#fucked up my perception of normal vital signs

[whumpy-daydreams]

Cardiac Surgery

masterlist

Decided to make a whole post about cardiac surgery because goddammit I spent two months in that department and it changed my psychology.

Open heart surgery is the most insane thing I've ever seen (and that's saying something)

First there's the monitoring:

five lead ecg

arterial blood pressure monitoring

two core body temperature probes (one down the throat, the other in the urethra)

central venous blood pressure monitoring

BIS monitor (measures brain activity)

AND THEN

defibrillator pads connected before surgery begins

catheter

central line (basically a cannula that goes in a BIG vein right to your heart)

multiple other cannulas

ALSO BYPASS! Putting people on bypass is insane and I still can't get my head around it.

The surgeon connects all the blood vessels that go into the heart to big plastic tubes which go to a bypass machine, which then pumps blood around the patient's body!

The weirdest thing about it is the heart rate goes to zero and the blood pressure is also non-existent. It can also cool down or heat up the blood which is important for:

AORTA surgery! The aorta is the super super big artery that delivers oxygenated blood from the heart to the rest of the body. However, if you need to disconnect the aorta, you're also taking blood away from the rest of the body.

This isn't a problem for most of the body, which can survive for an hour or two - but brain damage can start after only a couple of minutes. So to prevent this, we cool the patient down.

And by cool the patient down I mean temporarily kill the patient. Core body temperature is dropped to 20 degrees celsius (68 fahrenheit) to stop all brain function, and the heart is also stopped. This way the aorta can be operated on for up to 40 minutes.

In fact, in most open heart surgery you have to stop the heart, even if you don't also stop brain function. But that leaves the question - how do you start the heart again?

In any other situation this would be called a cardiac arrest and treated immediately with CPR and a defibrillator. But not in cardiac surgery! No. In cardiac surgery they don't use your typical defibrillator - they use metal paddles directly on the heart to get it going. No CPR for cardiac surgeons, only high voltage electricity.

(i really want to put a picture in but they're all really graphic. If you're up to seeing open heart surgery search for 'open chest defibrillation')

After surgery the patient isn't woken up immediately. They go to the ICU and stay anaesthetised for a few more hours to allow the heart to recover.

[weartirondad]

These Hands Could Hold The World (But It’ll Never Be Enough)

Prompt: Field Trip - i need a fic called "the 5 times tony went to peter's school and the one time peter went to tony's work/meeting/SI" by Anon

Warnings: Major Character Death (no description of actual death!), dissociation (not quite but just in case)

A/N: WE CAN FINALLY POST OUR FIRST PIECE FOR THE 1K CELEBRATION AND WE’RE SUPER EXCITED TO SHARE IT WITH YOU! 

FF.net I ao3

i.

The first time Tony sets foot into Midtown School of Science and Technology, he’s immediately overcome with everything he has always hated about high school.

There is the smell. Putting several hundred pubescent teenagers into small hallways and tiny classrooms tends to create a special kind of odor that makes him want to cover his mouth and nose with his hands as soon as the smell hits him. Of course he doesn’t do that, even though he’s about seventy five percent certain that either someone has died in there or the cafeteria has already started to prep for lunch. Maybe both.

He doesn’t dwell on it as he saunters through the empty hallways gracefully, taking in the lockers with all their dents of past fights and hissy fits and maybe one or two bad break ups. He remembers his year in high school vividly enough to remember what the insides of them look like. He hopes Peter hasn’t made similar experiences, he hopes his kid has been spared some of the torment that comes with being a genius in a world full of people whose thoughts are running so much more slowly and organized than your own.

Midtown is supposed to be better, though, with it being a STEM school it’s supposed to encourage thinking outside the box and nurture given talent. At least that’s what all the flyers are saying that May shoved into his chest the second he mentioned that Peter’s intellect might be better off in a private school.

Now, as per usual, May Parker has been absolutely right to keep her nephew with people of his age and not to tear the one friendship apart that has lasted a literal decade already despite their young ages. And while he hasn’t gotten another word in on the whole ‘which school is the right school’ debate, she has asked him to step up as one of Peter’s emergency contacts.

Which settles his anxious heart a little more than he would like to admit.

He tried to play it off with a wave of his hand and a “Sure, just put my number there. It’s fine.” but May didn’t buy it and simply smiled at him knowingly.

Tony isn’t sure what it is about Potts and Parker women that gives them the ability to just look through all his masks within seconds. Frankly, it’s scaring him a little to be that see-through but he’s been together with Pepper long enough to know that it’s usually for the best that they know what’s going on.

Apparently, though, the school didn’t believe it when one May Parker came up to them to put Tony Stark as her nephew’s emergency contact so, in mutual agreement of Pepper and May he is now making the way to Midtown himself. With an actual appointment. Like some normal parent wanting to talk about their normal child. As if anything about any part of their relationship was normal.

So here he is, pretending that this trip is a nuisance to a perfectly planned day full of very important appointments while secretly being relieved to get out of one of the countless board meetings. And, maybe he is looking forward to getting a glimpse at the reason for it all.

He’s already walked through most of the school and is about to turn left to follow the sign pointing him to the principal’s office when he hears a familiar high-pitched voice calling his name behind him. He grins.

“Mister Stark? What are you doing here?” Peter looks suspicious now that he’s recovered from his initial shock and maybe a little worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great, buddy,” Tony finds himself reassuring the kid and, as soon as he’s within reach, he puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it gently, pulling the teenager into his side momentarily. It’s crazy how instinctual these moves have become. “I’m just here to talk to your principle and sign some papers.”

Peter squints up at him skeptically. The motion makes his nose scrunch up and wrinkles appear on his forehead. He looks positively endearing.

“You’re not gonna buy the school, are you?”

And, even as he starts venting about what kind of picture the kid has of him, he has to admit that he would absolutely buy the school if he thought it would get Peter an advantage somehow. Good thing it doesn’t. He doesn’t want to have that conversation any time soon.

“Nah,” he shrugs finally, “May wants to put another emergency contact for you should she be busy and somehow the school didn’t believe her when she gave them my name.”

The kid snorts but his shoulders slump a little. “Yeah, I mean why would anyone believe that you even knew me?”

“Mister Parker!” a loud voice hollers through the hall then, making both Tony and Peter jerk in surprise. (And maybe Tony’s hand is going to his gauntlet watch and maybe he’s positioned himself between Peter and the noise but no one has to know that, right?)

“What are you doing in the hallways during class?”

A person accompanies the voice. A very non- threatening person in the form of a middle-aged well-rounded blonde secretary who peeks out from behind the office’s doors. Tony relaxes at the sight and puts a casual arm around the kid’s shoulders and a charming smile on his face just in case the teenager is actually in the wrong here.

Peter just waves a bleached out hallway pass at her and mumbles something about coming from the bathroom.

Tony really doesn’t like how the kid shrinks in on himself under her watchful gaze, as if he’s minutes away from being punished for something and he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s a fateful coincidence, though,” he breaks the awkward silence and tugs on Peter’s jacket to drag the kid along to the office, “As I am here for Peter.” His smile is so forced it starts to hurt his cheeks but he keeps it in check like he always does. “His aunt and I have come to the conclusion that it would be for the best if he had two emergency contacts and that the second emergency contact should be me. You know, in case he’s sick and needs adult supervision to leave.”

“I-Uh-I-“

She stutters for another two minutes and Tony’s sure he’s broken something inside her. But he feels Peter’s body shake with suppressed laughter, still tucked into his side, and decides that it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

“I can just write down my name and number real quick,” he offers finally and earns himself a frantic nod and a pen almost stabbed through his hand in the flurry she creates getting the paper ready.

It’s pretty anticlimactic, if Tony’s being honest, but by the time they leave the principal’s office he’s at least in some way officially responsible for this kid and said kid is beaming up at him, his eyes shining again.

“I’ll see you later?” It’s more of a fact that they meet up on Wednesdays after school but Peter still manages to phrase it like a question he expects to be denied.

“We will, kiddo,” Tony smiles and ruffles his hair, earning himself an annoyed grunt, “We’ll get ice cream on our way to the tower. Now get back to learning important stuff.”

He pushes him away gently and watches the boy until he disappears into one of the classrooms. There’s a skip in his step now and he’s walking more upright and if that’s all Tony’s presence in his school accomplishes than he would take another eternity of the obnoxious smell that is high school.

  ii.

“Mister Stark?”

“Kid?” Tony frowns and checks the caller ID again. “Why are you whispering? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

A pause follows in which the billionaire can only pick up on hushed voices and a door slamming shut before Peter replies. “I am. I just- uh.”

He’s still whispering but his faint voice breaks halfway through the sentence and he sounds more nasal than usual. Tony’s on his feet immediately, ignoring the frantic whirring of Dum-E who only just catches the screwdriver before it can fall into the wiring of the newest version of Rhodey’s leg braces.

“Are you crying?”

“Uh- No, I mean,” and the way he lets out a very deliberate breath into the phone, tells Tony enough to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to unlock his fastest car and open the garage.

It’s what Pepper calls his kid-in-distress mode and it’s worrying how often it has come into action in the last couple of months. He doesn’t dwell on the fact how instinctual worrying for Peter has become, how vital the kid’s wellbeing is to his own.

“C-can you come and get me?”

“Already on my way, buddy. What happened?”

.

Tony’s heart doesn’t stop racing until he’s in front of the locker room and Ned opens the door for him. Really, it doesn’t stop racing even when he meets Peter’s glazed eyes and drops to his knees next to where the teenager is curled into himself on the floor, it just settles enough for his hands to stop shaking and his voice to come out even. No need to agitate Peter any further.

“Hey there,” he greets him with a quick card through the sweaty curls, “how’s the ankle going?”

“Think i-it’s broken,” the kid stammers, eyes squeezing shut in pain when Tony’s hand settles on his shin ever so lightly. “I-I can’t walk. It hurts really badly. A-and May wouldn’t p-pick up a-and –“

He shushes him with a wave of his hand and reassures him before he can start apologizing again because really, he doesn’t look like he’ll manage to keep his cool for much longer. The kid’s a trooper but broken bones just fucking hurt. No matter how enhanced one is. Not that he knows but Steve once described it as being even worse because the pain is just much more easily perceptible.

“I’ve already called Bruce and he’s prepping the med bay for you so he can put you back together the second we get to the tower, alright?” He doesn’t wait for Peter’s nod and simply keeps talking, trying to distract the kid to the best of his abilities while he prepares to lift him. “You’ve always wanted to meet The Bruce Banner, right? He’s a pretty cool guy. Got a bit of an anger management issue but otherwise – ”

That gets a choked laugh out of him which is all Tony can hope for at this point.

As he’s squatting down beside Peter he’s grateful for how stretchy his workshop pants always are and that he’s regularly lifting a multiple of the lightweight that is this particular teenager. He moves slowly to let Peter know exactly what he’s going to do and when he adjusts his grip one last time, under his knees and ribcage, he waits for the kid’s final yes before lifting him up.

Even though he knew when it would happen, he still can’t keep a small whimper from escaping his lips and it pierces through Tony’s heart like a poisoned arrow. He waits for Peter to sling an arm around his neck and nestle into his chest more securely before he starts walking.

Every step seems to be agony and so, in an attempt to distract, he starts talking again.

“I thought your Spider Sense is supposed to warn you if there’s danger not get you into an accident.”

“It’s not that easy,” Peter mutters through gritted tears, “It basically goes up for everything and anything that might possibly be dangerous. It just took me by surprise is all.”

With Ned’s help Tony carefully maneuvers his precious cargo through the door and into the, thankfully, deserted hallway. “And it made you trip and break your ankle?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “It’s really not as glorious to get bitten by a radioactive spider as people make it out to be. Spidey sense sucks.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever made it out to be glorious, if I’m being honest, kid,” Tony quips. He’s breathing a little easier now that they’ve almost reached the front doors. “You just-“

Before he can finish the great joke he has lined up, another voice interrupts them.

“I’m sorry, sir. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Now that he thinks about it, it does look a little like a kidnapping the way he’s carrying a visibly uncomfortable teenager through creepy school hallways.

“I can explain that,” he says as he turns around to face a teacher who has the good thinking of taking a step back once he sees who he’s talking to. “You see, the kid tripped and sprained his ankle and he can’t walk anymore so I’m taking him to a doctor. I admit I should’ve thought of signing him out with your secretary but I was kind of –“

- too worried to think straight because this kid has wormed his way deep into the dark abyss that is my soul. Promise I’ll call ahead next time.

“You can’t just take a child out of school!” The teacher glares, taking a step closer and looking like he is about to take Peter from him. Which does not bode well with Tony.

“Oh really?” He snaps, tightening his grip on Peter and pulling him closer to his chest protectively. “I would really like to see you try and stop me taking my kid out of school to see a f- freaking doctor for his ankle.”

He is about to venture a tirade about the school’s inability when Peter’s small voice cuts him off.

“It’s okay, Mister Daniel,” he says with a forced smile, “Mister Stark is my emergency contact and he’s totally allowed to take me out of school in, you know, emergencies. Can you please let the secretary know? My ankle is hurting really badly.”

Tony expected more of an argument but it seems not even actual functioning adults can deny this kid anything and so he’s allowed to carry Peter through the doors and into his car without much more fanfare.

“What do you say – we let Bruce set your bone and then get ice cream?”

Peter nods slowly as he sinks down into the leather seats of the car. “You really think of me as your kid?”

The billionaire meets his mentees eyes shortly before pulling out into traffic. “Of course I do. I couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

Somehow the media finds out about Tony calling Peter his kid and headlines of Tony Stark’s illegitimate son dominate the papers and social media for weeks. The teacher is fired immediately, and Tony and Peter?

Well, Tony figures that at some point the world would have to find out about the kid he intends to make the heir of his multi-million dollar company. And Peter doesn’t like the press but there are worse things than being called ‘my kid’ by one Tony Stark.

 iii.

When May texts him that she has something important she wants to talk to him about, Tony’s mind draws up a list of one hundred and forty three reasons how he has fucked up in the matter of a few minutes.

The question whether he wants to join her for the upcoming parent teacher conference is not on that list. In fact, it’s not even in the realm of things that he thought would ever be on any list other than ‘Bad ideas. Do not do.’

However, in May’s eyes it is, apparently, the next logical step in their road to co-parenting their vigilante superhero genius kid and so he doesn’t question it and rather just nods along when she’s listing everything he has to remember, topics they have to address and teacher they want to talk to. He’s glad F.R.I.D.A.Y. is smart enough to record the phone talk because his mind shuts down after the opening question.

After May leaves him to his thoughts and the contents of their conversation slowly trickle into the conscious part of his brain, he’s excited.

He never thought it to be possible to be as excited as he is about something so incredibly ordinary. But he is giddy with joy. This is his kid and he gets to be part of his normal life, outside of the whole superhero mentoring business they have going on. It makes his chest feel almost painfully full with emotions he can’t quite wrap his head around.

Tony is nothing if not thorough and by the time the PTC rolls around, he has planned everything to a tee and there are fail saves for his fail saves in place because this has to be perfect. He won’t be satisfied with anything short of an excellent meeting and he doesn’t care about the jabs he’s fallen victim to from both women and Peter himself.

This is important.

And, much to everyone’s surprise, the evening actually goes along without a hitch.

May and Tony have reached a comfortable pace of silent conversations and friendly jokes on the other’s dime and they stand strong on anything that is for Peter’s best (though what exactly that is differs sometimes). So, more than a forced co-parenting meeting, it feels like he’s here with a friend and partner in crime and he doesn’t understand why any parent would ever miss out on it.

They’re in the middle of a conversation with Peter’s art teacher who’s swooning over their next field trip to the Museum of Modern Art, when Tony pauses and ends up interrupting her long monologue about all the skills and knowledge the students are supposed to be taking away from it.

“Are there any field trips planned to visit universities?” By May’s gaze that wanders over him and settles on the woman in front of them questioningly, he can tell that that was a good question.

The teacher stutters for a moment before telling them to talk to one of the science teachers about that which, of course, they do.

And that ends up being one hell of a long conversation that evolves mostly around money issues that Tony just stops with a wave of his hand and a patient tone that Pepper would be proud of.

“The school is only allowed a certain amount of field trips for each class,” the physics teacher tells him again, “We’re a state funded school and simply don’t have the expenses to do more, even if we want to give our seniors the possibility to look at their options. And the trip to the museum has been voted for by most of his class members. I’m really sorry, but there’s not much I can do about that, Mister Stark.” He sounds apologetic and it’s the only thing keeping Tony from making a show of rolling his eyes.

Instead he leans forward and tries out the calm approach he has perfected in his trial runs for this exact situation.

“Expenses aside,” he starts and May besides him shoots him a half grin because she knows exactly where he’s going with this and for once she’s not going to keep him from waving the billionaire card. “Would it be possible for the kids to make a trip to, let’s say, MIT? Normal field trip, just a day and for purely educational purposes, of course.”

Mister Bryant cocks his head to one side, seeming to go over the schedule for the year before he nods, “Hypothetically speaking we could probably replace one of our project days with a visit to a university but –“ he pauses and meets Tony’s gaze a little sheepishly, “Maybe it would be more manageable to go to a university that’s a little closer. Columbia maybe.”

“Ah,” Tony shakes his head with a small grin, “No, I really think Peter and his classmates should be able to look at the best possible option and that is not Columbia, trust me. I’ve been there.” He leans back then, legs crossed and hands resting calmly on top of his knees. “I really think that MIT would be the best choice. I’ve still got some pull on campus and the flight from New York to Massachusetts is only about an hour.”

“I-uh I –“ Mister Bryant falters for a moment and gulps when he looks between May and Tony, a united front that does not take no for an answer but he tries anyway, “I think that would go way beyond the scope of what we can afford even if you did donate to the school, there’s just no way we can pay for plane tickets and –“

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown in confusion, “Who said anything about me donating to your school?” Which, to be fair is phrased in a way that can be misunderstood easily and he enjoys the look of pure terror on the teacher’s face for only a second before he presses on. “I mean, I will of course support the school wherever I can but I am going to pay for that trip. And we will be taking my private plan so there won’t be any need for tickets and long waiting times at icky airports.”

That’s when the man in front of them finally cracks and starts thanking them on hands and knees for their support and frankly it’s a little disgusting how often he pats Tony’s hand but the billionaire appreciates the sentiment. This guy is thankful he can offer his students more than a state-funded school usually can and that’s something he can get behind. He puts a mental reminder on his growing to-do list to donate to schools more often.

They say their goodbyes and Tony’s watching May converse easily with parents and teachers alike, projecting a calm and nonchalant attitude that Tony can tell is a farce. A farce she manages to obtain for almost twenty minutes before she drags him through the hallway and out of the building only to hug him fiercely.

“Thank you,” he hears her say over and over again and his hands find their way to her waist to pull her away gently. He’s about to response when a bright flash startles him and suddenly they’re surrounded by reporters with microphones and cameras.

He can only about get the gist of what they’re all shouting at them and he’s more annoyed at himself of not thinking about this. The media has been going nuts about Peter and him ever since finding out about the teenager and his role in Tony’s life and of course they would figure out that today is the parent teacher conference.

With a growl he pulls May behind him to hide her from the lights that burn in their eyes and the questioning stares she is already getting.

“Does Miss Potts know you’re cheating on her with your son’s mother?”

And –

What?

Tony almost cracks up right on the spot because the guy who’s shoving a microphone into his face looks scared shitless as he repeats back what the person on his inner ear headphone must’ve told him to say.

“Miss who?” he asks innocently and keeps a straight face despite the painful jab in the ribs he’s getting from behind.

The reporter’s eyes widen and there’s a mutter going through the masses but no one steps forward to save the man who can’t be older than twenty five and who is probably praying for the ground to eat him up right then. He soldiers on, though, and that takes a lot of courage so Tony doesn’t interrupt him.

“M-Miss Potts, sir?”

Sir. This guy was a child.

“Ah,” he nods with a big, shit eating grin, “My lovely fiancée. No, I don’t think she knows I’m cheating on her with my son’s mother but if you don’t mind, I’m begging you to publish that nice little candid you took and tell her all about it.”

God, he loves messing with the vultures. He loves how they have no clue.

He turns to all of them with his arms wide open and a little bow, “Please feel free to publish any and all of these pictures. I would love to see the article and even more I’m going to enjoy watching while my beautiful fiancée destroys all of you before she’s done with breakfast.”

May is still hiding behind him but she’s holding on to his jacket, as if she expected him to assault one of the guys, and he can practically feel her shaking with laughter. It makes his grin grow even wider even though it earns him another light punch in the back.

“You think there’ll be any articles about this tomorrow?” she asks when they’re finally alone again and strolling casually to his car. She’s adjusting her back on her shoulder and biting her lip, obviously a little worried about the whole thing but he gives her a reassuring pat on the back.

“If they’re smart there won’t be. And even if there is, they didn’t get your face and we’ll make sure it stays that way. Peter has gotten enough public attention through our acquaintanceship as it is. I’m not letting them make this any harder.” It’s a hard promise to keep but one he means from the bottom of his heart.

She smiles, “I know. You’re a good man, Tony. I’m happy Peter has you.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that without his voice giving away just how much her words affect him and so he simply nods, puts the car in drive and brings her home so they can get the pizza they promised their kid.

There are no articles about Tony’s newest love affair whatsoever but Pepper somehow manages to get her fingers on the picture of May hugging Tony and frames it. It joins all the other pictures of his family in his lab.

  iv.

Peter’s already sitting on one of the bar stools, inhaling his third bowl of cereal when Tony comes trudging through the door. He only stops to ruffle the kid’s hair and let out something that he hopes sounds like a greeting before continuing his way to his literal life saver: the coffee maker that’s already brewing the very first steaming mug of his deliciously smelling elixir vitae.

He’s already dressed, of course, and he’s kept it a little more casual than his usual three piece suit. No, today he is wearing a navy dress jacket with red studs and a white dress shirt. He hasn’t forgone the tie, though. No, he’s sporting his favorite custom made tie – a red one with dark blue highlights and designed to look like the Spider-Man suit, the colors matching his jacket perfectly. Instead of his usual dress pants he’s in much more comfortable faded denim pants. All in all, he really does like his attire.

And the kid’s face when he notices even makes him crack the first smile of the morning.

“Close your mouth or you’ll spill the milk,” he grins over the rim of his cup as the teenager splutters and actually does spill some of the milk but from his bowl by putting down the spoon with too much force. Ah, he loves catching Peter off-guard. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to anymore.

“Where’d you even get that?” he asks once he’s gotten his mouth to form words and he points to the shirt as if Tony needs any hint on what he’s talking about. “Are you gonna wear that? Like, today to MIT?

The billionaire spares his outfit a fleeting glance and leisurely takes a sip from his drink. “I designed it and then ordered it. How do you get your clothes?” he asks, fondness coloring the ironic quip, “And what else would I be wearing? You have a tie with science puns you haven’t told me about?”

That actually snaps Peter out of his staring and he glares at his mentor. An attempt at looking intimidating that is completely cancelled out by his baby blue t-shirt on which sodium and neon are out joking each other. “Even if I had, I’d only share them with decent people.”

As if on cue Pepper walks in, hair in a messy bun and tucked into a soft dressing gown that only shows a peak of Peter’s favorite ion joke.  

“I give up,” the older man sighs in mock exasperation and downs the last bit of coffee, gratefully taking the next cup his fiancée is handing him. “Why do I even bother with this menace, Pep?”

She drops a kiss to the top of both his and Peter’s head before curling up on one of the chairs. She rests her chin on her knee and grins lazily up at him as she quips, “To atone for your sins?”

Peter cracks up at that and he’s suddenly laughing so hard that Tony is worried he’ll slip and tumble to the floor like the weird chaotic energy filled bouncing ball that he is. He’s already halfway out of his chair when the teenager composes himself and just sticks the tongue out at him cheekily.

Before Tony can reply, Pepper is reminding them that they should probably get going to collect everyone before they start worrying he forgot. Really, not everyone is as used to him being late to important meetings all the time. Although, this time it’s an actually important meeting.

So he shoos the kid to go brush his teeth and get whatever kids need to go on a field trip nowadays before turning to get ready himself. And, lo and behold, they actually make it on time (well, six minutes and thirty seven seconds late, but really Peter is just overreacting).

He’s at the front of the class with the teacher when they give the excited horde of kids the rundown and it feels weird, if he’s being honest. He has spent enough time with Peter to have a feeling for how to handle teenage kids but standing there and having them look up at him with their big eyes, wanting to learn more?

It’s amazing but scary. Is this what teachers feel like all the time? To know they have the power to educate and thus shape the next generation, the future?

Tony finds himself pondering about the what-ifs and could’ve-been’s and would-I-even-be-any-good’s but eventually his gaze always lands back on Peter who is listening to what his teacher is saying with such an earnest expression and when their eyes meet, he beams at him. And he feels that, maybe, he is doing an alright job in shaping the future.

The trip ends up going a lot more smoothly than he has ever hoped it would. The kids love the private airplane and the games Tony has stocked it with just for this occasion. Most of them haven’t flown before and it’s actually endearing to watch Peter fawn over how pretty the sky is looking with all his nerdy friends.

It seems that campus life is one of the few things that still intimidates teenagers and during their tour no one so much as steps out of line. They’re all too distracted by how big the campus is, by how old and honorable the buildings seem with all their fancy names and Tony simply enjoys watching his kid geek out over the labs they’re being shown even though he’s got his very own work station in Tony’s personal lab but that’s just how Peter is.

He’s excited about all of it. He’s writing every little thing the tour guide and Tony are saying down and takes everything in.

Tony’s heart is hurting with the thought of how close college suddenly seems. Not even a year and Peter will be going someplace else to grow and get even smarter and eventually change the world. He’ll jump out of the nest and spread his wings and actually fly. And while he’s so proud of everything the kid is going to achieve, he has to swallow past a lump in his throat when he beams up at him.

They only get a moment to themselves on the flight back.

Most of the kids are passed out in their seats and it’s quiet enough for Peter to lean into his side almost as if they are alone.

“Thank you so much for this,” he whispers as he stifles a yawn into his mentor’s shoulder. “And thank you for tagging along.”

He smiles, a wave of fondness crushing over all the little things that might have annoyed him that day until all he feels is the familiar feeling of Peter’s soft curls tickling his neck. “Anything for you,” he replies with a smile and brushes a bang from his forehead.

The boy snuggles a bit closer and they enjoy the peace and quiet until they hear some other kids talking in the seats behind them.

“Do you think Peter can get Mister Stark to give us a tour through Stark Industries, too?” A girl wonders. To which some guy replies in a hurried whisper, “Stark Industries? I hope he takes us to the Avenger’s Compound! Can you imagine –“

Tony laughs quietly to himself but Peter is adamantly shaking his head, never lifting it from the warm shoulder. “Over my dead body,” he mumbles, tapping Tony’s wrist for good measure, “We’re not making a field trip there.”

“Oh, really? Don’t you mean over my dead body?” he quips, pulling the kid closer, “Who says I want some gangly teenagers roaming about my company?”

He knows, should Peter ask, he would give his class the world’s best tour through the company anyone has ever seen. He knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this kid.

 v.

The first time Tony set foot in Midtown School of Science and Technology he noticed the nauseating smell. He dimly remembers having been nervous and excited at the same time. Proud. Over-whelmed. He remembers feeling good.

When he enters the school now, he doesn’t feel much of anything.

There’s guilt lurking at the door and the grief that has become a part of him, sure. But then, they’re not really there at all. The pain that has been with him with every heartbeat, every breath since – The pain’s not there, either.

There’s nothing.

He is nothing. Merely a shell of what used to be a person. His body is there but not much else. Not his mind, not his gut instinct and definitely not his heart. No, he left all of it on –

“Mister Stark.”

Right. He’s not alone.

The ki – No. Not the kid. Ned.

Ned is the one who tugs at his sleeve clumsily after not having gotten a reply. It’s Ned who leads his body down the never-ending hallways that taunt him with the empty echo of their lone footsteps. It’s Ned who goes to work on the lock, removing the shackle from the solid brass body with practiced ease while Tony watches on dumbly.

The padlock’s clicking sounds dull, Ned’s voice is drowned out once more by the blood rushing in his ears and he can’t breathe because his lungs won’t pull the air in. It’s so familiar he doesn’t feel the pain that shoots through his body when his heart clenches at not getting enough oxygen.

“-eter needs you to breathe. You have to breathe, Mister Stark.”

He’s not breathing?

Tony exhales tentatively. Oh. He wasn’t breathing. Now he is. That’s nice. His heart unclenches and his mind starts picking up on his surroundings again.

They’re in a school. Dirty hallways, dented lockers, dust everywhere. It’s eerily quiet. No school should ever be this quiet, not even in the middle of the night.

It’s not the middle of the night. It’s noon.

Noon? Why are they in a school at noon? Why isn’t he working? Where’s Pet – Oh.

He blinks when the world starts turning, to focus on the open locker and the k – teenager in front of it. There are text books, carelessly thrown in after a long day of school because why bother arranging the books when you would use them again the next day? Advanced trig is standing dangerously close to the edge and only the weight of some tome that looks to be English literature is keeping it from falling.

Funny. Tony can relate. Though, he’s already falling – has been for weeks – and nothing is holding him back. He’s waiting for the moment he finally hits the ground and breaks apart. That would be easier. He can fix himself back up, he’s done it before. And even if he fails, at least it’ll stop the suffering.

Ned looks back to the locker when Tony doesn’t move with a sad sigh. Tony thinks he has been talking all along but he just can’t be sure. He’s zapping in and out. On and off. Alive and de –

“-lways working on the new formulas in chemistry so they should be,” he rummages through the depths of the locker, somehow keeping advanced trig from falling until he stops on a notebook that has seen better days. The sides are full of spilled ink and dog ears. But he doesn’t see that.

His eyes have stopped on the familiar writing – a familiar name – on the upper left corner of the cover. P –

Tony clears his throat, hand shaking as he reaches out to take the pad and it gets worse when he starts flipping through the pages. It’s too much of him in these pages – little doodles and structural formulas and quickly scribbled equations that are too advanced for any high schooler.

Not this one.

He stops when he’s found what he’s come here for, ignoring the way his fingers are gripping the page so tightly he might tear it off. But there, in neat handwriting is the newest recipe for synthetic spider webs. Unprecedented, never tested, never even left the ground of the school they’re standing in.

“That’s it,” he says and his voice feels like it hasn’t been used in months when it’s only been days. Same difference, he supposes, considering that time’s not real anymore. Nothing is.

His eyes are still roaming the page and he lets himself get lost in the science of it. Science is something he can grasp. This is something he can make. This is something that won’t turn to ash in his arms and leave him reeling and fighting for air on an alien planet –

“I- I can make this,” he presses on, desperate to keep himself inside the science and away from the nightmare that is everywhere his k – he isn’t. “I’ll make it for him. He’ll have it the second he’s back.”

Because that is the plan.

It still surprises him that there even is a plan but they’ve gotten back up and that back up is a woman. Figures that she would be able to think of something. He has always known that women are stronger in every way that counts. He’s glad he can let her carry the weight of the universe for now because he can’t even lift the weight of his own guilt.

Everything is set in motion and right now all they can do is wait.

Tony has never been known for his patience. That’s why he’s here – to have something to do, to grasp at something meaningful and important that can keep P – him safe when he’s back.

“He’ll be so happy to have his webs back,” Ned rambles, “Maybe a little mad because we went through his stuff but mostly happy I think. God, I can’t wait to have him back.”

“You will get him back,” Tony replies, closing the notebook and turning on his heel. He has to get out of here. “Just a few more days and you’ll have him back.”

He can hear the frown in Ned’s voice when he follows him, “We both will have him back, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s face smiles. He feels nothing.

vi.

“Your permission slip, Mister Parker?”

He blinks dumbly at his teacher who’s towering above him with an outstretched hand, waiting for the paper that has been burning a hole into the back pocket of his jeans for the past couple of hours. It should be a relief to finally get rid of the thing that has been haunting him for weeks and he can’t wait to never see the damn thing ever again. But – handing it over to his teacher means signing what he’s sure is going to be his death warrant.

For a second he entertains the thought of getting up and walking out of class without a backward glance but even as his gaze settles on the door, his only way out, he knows he doesn’t have the energy to do any of that. Hell, he barely has the energy to get out of the bed in the morning. Most days May literally drags him out by his arms and manhandles him into clothes and force feeds him.

Peter drops his head and reaches into his pocket. The second his hands touch the offending piece of paper the world starts spinning and he almost recoils but doesn’t. He doesn’t do a lot of things he wants lately. He grabs the crumpled-up slip and hands it to his teacher without looking up. He’s hoping if he can’t see the big fat name on the thing, it won’t hurt as much.

Which is ridiculous. How could there possibly be a pain worse than this? (Anymore and it might actually kill him.)

The second his teacher has his slip, he marches back to the front of the class and starts talking about their field trip. And if Peter thought he was feeling like dying before? Well, it only gets worse from here.

He tries to focus on the bright green emergency exit sign above the door instead of on the words that travel through the air and hit him with a force that knocks the air out of his lungs. Every word is like a gunshot wound, like someone putting holes in his body over and over and over again.

Exit.

He has to get out. The little white stick man is waiting for him to follow after him. Where? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

He wonders what it would be like to get lost in a white square. To have light surround him instead of the darkness that has been clinging to him for months. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get that feeling again.

Which doesn’t mean there’s no light in his life, no. There’s May and Ned and even MJ who has stepped up as someone akin to a friend. There’s Mr. Delmar and his sandwiches and there’s his cat. There’s the people he’s saving every day. But there’s no –

“-loyees of Stark Industries have suffered enough and I trust you all to be –“

Emergency exit only.

What constitutes as an emergency, he ponders. Is it an emergency when his lungs feel like collapsing and his entire body feels like it’s disintegrating again? Is it an emergency when he feels like dying but knows he isn’t? Is this constant state of loss and sadness he’s carrying an emergency?

Emergencies are sudden, unexpected. His grief is six months in the making. At this point, it’s neither.

Even though he feels like dying, he knows it’s not an emergency because this has become his new normal. And he has long since realized that there is no immediate action to be taken against this. There’s nothing. Just him and his pain.

He doesn’t know, can’t understand, why May thought this would be a good idea.

Pepper, Rhodey and Happy have all tried to reach out to him. Hell, half of the Avengers have tried and failed to get him to even look at them because when he sees them, he thinks of him and he’s not strong enough to go there. He’s not strong enough to see his name, his genius, his legacy plastered everywhere.

There shouldn’t be a legacy. Peter shouldn’t have had to sign his name on a dotted line making him the heir once he is of age. There shouldn’t be a heritage because he shouldn’t be fucking dead.

He breathes out very deliberately and tries to ignore the worried glances Ned is throwing him. His best friend thinks he’s being subtle but he really is about as subtle as – What’s not subtle?

The only thing he can think of his how he was sitting in front of the TV in 2008 with his uncle and his aunt and they were watching the news and he was hoping to get another glimpse at the newest superhero. He remembers some press conference that he didn’t understand. He remembers what came after, remembers how it changed his life forever.

Well, that’s not subtle at all.

His uncle’s voice is in his head and then another one joins it, overlapping with it until their words are the only thing he hears. Together they make up a tragic melody of loss.

You can’t change the world with subtle. You have to be bold, Pete.

“Hey Parker, think you can get us into the forbidden areas with your intern status? Think that’ll still mean something now that –“

His nails cut into the heel of his hand. He hears his skin tearing and he smells the few droplets of blood that spill. He concentrates on it and clenches his teeth to keep from screaming.

“Don’t know,” he spits out, chest heaving heavily with how fast his heart is beating and he can barely contain the hot rage that is pooling in his stomach. “Haven’t been there in months.”

Six months seventeen days and about twelve hours. Ever since he met Helen Cho’s eyes that only held an apology and he bolted out of the med bay.

Thankfully Flash doesn’t pry further. Even he seems to realize that Peter is close to losing it with how pale he’s looking and how he hasn’t moved a muscle more than he absolutely had to ever since they boarded the bus. He hears them talking about it anyway.

They’re speculating about just what went down, what sacrifices had to be made to save the world this time.

It’s not just the world. And the sacrifice was too high.

You’re alright.

He isn’t. He’s dying and no one realizes because he’s walking, talking and breathing.

“We’re here, Peter,” his best friend tells him and Peter is glad that he’s gripping his shoulder as tightly as he is. He’s singlehandedly pulling him back from the abyss that is his mind and into the next hell which is his reality. He doesn’t know which one is worse.

They make it through the front doors without an incident and up until the front desk, Peter manages to avoid looking at the trademark logo but there’s one hanging right above the area and once his eyes have found it, he can’t bring himself to look away. Even when his vision his becoming blurry, he just keeps staring.

Are you trying to catch flies? It’s just a sign, kid. Through here, that’s where the magic happens.

“Looks like I’m missing one visitor pass,” the cheerful lady that seems to be their guide today notes and is about to turn to the woman at the registration desk when his teacher intersects.

“I was told that Mister Parker won’t need a badge when I called ahead,” he tells them and Peter wishes he would’ve just stayed in his own headspace. He really doesn’t feel like explaining that he hasn’t touched his badge in almost a year because he never actually needed it around here. He just –

“Ah, Mister Parker.”

Knowing eyes find his and the rage in his stomach is rearing its head even as he forces something that he hopes resembles a friendly smile on his lips. He blinks and the red anger settles with his next exhale.

“Do you have your badge with you?”

Don’t be a spoilsport, Happy. The kid doesn’t need to wear a badge.

He shakes his head because his throat is suddenly too dry to get any words out and he fears that even if he did, they would only cause more pain.

Another voice sounds them suddenly. “Mister Parker has full access to all Stark Industry buildings. Welcome back, Peter.”

Peter is on fire. His skin his burning, his insides are consumed by the hot flame that is the rage he can barely control.

It is nice to finally make your acquaintance, Mister Parker. Boss has talked very highly of you. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’m in charge of the tower.

He can hear his classmates talking over each other and even his teacher seems surprised but doesn’t delve further into why a lanky high schooler would need access to all company buildings. Ned shushes them and Peter can go back to concentrating on his breathing.

I’m not letting you sit this one out, Peter. You can’t run from this forever and if it takes a stupid field trip with your class to face your demons? Then so be it. You need to keep living, baby. I miss you.

He misses himself, too.

He misses how he used to laugh too loud and talk too much and how his mind was always moving too fast. He misses how he used to feel so many emotions, how he had the full kaleidoscope of colors when all he sees nowadays is red and black. Red is his anger, black the grief.

 Objectively, the tour is nice.

Their guide is going out of her way to make this an interesting experience and she shows them a lot more than visitors are usually shown. Sometimes she stumbles on a more science-related question but before Peter feels the need to jump in, the helpful AI answers from the ceiling, earning surprised gasps and delighted chuckles whenever she chimes in.

Peter is proud how he stays upright the whole time and doesn’t let his anger get the better of him once. He’s in a peaceful state of oblivion. Floating somewhere between the things he’s seeing, hearing and feeling, and something else, something easier to handle. There are no strong emotions in this world, just a deep blue sea with occasional ripples. If he’s not careful he might drown. Maybe he’ll stop being careful for just one –

He’s snapped back into the reality, where the air in his lungs is acid and tries to kill him with every breath he takes, by his phone and a text message he chooses to ignore.

If he keeps ignoring everything about this, maybe he’ll survive the day. If he just stays in that other world, where he might drown in the sea, maybe he won’t die in this world. Because he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to leave his aunt and Ned. He just doesn’t know how to not die anymore.

“If you don’t have any more questions regarding the labs, I will take you to the heart of any tour through our building – an exhibition about the history of Stark Industries,” the cheerful lady is leading them down the staircase again and into a wing of the building Peter has never been to before. His body follows the group mechanically.

“As you all probably know, Stark Industries was founded by Howard Stark in the early twentieth century as a –“

Flying cars, super soldiers and better weapons. That’s all my old man ever talked about.

“-age of twenty one, he assumed the role of CEO and the company flourished for almost two decades –“

Your moral compass has already surpassed mine by – I don’t know, F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s a good comparison?

“-wanted a whole wing about Miss Virginia Potts and her accomplishments since taking over as CEO. Soon after, Stark Industry started investing more into renewable energies and, with Stark Tower, managed to –“

His phone buzzes again but he quickly presses decline and pushes it back into his backpack. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Why do they have to make it worse?

Peter has almost made it back into the peaceful space of his mind when two things happen at once.

“- the late Tony Stark –“

“Peter!”

The cheerful ladies voice clashes with Pepper’s concerned one and suddenly the CEO and late Tony Stark’s fiancée is standing in front of them, searching the group until her eyes fall on Peter.

For a moment everything is dulled and then the sounds come back. They’re too much. Too loud, too bright, too full, too much.

He searches frantically for something to cling to and all he finds is a picture of his mentor. His late mentor.

I’m never late. Everyone else is simply early.

Something in him breaks when he sees the brown eyes that are guarded on the photograph. The smile is fake but it radiates exactly what he wants. He’s always been good at getting people to see what he wants them to see. He’s always been good at getting what he wants.

Wanted.

Late Tony Stark.

Suddenly the anger is back and he can do nothing but let it consume him. Every last pore is filled with hot blinding rage and he snaps when a hand is on his shoulder and someone is trying to calm him down.

He hasn’t realized he’s been screaming.

“You’re alright, Peter. It’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not!” he bursts out then. Everyone keeps telling him that it’s okay and that he’s alright but it isn’t and he isn’t. He’s lost and broken and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he can’t possibly move on from this.

“He’s fucking gone. He’s gone he’s –“

“He saved the world.” – “He’s a hero.” – “He’s –“

Peter doesn’t care because he might be a hero but he was also his mentor and his father figure and he’s gone. He’s vanished from his life as if he has never been there only then it wouldn’t hurt so fucking much.

Pepper meets his eyes and he’s not sure how she does it because he swears his eyes are shooting flames but Pepper has always been able to handle fire.

“You know why he had to do it.”

Listen, Pete. You’re probably going to hate me when you see this but this was the only way to get you back. I can’t – I can’t keep living like this. I have to get everyone back. I have to get you back.

“I never asked him to,” he screams, “I never would’ve agreed. How could you let him do this? Why didn’t you stop him? I – I thought you loved him, too. I thought –“

He breaks off when a sob forces its way past his dry lips and when he blinks the tears start running down his cheek and they’re doing nothing in cooling his anger and they’re doing nothing in curing his pain.

“I love him.” Pepper’s voice is calm, not accusatory. “Nothing I could’ve said would’ve stopped him.” She’s not taking the bait, she’s not fighting back. He hates it.

“I hate him,” he whispers and in that moment he means it. “If he had cared at all – if he had loved me at all he wouldn’t –“

I love you, Peter. I love you so much it kills me to be without you even one second longer. If you take one thing from this stupid video message, please let it be this. I love you and I will always love you. No matter what.

He’s breaking down.

His nose is running, the tears are flowing freely and he can’t control his body anymore. His hands are shaking and his knees scrape over the ground when he falls over but before his face hits the floor, someone catches him. Pepper is warm and soft and familiar and he buries his head in her neck and lets go of the anger for the first time in months.

It has become an integral part of him and now that it’s slowly seeping out of his pores, all that’s left is the overwhelming pain of losing the third father figure in his life and the feeling that he’s alone again.

Why does he keep losing people? Why did it have to be him for the rest of the universe? Why couldn’t someone else do the sacrifice? Why – Why does Peter have to suffer? Why does he always have to suffer?

It’s selfish but sometimes he wishes he would’ve stayed dead. He’s not strong enough to go through this again, not now that he’s back in the real world and he feels the pain again. He can’t.

You’re the strongest person I know, Peter. Between you and Pepper, there’s no one stronger.

I’m sorry it has to be you. I’m sorry.

Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry –

He must have lost consciousness at some point because when he wakes up, May is carding her fingers through his sweaty hair and he’s tucked into the softest blanket he’s ever felt. He surrounded by a feeling of home. He freezes when he realizes why.

The blanket, the scent and the calming sound of rain hitting the window at a volume he can enjoy. He is home. Sort of.

“Hey sweetie,” his aunt whispers, “Pepper called me. We’re staying over tonight, is that okay?”

Instead of answering he turns his face into the pillow more fully and inhales the scent that is so uniquely Tony. Now that he has it, he doesn’t know how he has made it six months without it. Here, in his bedroom, it’s like he’s just been here. As if he’s just stepped out to get a glass of water.

Tony is still alive in here.

He has tried so hard to bury every memory of the man and it has killed him. But now? Now he remembers.

He remembers how he made him breakfast in bed and helped him with his homework late one night. He remembers how Tony’s snoring woke him after they both fell asleep watching a movie. He remembers the small smiles and hair ruffles.

He remembers the I love you’s. The ones not on some video message but stored away safely in his heart.

Before he knows it, he’s crying again and his aunt pulls him closer and then Pepper is there, too. And he feels like Tony is there, too, as long as he remembers.

fic by @josywbu

art by @lieselfh

[tedfashionski]

Finking, Finking.

Hi, welcome to my ted talk. (That is the only time I will ever make that joke. This is Fashionski Finks. Expect radically low standards of self-involved rantiness with zero research or accountability from here on out). For a while there I seriously thought that the covid-19 quarantine was going to result in people being increasingly placid and accepting of creeping extensions of the police state. But here I am, getting depressed again, not about the protests, which I love, but more about my relationship to in-group pressure dynamics. One of the problems with being a relentless contrarian is the discomfort of my impulse to rebel against groups even when they’re championing the right thing. I have to find my own way to fight against the system as an outsider. No gods, no masters, no fucking peer pressure.  I’ll never be happy joining a chorus line. I don’t sign fucking petitions (they’re just lists for the NSA). I do donate, but like fuck will I do it performatively. I can’t go to protests cus I get panic attacky in crowds. I empathise pretty strongly with outsiders of all stripes but believe ridiculously excessively in the public good of criticism, and have a nostalgic love of trolling (I like to think I’m gentle with it though). Bring back the troll! We need that fucker, he’s a sign of a healthy internet. I’m writing this blog thing as an extension of my need to vent my extreme negativity. TBH I never expected to get any followers with ted twitter and the bizarre welcomingness of the hf twitter community totally wrongfooted me. I’m not nice. Ted isn’t meant to likable. He’s my dark side. I was meant to be using this alt as a way to terrorise the nice nice (secretly cruel) fashion people. I’m gunna try and up that aspect more. Just bear in mind, my complaints are largely about the system, but if I see you perpetuating fashion’s entrenched anti-intellectualism or its insidery bullshit, I’ll come for you with a little meta-bomb with your name on it. Maintaining my misanthropic tone does take work tho, like, deep down in some twisted part of my psyche, I guess I do actually want to be liked. It’s fucked up.

I suppose it’s only fair to explain this Ted fursona. Like, new concept, who dis? Why all the furry porn? …..because I just think it’s hilarious. Every time I think about the furries I cackle (not at them, mind). I just love the mad corruption of pure Disney aesthetics into hardcore pornography. That’s anti-authoritarian as fuck. I love the sincerity of their culture. The way the crazy fetish aspect means they’ll never be fully blandified by mainstream acceptance. The way it’s so cringe but so delightful. And more seriously, I’m interested in how a culture of mostly gay male nerds developed to the point where they’ll invest 10k in custom fursuits and support eachother’s independent businesses in ways that the fashion community completely fails to do. The fashion world sucks. There’s so many correlations there that I want to investigate: the newness (furries date from around the 70s, fashion culture in its self-aware state dates from the late 19th C – both very young fields); the centralisation/decentralisation; the hierarchy (furries can be pretty catty, I have discovered in my research, and we all know what fashion people are like); the adoption of new identities; the cis-boy gayness aspect (I’m increasingly tired of the extreme nasty hierarchy of certain CSM queens. It’s all very UGH. Just, fuck those particular bitches.) There’s more to the furry love, but I’ll explore it in future posts.

More importantly, why Ted fucking Kaczynski? I’m not like, actually a terrorist. (….yet. tehehe. NO, seriously I like non-maiming violence. Fuck yeah to property damage. Fuck yeah to disabling the system in extreme way. But no to wooden IEDs. Think of my shitty jokes that fail to land as my hand-crafted bombs). I think I like the shitness of Ted. He was just an epic fail of a terrorist. I’m a little white girl living in London. I’m not actually a primitivist, as much as I crave a hut in the woods. I did go to an elite school though. I had some really shitty experiences in the fashion industry in my early 20s, and I watch my friends who are relatively successful in that system and I get so angry on their behalf at their poor treatment. They think I’m too angry. Fuck that. They should be more angry, and the fact that they can’t be angry at their extreme precarity and the fact they’re still insecure and terrified of being ejected by the system after all their investment and skills they’ve built up is BULLSHIT. I’ll be double angry for them, I’m not invested in that system. I don’t need it to pay my rent. I’m free, motherfuckers, and I’m coming for the abusers and exploiters. If you’re a complacent industry figure not fighting hard from within, uggghhhhh fuck you. Yes, YOU. Soooo, I relate pretty hard to the MK ultra stuff. (go look him up, he was basically tortured and experimented upon by the elite). But there’s a pretty big chasm between my views and his, and I’ll try to be clear about the extent of my interest in his extreme beliefs. I haven’t even finished reading the manifesto. Basically, I watched that shitty show on Netflix with sam worthington around the same time I watched Joker (that movie fucked me up) and thought it’d be a good outlet to larp online as a terrorist. There’s the angry white alt-right school shooter aspect, which I’m still figuring out, cus I’m non-binary and I was raised by nutso trumpy right-wingers, who I barely speak to anymore, and I struggle to get along with people generally. There’s sad, self-pitying rage here. I empathise with the angry white dudes too much. I feel guilty about it. That’s good ground for artmaking (yes, shamefully, this…is…art. Sorry). I modelled this fursona a little after my brother, who I spent years living with and arguing with and trying to lift out of his scary racist youtube rabbit holes. This is actually quite an emotional thing for me, cus I did the ‘talk to your fascist family’ thing. And I completely failed. I realised his right-winginess wasn’t lessening, I wasn’t gaining ground, and in fact my excessive empathy and desire to reach out to the relative most similar to me in character meant his extremism was rubbing off on me. Making me more resentful and depressed. Feeling powerless. I was being too kind-hearted and forgiving of his masculine impotence. So I’m exploring some personal shit here. But Ted is also a cute lil fuzzball teddy bear. He means well, but me being super autistic and faily at social skills means he’s kind of a dick, cus I am. I’m going to try and further develop this character, this POV, and this post is the only time I’ll explain the divide between him and his creator (moi). The ‘I’ on the twitter and here is Ted Fashionski, I need that space between me and him. Masks give us this freedom to be more ourselves. Internet culture has lost a lot of its wild brutal anonymity in the last decade or so, now everyone’s afraid of making mistakes. How the hell do you grow if you’re not allowed to fuck up? This is a vital outlet. He’s become an important part of my life and I have to say, I love being Ted Fashionski. He’s like Paddington Bear who just escaped form Guantanamo or something.

I get pretty fatigued as a matter of course. I’m a long-term depressive since childhood. I have a difficult time keeping my hard-on for living. I don’t get suicidal really but I do struggle with extreme fatigue. I sleep a lot. I often fall into spirals of self-hate. And as someone who utterly believes in revolutionary leftist politics, I beat myself up about not doing enough. I’m so middle class and english and white. I was raised in such a chauvinistic and complacent culture; I don’t even know where to start. I’m wading my way through post-colonial literature and beating myself up for finding it boring and uncomfortable. It’s hard to force yourself to acknowledge your culture is The Bad Guys. It’s easier to fall into fanstasies of supremacy and butthurt misunderstoodness. And it’s not like my depressive brain needs any encouragement to hate me. My trajectory is ever leftwards, but I remember the righteous fury of being right-wing. I get it, that was me. We need more paths back from fascism, more comprehension of why people are that kind of shitty. I talk less, and less well, the more depressed I am. If I’m talking, it means im feeling a lot better. Just, fyi.

Give me a minute to be critical here. With the George Floyd protests, a lot of the cool guys on fashion twitter has gone blazingly hardcore on the political side. But there’s this troubling rhetoric about ‘no return to normal content’ or ‘this isn’t the time for fashion’. Like fuck it isn’t. This is a key problem with fashion culture right here, we have this received perception of fashion as empty escapism. Escapism matters in fashion, yes. But seriously, talking about the surfaces of things does not equal not caring about deeper meaning. What the fuck. Clothes are a connective tissue, a membrane between us. They’re emotional and powerful. We can talk about things that matter THROUGH clothes. I speak fashion, pretty fucking well. Most people who work at fashion magazines are morons with no understanding or respect for their subject. They’re incapable of doing it justice, and that’s deliberate. On this tumblr you’ll see rants and reviews of fashion and other artforms, always interpreting through a fashion lens. cus it matters, cus it’s a vital part of the culture, cus just because something has a glittery, seductive surface doesn’t mean it doesn’t communicate or contain depth. There’s no going back to ‘normal fashion content’, yes. Normal fashion content is a fucking psyop to divert legitimate interest in aesthetics amongst largely non-academic dyslexic visual types away from careful thought/feeling and towards empty consumerist commericiality. The traditional fashion media wants you to express yourself and your interest in the zeitgeist through buying more shit. Another fashion world is possible. Let’s destroy the old and build a new one, one where surface and spirit are connected and true and fashion can’t be abused in service of evil industrial monopolists.

/end rant. TLDR: angry fictional teddy bear with tin-foil hat and an eco-anarchist fetish says no to stupid fashion and yes to the renewal of conceptual fashion. Also, Fuck White People.