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wanderingxiao · 1 year

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Thirst post~ What If you’re in class with Wanderer and he gets super needy? Mmm~ yes baby! Wanderer is addressed as “Scara” ;)

Suggestive Themes, 18+ only plz~ 💜

✨Wanderer’s Teasing Touches✨

“I swear if you get any closer, Scara. I’m really going to punch you.”

“Heh, you don’t have the courage to do such a thing in class. It’s rather pathetic seeing you so worked up over a few innocent touches. You’re just that needy for me aren’t you?”

God sometimes you really hated this prick. The shit-eating grin on his face was enough to make your blood boil and your fists shake with anger. How did you even begin dating the Wanderer in the first place? It was probably his undeniable attractive features. He was Ill-mannered the first day you met him and he still was, how did you find his personality bearable enough to continue seeing him? You knew that answer. You loved him. Even his stupid condescending words, annoyed and often times judgmental looks, all of it you had grown to love. That doesn’t mean he still didn’t annoy the hell out of you. Just like he is now. His cold hand is rested on your thigh, rubbing light circles. Seems romantic right? Wrong. Not when you’re in class at the Akademiya trying to focus on class when his hand keeps inching closer and closer to your heat.

“Let’s undo these, they’re in my way.” His slender fingers began to stealthily work your pants undone, pushing the silver button through the sewed hole and grasping the golden zipper. Your hand reaches under the table, swatting his hand away as best you can in order to be discreet, but his stealthy fingers get your pants unzipped and down before you can stop him. “Ah, ah, focus on the lecture. Or else you’ll make a failing grade on this next exam. Wouldn’t that be a shame for the straight A goody too shoes to get a bad grade?” His condescending words did nothing to sway your focus on the professor and the exam material. He was really testing the restraint you had not to strangle him at that moment. “I promise we can do it later, just please not here.”

“Tsk, but I want you now. And I take what I want, when I want it. Especially things that are mine.” His slender fingers padded a damp area building in your panties, rubbing slow and antagonizing circles against your core. His touch was cool yet burning all in the same instance. Your body stiffened, legs trying to close on his hand to stop his movements, but you should’ve known that wasn’t going to work. He was unrelenting. “Would you look at that? Already so wet from some simple touches. You might hold yourself on a pedal stool, but face it. We both know you’re just a dirty, perverted, slut.” God you loved it when he called you such degrading and dirty things. You knew he didn’t actual mean his words In the full context, but the fact was that you were a slut for him and him alone. “Your body is more honest than you are. It’s pathetic how weak you are to a man’s touch… you let other men touch you like this?”

“N-No… only you-“ a hand went to your mouth quickly, trying to stifle your own shuddering moan when he started to press harder against your core, moving tantalizingly slow towards a puffy bundle of nerves that rocked your world. A low and teasing chuckle bubbles from his chest, low enough not to draw attention to you both. Your eyes honed in on the professor, shaky to continue focusing on the lecture. “That’s right. You only submit to me like this. You submit only to me, your world, your god.” Your body betrayed you, slowly bucking your hips into his hand, desperate for more of his sensationally electric touch. His voice dropped with sedative seduction, pushing you closer and closer to succumbing to his demands for your body. “Scara… please…”

“You’re getting weak on me now? Before you wanted me not to touch you at all and now you’re sitting here, hot and flustered from this? I should punish you for being such a fucking whore.” His tongue was deathly sharp, pointed edges sticking to every little syllable that fell from his oh so soft lips. You could feel your legs shaking, utterly humiliated by how his lewd and degrading words turned you on. Your hand rested on his thigh under the table, making him stop his movements and come closer to your ear. His large hat covered your head, slightly covering your flushed face. “When did I give you permission to touch me with your filthy dirty hands?” His voice was dark yet so sexy. Suddenly, he plunged two finger deep inside you, letting out a husky and blissful breath against your ear. You quickly closed your mouth and clenched your jaw tightly not to make a sound, your hands leaving him to clench his wrists shakily as a means of support for yourself. “Don’t fucking touch me without my permission first. Is that understood?”

You couldn’t respond, your mouth pretty much sewn shut in order not to let out a loud moan in front of the entire class. His fingertips wiggled slightly before pulling out slightly to ram his fingers back inside, making a small lewdly wet sound. “I said… is that understood?” You nodded your head quickly, removing your death grip on him slowly, letting him have his way with you. He chuckled and gave a small hum into your ear, his tongue coming out to lick the shell of your ear, his large hat covering the sexual scenes from anyone that dared to look. “Good girl. Now spread your legs more for me.” You did as he said, now completely abandoned your earlier protests. He was just too good, it’s impossible to deny him anymore. You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to hug him, touch him, you wanted him to be inside of you. Your eyelashes fluttered as your kids covered your needy eyes, finally nearing your limit. “Scara-“

“I’ll stop there today, see you next class.” Your eyes opened quickly. Everyone was getting up and packing their things to leave the classroom. “Awe, too bad for you.” Wanderer pulled his fingers out and wiped them rudely on your clothes before he gathered his own things and stood. Your hands fumbled with the zipper and button of your pants before you stood with him, eyes narrowing with disappointment. “You better finish what you started… asshole.” A chuckle sounded from the indigo haired man, his dark lavender eyes turning back to stare at you with amusement. “Hah? Since when are you the one to order me around?” You pouted and grabbed your books, holding them tightly against your chest trying to rid yourself of the feeling of your ruined orgasm. He rolled his eyes at your pouting face before breathing out a sexy laugh. “Awe, don’t worry your pretty little head. Just wait till we get home…”

“…I’ll ravage you until you break.”

Got a thirst? Lemme know! I love imagining Scara/Wanderer in sexy situations~ hehe, fluff is always welcome too. Dis man is gonna be the death of me one day I swear 😍💜

-WX

#scarabae #scaranation #genshin impact wanderer #wanderer smut #wanderer as a scholar #genshin smut #genshin wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer x reader #adventures with Scaramouche and Wanderer

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aroace-confessions · 6 months

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This is gonna be long, im so sorry for it.

I was in my first relationship when I was 13 and my partner at that time was 14. We started of as friends because they were a part of the lgbtq community (trans and bi) and I was a part of it too (back then trans gay, now omnisexual/pansexual and genderfluid). They were really nice and they never had a problem with talking about themes like sex, puberty, blood, illnesses, abuse, etc. They confessed to me through text in december and on new years I invited them over to my house. I felt pretty weird with this relationship at first, since it just felt odd like it wasnt right, but i got more comfortable with time. We were cuddling and watching ghilbi movies, which was pretty cool, but later they said they want to try out hickeys and how they feel.

I was pretty ok with that idea, since I also always wondered how they feel and if i like them, but I didn't feel "in the mood" and I was also pretty young so I was concerned about that. But I still decided to do it, and now I regret it. After it happened I felt weird and I was laying in that bed completely zooned out, hoping I will wake up from that fucked up dream soon. And what made it worse is that they later on made fun of me for zoning out and needing time to process what happened.

The whole relationship felt weird and I've been feeling weird about romance lately. I broke up with them in late january/early February. Now I don't really feel like relationships are smt for me, but I still dream about my fav fictional characters 😔 but I've been feeling less and less s3xual attraction to anyone and anything and I don't think I will in the near future, making me wonder if im asexual or aromantic.

Again sorry for it being so long 😭

Submitted 03/04/24

#questioning #aro questioning #ace questioning

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perexcri · 2 years

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for the writing ask: 1, 13, 19, 40 :)))

AHHH hello Lark!! :D

i just answered #1 here!! i would add more but. i honestly have no more to say lol

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

oooh i just answered this one here too, but i have some more i can add!!

for difficult subject matters to write, i also have a very hard time writing about illness. this is again because of personal/family matters, but yeah. i'm not sure i could even do a sick fic (except for like one idea i have, but it's far removed enough from the usual context for me to be able to handle it)

easy to write? in a weird way, apocalypse/end of the world scenarios! this is partially because of the part of the country i grew up in and how the end of the world is something that is often talked about with glee, so there's already just this desensitization to it. but i also just like how,,,symbolic the end of the world can be? like not necessarily The End, but sometimes, the end of the world can be just having a bad day, right? i like the flexibility of the term and how it can be explored

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

ooooh ok, i think i have a fun one for how this started!

so in another ask a while ago, i had mentioned i'd started writing stories particularly after a difficult time my family went through. so now i'll talk about poetry!

i started writing poetry because of a church camp. no seriously. it was a kids camp between my 5th and 6th grade years of school, and the theme was the arts, so me and all of my schoolmates went to this camp, and all of us had gotten super into manga and drawing in that style the previous school year, so all of us had signed up for the visual arts section of the camp, of course. well basically every single one of my schoolmates who attended the camp got into that one except for me! i ended up in the poetry and cooking section despite not wanting to bother with either, and i was lowkey miserable! i remember feeling crushed because i didn't get to do drawing for that week, but also because i wasn't gonna be with any of my friends, and as an incredibly shy person, that was absolutely distressing

but as i started working on the poetry stuff, i actually (begrudgingly) came to like it? my final piece for the camp was an acrostic which was Not Good by any means, but i was like 11, and i'd never written poetry before, so why would it be good, right? anyways, after that i started exploring poetry more as a way for me to get my emotions out, and i even competed in poetry in this art competition my church's denomination runs at the national level, and i submitted a few poems to students journals when i was in high school. i haven't done much with it since, but i still write it and try to make time with it when i need to get my feelings out (i even went to the beach to write one today!) so...yeah. funny how things happen, right?

speaking of poetry...

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

you served me well with your sappho poem, so i tried my best to find one from my favorite poetry collection book i've had since my freshman year of high school :'D i just liked the imagery of this one and how relaxing it is, so i hope you enjoy it, too!

"Let Evening Come" by Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon

shine through chinks in the barn, moving

up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing

as a woman takes up her needles

and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned

in long grass. Let the stars appear

and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.

Let the wind die down. Let the shed

go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop

in the oats, to air in the lung

let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come.

thanks for the ask my friend!! i hope you are doing well :] 💜

#ask #ask game

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365dailyaffirmations · 5 months

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TGIWednesday: Stress up on the roof

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advancedthetapractitioner · 5 months

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TGIWednesday: Stress up on the roof

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Reach out whenever we can help/contribute to you and yours in any way. View Calendar First, Then Pay and Schedule 15 mins | 30 mins | 60 mins | Appointments

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*DATE CHANGE* -- Tuesday April 23RD

I would like to clear my apprehension, fear, sadness, guilt/shame, remorse/regret, about _______ (, overeating, overdrinking, binge watching TV...)

OR fill in:

2) For a loved one

3) For Mother Earth, Gaia, Goddess Energy

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https://thejimmymackhealingshow.com/

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell the Fish - 365 Daily Inspirations and Affirmations - by Jimmy Mack Own this e-book so that you can read inspiration every day!

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Come See Me in Tampa Office

I am offering sessions at Dr. Charla Tempone’s office at Swann Holistic Health Solutions in Tampa. The the next opportunity to book a session there is:

THIS FRIDAY APRIL 19TH | 10-4pm

403 S. Habana Ave. Tampa, FL 33609 Just south of Azeele next to Skin Savvy

http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

What's On Deck?

Returning to Your Ethereal Restore Point An excellent vehicle to support anti-aging, finances even wellness rebirth and a return to splendor! 💸🏦🌠

Join us on our continuing voyage to navigate the unusual, the different and the deepest changes!

From the Fish Box

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The Fish Market

Shop The Prosperity Collection Shop the Body, Mind and Spirit Collection Shop the Improve Your Life Collection

Browse over 45 Videos in the Zoom Replay Collection

The 5 Anchors Energy Process The Purple Rain Energy Process The Magical Golden Key Process TheNight Passage Sleep Process

Receive 24/7 Prayers from Jimmy

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thedivinefish · 5 months

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TGIWednesday: Stress up on the roof

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*DATE CHANGE* -- Tuesday April 23RD

I would like to clear my apprehension, fear, sadness, guilt/shame, remorse/regret, about _______ (, overeating, overdrinking, binge watching TV...)

OR fill in:

2) For a loved one

3) For Mother Earth, Gaia, Goddess Energy

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YOU WEALTH REVOLUTION SEASON 27 NEW LIVE Q&A CALL THURSDAY APRIL 25 4PM EDT (Yes, we moved the Zoom because of this opportunity to return to the show) Free Registration link >>

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https://thejimmymackhealingshow.com/

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell the Fish - 365 Daily Inspirations and Affirmations - by Jimmy Mack Own this e-book so that you can read inspiration every day!

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Come See Me in Tampa Office

I am offering sessions at Dr. Charla Tempone’s office at Swann Holistic Health Solutions in Tampa. The the next opportunity to book a session there is:

THIS FRIDAY APRIL 19TH | 10-4pm

403 S. Habana Ave. Tampa, FL 33609 Just south of Azeele next to Skin Savvy

http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

What's On Deck?

Returning to Your Ethereal Restore Point An excellent vehicle to support anti-aging, finances even wellness rebirth and a return to splendor! 💸🏦🌠

Join us on our continuing voyage to navigate the unusual, the different and the deepest changes!

From the Fish Box

MY DAILY PRAYER SUBSCRIBER

The Fish Market

Shop The Prosperity Collection Shop the Body, Mind and Spirit Collection Shop the Improve Your Life Collection

Browse over 45 Videos in the Zoom Replay Collection

The 5 Anchors Energy Process The Purple Rain Energy Process The Magical Golden Key Process TheNight Passage Sleep Process

Receive 24/7 Prayers from Jimmy

You can add yourself and those living in your immediate household and yes you can include pets! Merely include everyone’s names and Jimmy will add them to his daily prayers.

Use PayPal for subscription Click here

Use Stripe for subscription Click here.

*Anytime prior to your next scheduled payment within the 30 days, you can cancel or pause this service via email request.

---------------------------------

Could you use a private session? Are you feeling extra-crispy? If so, you can now Book Appointments... View Availability First, Then Pay 15 mins | 30 mins | 60 mins

Visit our Online Training Center "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime" - Lao Tzu

Visit now, Click Here!

TGIFunny

Forward

-------------------------------------------------- TGIW newsletter managed by: Sandy Bidinger Digital Marketing Specialist at SMBeConnected Solutions www.sandybidinger.com

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divinefishingtips · 5 months

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TGIWednesday: Stress up on the roof

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Reach out whenever we can help/contribute to you and yours in any way. View Calendar First, Then Pay and Schedule 15 mins | 30 mins | 60 mins | Appointments

TGIWednesday Video Download

*DATE CHANGE* -- Tuesday April 23RD

I would like to clear my apprehension, fear, sadness, guilt/shame, remorse/regret, about _______ (, overeating, overdrinking, binge watching TV...)

OR fill in:

2) For a loved one

3) For Mother Earth, Gaia, Goddess Energy

Pre-Register Now - $22

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YOU WEALTH REVOLUTION SEASON 27 NEW LIVE Q&A CALL THURSDAY APRIL 25 4PM EDT (Yes, we moved the Zoom because of this opportunity to return to the show) Free Registration link >>

Watch and listen to hundreds of Radio Show replays for FREE here in the archives from the Jimmy Mack Healing Radio show.

https://thejimmymackhealingshow.com/

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell the Fish - 365 Daily Inspirations and Affirmations - by Jimmy Mack Own this e-book so that you can read inspiration every day!

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Come See Me in Tampa Office

I am offering sessions at Dr. Charla Tempone’s office at Swann Holistic Health Solutions in Tampa. The the next opportunity to book a session there is:

THIS FRIDAY APRIL 19TH | 10-4pm

403 S. Habana Ave. Tampa, FL 33609 Just south of Azeele next to Skin Savvy

http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

What's On Deck?

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the-hellsing-organisation · 3 years

Text

Ordinarily I do not indulge in callout posts, unless a person's mental health might be in serious danger - and it's not a petty lie somebody made up, providing no screenshots, or simple ones taken out of context.

I have received multiple messages now, proving to me that the Hellsing Discord server 'The Hellsing Fanserver' lead by 'Artillery' is unfortunately a place people need to be warned about.

While everyone could assure me they do offer good scans of the Hellsing manga, the members of the server indulged in:

- Purposefully misgendering people

- Making fun of triggers, trans people and people with severe mental illnesses

- Purposefully using triggers against other server members

- Manipulating other people to use the triggers against the person they concern and shifting the blame on them afterwards

- Bringing explicit sexual themes to a server with minors

Afterwards they would celebrate their 'success', making fun of the people they hurt.

The so called 'trolling' (though I wouldn't dare to call such a hurtful behaviour this) was encouraged on the server, so I would deem it an unsafe environment for everyone whose mental health might be affected by such things.

Please be careful if these things concern you and please do not encourage such behaviour.

It's not only hurtful, it is downright cruel.

The invitations, though the links are expired.

Here you see some of the accounts that were directly involved.

Please be careful.

Tumblr Accounts

Discord Accounts

I can only assume alts mean something like alternative accounts he and his friends created in order to do these things, engaging others on the server to do the same.

He then proceeds to share the success of the hurtful behaviour on before mentioned Discord server, commenting such:

^ The “he” they are referring to is a demi girl. And yes, on the other server the pronouns are clearly stated and everyone is asked to respect them.

He is downright admitting openly to have his friends manipulated other people to use the triggers against another person.

(For context: A server members triggers were ‘Borderlands” and ‘Kingdom Hearts’.

He stated this trigger a few hours before and unfortunately the mod, after a sleepless night, was unable to memorise it during that time so ‘Abd’ took advantage of it.

Another mod quickly drew attention to her mistake and of course she apologised to the person she triggered and was forgiven.)

Unfortunately many screenshots - involving the sexual advances and the 'making fun of transgenders' are missing due to the default ban option of the server, but several eye witnesses were able to confirm them.

There was a person pretending to be a transwoman to make fun of transpeople (The person was introducing themselves like: ‘Hello, I am a man, my pronouns are he/him, but I wish to be a woman’ It didn’t sound very genuine to the trans people on the server), people making up all sorts of triggers to make fun of people who have triggers, a person pretending to be a kin, and people, who were trying to spread paedophilic messages with spreading the news that ‘age is just a number’.

And in case people still believe it was an accident:

They deliberately threaten people and plan to hurt them, while making fun of their triggers.

I’m truly lost for words…

For everyone who didn’t know: It is not your place to judge triggers and for the love of God, please don’t make fun of them.

You don’t know the history behind them. It’s good if you have none yourself, it really is, but it shouldn’t make you blind to another person’s suffering.

And you certainly shouldn’t encourage other people to “hunt” people with triggers “down” and “go to war” against them.

Also the owner of server is openly hostility against lgbtq + people - especially trans people - , PoC and antisemitic jokes are the norm there.

They too use nationalist-socialist symbols as emojis in their servers, so people who are triggered by such symbols should be careful.

“Jew Alert”

Blaming one group for the action of singular people should us remind too much of darker parts in history.

I know people with the same experience, that doesnt mean they should actively seek out ot destroy the mental health of all trans people, because one of them hurt them.

Let the submitted texts speak for themselves.

And just in case if anybody believes those are fake:

As soon as Satan saw them, he pmed another person:

Those screenshots are real. They are not fake, like he claims they are and he admits that making fun of trigger and trans people was part of his “troll introductions”.

And just in case anybody is wondering if there are truly toxic trolls on this server? This is a submission I got:

When the original is:

Im sorry.

What they did should speak for itself, but don't try to add lies here. Lies that are obviously having their origin in the server itself.

If you still believe the attacks on this blog didn't come from the server:

This is what Artillery posted as soon as he found this post.

After this the attacks started [as you can see here], so don't tell me your server is not responsible and keep your NSFW implications out of a server with minors and away from this blog!

Also you being an immigrant has nothing to do with the fact, that your server is not safe for minors, lgtbq+ people - especially transpeople - people with trauma and poc.

Even if you claims are real - your and your friends prejudices against the other groups remain.

Satan apologised openly and promised to take better care of people mental health.

The emojis however will remain, though we have been told they have specific channels for offensive jokes.

“In our discussions with the tumblr group, we realized that the situation was far more complicated than we realized. There is a a third party, not associated with us or the tumblr group, who is deliberately spreading false information with the presumed agenda of causing drama and conflict between us. With this in mind, we've agreed the best course of action is to mutually end the escalation of conflict and apologize for what occured. Following that, I want to again make clear that nobody should be going after the tumblr group, their discord server, or anywhere other online spaces. We don't know where the tumblr trolls came from, but we do not support them. Their statements were racist, antisemitic, and violent. What we did in their server was wrong and a mistake.

I want to personally apologize to a few specific people for what happened. Their server got raided, and during all of it we did not take their mental health into account, causing a lot of people to have panic attacks. Their triggers were invalidated, and people were manipulated. There were also a lot of innapropriate and offensive statements involved. While many things happened without my knowledge, it spiraled out of control because of the initial server raid, and I want to offer my sincerest apologies for that, and for everything else.”

Update:

He lied. He doesn’t regret anything.

Do you remember how he claimed he never ordered an attack on anybody?

Yes.... that was a lie.

He did plan to attack, though one member - the one they would later throw out of the admin team stopped him from attacking more people.

It should have given us red flags they would ban the only member from the team who was actively against the bullying.

And as we see here they did attack the second time as soon as the opportunity arouse when Artillery were sending people after us after saying we should suck his d*.

So he didnt learn a thing. Please survivors stay save.

#Hellsing Fandom #Hellsing Discord #Discord #Warning #call out post #callout post

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ingek73 · 3 years

Text

Juneteenth

STORY by Team at Archewell

Jun. 16, 2021

YOUNG POETS OF GET LIT SHARE POWERFUL WORDS TO COMMEMORATE THE DAY

In honor of Juneteenth, we, at Archewell, connected with our friends at Get Lit and asked them to share poetry to honor this important day. We hope their poignant words allow you to reflect on the significance of this newly declared federal holiday in the United States and its impact across this country and around the world.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

CORTUNAY MINOR AND TAMIA JACKSON

youtube

WHY THEY WROTE THIS POEM:

“When I wrote this poem, just a few weeks before June 15th, Juneteenth wasn’t yet a federal or national holiday. It wasn’t something I’d given much thought to, but when I had recognized that fact, it wasn’t information, it was confirmation. At first, I was upset about it. My immediate thoughts were along the lines of, ‘Where are our fireworks? Where’s our three-day weekend?’ But in reflection, I realized that this was demonstrating continued deference to a supposedly superior entity. Juneteenth isn’t the ‘Black Independence Day,’ it’s the only Independence Day. To have that nationally recognized feels amazing. But whether or not the date is printed in every calendar does not validate this holiday. We do.”

WHY SHE ANIMATED THIS PIECE:

“This poem, especially for Juneteenth, really inspired me. The color palette expresses the somber yet hopeful emotions that happen when black freedom is discussed, and what it means to be a Black individual in America. This poem as well as the visuals really emphasizes the impact that Black people have by simply existing, and the importance of our breath. We know that as long as we’re still breathing there can and will be change, and ultimately full freedom.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cortunay Minor (she/they) is a performing artist who specializes in Stage Acting and Spoken Word Poetry. They are currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Theater from the UCLA School of Theater, Film, and Television. The theme and goal that Minor tries to hold in the heart of their artistry is liberation, be that emotional, intellectual, or otherwise. Expression and education are two of the most fruitful paths Minor has found that achieve that liberation, and she is immensely grateful to be able to participate in a craft that allows their simultaneous occurrence.

ABOUT THE ANIMATOR:

Tamia Jackson (animator) is a rising senior at the Rhode Island School of Design, receiving her BFA in Film/Animation/Video with a minor in Literary Arts and Studies. She has always been passionate in art, animation, and storytelling. She loves bringing stories of lesser voices, such as BIPOC, low income, female, etc., into a visual and cared-for light. Though not all of her stories or animations revolve around such identities, it is important that she shows diversity so that many people can relate and find comfort in the characters or art piece. Not only does Jackson enjoy spreading her own voice, but she also loves bringing others’ stories to life.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

‘Holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

every second is sacred/every hour hibernates

within the spirit, huddled beneath the bosom.

To breathe is to commemorate:

inhale – exhale – cradle the thought – hold – and repeat.

When daybreak demotes breath to subconscious action,

the diaphragm still submits in reverence, still remembers that

This is Divine. This

is where jubilation begins:

in the suspension of

breathe in – breathe out – take maybe – and

forever hold the moment,

where the deferred dream stopped shriveling,

wavered in anticipation, remembered that expansion

can be soft,

recognized that it didn’t want soft

expansion.

Bodies were policied out of possession, but

the Black individual liberated their own being,

hollered themself out of state-sanctioned silence.

Words ignite, but presence sustains; this intake/expel maintains us

here

the dream explodes. The spirit absorbs the remnants and outpours,

‘holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

I hold this day as sovereign. Meaning:

I hope this day knows its home is in these lungs,

is in this breath, is in the repetition of:

inspire – expire – immortalize the memory – and hold – and hold – and release

POPLAR TREES

CYRUS ROBERTS

youtube

WHY HE WROTE AND DIRECTED THIS POEM:

“It’s easy to say “slavery was an atrocity and we need to do better” but it’s much more difficult to say “slave masters ripped babies from their mothers and used them as crocodile bait for sport.” In the average American lexicon, phrases like ‘Never Forget’ are commonplace but are rarely attributed to periods of fundamental, ongoing violence of a racial nature for the simple fact that our pain makes the people who benefitted from that pain uncomfortable. For me Juneteenth is a day of mourning; the Confederate holidays still celebrated today seem like a gruesome counterbalance. So this is my eulogy to both the country and my own being that could have been.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cyrus Roberts (he/him) writes, acts, and directs across poetry, theater, and film. While his work has been commissioned by organizations like Toms Shoes, Adidas, and March For Our Lives, he also enjoys working on cool independent projects, whether he’s self-publishing poetry compilations, creating movies with friends, or acting in his own plays. Roberts is currently a senior in UC Santa Barbara’s BFA Acting program. Look for him in the upcoming film Summertime, directed by Carlos Lopez Estrada. His assistant director on the project was Mattie Kranz.

POPLAR TREES

Before you there was me. But before me there was (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). And that was the gentler time period. Everything base within you, reflected in your actions. Please don’t censor me when I mention how you wrangled our teeth from our mouths and used them to seduce your own illnesses into submission. Or how you took an interest in the skin that had a monopoly on sunlight and then took what you wanted underneath the moon. Or how you used our babies as crocodile bait and our skin as shoe leather. Look right into the eyes of our demise and try to say those times are past, that I’m being rash, that I’m being bad and so full of woe and I should be glad I’m writing this on my MacBook Pro. Yeah? Who am I to complain about slavery? Because it ended, right? On June 19, 1865, Union Army general Gordon Granger made his way to Texas and proclaimed slavery’s supposed fall and us colored folk supposed to have a ball? I mean it was two and a half years after Lincoln already announced it, but we needed a white man to tell other white men what another white man already said. I mean that is until that white man found himself dead and Reconstruction found itself at a head and chain gangs, sharecropping, Jim Crow, private prison options, perc popping, bodies dropping, cops still stopping, guns cocking to ensure that (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). Every 19th of June we celebrate the end of chattel slavery and every 20th we’re back to fighting its descendants. Private prisons / a cop’s knee is a modern lynching / it ain’t my decision to get busy dyin’ or busy living / I paid attention, to all the digitized depictions / all the people packing up pensions while we’re backed up by the system. Put your back into the system, this is wack how mother’s missing their babies kisses and I’m supposed to be celebrating? I’m sorry. Will you forgive me, I’m jaded. My grandmother looks at me and says confidently that I made it. That she can’t possibly imagine the life that I’m living, I owe a debt to her generation, and I hope that I pay it. I just get so angry, hazy laughter at the thought of thoughts and prayers ending enslavement. So after you hear me, I’ll forgive you if you’re jaded. But you still need to know the history to have an appreciation. It’s no mystery why it’s a mystery present in our education, presently the gatekeepers keep us from it and it’s heinous. On Juneteenth, Americans across the nation eat red foods in honor of the blood spilled before and during emancipation, we celebrate the secondary, pushed-to-the-side independence day, but you don’t have to know our proclamations of jubilation for us to be heard. We will be heard in our voices screaming thanks that we are not treated as herd. We dance and we sing hymns of freedom. Freedom: absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government. Are my brothers and sisters in jail cells free? When there’s a glaring loophole in the 13th amendment smiling from cheek to cheek I’d imagine there’d be some incentive to ensure our purity is never free. And how can I be free when I can’t sleep because my dreams keep whispering I can’t breathe. Regardless of that fact, progress is still being made. But I fear progress is just an exchange of chains for other chains. Same way they changed our names for other names, I rest a bouquet on the graves of enslaved, singing regardless this day. In the hopes that I never again have to see (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”).

UNTITLED

SIERRA LEONE ANDERSON

youtube

WHY SHE WROTE THIS POEM:

“When writing this poem, I really made an effort to think back to my ancestors. What was their impact? Who did they inspire? How did they carve the path for the road I now choose to take? This poem is about legacy. I am calling back to the ancestors before me to give me the strength and courage to be the ancestor I want to be to future generations.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sierra Leone Anderson (poet) is a youth activist and professional spoken word artist from Los Angeles. Rooted in liberatory joy and armed with ancestral truth, Sierra Leone aims to bring light to the power of language, empowering Los Angeles youth of color to recognize the quantifiable influence of their voice. She has placed both second and first in Get Lit’s annual middle and high school Classic Slam respectively, co-wrote an article for the political column of USA Today, and has shared space with several influential changemakers including Dr. Melina Abdullah (co-founder of BLM-LA) and Cecily Myart-Cruz (president of UTLA). Her other organizing work includes collaborating with Students Deserve LA to make Black Lives Matter in and beyond schools. She is currently a ninth grade student at Girls Academic Leadership Academy and an avid lover of trashy teenage dramedies.

Her director and editor is Lukas Lane, an award-winning filmmaker and founding member of Literary Riot (started in his junior year of high school), and he is currently attending UC Berkeley.

UNTITLED

Every generation, the world gives birth to a new fleet of freedom fighters.

I am one of them.

I stand on the shoulders of tired women.

I dance in the footsteps of Pan-African poets, liberation fighters, and Black writers

who grew fires from a pit hungrier than a stomach. They call my name and I call theirs.

Malcolm X. Phyllis Wheatley. Maya Angelou. Sojourner Truth. Audre Lorde. Ida B. Wells.

Your resilience rivers through me. You are my founding fathers. The blueprint to a world we need to be brave enough to see, to seek.

Let us imagine a world in which we know each other’s palms

and never the fist. Not unless needed. Not unless united together.

Let us be the drum and not the war.

Let us know each other’s names and not the languages we cry in.

Let us be, let all us be more than a slave’s wildest dream

Let us beam past blueprints and what-ifs and start becoming the now we want to see, the now we want to be

Trees growing so far past the Earth, Allah would mistake our bodies for angels.

When I die, I want to ripple through lifetimes. I want my name to graffiti the mouths of the next 10 generations.

I don’t want to be forgotten. Or remembered for the way my feet wouldn’t stop running.

I wanna grow roots in this soil, in this American skin. Join the forest of my ancestors. Let my grandkids climb up my branches and tell stories of school.

And before the first pulse of morning, I want them to drip from their homes and gather at my roots.

I want to tell them my name before I forget it.

I want to tell them that morning is coming. And will always come. And will never wait for when you are ready.

I want to tell them that there is a point far beyond this tree, this forest, this temporary point in time, their bodies, their fears, their fathers, their memories. Where the sun is eternal and smiling. Where freedom rings and is never silent, never out of reach. It is called horizon. And it is right there.

#juneteenth #archewell #sierra leone anderson #cyrus roberts #cortunay minor #tamia jackson #get lit #poetry #poets #Youtube

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strxnged · 3 years

Text

WHEN IT'S DARK: chapter 6, somehow (FINAL CHAPTER!!)

-> ARTIST!AKAASHI x GN!READER

CHAPTER 1 HERE

Summary: Akaashi’s mental health has been failing since Bokuto left and he seems to be dismissing many of his abilities - especially his artistic talent. When you see advertisements for an art contest that you know he’d have in the bag, you get an idea.

WC: 1k

Warnings/content: descriptions of depression, Akaashi being somewhat OOC due to evident mental illness, angst + arguing, hopeful ending. [this chapter = fluff. finally]

TAGLIST: @h-grangerstudies @bluefaeriefury @bokubonk @daddyjackfrost @snoozless @soft-angel-clouds @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @milktyama @tanzaniiite @dai-tsukki-desu @kozu-zumi @borpcorp @astrqmi @tobi-momo @minadreams @kailleis-sunshine @serenitycushing @floralkawa @boba-duckie @felixsamour @akaashrifa @macaroooniies @coach-ukais-piercings @kodzuken-blog @serenitycushing @dearkousei

NAVIGATION // SERIES MASTERLIST // TAGLIST

The first order of business was to give him back his drawing. You had all winter break to figure things out, but you didn’t have the patience. You wanted to look at it again, maybe even ask him why he drew you, if that was true. And what it meant. If you’d been able to explain what it meant to face things together, then surely he’d be able to explain what his piece meant.

Because you’d submitted his unfinished sketch to an art contest with ‘emotions’ as a theme without even knowing what his piece meant to him.

The piece deserved to win. But the submitter did not. Maybe runner-up had been a good balance.

You found that even when you got the piece out again, it felt wrong to look at it. Instead, you carefully put it in your bag to take to him, hoping he’d explain it to you. You’d already talked about the contest, and he’d said that he’d wanted to retract it from them as soon as possible. He said that maybe if he got a chance to finish it he may resubmit it for something else but it felt wrong to him to have it seen right now.

You understood that now. If only you had known, though. If only you had been able to make a better, simpler decision, rather than overthinking it so much that you’d convinced yourself a contest would help him. A contest, while you were right here in front of him.

Akaashi hadn’t changed overnight or anything. He was still acting closed-off. He still didn’t want to look you in the eye for a lot of the time. But it was clear that he was trying to change for you. You couldn’t tell whether this was a good change; not because you didn’t want the old Akaashi back, but because seeing him force himself this much was painful.

“It’s you,” he explained, holding his drawing gently as if he really did see it as you. “At Bokuto’s graduation in March.”

You paused to look at it yourself. “And the white bit falling out the eyes? It looks like tears of light.”

“It was going to be colors. Blue, and purple. And flowers. But I never got to color it.” He led you inside his house, saying something about tea.

You followed, asking him more. “Why? I mean, why the tears of blue and flowers?”

“Because… when I think back to that day, we really were a reflection of each other. We’re so similar, Y/N. At the time, we were both in tears. We both knew things would be different without Bokuto. I see myself in you.”

“And the flowers?”

“I just thought it would be nice. It’s not like I was going to have anyone else see it. I… those flowers…. whenever I’m drawing those flowers, Y/N, I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about how you’re the only nice thing left in my life, and how I have to keep reminders of you everywhere in case I forget.”

Akaashi had really been trying his hardest all this time. He might not look like it most of the time, but he was really, really trying so hard to hold onto the tiniest bit of beauty that he could see. Flowers. You.

“Wow,” you said. “I thought it looked cool. Like… laser eyes.” You laughed slightly. “I didn’t know you were such a deep thinker, Keiji. Must be all the poetry books.”

“You noticed my poetry books?”

“Of course I did. I never stopped paying attention to you, Keiji.” You couldn’t help but notice that he smiled a little every time you used his name. “Keiji,” you repeated, just see it one more time.

“Yes?”

“Your smile is stunning.”

He smiled again, covering it with his hand until it faded.

“I mean it. I wish you knew how beautiful you were to me. You said I was the last nice thing in your life? But that’s what you are to me…”

You trailed off, noticing the way he was looking at you.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he thought you knew something he didn’t.

An unspoken understanding of utter uncertainty.

His eyes drifted to your lips, and back into your eyes again. He looked at you like this when you spoke to him about something important. But you weren’t talking at all.

He lifted his hand. You had been expecting his fingers to be cold like they had been last night, but they were warm against your chin. He brushed his thumb against your lips and your eyes fell closed. You didn’t know what he was doing — you didn’t think he did, either. And then you were sure he knew what he was doing, because he was doing it so well.

Kissing you.

His lips were warm, too, and soft. Softer than you’d imagined. Perfect.

Somehow, everything suddenly made sense.

The way you’d been so hesitant to touch him, afraid he’d somehow burn you the way he was igniting you now. The way you found him so beautiful, even when he was upset or empty or crying. The way his happiness was something you sought more than your own. The relentless drive you had to make him feel okay.

His lips against yours like a dream. Fingers ever-so delicately tilting your jaw towards him. And then — his eyes, blue like the flower tears he’d explained. The smile in them. The irreplaceable, invaluable smile. Everything you’d been hoping for.

He dropped his hand too soon, turning towards the kitchen.

“What kind of tea would you like to drink?”

The question hung in the air as you tried to regain your wits. Your mind was blaring his name in bold and lights, over and over again. Finally, you replied.

“Same as you.”

AN: okay so if there were things that didn't make sense PLEASE come into my inbox and ask me about them. i am prepared to answer at length bc there is so much about this i have thought out very thoroughly. this story has a lot of emotional meaning to me hehe. i was so messed up doing the taglist for this -- i finally got figured out all who was supposed to be on it now that it's done lmao

thank you for reading! i'm happy to be ✨done✨ with my second series. hopefully i never do a series again it's too much work JKASKLJDKADSJ sticking to long fics in the future 🤩 or at least .. less parts. this ... was too many.

NAVIGATION // SERIES MASTERLIST // TAGLIST

#when it's dark #akaashi x reader #akaashi angst #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji #akaashi x gn!reader #akaashi fanfiction #akaashi fic #haikyuu series #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x you #haikyuu akaashi #hq angst #haikyuu fanfiction

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fallenfurther · 3 years

Text

TAG Minibang 2021

I had the pleasure of being partnered with @godsliltippy for the @tagminibang.

Click here to see @godsliltippy's amazing picture which goes with this fic, in which Scott and Gordon spend some time together on Thunderbird Four. I had great fun putting these two in a confined space and I hope you enjoy what came about. Enjoy!

The Refresher

Scott slipped the box of food rations into the compartment next to a large unopened box of celery crunch bars. He rolled his eyes knowing there were more scattered throughout the craft. He wondered how many of the fresh supplies his brother would consume with his favourite alternative present. Virgil had expressed concern on more than one occasion about Gordon's diet on extended underwater expeditions, but Scott tried not to pry too much. The aquanaut never seemed to suffer any ill effects. The man in question strode into the submarine with a grin and air of authority, tapping the button to close the airlock without a backwards glance. The mechanism clicking into place, sealing them in.

"Ready to learn the ropes?" Gordon cheered, eagerly rubbing his gloved hands together.

"It's a refresher course with a small mapping expedition for the Environmental Agency added on."

"Trust me Scott, this baby is nothing like Thunderbird One. She handles better, is calmer and still nippy when required. I'll be taking her out first, I want to get her there on schedule and in one piece."

Scott sighed, wanting to quip back about how he was the one who always brought her back in pieces, but knew it was still too raw for his brother. Shutting the compartment, with a little more force than necessary, he followed Gordon into the cockpit and sat in the temporary seat behind the man. His eyes scanned the area and he was pleased to see no wrappers on the floor. Kayo had warned them about the mess after her last excursion in Thunderbird Four, however they were all aware of what Gordon was like. It was nice to see he had tidied up beforehand, so at least Scott would only have to deal with fresh mess. The aquanaut started running through the prelaunch checks, and Scott ticked each one off his mental checklist. The submarine jolted as the mechanism started to lower them into the water tank and the exit hatch came into view. The lock disengaged, the doors opened before them as the submarine's engines started to rumble behind them. The vibrations grew as the pitch changed and the machine propelled itself forward.

"Thunderbird Four is go!"

"FAB," John responded, "try not to kill him, Scott."

Scott grinned while Gordon feigned hurt, a hand leaving the controls to cover his heart. It was a running family joke, all of them having been cooped up with Gordon at some point. Although Alan swore blind their trip to Europa was the worst, but at least Thunderbird Three was large enough to have some mild privacy and space. Everything was pokey on Thunderbird Four, particularly the toilet. It thankfully had a privacy screen but there was barely enough room to stand up, let alone unzip their uniforms. It probably explained why John had been graced with Gordon's bottom on his last refresher. Why use a screen when you're the only one on board, was Gordon's response. When John had pointed out his own presence Gordon had said he was making John feel more at home by showing him the moon. John did report that Gordon had used the screen for the rest of their trip. Scott hoped he would be spared the same treatment. Sitting back, Scott observed his brother at the controls as they entered the open ocean. The sonar gently flashed to Gordon's left, relaying occasional glimpses of hazards and giving a reasonably detailed map of the sea bed. The little yellow arrow that indicated their craft stayed steady on the red line of the plotted course. It crossed Scott's mind that they would have been at their destination by now had they been on Thunderbird One. Rolling his shoulders, Scott sat back, stretched his feet out before him and tried to relax. It was going to be a long first day.

The morning was interspersed with sporadic bouts of chatter from Gordon. Scott smiled as he listened, making the right noises and offering his opinions when required. He didn't share his brother's enthusiasm for the sea, but had great respect for his knowledge and experience as Gordon identified the various creatures which passed the craft. With one of Four's tablets in his lap, Scott inputted the sightings into the database alongside the GPS coordinates, ready to be submitted after the trip was complete. There was no need to report them straight away and to do so would give away Thunderbird Four's position and possibly bring unwanted attention. John and EOS monitored many websites where enthusiasts shared their Thunderbird sightings, marking possible hot spots on maps and predicting flight paths. Apparently there had been many meetups, a few of which had successfully predicted a Thunderbird sighting. EOS was certain it was coincidental, but precautions were taken after a holidaying oceanographer tracked Thunderbird Four down using Gordon's data. International Rescue promptly stopped submitting data, instead switching between five umbrella accounts. This trip's data was being submitted by Dippy, the personal deep water submarine of Doctor R Yang. Scott hadn't been too impressed with Gordon's suggestion of Doctor Angry, but EOS had suggested Doctor R Yang as a suitable plausible alternative and assured him that would be unlikely to be questioned. Gordon also managed to wrangle a sea themed one as well, much to Scott's displeasure.

Scott retrieved lunch, eating his first before taking the helm. His hand slipped into the holds, his body shifting at the unfamiliarity of the position. Pulling on the controls the machine continued on. Scott's eyes were glued to the sonar, adjusting the propulsion when the craft deviated from course.

"Relax, Scott. You're making it harder on yourself. Small subtle adjustments is all you need." Gordon butted in after the seventh course correction in the ten minutes Scott had been piloting. "There are no flight paths to worry about. A little deviation from the line isn't going to hurt and EOS will even autocorrect it if you stray too far."

Scott loosened his grip on the controls, allowing the blood to run back into his white knuckles. His shoulders slumped. Why was it so different to pilot Thunderbird Four when on a rescue? He swore it was never this hard, or maybe he just never noticed how tense he was or the small things he was doing wrong. The memory of Gordon instructing him from Tracy Island when retrieving the escape pod came to mind. Taking a deep breath, Scott twisted the controls, taking a large arch to get back on course.

"I know you fly Thunderbird One blind, but you should be able to look up and out the window while steering Thunderbird Four. You'll be surprised by what you can see, especially on a leisure journey like this."

"This is a training exercise."

"Exactly, it's for practicing. There's no rush. We have time to get you feeling relaxed at the helm, to let you learn the way she feels and responds."

Scott sat back, making the most of the ergonomic seat, knowing that Gordon was right. Knowing he'd said the same thing when he'd been refreshing Gordon on Thunderbird One. Despite his carefree joking nature, Gordon knew when to be serious and he had tensed up at the controls of Thunderbird One. Virgil had pointed out later that night that just Scott's presence watching would have put Gordon off. Much like Alan tried to please, putting in his all to prove his worth, there were still times when Gordon wanted to impress his older brother and not let him down. Thankfully, a few hours in the sky, and some practice launching and descending had Gordon handling Thunderbird One with ease. Pride had filled Scott, seeing how well Gordon had recovered from his injuries and how easily he slipped back into International Rescue. His younger brother had a unique way of bouncing back and his resilience made him seem indestructible.

Scott flicked his attention back to the here and now. His hands still grasped the controls a little too firmly, but he started flicking his eyes between the projection and water around them. To his untrained eye, the lamps barely illuminated anything and there was nothing to see. Gordon however seemed to spot things he couldn't. By the end of the journey, Scott's arms were aching from the consistent outstretched position and was thankful when Gordon took over. Rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arms, he took the seat behind Gordon. In Thunderbird One there was no need for stamina as she was never in flight for long. Clicking his shoulder brought some relief.

"You'll get used to it," Gordon responded to the sound.

Scott rolled his eyes knowing too well he would never be in Thunderbird Four long enough to become used to it. It was one long training dive a year, with day refreshers as and when required. Gordon guided the craft towards the surface. Finally Scott could see clearly through the glass. Before them was a vast coastline that contained various caves that required remapping. They were a long way from the nearest city, though the nearest settlement wasn't much closer. Gordon guided the submarine along until they came to the buoy which marked the entrance to the caves. Submerging again, Gordon spiralled them around the buoy's line until they were fifteen meters down before clamping onto the metal cable. A light flashed green.

"All secure. Let's grab some grub before turning in. I know it's early but I know you barely slept thanks to that rescue."

Scott was about to complain when he yawned. Gordon was right, he had barely slept the night before, having run around after the rescue getting everything ready for this trip. Scott followed his brother out the back, ducking through the hatch.

"I bet times like these you wished Thunderbird Four was as spacious as Stingray."

Scott chanced the conversation. Since the hydrofoil accident Gordon had been less forthcoming with details about his time in WASP. It had bonded them at first, Scott's military service giving him an understanding about what Gordon was going through, with his younger brother messaging him for advice on occasion. It frizzled out towards the end as they both got busy, something Scott regretted. Gordon paused, but gave his brother a grin as he grabbed two ration packs from the box Scott had brought.

"Nah. Sure, you get your own room, but you also have to deal with Troy. I was right next to his room and his late night visitors weren't always quiet. I miss relaxing with the guys though. Marina and Phones were a blast. We had some good times together."

Scott only just caught the packet thrown his way, catching it by the edge between two fingers. Gordon chuckled as he headed to the hot water dispenser.

"I gotta keep you on your toes."

Scott followed the aquanaut, rubbing his hand through his brother's hair as he moved out the way.

"Hey!" Gordon squawked, cradling his food as he attempted to duck.

Scott ignored the complaint, filling his own pack and noting he'd been thrown beef bourguignon, mash and peas. He already knew Gordon would have Mac and Cheese without looking. Scott had deliberately only brought one along as well as removing the can of squirty cheese from its hiding place. There was only so much Scott could tolerate in a confined space and they were set to be down here a while. They sat in two of the rescue seats and ate off their laps. There was no need for formalities when living in confined quarters.

"This always reminds me of survival training. Eating out of packets perched on a rock or stump, though I'm glad Brains makes them taste better. We were always told that they are called survival rations, not gourmet food-to-go."

Gordon nodded, chewing his current mouthful. A smile crossed his face.

"I lost a bet with Troy during my …. second week on Stingray. He made me eat survival rations for a day. I didn't know they came in different flavours as he only gave me one choice; beef stew. Tasted like cardboard. I got him back though."

"Sounds familiar," Scott chuckled, scraping out the last of his meal. He threw the packet in the trash and grabbed the bag of cookies he'd stowed away. His brother's eyes lit up. Scott ripped it open and deposited two into his awaiting hand before taking two himself. He sealed them up and tucked them away, knowing they'd probably be gone by tomorrow night. He retrieved two hammocks and blankets from one of the underfloor storage holds and handed one of each to Gordon. Unravelling the strong yellow material, he clipped it to the holds in the ceiling before grabbing his wash bag and heading to the sink. He watched as Gordon sorted out his own hammock before joining Scott at the small sink. It was a little cramped, the two of them leaning down to make sure they actually spat into the bowl, but it worked. With no need to change clothes, being in such a small submarine required them to be ready for a leak at any point, so Scott climbed into his bed for the night. It took him a moment to get comfortable, his body not used to the feeling of being cradled by fabric. Beside him Gordon had hopped into his and was swinging gently.

"Like the sailors of old, we sleep in our hammocks and are rocked to sleep by the sea."

There was a crunch and Scott sighed. He had no idea where it had come from but it didn't matter. Brains had found celery crunch bars all over the craft during maintenance.

"Keep it to one. I don't want to be woken by you crunching throughout the night."

"Spoil sport," Gordon grumbled, before peeking over the yellow material at Scott with a grin. "Fancy a sea shanty?"

Scott groaned, hands grasping his head, as laughter filled the submarine. The main lights were turned off as Gordon started singing, a small light on his side of the submarine casting him in an eerie green glow. It was going to be a long week.

********

"Okay, we need to head down the left tunnel."

Gordon watched as Scott turned the controls. His brother was coping well considering Scott wasn't the most patient person and was used to making larger, brasher movements. His brother did have laser focus though, eyes glued to the sonar where a small version on the submarine was actively being projected in real time. Gordon has given up telling Scott to not rely on it solely, old habits dying hard. Granted, it was day three of their trip and they had just entered the deeper, smaller caverns having mapped the larger ones yesterday. The muscles beneath Scott's uniform were a mass of stiff tense knots as the man guided the machine around a tight bend. The caves weren't particularly small by his standards but for someone unused to the kind of manipulation required to transverse them, they were constricting. Brains had already mentioned to Gordon that he had plenty of fresh paint ready for when they got back. He had laughed at the engineer's lack of confidence, but had been grateful all the same. There were already a few spots on Thunderbird Four that needed a touch up, and by the way Scott was turning the craft, there was about to be another.

Gordon sat back, trying not to say anything and let his brother learn. He watched his brother make a small adjustment, a little overzealous increase in the starboard turbine impeller which tipped her nose a little too far to the left, making contact with rock inevitable. The submarine edged forward. Scott realised what was happening and tried to correct it. The nose rose away from the rock wall and towards the center of the tunnel. Gordon could see the tension in the man's jaw increase, which he didn’t think was possible. Just as Scott thought he'd saved it, there was the tell-tale clunk of rock hitting metal near the back of the craft and a thankfully short screech as it scratched the hull. Scott growled in frustration, twisting the controls and setting Thunderbird Four onto a straight course through the tunnel while turning off the engine. Instead he let the craft drift and put his head in his hands. Gordon gave his brother time, watching the man’s fingers twist and scrape their way through normally neat styled hair. Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"You're getting there. These aren't easy tunnels and they are unknown to you."

"I …" Scott's hand slipped down his face, "I should be able to do this. I'm sorry I've scratched her."

Gordon swallowed. Scott rarely showed vulnerability, and especially not to him. Despite having Dad back, his brother still shouldered too much, and this just showed how close to breaking point he had been. Maybe Scott needed this time away more than he'd like to admit.

"Scratches can be buffed out and painted over," Gordon spoke softly as he knelt beside his brother, "I've given her a fair few over the years."

Scott's hair was poking out of fists now and all Gordon could do was wrap his arms around the man and be there. He rested his chin against tense muscles and gazed into the corner of the cockpit. His eyes started picking out small details, like a smudge of oil at the bottom of the wall where Virgil had touched it during the last biannual maintenance. His brother often helped Brains if he was free and it had been quiet on the rescue front, and Brains wouldn't have let his hands get so dirty. There was a sliver of a celery crunch bar wrapper poking out from around the edge of the small storage compartment which also held a first aid kit. He could spot the grime he'd missed in the clean he'd done. Gordon felt the rise and fall of Scott's shoulders as he shifted his head so he could glimpse the sonar out the corner of his eye. They were still suspended in the middle of the tunnel, Thunderbird Four's buoyancy keeping her from sinking to the rocky floor. Gordon had no idea how long they were like that, and didn't care to know, but Scott finally took a deep breath and straightened up. There was a steely look in his eyes and a new resolve in the way he grasped the controls. Gordon sat back as Thunderbird Four's turbines started turning again.

"I'm only going to improve by keeping at it." There was conviction in the man voice, "I'll set some time aside on Tuesday to buff out all the scratches "

"I'm sure Brains will be happy to do it."

Scott opened and closed his mouth. They both knew Brains would be quicker and more efficient than Scott, who rarely had to buff anything out of Thunderbird One. The cockpit was silent as Scott concentrated, slowly making his way along the tunnels. Gordon gave the odd directional instruction, trying to leave the man to it. There had been a few more swear words during Scott's attempt to turn around at a dead end, having added a few more small scratches to the paintwork. He gradually became faster as his confidence slowly grew as they headed deeper into the system.

"Should we think about turning around?"

Gordon grabbed the tablet and compared their current section to the thirty two year old map produced on the last official excursion. There was only one more tunnel off of this section and he agreed they could probably call it a day. Scott was in need of some time away from the controls.

*******

Scott stretched as he vacated the seat and handed it over to Gordon. He had to bend to stretch his arms out completely, but he did so with a yawn. His body was stiff from being in the same position for so long. Without any guilt he left Gordon to turn the submarine around and headed out back to grab some water. He filled up his standard issue water bottle, a blue iR embossed metal canister, from the tap and greedily gulped half of it. After refilling it, he also filled Gordon's and headed back. As much as he wanted to lie down and try and ease the tension from his muscles, he didn't want to leave Gordon alone. His brother thrived with company, often resorting to telling jokes over the comm when he was alone. Scott placed the canister in its slot on the main seat before sitting down.

Gordon had pulled up the quickest route out the cavern system and had started to leave the tunnel Scott had just finished scanning. As they reached the main tunnel Thunderbird Four's pace increased, it was still slow for the craft but a fair bit faster than Scott had been comfortable to go when he was in control. Gordon didn't bat an eyelid, eyes focused on the rock that passed by the window. His brother's hands gripped the controls in a firm but relaxed manner, his movements were smooth, subtle and the submarine reacted similarly. She glided through the tunnels like she'd been traversing them for years, though Scott knew she hadn't. Gordon was confident at the helm, taking tight turns at speeds that worried Scott to the point he sat back in his seat and held on. It felt strange to be a lover of speed, getting a thrill from being forced back into his seat, yet being uncomfortable that they were going so fast while going so slow.

Thunderbird Four smoothly rounded a junction where Scott had scratched her, her frame tilting with the angle of the turn. Scott was mesmerized by his brother's faultless handling. Glancing at the map, Scott saw the dip coming up which narrowed considerably afterwards. Gordon wasn't perturbed, gliding into the dip and pulling her up with pace. The rock below was clearly visible in the light and the odd protrusion came so close Scott swore they would brush against it. They didn't. Thankfully Gordon reduced his speed as the tunnel narrowed, but at no point did worry or concern cross the man's face. He glided the Thunderbird through the tunnels as if it had been designed solely for the purpose. It had taken them the best part of seven hours to get to the point they had, granted they, he, had been taking it slow due to the nature of their task, however a mere forty minutes of skilled piloting later and they burst into the open ocean once again. Relief filled Scott who hadn't realised how much the close confines of the caves had been affecting him. Gordon took them up to the surface and bright sunlight burst through forcing Scott to cover his eyes.

"Thought we deserved a bit of fresh air."

Gordon gave Scott a cheeky grin as he started putting the submarine in standby. The waves sparkled as they lapped at the hull. Gordon activated the seat allowing him to do some acrobatics to get into the main compartment. Scott rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and followed him. Gordon opened up one of the compartments and started rummaging. Scott leant against the other side, crossed his arms and took in his brother. A proud smile spread across his face. They each had their own set of skills and he had just witnessed what a competent aquanaut could do. WASP must have been gutted when he hadn't returned after his recovery. Even if they didn't let him on Stingray, Gordon's skills would have still been a great addition to the force. Instead, he'd joined his brothers in their Dad's legacy, becoming their only aquanaut. Scott was proud of all his brothers but it was moments like this, when they unintentionally showed off how amazing they were, that made their sacrifices worth it.

Gordon turned around with an armful of snacks and fizzy drinks, and Scott couldn't help but laugh. His brother sauntered to the airlock and Scott hurried to open it, picking up the treat that had fallen to the floor. The fresh crisp sea air wafted in and Scott's lungs breathed deeply. There was land to their left and open water to their right. Gordon plonked himself down and dropped his legs into the water. Scott sat beside him, crossing his legs not wanting to spend the next few days with salt stuck to them. He playfully slapped Gordon on the head with the celery crunch bar he'd dropped before swapping it with a bottle of cola.

********

"Okay, with this next turn you have to glide in pointing towards the corner then pulling round as the front gets to the bend."

Scott set his eyes on the corner, trying to visualise the curve Gordon wanted him to take. After yesterday's disaster Scott was determined to reduce the amount of scratches Brains was going to need to buff out, and had swallowed his pride. There had been no jeering from his brother, instead just a nod. Under Gordon's clear guidance Scott had only given the submarine a minor scratch and he was starting to feel a little less stressed about how close the cavern walls were. Scott did as Gordon instructed, still going at a much slower pace than his brother would, and managed to clear the corner in a smooth motion with inches to spare. Scott was already scouting out the route ahead, eyes spending more time peering out the window than glued to the sonar, when John popped up in front of him.

"Sorry to interrupt your training trip, but we have a situation that requires Thunderbird Four."

Scott was up and out the chair in a flash. The pair swapped places as Gordon switched to the old map. Hands on the controls they started heading to a suitable turning point.

"Have Thunderbird Two ready outside for a pick up."

Scott grabbed the tablet from its holder. It lit up immediately as John sent the rescue details to the craft.

"Thunderbird Two is currently attached to a container ship in an attempt to stop its contents from spilling into the sea. Alan is in a submarine pod, but it just doesn't have enough power to keep the ship from sinking. It's only forty minutes from your current location. Thunderbird Two should just about be able to hold it until then."

"FAB, John."

Scott surveyed the map as Gordon weaved his way out the cave system with the same agility as yesterday, but with a little more haste. Once out, Scott flicked the route onto the aquanaut’s screen, who responded by hitting the throttle with enough force to push Scott back in his seat.

"I can make it in thirty five easily," Gordon gloated.

Scott nodded, eyes skimming over Thunderbird Two's statistics before opening up John's scans of the situation and the 'dash cam' of the green giant. The ship was tilted at an immense angle, but was currently stable, even as its cargo seemed on the verge of toppling. The cause for the problem wasn't obvious but that wasn't of concern right now. A small lifeboat was slowly leaving the vicinity of the vessel, which was a relief. With no life signs onboard they could resort to an abort if the risks were too high. They were primarily a rescue organisation, but in this case it would be detrimental to the environment if they let the cargo fall. If Thunderbird Four could stabilise it enough to allow Alan to get inflator bags attached then they could right it for long enough so the ship could get to the nearest port. The coastguard would sort that out with the help of the original crew.

Scott was relieved as they approached. Thunderbird Four was speedy for an underwater vessel, making the journey in thirty four minutes, but he was used to much, much faster speeds. Gordon slowed on the approach and headed immediately to the yellow blob that was the submarine pod. Alan gave a wave as he passed by. The craft's arms were extended and placed against the metal above the pod. The speed of the turbines increased slowly, and although there was very little improvement in the angle of the ship it meant the current angle could be maintained without Alan.

"You can let go now, Alan."

Scott got there before John, who was currently on the phone to the coast guard trying to ascertain how long it was going to take for them to reach the situation.

"Thanks Scott," Alan chimed cheerily

"Don't forget me! I'm the one doing the hard work."

"Sorry. Thank you Gordon."

"You're welcome."

Gordon grinned. Scott shook his head and let it go. The pair was either winding each other up or plotting something together. This was mild banter and he knew both his siblings were concentrating on their tasks. The smaller pod disappeared from beneath them. Scott tracked Alan's progress on the tablet, his little red dot heading back to the module and hopping across it to grab the large inflator bags from the back. They were going to need four according to John's calculations so he hoped Alan had the sense to drag them all out now so he didn't have to leave the pod again. The red icon eventually whizzed away from the module and towards the indicator on the stern end of the ship before heading straight back to grab the next bag. This one he attached to the bow end. When Alan was safely out the way, Scott selected the bags and activated them simultaneously. The added buoyancy lifted the ship higher in the water, taking Thunderbird Four with it. The video showed a vast improvement in the angle of the cargo and Thunderbird Two's engines were now able to pull the ship to its correct orientation with ease. Gordon released the ship with no adverse effects. He turned and sped towards the floating module. They burst above the surface with great theatre, spray sparkling like diamonds before returning to the sea. The arms that had previously braced against the ship grabbed the last inflator bag and pulled it into the water. They dived heading to the last placement indicator. Gordon waved as they passed Alan, who had been heading back for the last bag. After the bag was installed, Scott activated them and Virgil lowered Thunderbird Two putting slack in the lines. After a minute of stability, the lines were released and withdrawn. Gordon brought them back up to the surface, next to the submarine pod, before heading out the back. Gordon lept onto the module’s door to join a disgruntled looking Alan.

"You took my job!"

"You were taking too long."

"I so wasn't, and you know it."

Scott leapt across the water and joined them on the module's door. The sound of his siblings squabbling flowed over him. It happened frequently post rescue, particularly the less challenging ones where they sometimes stepped on each other's toes. Despite the noise, Scott was happy to see that the pair were in fact working together to get the pod out the water and into the module. Extending his arms above his head, he watched the pair while enjoying the feeling of stretching his legs. He hadn't been on land for four days and his body was itching for a run. The temptation to run circles around the module was sitting at the back of his mind, alongside all the teasing he'd get for doing so. When the pod was loaded the three of them congregated beside it. John had obviously been watching them as he immediately popped up on Scott's wrist and Virgil on Gordon's. Scott sidestepped so Alan could stand between Gordon and himself.

"The coastguard aren't coming, apparently they have something more urgent to deal with." Displeasure tainted the word urgent. "Virgil, the tanker should be able to keep afloat with the buoyancy aids attached, as long as they stick to 10 knots or less. The crew are making their way back to the ship and are aware of this. Considering the time it'll take for them to get to the nearest port it's not worth hanging around and the time saved would be negligible. It should be safe enough to head home and be on alert."

There were nods of agreement from everyone.

"Scott, if you're fed up with being confined with Gordon, I can give you a lift home."

"Hey!" Gordon exclaimed, "I'm not that bad."

"Has he been at the squirty cheese yet? That stuff smells so strong, and it's sticky."

The face Alan pulled was priceless.

"Thanks for the offer, Virgil, but I'm still in need of a little more practice."

"If you're sure, Scott."

"Let him go, Virgil. From the amount of scratches I saw on Thunderbird Four he needs it. He might even beat my record."

Laughter filled the air as every Tracy brother laughed. Scott ruffled Alan's hair as revenge, getting a glare from the teenager. With that he followed Gordon back to Thunderbird Four and jumped aboard. The airlock closed and they headed into the cockpit.

"Fancy getting us back?"

Scott threw his arm over his brother's shoulder and gave him a quick hug.

"How about you get us back while I make us some lunch? Anyway, I need to save myself for those tunnels. I can't embarrass International Rescue by scratching up our submarine on a rescue now, can I?"

Gordon laughed as they separated and slipped down into the driving seat. Scott resisted the urge to mess the man's hair up as he turned to leave. He could survive another four days in a submarine if it meant spending quality time with his brother.

#thunderbirds are go #tag mini bang 2021 #tagminibang2021 #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #thunderbird 4 #refresher

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

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