hate when people say something along the lines of "we must get along so well because you are/i am [some astrological sign]" to me. what are you fucking talking about. we get along because im fucking nice. a decision which i regret when you say shit like that
Just went through hellish airplane travel saga only to come back to the news at work that we only have five of us this weekend and a BIG NEW MENU WE DON'T NEED and I gotta work a double this Sunday.
Not saying what chain I work for but MY GOD. Can the owner stop adding new things and AT LEAST RENOVATE SOME SHOPS SO WE HAVE THE RESOURCES TO MAKE THOSE SALES FOR THAT NEW MENUUUUUU
“That Time I Traveled Back in Time to Get My Parents to Fall in Love”
Chapter 8: Teach Him a Lesson
-Hunter leads a kind of ‘meh’ life. He has loving friends Rosie, Duna, and Holt, is well-respected by most of the town, and has been practicing music with his newly formed band. The only thorn in his side? His parents.
It’s no secret that they were not meant for one another. His dad has no spine and his mother is a hypocrite. Hunter usually has to wonder that whatever celestial force got them together must have made a mistake.
One of the few things that seem to be going right is his mentorship to Dr. Diggins. Yeah, the experiments don’t make sense and the good doctor may be breaking a few legal safety laws, but he at least has a leg up on escaping whatever pit his home life is.
However, Hunter gets thrown through a loop after a horrible night of stolen plutonium, shooting mafia members, and getaway car via time machine… Now he finds himself back in time where his parents are still in high school, his dad’s boss a school bully, Dr. Diggins with a smidge more funding, AND his mom making uncomfortable advances towards him.
Hunter must fix all the time anomalies he’s made and find a way BACK TO THE FUTURE!
[Fossil Fighters Back to the Future AU]
[AO3 Chapter link. Only viewable to those with an account.]
🕰️⚡⛏️
Soft rock music slows to a halt from the radio that sits atop the counter at Lou’s Diner. A weather reporter ruffles some papers from the other end and clears his throat, “This Saturday night: Mostly clear, with some scattered clouds. Lows in the upper forties…”
The world outside is dark. Sun having set hours ago before the dark and angry clouds above having gathered. Many had been bewildered by the sour weather while two citizens had gone about their day as normal.
Dr. Diggins glances outside as he and Hunter sit at a booth in Lou’s Diner. It’s the night of the big dance and not a single teen is at the popular hangout. Any stragglers on the street are mainly adults picking up groceries or closing up shop right before the storm hits. The diner is only open for about ten more minutes before Lou cleans up and heads home to beat the storm.
His eyes trail towards the DeLorean. It sits undisturbed at the town square next to covered crates of tools. The wind picks up and flutters the tarp that hides his tools and cables. Doubt swirls in his stomach, “Are you sure about this storm?”
Hunter is finishing his coffee and a stack of eggs and bacon. His last meal in the past and before the plan. Diggins let him borrow an old scarlet and gold tuxedo and frilly white dress shirt for the dance. White and navy blue dress shoes that were only half a size too big and had to be laced tightly so that he wouldn’t slip in them. Also his shredded hat that Hunter swore he would make sure would be buried with him one unfortunate day, “When could weathermen predict the weather, let alone the future?”
Dr. Diggins pulls his eyes away from the window and gives Hunter a warm smile. He folds both his arms atop of the table, “You know, Hunter, I'm going be very sad to see you go.”
The bluenette across from him halts from biting into one of his last bits of scrambled egg, “Really?”
“Yes,” Diggins nods. “You've really made a difference in my life. You've given me something to shoot for. Just knowing that I'm gonna be around to see 1985, that I'm gonna succeed in this.”
Hunter’s lips twitch. Gunshots in a parking lot in the future.
“That I'm gonna have a chance to travel through time. It's going to be really hard waiting thirty years before I could talk to you about everything that's happened in the past few days. I'm really gonna miss you, Hunter.”
That classic knowing smile of Diggins makes his chest hurt. In a few hours he’ll be back in that dark parking lot and this is the last time he’ll see his friend smile. Hunter gives him a smile back, “I'm really gonna miss you. Doc, about the future-”
“No, Hunter,” Diggins is quick to hold a hand up and duck his head away from the teen. “We've already agreed that having information about the future could be extremely dangerous. Even if your intentions are good, they could backfire drastically. Whatever you've got to tell me I'll find out through the natural course of time.”
“But Doc-”
“Hup bup bup! No,” Diggins slides out of the booth and picks up his tool case. He adjusts his lab coat and places a rain hat above his head, “Get your mother to the dance and make sure not to be late. I have to get started. Don’t be late!”
“Uh- Bye, Diggins!” Hunter sits in place and watches his friend leave. He then sighs and looks into his plate once the door closes.
Numbly, Hunter gets back to eating. Don’t be late. More like, don’t be early. Heh…
…who was he kidding.
He finishes and scoots the plate back to give himself some space. Hunter then produces a paper and pen from his inner jacket pockets. Taking a deep breathe, the bluenette begins to write…
‘Dear Doctor Diggins… On the night that I go back in time, you will be shot by terrorists. Please take whatever precautions are necessary to prevent this terrible disaster. Your friend, Hunter.’
If a man is in charge of his own destiny then at least Hunter could hope the letter could have some sway.
The lights inside the diner turn off right as Hunter drives away in the car the good doctor let him borrow. He goes down the street that leads towards the high school and disappears.
Dr. Diggins sees him off before getting back to work. He pulls the long soldered rod and starts to attach it to the back of the DeLorean, adjusting and straightening it to make sure it would hit the cable just right.
“Evening, Doctor Brown, what's with the wire?”
Startled by a passing cop, Diggins nearly jumps a foot in the air. He swiftly turns to them and, with the experience of swift protestation and guerrilla experiments, drops his shoulders and gestures at the wires and cables, “Oh, just a little weather experiment.”
The cop isn’t sold, eyeing the DeLoreen with its cover half off, “What you got under here?”
“Oh no, don't touch that,” quickly, the good doctor puts himself between the officer and DeLorean. “That's some new specialized weather-sensing equipment.”
This makes the cop narrow his eyes, “You got a permit for that?”
Diggins sweats, starting to rummage in his many pockets, “Of course I do. Just a second, let's see if I could find it.”
Meanwhile, Hunter eases into the high school parking lot. The good doctor’s car is easy to maneuver and gets them to a spot under a large oak tree. Shade under the dark of night, hidden from the clouded moonbeams and excited chatter and music of the dance nearby.
Hunter’s hands are dripping with sweat as he shifts the convertible’s gear into park. Lorraine is in a pretty pink dress and her hair done with loose counterclockwise curls that are like the ocean’s waves. She’s beautiful. And her son is a nervous wreck.
“Do you mind if we park for a while?” The blue-haired boy lets out a shaky breath, side-eyeing his future mother.
“That's a great idea,” Lorraine gives a gentle smile, squaring her shoulders together cutely. “I'd love to park.”
Hunter blinks, now fully facing her, “Huh?”
“Well, Hunter, I'm almost eighteen years old. It's not like I've never parked before.”
Her cutie patootie fluttering eyelashes bounce off of Hunter, “What?”
She scoots closer to him, attention fixated on her white clutch. Lorraine unclasps it and searches, “Hunter you seem so nervous, is something wrong?”
Everything is wrong. He waves a shaky hand, regardless, “No, no. Lorraine-“
A small eight ounce bottle of liquor is pulled from her clutch. It’s half-empty already.
Hunter’s blood runs cold. Face paler, “Lorraine, what are you doing?”
Lorraine giggles, hiding her mouth with one hand cutely, “I swiped it from the old lady's liquor cabinet.”
She then uncorks the small bottle and takes a swig. In the darkness of the car, she looks just like her future self.
Hunter’s face twists. His knuckles tighten over the steering wheel, “Yeah, well, you shouldn't drink.”
“Why not?” She focuses on him again, unfazed.
“Because… You might regret it later in life.”
Afternoons back in elementary school when he was the last kid left to be picked up due to his mother passing out on the couch at home. Witnessing fights in middle school between his brother and mother about finances for college but don’t you ever dare suggest she should cut back on the bottles of cheap wine. Finally able to be of age to get a job only for his own mother to start pestering him to drive her places when she is hammered or to run her to the store for her to select a ‘little’ something for the weekend.
“Hunter, don't be such a square,” she rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Everybody who's anybody drinks.”
Lorraine then puts away the liquor and fetches an unlit cigarette. As she also takes out a lighter, Hunter does a spit take, “Jesus, Fossil Gods, and Guhnashful-?! You smoke too?”
She groans loudly in response, “Hunter, you're beginning to sound just like my mother.”
Inside, the music dies down. The lead vocalist announces to the high schooler audience about the band going on a break. Chatter erupts.
Lorraine’s eyebrows knit together, “Hunter, why are you so nervous?”
The eggs and bacon roll in his stomach. There’s some grim hope from Hunter that maybe he can vomit all over his future mother instead of going with the original plan.
So he takes a deep breathe and decides to focus his gaze out the windshield. His eyes focus on the many cars that are hip or fashionable for this time as words slowly roll off his tongue, “Lorraine… Have you ever, uh, been in a situation where you know you had to act a certain way but when you got there you didn't know if you could go through with it?”
She instantly relaxes, “Oh, you mean how you're supposed to act on a first date.”
No. “Ah well, sort of.”
A beat of silence follows. Hunter gulps, looking down at his hands clasped together, “…maybe not. I don’t know if I’m ever going to act ‘normal’ like the rest of my class. I didn’t think I’d even get a date or ask anyone out. I feel fine. But everyone likes to talk about dating and… I don’t know if I’ll ever get there.”
She digests Hunter’s thoughts and softly speaks up, “I think I know exactly what you mean.”
Hunter looks up at her, “You do?”
“You know what I do in those situations?”
He can’t help but lean in as her voice grows softer, “What?”
“I don't worry,” Lorraine then leans forward and kisses him hard.
Hunter instantly shrieks and pulls away. His back and arms glued to the driver’s side and face aghast.
She too stops and pulls back. Lorraine searches Hunter’s face and finds him shocked stiff, “This is all wrong. I don't know what it is, but when I kiss you it's like kissing my brother. I guess that doesn't make any sense, does it?”
Hunter gives her the most dead-eyed stare that he will ever be capable of for the rest of his days. As if he was watching someone relentlessly shoot the good doctor five hundred more times.
“Well…” Somehow, he finds his voice again. Hunter slowly peels himself away from the driver’s side door. He never once breaks eye contact with her, “You mean… It makes perfect sense.”
Before the sass-filled thought of ‘Close but no cigar!’ can even enter his head, the convertible’s door opens up behind him.
“You cost three-hundred buck damage to my car, you son-of-a-bitch.”
It was Bulloworth dressed to the nines for the dance tonight. Freshly washed and red-faced. His cronies match his energy on either side before Hunter or Lorraine can react.
“And I'm gonna take it out of your ass!” A thick finger is shoved directly into the future boy’s face. “Hold him!”
Hunter yipes as he’s grabbed and thrown into the parking lot. Lorraine shrieks, “Let him go, Bart! You're drunk.”
Bart staggers closer to the car, leaning over the driver’s side and leering into Lorraine’s personal space. The neurons firing in his head are slow but piece together an awful thought. He sneers, “Well, lookie what we have here.”
Lorraine tries to shove past him to get out but Bart’s sheer bulk blocks her like a sauropod against a lone raptor, “No, no, no. You're stayin’ right here with me.”
“Stop it!” She weakly punches his shoulder but this does nothing.
“Leave her alone!” Hunter shouts from the pavement before he’s kicked in the stomach and pulled away for another kick. “Leave her alone! You bastard!”
Bart growls and gestures towards his friends, “You guys, take him in back and I'll be right there.”
Future Boy gets dragged out of the parking lot, away from the scene. Hunter doesn’t go quietly; he kicks and screams as violently as he can. No one comes running.
They go behind the school where a classic blue car’s trunk is popped open. It’s in clear view of the open auditorium’s backstage doors as slow music murmurs on through it’s soothing melodic notes. Hunter coughs and thrashes throughout. Spittle escaping the corners of his mouth and his borrowed tux needing more than dry clean and hem job done to fix. His shredded hat clings to him and his tussled hair as if it were a part of his soul.
The skinnier of the two bullies starts for the car’s trunk, “Let's put him in there.”
“Yeah,” his friend follows his lead.
Hunter gets thrown into the open trunk, back first. He groans out in pain and tries to get the world to stop spinning by counting how many limbs he has through the pain. The bluenette doesn’t get far before pain erupts from his face with a sickening ‘SMACK!’
“That's for messing up my hair,” one of the bullies shakes their wrist as Hunter once more doubles over in pain. His friend shuts the trunk close.
Pain and darkness consumes Hunter. He hisses and groans, holding himself in the cramped space. It takes him a moment to make out that the laughing outside is from Bart’s cronies.
FUCK- Bart!
Everything had been going alright (albeit some awful moments between himself and future mother) and then Bartholomew FUCKING Bullworth just had to barge in and mess everything up. He had to get out of the car and back to Dr. Diggin’s convertible before George grew that shining steel spine to become his father. Lorraine was in trouble and someone had to do something!!!!!!
He starts to claw at the claw and hisses, finding it locked, “Damn it!”
No mom and dad getting together. No Diggins not dying in a parking lot.
His breathing gets faster.
No brother or sister. No friends or band.
Hunter’s hands are shaking as he pats around the trunk’s floor and finds a ring of metal. It makes a distinct jingling noise when disturbed. He lets out a whimper and holds onto the ring of keys he had just found.
Something outside is occurring. Shouts? Arguments? There’s an exchange of angry words.
“The hell you doin’ to my car?” Someone with a baritone voice addresses the teens from the building.
They get closer to the car as both of Bart’s friends start to exchange insults with the newcomer. The guy with the baritone voice doesn’t seem to be alone, judging by the amount of dress shoes scuffing against cement and pavement. It doesn’t take long for one of the teens to say the wrong thing for the umpteenth time and there’s fast movement that follows. Yelling and whooping as the two are scared off, no doubt with their tails between their legs.
At the right quiet moment, Hunter thumps a fist against the roof of the trunk, “Hey! Hey! Help me out here!”
This gets whoever’s attention outside. Baritone guy leans in really close to the trunk, right next to the lock, “What’s goin’ on? You got locked in there or something?”
“Yes!” Hunter shouts as loud as he can, “Please! Let me out!”
“Alright, alright, cool your jets,” he pulls away and starts patting himself down. His friends do the same.
Hunter thumps a few more times on the roof of the trunk, “C'mon, open up! Let me out of here- C’MON!”
“Lorenzo, where're your keys?”
The bluenette groans, clutching the keyring, “The keys are in the trunk.”
“Say that again.”
Hunter’s muffled voice only answers, “I said the keys are in here.”
i am so sickkkkkkkk of people seeing misogyny perpetuated by a man and automatically going "well SOMEONE'S closeted" omfg you know that men hate women even when theyre attracted to them right??? why are you more interested in making fun of gay people than hating misogynists. you fucking freak
digital selfharm is real. do NOT check up on that ex-partner/ex-friend. do NOT reread those old messages/conversations that you know will hurt your feelings all over again or that will otherwise make you feel like shit. do NOT block evade to see if you’re being talked about. inhale. exhale. let it pass and you’ll be better for it.
kianamaiart
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baratheonpilled
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s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
origamiaround
