Tony And Pepper - Tumblr Posts

is anybody else getting tony/pepper vibes from odysseus/penelope?? bc this just clicked in my brain

You’re all I have too, you know.

Pepper: PLEASE JUST TAKE A BREAK

Tony: Oh, I'm sorry, is this OUR terminal illness?

First Sight

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I finally got my head to shut up. The constant whooshing of the rain and the wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quiet drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a prison cage I'd imagined.

Breakfast with Nick was quiet. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was a waste of time. Good luck tended to avoid me. Nick left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one the three non-matching chairs and stared at the familiar kitchen, with dark panelled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and while linoleum, floor. Nothing had changed. My mum had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago, trying to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace the adjoining, microscopic family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Nick and my mum in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to this year's. Those were embarrassing to look at—the bad haircuts, the braces years, the acne that had finally cleared up. I would have to see what I could do to get Nick to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Nick had never gotten over my mum. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I put on my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic, like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eave by the door, and Locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots sounded weird. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked.

Inside the ruck, it was nice and dry. Either Odin or Nick had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, which was a relied, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult; like most other things, it was just off the highway. It wasn't obvious at first that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High school, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? It thought. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked by the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; there was a little waiting area with padded folding chard, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there weren't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full o papers and brightly coloured flyers taped to the front. There were three desks behind the counter; a round, balding man in glasses sat at one. He was wearing a t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed for the weather.

The balding man looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Y/n Fury," I informed him, and saw the quick recognition in his eyes. I was expected, already the subject of gossip. The Chief's daughter, the one with the unstable mum, come home at last.

"Of course," he said. He dug through a leaning stack of papers on his desk till he found the ones he was looking fro "I have your schedule right here, Y/n, and a map of the school." He brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

He went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. He smiled at me and hoped, like Nick, that I would like it here in Forks.

I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. Most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. Ay home, I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighbourhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the students lot. The nicest car here was a brand-new Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the earsplitting volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorise it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stick in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my backpack, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. It won't be that bad, I lied to myself. Seriously, though. this wasn't a life and death situation—it was just high school. It's not like anyone was going to bite me. I finally exhaled, and stepped out of the truck.

I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk, crowed with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I was glad to see, though there wasn't much I could do about my height. I hunched my shoulders and kept my head down.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-coloured blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a narrow woman with thinning hair whose desk had a nameplate identifying her as Ms.Mason. She gawked at me when she saw my name—discouraging—and I could feel the blood rush into my face, no doubt forming unattractive splotches across my cheeks. At least she sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. I tried to fold myself into the little desk as inconspicuously as possible.

It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was pretty basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting ... and boring. I wondered if my mum would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a pale, skinny girl with blonde hair leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Y/n Fury, aren't you?" She gave off the vibe of an overly helpful, chess club type.

"Yep," as soon as the word fell from my mouth, everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" She asked.

I had to check my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way..." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Sharon," she added.

I forced a smile. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Several people seemed to be walking too close behind us—like they were trying to eavesdrop or something. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" she asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" she wondered.

"Sunny," I told her.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

She studied my face uneasily, and I stifled a groan. It looked like clouds and a sense of humour didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Sharon followed me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," she said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." She sounded hopeful.

I smiled at her—in what I hoped was not an encouraging way—and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same way. My Trigonometry teacher, Ms. Varner, who I would have disliked anyway just because of the subject she taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, I could feel the heat rushing through my cheeks, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognise some of the faces in each room. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed a map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She reached my shoulders in height and had long dark black hair. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she rattled on about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me—couldn't complain about the manners here. I forgot all their names as soon as she said them. They seemed to think it was cool that she'd invited me. The girl from English, Sharon, waved at me from across the room, and they all laughed. Already the butt of the joke. It was probably a new record for me. But none of them seemed mean-spirited about it.

It was there, sitting in the lunch room, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.