We can’t. Not now that we… know. But… he made… some very explicit threats.”

Vera rolled her eyes. “Forgive me for not considering Daniel Fucking Schiester to be oh-so-scary after we’ve destroyed the Stormbecks,” she said, not batting an eye at Gavin.

“I do,” Gray said, watching Gavin carefully. He stood beside Isaac, strong, the violence in him falling and slipping beneath the surface again. “As far as we’re concerned, he’s the most powerful person in the north. He controls the entire refugee recovery program. He holds the line, and who knows what kind of resources he could muster if he asked for them?” Gray’s gaze moved over their family. “I consider him to be just as much a threat as Joseph Stormbeck. More, maybe. Because up here, he can control our allies.”

No one spoke.

Tori raised her head to look at Vera. Vera gazed back and leaned gently against her shoulder. When Tori met Gray’s eyes, they shivered. Fire burned in her eyes, and fierceness, and everything else that had been so gone from her ever since she appeared on their doorstep weeks before.

“Fuck ‘im,” Tori murmured, and her voice sounded strong. “We can’t let him do this.”

A painful smile pulled at Gray’s mouth as they looked back at her. She held Gray’s gaze. She didn’t look away, didn’t sink back against Vera. They nodded. “No,” they murmured. “We can’t.”

“So what’s the plan?” Isaac said, tense, shaking. “How did you find out about him, anyway?” He jutted his chin at Zachariah.

“One of Daniel’s people,” Gray said, bracing for an outcry. There was none.

“Does this person know Danny is killing them?” Vera said.

“I don’t think he does, no,” Gray said. They shuffled their feet.

“Would he be willing to keep sending us people?” Finn said, sitting forward. “I mean, if we could run the same operation we ran with Tori, just funnel people north and place them with people once we find houses… I mean, DFS doesn’t control every route in, does he? Would people notice if folks started showing up farther north without being sent through DFS?”

“I don’t know,” Gray said with a shrug. “I’d have to do more research. Which means I’d have to continue helping Daniel with the screening process.”

“I don’t think that would hurt,” Isaac said tightly. “Might even catch a few that way.”

“But we’re not going to… to wait until we have that figured out, right?” Sam said, and made a small, strange motion with their right hand where it sat tied against their chest. “I mean… we can start… start saving them now, right? We don’t have to wait?”

“Mathias said he only gets a few a year,” Gray said.

“I doubt that’s all,” Isaac murmured. “I’ll bet that’s just all he finds.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s true.” Vera drew a hand through her hair.

“But we’re doing this, right?” Isaac said, his eyes flashing. “We can’t… Jesus, Gray, we’ve been up here for… for three weeks and he’s been doing this evil shit right under our noses…”

“If we all agree to it,” Gray said. “We take a vote. Because this will affect all of us. This puts all of us in danger.” They leveled their gaze at Gavin. “Especially you.”

“Don’t give a shit,” Gavin said through his teeth. “He can’t… fuck. These people coming through… I understand when it was, was me, but… these people aren’t like me.”

Isaac pulled Gavin close and pressed a kiss into his hair. Zachariah watched with his mouth open.

“I’m for it,” Ellis said softly. “But I… I don’t…” They placed their hand on their belly and held Finn’s hand tightly.

“We can distance you from the operation,” Gray said. Finn leaned forward and opened their mouth to speak. Slowly, they closed their mouth again and looked at Ellis. “Does anyone else have any concerns?”

One by one, Gray looked around the room and met everyone’s eyes. One by one, each member of their family nodded.

“Alright,” they said softly. They reached into their pocket and pulled out their phone. “We’re doing this.”

They went to Mathias’s number, still not saved in the phone. They tapped it and typed out a message:

Send us each one like him that you find. And be careful. Give me a call when you can.

They smiled gently as they slid the phone back into their pocket.

Honor Bound 5 continues here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

#honor bound 4 #the final chapter #jesus christ that's 5 books in exactly a year #guilt #Zachariah: a boy who needs a nap #past torture #Fillis #HMS ToriVera #Sam/Edrissa #Isaac/Gavin #Gavin Stormbeck is dead #past noncon tw #Daniel Schiester is a hero #death discussion tw #death tw #Fillis baby

80 notes · View notes

queercapwriting · 3 years

Note

I haven't seen a good Fitzskimmons in a while, so if we could get something with them Cap that'd be great. Maybe juggling the holiday traditions Fitz and Simmons are used to with the desire to create new ones for Skye/Daisy whose upbringing didn't really lend itself to great holiday memories?

It was her first Christmas season with the team, and she felt more out of place than usual.

“Why is Fitz...” Skye tilted her head, unsure how to finish her question. Apparently, Simmons didn’t find that unusual. Of course she didn’t - completing someone else’s sentences was completely normal for her. And there she went.

“Locked in his bunk with a great big Do Not Enter sign on it, blasting heavy metal Christmas music?” Simmons supplied.

Skye squinted and bit her bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him. It’s just something he does every holiday season. He used to transform his room in the Academy into a little Santa’s workshop. The things he invents during the holiday season... One year, he made me a self-sustaining...”

Skye lost track of Simmons’ excited stream of words and stories and memories.

She didn’t have anything like that. And Fitz-Simmons already had their own holiday traditions, it seemed.

May and Coulson probably did, too.

Best if she just left well enough alone.

So she smiled and nodded and acted suitably impressed when it seemed appropriate.

Skye didn’t realize that Simmons noticed. No one ever had before, so why should anybody now?

Skye didn’t realize that Simmons cracked the holiday lock on Fitz’s door (she might be biochem, not engineering, but she knew how to apply Skye’s algorithms when she needed to) and sat on his bed, patiently ignoring his red face and stammering so she could explain that they needed to make extra sure that Skye feels welcome during her first Christmas on the bus.

And Skye had no way of knowing that Fitz’s eyes had lit up, because he was already on it.

She had fully prepared herself to wake up on Christmas morning in a certified mood. Fully prepared herself to put on a fake smile as she watched everyone else do their thing, then throw herself headlong into some assignment that could definitely wait, but that she’d treat like it was the most urgent thing on the planet.

She had not, in any way, prepared herself for Fitz-Simmons to wake her up by pounding on her door, shouting about Christmas and Santa Claus before rapidly descending into a loud discussion of the physics of reindeer-led sleighs and faster than light travel.

She yanked her door open, not caring that her hair was a mess, not caring that her t-shirt was rumpled from sleep, not remembering that she had only boy shorts, and no pants.

“The one day off we’ve had in centuries, and you’re waking me up because - “

“Because we have all these presents for you, Skye!” Fitz said, Santa hat yanked down over his ears, remote controls in his hands, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jemma tugged her into a tight, full-bodied hug that made Skye gulp and - she couldn’t help it - rest her cheek on Jemma’s shoulder, just for a second, just for a moment.

She didn’t know what to say as Jemma took her hand - she gulped again - and dragged her through the bus to where Fitz had set up a massive tree overnight, stacked high with gifts, a full quarter of them for Skye.

A fully functional, impeccably accurate model of her van. (From Fitz, with proud support and car nerdery assistance from Coulson.)

The most souped-up laptop she could ever imagine (and she imagined a lot), completely customized to her, down to her preferred typing patterns and with a keypad molded to her own hands. (From Fitz, with enthusiastic input from Simmons.)

A perfectly rendered painting of what the night sky(e) would look like from LA, without all the light pollution. (No one took credit for this one, but May actually smiled, like fully smiled, when Skye looked at her with tears in her eyes).

“You’re part of the family now, Skye,” Fitz told her when he tugged his own Santa hat off her head and placed it on hers.

“No escaping it now,” Simmons added.

She spent a good part of that morning crying alone in her bunk. From happiness, for once.

+++

It was another few years before they were all able to celebrate Christmas together again.

When Jemma first came home from Maveth, she’d hardly been up for a romantic dinner alone with Fitz, let alone a whole Christmas celebration with the family.

On Christmas Eve, Simmons shared a quiet glass of wine with Daisy, and whatever else she and Fitz did to commemorate the evening, Daisy had no clue.

She had fun with Hunter and Bobbi and Mack - it was warm and it was sweet and it was family - but she missed Simmons. She missed Fitz.

She wondered, though she tried not to, if their first Christmas together had also been their last.

If the universe had been so cold to Fitz-Simmons that they’d only ever be each other’s warmth. If Daisy had no other part in it.

But then the next morning came. Christmas morning.

The knock on her door was soft and tentative.

Jemma.

Daisy almost tripped over her blankets to answer quickly. She could never get to Jemma quickly enough.

“Daisy,” Jemma said, the name still feeling new on her lips. But Daisy had meant what she’d said - Jemma really could call her whatever she wanted. “Merry Christmas.”

She held out a mug of cocoa, topped with so much whipped cream that Daisy couldn’t help but smile. Even with everything that had been going on, Jemma must have noticed how much more into sugar Daisy had found herself, after everything with her parents.

“Merry Christmas.”

Daisy thought that maybe their eyes lingered together for a moment longer than they normally would, a moment longer than someone else might consider appropriate.

“I made Christmas pancakes. For you, and for Fitz. Do you want to come back to our room? Share them with us, before Fitz eats them all?”

For you, and for Fitz. Our room. With us. Daisy’s head spun.

She cleared her throat. “What are Christmas pancakes?”

“The greatest pancakes ever to exist, Daisy!” Fitz called from down the hall.

Jemma giggled softly. Once again, she held out her hand for Daisy. Once again, Daisy took it.

Once again, Christmas felt like it could be... home.

+++

“My father didn’t believe in holidays, not really,” Fitz told Jemma and Daisy. After the Framework. After all the torture and all the death and all the... all of it. “Celebrating was a womanly activity,” he said. His eyes were far away.

Daisy met Jemma’s eyes. Tears were burning there - Fitz was learning to talk about his father, but slowly. Slowly. Jemma’s hand absently traced the spot on her leg where Leopold - where Fitz - had shot her.

Fitz noticed. He knelt, immediately, and replaced Jemma’s fingers with his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Daisy had lost track of the number of times he’d apologized.

“I was only in there for a day, and I did terrible things too, Fitz,” she reminded him.

She brought her fingers to his chin, tilted his head up so he would look at her. She glanced at Jemma - she was still new at this. At all of this. At figuring out where she fit in their relationship, in their love. She’d been especially nervous about it, around the holidays. Figuring out where she fit, how she fit.

Was Jemma the only one allowed to comfort Fitz, like this? But Jemma smiled and took Daisy’s free hand.

Fitz looked up at her like his life hung on her next words.

And maybe they did.

But he didn’t let her speak them. He’d told her and Jemma, so many times, that comforting him wasn’t their job. Not about this.

They tried, anyway, and they did, anyway.

But he tried, too.

So he tilted his head so his lips kissed her palm.

“It’s Christmas, Daisy,” he smiled, with his eyes more than his lips. He kissed Jemma’s leg once more before he stood, and offered them both his hands. “My point about my father wasn’t to get lost in the past. It was to a build a future. Our future. He didn’t believe in holidays, but I do. Because you deserve them, Daisy. For yourself. And with us. So...”

He led them both off the Quinjet. He and Jemma had refused to tell Daisy where they were going, or why they were dressed so damn warmly.

Daisy gasped when he opened the bay doors.

He and Jemma had brought her... Christmas.

An immaculate igloo, big enough to fit Daisy’s entire history of crowded rooms with no real connections, complete with a smoking chimney that spoke of a warm fire inside. Two massive evergreen trees on either side of it, all strung with softly glowing white lights. A field of uninterrupted snow, as far as her eyes could see.

She didn’t ask how he’d managed to engineer it all.

She didn’t ask why he’d done this for her. He’d already said - he thought she deserved it.

When Mack emerged from the igloo, mugs of cocoa in his hands and Yo-Yo and Flint trying to get reindeer antlers on his head, May and Coulson next to them, it occurred to Daisy that FitzSimmons - her FitzSimmons - weren’t giving her anything she didn’t already have.

The three of them made a family together long ago. They just wanted to make sure she always knew.

Fitz held her hand while Jemma kissed her lips. Deke whooped from somewhere behind Mack. Flint snapped endless photos mid-laugh, because he’d never gotten over the whole idea of cameras. May tossed a snowball at Coulson, who promptly fell into a heap of fresh snow.

Home. FitzSimmons had brought her home for Christmas.

And for maybe the first time, she didn’t question it.

#fitzskimmons #fitzskimmons fic #bioquake #aos fic #my beautiful little angels

38 notes · View notes

cherrypieships · 3 years

Text

the amusement park: chapter two

A/N: whew omg it’s been a while since I posted! Anyway I’m back and better than ever with part two, the finale of the amusement park!! This chapter includes a trigger warning for fake blood and cult mentions. It's a haunted house, so it isn't a real cult, but I'd rather be safe than sorry <3

Ship: davey jacobs x pepper simmons (s/i), featuring my best friend V and my gf Khourey and their respective f/os, race higgins and jack kelly!

Summary: When the sun sets on Canobie Lake park, the amusement park turns into a Halloween extravaganza, where Pepper and Davey find themselves paired up once more.

Once the sun had dipped onto the horizon, the last dregs of color fading from the sky as the stars came out, the group found themselves heading towards the sides of the park, where the haunted houses were set up. Mickey looped their arm through Pepper’s, pulling her close and pointing out the performers walking past; a clown with a chainsaw, a long-haired girl in a tattered hospital gown, a man wearing a pig’s head as a mask.

“So they basically walk around the park and try to scare people.” She explained, and nudged V so they could listen in as well. “But little kids sometimes wear these little glow-y ball necklaces, see? And the performers can’t scare them.” She pointed out a pair of kids walking past, both of their t-shirts illuminated by spiked plastic spheres attached to long black cords. Sure enough, the actors walked right past them.

Vi pushed their bottom lip out, turning towards Mickey. “That’s so fucking cute.” They cried.

Pepper smiled. It was pretty cute, and a good idea on the park’s part. “Do they wear them into the houses?” She asked curiously.

“I fuckin’ hope not.” Jack scoffed. “I wanna get scared, I’m not here to miss a good haunted house cause of some kid.” He smiled when Mickey swatted him. “What? It’s true!”

Mickey’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, but don’t be a dick about it.” They chastised, going to swat him again, and as their hand made contact, Jack snatched it and brought her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

Averting her gaze, Pepper felt something cold swirl in the pit of her stomach at the casual intimacy. She focused on the gum wrapper on the ground beside her shoe instead of whatever that feeling was.

V’s knuckles rapped against Pepper’s forearm, a gentle knock for her attention. “Hey, I gotta hit the bathroom, you wanna be my buddy?” They asked, though the raise of their eyebrows gave the impression that the question was simply a formality; there was no option.

Making the journey to the restrooms a short one, Vi didn’t even pretend they had to pee, instead moving to stand in front of the mirror and check their eyeliner. “So are you gonna make a move tonight?” They asked, voice quieter than usual.

Pepper sighed, of course this was the reason she was in here. “Dude, I don’t fuckin’ know.” She said, exasperation travelling across her features at even the thought of confessing her feelings. She’d talked a big game about it before, about how she loved Davey, about how she’d confess her feelings for him the second she got the idea he liked her back, but truthfully she was… well, she was scared.

Vi barely looked up from the mirror, but their expression softened. “Obviously you don’t have to,” they reassured. “But I bet that if you don’t at least ask how he feels he’ll never tell.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “That’s because there’s-“

The door to the bathroom flew open and Mickey blustered inside, annoyance clear on their face. “Okay, how dare you two leave me alone with those idiots.”

V grimaced. “Oh shit, sorry. I just wanted a minute to see what was up with Pepper and Davey.”

Mickey’s lips pursed, eyebrows raising onto her forehead. “Oh shit okay what’s the deal?” They asked, moving closer.

Against her better judgement, Pepper leaned her head against the bathroom wall. “There’s nothing to tell! I don’t have any plans to tell him, and there’s no way someone who talks as much as Davey would have a crush on someone and not say something.” She looked pointedly at her best friends.

“That… is an excellent point.” Mickey acquiesced.

Vi lifted a finger. “Or! Maybe that’s the way you can tell that he does like you.” They moved toward the sink to wash the eyeliner remnants from under their fingernails.

“What?”

Mickey nodded. “Oh, no, I totally get it.”

“Get what? What are you talking about?”

V smiled, turning to put their damp hands on Pepper’s shoulders. “You just said Davey never shuts up.” Pepper nodded slowly. “He’ll talk to you about anything, right?” Another nod.

“But he never talks about what’s up between the two of you.” Mickey finished. “Literally, even if Jack asks, he brushes him off.”

Brow furrowed, Pepper turned back to Vi, who was grinning. “If you don’t ask, he’ll never tell.” They clarified, an echo of their earlier statement. “Don’t fucking focus on what he says, bitch, you have to ask about what he’s not saying.”

Terrifyingly, that made it click. Something welled up hot and thick in Pepper’s throat, hope or fear she couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, she wasn’t budging at her friends’ optimism. “You two are reading too far into this.” She countered weakly.

Mickey grabbed her hand, squeezed it a few times. “Listen, we’re not pressuring you.” They explained, and Violet hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to ask him anything or tell him anything, if you just wanna vibe tonight, that’s totally cool.”

Just like that, the tension melted from Pepper’s body, her psyche apparently pleased at being left alone for the moment. She looked between her friends, Vi’s warm smile and Mickey’s kind eyes, took a deep breath, and went back out into the park.

Back where the boys were waiting, the curtain to the first haunted house had lifted, and the line began to move. Jack waved them down with a smile, and they gapped into the line. He pulled the park pamphlet from his back pocket and flipped to the back, where the haunted house attractions were listed. “Okay so we started next to the big spinn-y thing. Which is… the cult one, The Culling.” He announced.

“Yeah, Jack.” Race deadpanned. “It’s on the sign.” He pointed above the line, which, sure enough, boasted the name of the site.

Jack swatted his friend with the pamphlet before tucking it into his back pocket. “I knew that.” He grinned, throwing an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pulling them closer.

Davey nudged Pepper’s side. “Partners?” He smiled, offering his elbow as their group stepped up to the banister blocking off the entryway.

She ignored the wink that Vi threw at her, and looped her arm through Davey’s with a blush and a simper. “Hope we don’t die in there.” She mused.

He patted the hand she’d placed on his bicep, warm in contrast to her poorly-circulated own ones. “If we do, we’ll die doing what we loved.”

Her head tilted. “What’s that?”

“Kicking and screaming.”

Pepper crumpled into a fit of laughs as the employee lifted the bannister. “Have fun.” The woman at the entryway smiled, her eyebrows raising mischievously.

Race and V went first, obviously, Race throwing his arm across their shoulders and pulling them close. Mickey and Jack went next, Jack’s hand curled protectively into the back of her shirt as they ducked through the curtain. A billow of dry-ice smoke kicked out at her and Davey as she gripped his arm tighter, moving through the curtain and into a room flooded with red light.

There was a man in the corner, a pair of bloodied goat horns protruding from his head, who growled lowly at them as they walked past. Davey cast a look in his direction, following in the footsteps of his friends, and they heard Race scream further up ahead. Pepper laughed a little at that, the adrenaline beginning to swirl hot in her veins.

The next room was full of actors, at least a dozen kneeling frozen in mock prayer, and the woman to Pepper’s right let out a broken wail, making her jump. Davey’s hand came to grab hers again, this time his fingers tangling with hers. He was laughing gently at her fright, something that might have pissed her off if it had been anyone else.

They passed through a hallway full of strobelights and white walls painted with bloody handprints, the thrum of electricity the only noise for a moment, and Pepper opened her mouth to ask when the Cult Stuff would start, when a man wearing a decaying goat’s skull for a mask barrelled around the corner, making both her and Davey scream.

She curled into his side, awkwardly stepping on his shoe as she did, and watched the man with enormous eyes as he tilted his mask curiously at them. Davey laughed a little, and whether he was trying to laugh off his fright or genuinely enjoying himself, Pepper couldn’t tell.

They rounded the corner, careful of the actor who’d popped out at them, and turned into a room seemingly devoid of anyone, except for Mickey and Jack, who were giggling as they shuffled into the next room. The walls were tall and painted white, a hidden projector playing a black and white video reminiscent of those old war propaganda commercials. It was too loud for Pepper to hear anything properly, but she could catch snippets of the voiceover, “Join us in… the great and powerful… be afraid…” as the video flicked between church services, goats on farms, hypnotic black and white spirals.

Davey tilted his head at the screen. “Christians, am I right?”

Swallowing a laugh, she jutted her elbow into his side. “This is not the time, David.” She snorted, coyly tugging him closer by the anchor his hands provided. Fuck it, why not get close to him while she had the chance?

The end was in sight, she could see the cool blue light of the outdoors pouring in from the other side of the final room; one that was lined with pews, with a goat-headed preacher at the front, holding a black leather-bound book and screaming about the end of days. The church (cult?) -goers were in various stages of worship, some with their arms in the air, some reading their scripture, some sobbing towards the sky. A shudder ran through Davey, one so intense that she felt it in her own skin, and she wondered, briefly, what was so freaky about this particular scene that he-

SLAM

The actor in the pew she’d just passed closed his book with a deafening bang. She jumped, screamed so loud it felt like the sound had been ripped from her teeth, and didn’t realize she was shaking until Davey’s arm encircled her, speeding past the latter half of the room and out of the first haunted house.

Pepper swallowed a mouthful of fresh air, held it for a few seconds, and released it with a pleased laugh. She turned her face up to Davey’s, ready to ask him if his heart was racing the way hers was, when he cut her off, gripping her shoulders like she’d disappear. “Are you okay?” He demanded.

Her eyebrows pinched together, her smile melting at the way his eyes were blown wide. “Yeah? I-I’m fine?” She said, reaching up to grip his wrists. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

Every hint of expression faded from his face. The fire left his eyes, his hold on her softening, his jaw and browline going slack at the realization. “Yeah, I… I thought he-”

Race’s hands landed on either one of their shoulders. “Hey, Jack wants to know if you guys wanna do the hotel one or the factory one next, we’re at a tie.”

Pepper turned to him, blinking back the heat in her cheeks. “Oh fuck, okay, we’ll be right there.”

There were four more haunted houses, each of them with a bit of walking distance between them. Davey didn’t release her hand until they’d cleared the last attraction.

---

Still reeling from the adrenaline rush of the haunted houses, the group made their way toward the back of the park where the Ferris Wheel resided. Violet and Race were skipping down the lanes, their laughter fluttering in the cool autumn wind. Mickey and Jack were walking in front of them, their pinkies linked as they recounted their haunted house experiences.

Pepper tried to ignore that Davey was still so close to her.

His voice broke her out of her thoughts.

“Which one was your favorite?” He asked, the back of his hand brushing against Pepper’s as they walked. He was looking down at her, nose all rosy and cheeks flushed. He wore autumn so well.

She pursed her lips as she thought. “The cult one.” She settled after a moment.

Davey grinned. “Mine too. Or the hotel was really good.” He turned to her once they reached the line for the ferris wheel. “Y’know, when that guy back there slammed his bible closed I thought he hit you.” His fingers twitched, like he was waiting to reach for something.

There it was. The reason for his earlier freakout.

Laughing lightly, Pepper shook her head, curls falling in her face as she tried to dispel any of his remaining worry. “Oh God, no. Isn’t that illegal, anyway?” She focused on the ferris wheel ahead of them, the eighty feet of blinking lights and rocky baskets that they’d be shoved into; anything besides the bewildering look that was back on Davey’s face. Ahead of them, their friends were being ushered into passenger cars. Jack planted a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head and whispered something into their ear that made them grin.

Pepper tried not to be jealous, and failed.

Beside her, Davey was rambling again. She tuned in right in the middle of his spiel. “It’s some kinda torture house, basically. They just wail on you for like ten hours, and they film it, too. You have to sign a waiver and everything, and it’s like, forty pages or something. I watched a video of this one girl who went there and she said-”

“You two all set?” The ride operator asked, her smile bright as she cut into Davey’s rambling.

He blinked, like he hadn’t realized how close they were. “Oh, um. Yeah, I guess we are.” He resolved.

They clambered into the rocky car and belted themselves in, waited for the attendant to lock their door, and began their ascent.

Immediately, Pepper felt the wind chill. “Holy fuck, it’s freezing up here.” She barked. Davey’s cardigan was warm, sure, but the cold air cut through it like a knife.

Davey turned to her and readjusted the way he was sitting, opening up his arms. “I know, c’mere.” He wiggled his fingers and everything and, well, how was he supposed to say no to that?

She scooted closer until her leg was pressed right up against his, and her upper body curled into him. They’d done this before, a million times, when watching movies or at parties when it got crowded, or when she asked him to read to her, and Davey, ever the wonderful companion, never complained-

Oh.

Oh, no.

That was what her friends meant.

Davey’s arms wrapped around her tight. Without thinking, her arm did the same. “Better?” He asked, pulling back to look down at her.

Pepper smiled with her heart in her throat. “Always.” She said, and looked up at him.

And there he was. The same Davey as always, with his pale skin and round hazel eyes, now grinning down at her like she had hung all the stars in the sky just for him. Here he was, and he was so close that their noses were almost touching. Not correcting strangers who thought they were dating. Holding her hand and giving her his clothes and sharing drinks with her. Here he was- and she was confused.

His mouth twitched, the way it always did when he was worried. “You okay, Pep?” He asked, quieter now.

A slow nod. “Yeah… just, um, thinking.” She responded. He opened his mouth, eager to ask more, but she cut him off. “About us.” She said, feeling bold now.

Davey’s eyebrows just about skyrocketed off his face. “Us.”

“Yeah.” Pepper’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t think she could stand another minute of this. All of her affections bottled up like a powder keg while he played with them so nonchalantly. “Davey, what are we?” She hoped the question didn’t come out as raw as it felt, but she could almost taste the blood on her tongue.

“Oh.” His shoulders dropped, and he looked away. His arms didn’t move from around her, but his eyes were flicking back and forth. “We’re… you’re… m-my best friend and...” He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “You’re my best friend and... I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

Pepper sat up as the Ferris wheel stopped. They were at the top now.

“I know that’s a lot to throw at you, I’m sorry, but all day I’ve just been thinking about you and about how much it feels like you’re this missing piece of me, you know? Like every time I need someone you’re there, and every time I talk about you to anyone I get this big grin on my face. And then earlier when that lady said what she said, it just felt so right.” He’d been gesturing wildly with his hands until she grabbed them.

She pulled his hands into her lap, encasing them with her own cold ones. “Davey.”

He sighed with a wry smile. “You can tell me no, Pep, it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Davey.” She tried again.

“And it’s not gonna ruin anything, I promise. I love you but that’s not gonna make me turn into an asshole, I still care about you as a friend.”

“David.” She grabbed the sides of his face in her cold hands. His jaw was tense. “I love you.” She said, plainly, the way you would state any other fact. The sky was blue, the Earth was round, and Pepper Simmons loved Davey Jacobs.

And for once, Davey- sweet, lovely Davey- didn’t start talking about love, or about basic heteronormativity, or fucking haunted houses. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Any great novelist, or even just your average writer, always compared a great kiss to fireworks. But this, Pepper thought, was better than any fireworks she’d ever seen. It was coming home after a long night. It was sitting by a fire on a cold winter day. It was years of sharing beds and writing texts in secret languages, of sitting at each other’s family dinners, of shared secrets and pinkie promises, playful teasing and pathetic yearning, all wrapped up in a soft press of lip to lip. It was Davey. Of course it was. In retrospect, nobody else had ever stood a chance.

Pepper was giggling when she pulled away from his lips. “I love you.” She repeated.

The lights of the amusement park were glittering in his eyes. “And I love you.” He was beaming, their foreheads tipped together. Then he started laughing, soft and slow and bubbly, as though he were savoring it. “Oy, we’re so ridiculous.” He said as the ferris wheel began to turn again.

She could’ve stayed there for days, looking at each of the freckles on his face like little star clusters in her vision. If there were ever a photo she could keep framed on the walls of her memory, it would be this; his smile, the ivory skin around his eyes crinkled as he laughed. She was laughing too. “Yeah, we are.” Her head leaned against his shoulder, a sigh escaping before she could stop it. “How long?”

There was a beat, and she knew Davey was thinking. “Um, four years maybe? It was the summer before junior year of high school, I know that much.” The thumb of his right hand, still around her, began rubbing at her shoulder.

Pepper sat upright, aghast. “Oh my God, you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He grinned.

“Holy fuck.” She snorted. “We could’ve been doing this for years!”

Davey poked her side, making her laugh in turn. “How about you?” There was the look in his eyes again, and this time she recognized it. Dreamy, warm, a little vulnerable.

“Senior Prom. Remember we slow danced together?”

The ferris wheel stopped again, this time with them at the back. “Yeah, holy shit. I was so nervous that night.” Pepper laughed, head tossed back. “I’m serious! I was so sweaty, I’m surprised you didn’t comment on it.”

“Your hands were like holding clams.” Another poke, this one less playful. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We’re here now.”

A kiss landed on her cheek, warm in stark contrast to the biting cold. “I can’t believe this.” He was laughing. “I can’t believe you liked me back.” He said.

Pepper nuzzled her nose into his neck. “I know. I can’t either.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, looked up at him and sighed.

He turned back to her. “You know they’re not gonna leave us alone, right?” He asked, tilting his chin towards the baskets below them that held their friends.

“I’m aware,” she mumbled. “I mean, they did call it.”

His lips curled up into a wry smile. “I know they did.” His fingers found the long strands of her hair, wrapped themselves in them. “Race and V haven’t left me alone about you for like, two years straight.” He shrugged. “And oh my God, if I have to hear Sarah and Les talk about it one more time I’m gonna explode.”

Pepper’s jaw dropped. “Sarah and Les were teasing you?”

He scoffed gently. “Are you kidding? They tell me to shut up every time I talk about how pretty you are.” And yeah, maybe she should have expected that, if he truly had been in love with her since junior year of high school, but Pepper’s body reacted quicker than she could recognize, her cheeks going hot and nose scrunching as a smile broke across her features.

“Well,” She said as the ferris wheel began to turn again. “Lucky for us, we probably have some time to kill before we have to face them again.” She bit at her lower lip, glancing up at him and hoping he would catch onto her proposition.

And, since Davey had always been smart, he did. “You’re right.” He breathed, and then leaned down to catch her in another kiss, one that went on, well… a little longer than the first.

Later, they had to face their friends, red-faced and smiling as they admitted what had happened. They had to endure a good hour’s worth of teasing, V and Mickey taking the opportunity to deliver a few well-intended pokes to Pepper’s sides, and Race and Jack offering high-fives to her- well, she supposed he was her boyfriend now.

The two of them climbed into the backseat of Race’s mom’s minivan again, this time hand-in-hand and sharing warm laughter. Davey stole another kiss from her, giggly and content, and promptly leaned his head on her shoulder to get some rest.

She supposed everything else could wait.

#drop a like/rb if you read!!#thank you so so so much to everyone who read this i'm actualy really proud of it #shout out to V and Khourey #davey #olive talks #my fic #the amusement park

7 notes · View notes