#like at the end of web’s books some guy tries to give him old uniforms saying they’d be good civilian work clothes and web basically says

[ww2yaoi]

this really is one of my favourite images of all time. like his ass does not want to be there

[serial-experiments-elaine]

The haunting spirits of Fredericksburg

My name is Zacharius Ark and its time to wake up. I have to wake up at nine every morning and be at work by round twelve. As a bartender I have to work long ass twelve hour shifts. I only get three hours between waking up and going to work, it isn’t all bad. On the job I can have my little laptop under counter and browse the web, but I mostly just read. I like cowboy books. The one I read the most is this little deal about a old man cowboy all cool; he’s a sweet loner who goes around stealing from thieves. I work out most mornings too, partly from boredom and partly cause things get too rowdy at the bar. No uniform at this place so I can wear the usual; t-shirt, hawaiian top, and levi’s. I guess my closet is a bit dull cause the rest of my clothes are variations of that, I like to be consistent, not standing out much. Work isn’t far from my apartment so I go on nice walks before getting there. There aren’t many people out during working hours, almost like a ghost town aside from the infrequent walker. The trees are nice this time of year, over the ancient cemeteries in the town it all comes together nicely. Opening up shop doesn’t take long and there’s only a few people coming in and out till night. I’m pretty decent at keeping up a conversation, more importantly keeping em’ drinking. Round’ the end of my shift there’s only a few people left in the place. The last two guys got into an argument when one of em’ commented on the others confederate tat. This confederate guy was pretty drunk “You got no pride in your heritage or your history”

“Look don’t conflate bigotry with heritage, can’t you at least acknowledge they were bad people?”

“I don’t like your tone with me mister” the Connie started getting pushy with the other one so I ended up having to intervene. “Sir if you can’t calm down you’re going to have to leave” he said back to me “fuck you libtard” and tried to fight me. I just picked him up while he was screaming something about “the south will rise again” and sent him on his way outside.

“Why’d you have to confront him about that? I’m almost off my shift” I was sorta ticked off at the other guy. “What was I gonna do just ignore that? I’m literally a historian I feel like I know more about it than him.” Yes he COULD have ignored it, we all could’ve just sat around for a bit in silence if we had to and gone away. “Whatever I’m off shift now anyways” The other guy who works there replaced me and I started heading home. I don’t like the streets at night, there aren’t many street lights, trees start looking like demons over the graves, and there are these figures and sounds I can’t make out. I always walk faster at night. This time I saw some lean guy groaning in an alley, all limp and falling over. I ask him if he’s ok but never get anything more than a moan. My hair started standing up and my stomach started feeling horribly empty, I ran away, he gave me the creeps.

The next morning they were talking about sightings of wandering confederate reenactors. Probably just a rumor, but it gives me something to talk about with customers. On the way to work I saw them. All gathered in the graveyard. It looked like they were discussing something, but I couldn’t hear them speak. I tried to walk off to work a bit faster because they sorta ruined my morning. When I got to work my check was lying lonely in a little drawer. I’ve never seen my bosses face, I don’t really care as long as the checks keep coming in. He says hes seen mine, whenever he comes into the bar just to look at how I work, which gives me the creeps. The news media was rattling off about the growing numbers of confederates all day, and even sightings of unioners. All sorts of people came into the bar yelling about how they’ve “seen the old bastards!” or gossiping about if they’ve risen from the grave.

It was starting to bother me too, just when it happened, a whole troop of them were marching through the streets. Their skin either gone or falling apart, organs barely hanging on. The bar screamed, some cheered, others cried. I felt sick, what if I had to see them on my way home? I texted my boss asking if I could get off early, he said no because this is the most business we’d had in a while. Was he here? In this room right now? So I stuck it out in the bar. The historian came in at some point. He was saying they couldn’t just be some reenactment or prank because their clothes were much too realistic, with his logic they had to be the real thing. There were deaths coming in and a state of emergency announced, buildings were in flames and confederate flags were raised. It seemed that the dead could recognize who was and was not on their side, the ones they saw fit were converted.

My shift was over in the empty bar, at some point people realized they needed to protect their family or just their homes. I grabbed the gun we keep at hand, strictly for emergency situations, before going out and into the night. I didn’t wait for my replacement, I figured he wouldn’t come. The flames were high outside, and the flags raged on. I was going to go to my apartment but there were zombies infesting the area and I think they saw me so I just ran back to the bar and fell asleep behind the counter, gripping the gun through my sleep. When I woke up my stomach dropped. The bar was full of them. That confederate cook guy immediately came up to me I guess to calm me down. “Heyyyy this might be a lot I know this might be a lot but me and the guys won’t be causing any ruckus”

“H-How did you get in?” I was shaking.

“What do you mean? Oh right I never told you, I’m your boss. Well anyways we’re gonna stay here if thats ok with you” he stuck out his hand for a shake. If this guy was really my boss I guess I don’t have much of a choice, so I shook his hand. When I noticed his grey skin, mine was slowly turning the same color. The worst feeling came over me, I looked back into his eye dreading to see what I knew was already there. There was a bite mark on the side of his face. I realized at that moment I could hear the confederates speak, I briefly thought about that historian. I shot my boss right there, but it was already too late to fight back, I, or at least my body soon became one of them.

[allegra-writes]

"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

Series Masterlist

His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man. 

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide. 

So he ran. 

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower. 

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. 

"Get in!" 

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?" 

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom. 

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night. 

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least." 

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago. 

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually. 

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.  

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony. 

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. 

"Pete! Six!" 

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes. 

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director" 

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?" 

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.  

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house" 

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too. 

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him. 

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!" 

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?" 

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers. 

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could. 

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's" 

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you. 

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning. 

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own. 

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze. 

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened. 

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat. 

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder. 

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before. 

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl. 

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics. 

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?" 

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

[smartguyreviewed]

1x7 - A Little Knowledge

Original air date: May 7, 1997

Hello there, friends. How are we holding up during these “unprecedented times?” I am currently holding up by pretty much being high 18/7, not sleeping and obsessing over a show that pretty much nobody talks about because I am that bored.

Really, I do want to thank anyone who takes the time to read this blog and/or drop a like. I started this blog because I enjoyed reading reviews of Lizzie McGuire and Boy Meets World. And then I thought of how not that many black sitcoms are pretty much ever really discussed. I watched Smart Guy so much when I was a kid but didn’t realize how important it was to even be watching it because we had so many other black television shows during my childhood, the complete opposite of how it is now. I always thought about even making a YouTube channel reviewing that black ass nostalgia that I love so much, but since I’m in the ugly phase of growing my starter locs, I figured I’d blog for now. 

Alright! There’s my intro. I really did mean it, but I had no idea how else to segue into the opening for this episode. By the way, if anyone is a super meticulous asshole and thinks the numbering of the episodes is off, I was honestly confused because Disney omitted a whole ass episode of the show, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the numbering of the episodes is different here but nowhere else on the web. The first season is already less than 10 episodes, so whatever.

Okay, so we open to Floyd about to do his books but he needs the little precocious calculator to help him out. This triggers me because I still have not done my taxes even though the deadline was extended. Luckily, it doesn’t appear that the Hendersons have any timely bills due but they are broke. After TJ adds up all the numbers, Floyd sees he is definitely not in the black. 

Because the episode is about money, naturally, both of Floyd’s grown children need pricey things all of a sudden. Yvette comes down and asks for a coat to replace this...thing that she’s wearing because it’s clearly ill-fitting. Floyd says he can buy her a new coat, as long as she’s not particular as to which winter she gets it in.

Up next is our Marcus, asking for something totally egregious. At least Yvette was asking for weather appropriate clothing. Marcus is asking Floyd for a $1500 bike. And now I’m confused. Why the hell would Marcus of all people need a bike? If he’s really trying his damndest to get the girls, I thought the band alone served that purpose. Regardless, Marcus needs it and he’s a teenager so the world is going to end tomorrow if he doesn’t get this deathcycle of his. He even tries to manipulate his dad by showing him a photo of Floyd on his bike. I actually think it’s cute how Floyd lights up at the sight of younger him. Maybe he met his deceased wife during these years? 

Floyd breaks out of memory lane and reminds Marcus that he, a human parent, wants the finer things also, including the chance to see his old friends at his high school reunion but that doesn’t seem to have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. Yeah, because Floyd has to put food on the table for a woman and three guys (yes, I’m including Mo and guys eat a lot and I don’t wanna hear shit about how girls eat a lot too because guys just eat more and that’s a fact) and school all of his children. No room for the finer things.

He then says that Yvette and Marcus can buy what they want but simply have to get jobs. Marcus balks at the idea and says he wouldn’t want work to interrupt his studies. Yvette and TJ have a nice little kii over this since hahaha “Marcus is dumb,” hahaha.

We cut to TJ in his room attempting to strategize ways for the Henderson clan to save money while watching a bootleg version of Jeopardy!. Marcus comes in on the phone with Craig, the guy selling the bike, and convinces him to not sell it, even though Marcus only has 4.2% of the funds. Yvette barges in and is pissed at her annoying little brothers for not unlocking her door when they’re done with the bathroom. See, they share a bathroom in this episode. In another episode, Yvette gets her own bathroom built...somewhere because she’s tired of sharing with them. This bathroom is never mentioned again. In another episode, Marcus temporarily moves to the attic. I just wonder exactly how the Henderson house is built because it seems like there’s so much space yet so little space? 

The boys aren’t listening to Yvette however, because she stank. She credits this funk to the job she just got at the Cluck Bucket, “yanking the gushy stuff out of chickens,” as Marcus eloquently puts it. She brags, saying she makes $100 a week, which is obviously $1000 a week in 90s money. 

After TJ proposes that Yvette cut Marcus’s hair, Marcus realizes TJ is attempting to optimize their family’s finances. TJ really is doing a lot for a 10 year old here. Normally, he’s being extremely rude to them, but in this episode, he’s trying to use his intelligence to fix a problem that he has no business worrying about. Clearly, this intelligence is a gift and a curse. I’m about to be 29 and I worry all the time about things I can’t even control along with the things I can. Imagine being 10, gifted AF and stressing only about adult things you can’t control.

Marcus actually delivers good advice this episode, most likely unbeknownst to him. He commands TJ to turn off his brain and stop worrying because this is something he can’t fix. And Marcus is right. A 10 year old has zero reasons to be trying to balance the family checkbook. It would have been better if he threw a Gameboy at him and told him that’s his homework instead.

But this is TJ and he is the determinator AKA hard-headed. Bootleg Jeopardy! is about to end but the host announces a junior version of the show. TJ checks all the boxes. Youngster? Check. Living in the D.C. area? Check. In desperate need of $25k? Double check!

TJ and Marcus are back home and go over how they’re going to break the news to Floyd since obviously he wouldn’t have given TJ permission to audition if they asked. Floyd seems pissed at first when they tell him but Marcus makes sure to place emphasis on how TJ kicked ass. Floyd is proud now, even though a few moments ago, he was about to go full Papa Bear.

The next day, Piedmont is buzzing about TJ’s television debut but he’s confused because he only told his fam. We then cut to Marcus blabbing to some girl about how he can get her a seat next to him so she can give him a handjob on the sly. (Of course, we don’t even see said girl at the show.) TJ tells Marcus he didn’t want everyone to know because, understandably, now there’s more pressure on him. Marcus responds to this by putting even more pressure on him, telling Craig that TJ is going to win him the bike. Then he puts a damn anvil on it by telling Craig to raise the price to $1700 and he’ll just take the bike now. This will end well.

TJ, under immense pressure because the show is filming in 6 hours at this point (film/TV people, if you’re reading, feel free to say if this is even normal for it to move this quickly especially for an underage guest?), is up late at night studying his ass off and high off legal coke. He’s awoken Marcus who is wondering why on earth TJ would be up this early studying for a quiz television show that has a large monetary prize and they’re broke. He wants TJ to get some sleep by he’s in the zone because he had 20 cups of coffee. After a drug fueled rant, he just passes out. 

6 hours later and TJ is still high. Floyd chalks it up to nerves before TJ starts sprinting around the set. Marcus shows up, announcing he just chained up his new bike to a dumpster. This will end well. He checks in on TJ who is still coked up and not coming down anytime soon. His dad calls him over to meet the other contestants which include Dylan Roof and Yung Sharpay.

After the kids are ushered onto set, Floyd goes to the other hoity toity parents, bragging about their kids’ accomplishments. He dismisses them and says TJ actually has a life. Floyd, you dick! Afterwards, the show begins. The host is opening and says he believes that children are our future. Floyd and Marcus are backstage and in true black parent fashion, once TJ is announced, they lose their shit!

The game is now underway and Yung Sharpay and TJ are caught up. Dylan Roof is pretty much just there because he’s so far behind that it doesn’t even matter. Amy loudly tells TJ that he has a broken leg and they’re loading the shotgun because she just caught up to him. Of course, nobody heard this even though she was loud as hell. Also, racial implications much?

Yvette comes late in her work uniform and is hurriedly trying to tell Marcus a bit of info he’ll want to act fast on, but naturally, he shushes her to listen to the game that TJ is about to possibly lose. Yvette is also a petty asshole, so she doesn’t even try to tell him again. They cut to break and Yvette announces then that Marcus’s bike is gone. Turns out, locking it to a dumpster isn’t the best idea because some guy in a garbage truck stole it dragged the dumpster away. Marcus is pissed and lets slip that he paid $1700 for it which gets him in trouble because he just told Floyd that he was taking it on a test drive. Then the rest of the truth spews out. Marcus says he wanted something from the money TJ was going to win and oh mama is Floyd pissed because he naturally expects the worst from Marcus always and thinks he forced TJ to be in the competition which wasn’t even the case. Floyd tells Marcus he’s going to talk to TJ and warns him to “brace himself” for when he gets back. Yvette gleefully says she’s going to get chalk for his body outline. What did Marcus do to everyone to make them hate him so much? TJ does way shittier things than him and he’s still held in high regard. Hmm.

Floyd comes over to TJ to check in and lets him know that he’s aware of what’s going on. TJ, who has only consumed coffee and chocolate for the past few hours, is now dizzy. Floyd has to remind TJ that he has plenty of time to worry about rent and bills and student loans and credit card debt and finding a therapist and the pressure to have it “together” by the time you’re 30 which is crazy unrealistic. Good lesson and one of the few times I don’t wanna strangle TJ. Understandably, with the pressure off, TJ wants to dipset. The host, while seeing TJ and Floyd leaving, says they signed a contract so somebody needs to fill in for TJ. Cut to one of the funniest scenes in the show, hands down.

The question is how much did Thomas Jefferson, another TJ, pay for the Louisiana Purchase? This is word for word what Marcus-as-TJ says.

“Well uh, let’s see. In DC, the most you can take out of the ATM is $300 and you would wanna hold back a $20 in case something comes up, so I’m gonna say $280, Hugh.”

Yvette’s reaction says it all.

In the end, we see Yvette at the Cluck Bucket, putting on her functional gray pea coat that she probably got from Contempo Casuals or something. Marcus is the janitor now because he has to work off his debt to Craig and because remember, Marcus is a dark-skinned buffoon and couldn’t get the same job as Yvette for some reason. Whatever. I wonder what Yung Sharpay did with her prize money.

Stuff I Noticed:

- Yvette’s jacket. What is this?

- Marcus’s face for Lil’ Dylan and Yung Sharpay versus TJ. I love black families.

White lady on the left does not approve.

- No Mo this episode! :(

[renaroo]

Resonance (2/15)

Disclaimer: Spider-Man, Miles Morales, and associated characters are the creative property of Marvel Comics. Into the Spider-Verse and associated characters are creative property of Sony Pictures. Both of these things and neither of them are true, all I ask is to not be sued. Warnings: Teen Angst, Pregnancy, Mourning Pairings: PeterxMJ in many forms Rating: T Synopsis: Miles Morales is the brand new Spider-Man with all the responsibilities, burdens, and heartache therein. With the crowds being harder to please and his rogues gallery looking more formidible by each day, Miles doubts his competency as the one and only Spider-Man. At first, he looks to his predecessor’s support group for advice, and what he ends up getting is a lot more complications.

A/N: I am late by a whole day and I absolutely cannot apologize enough for those of you who were waiting for this update yesterday! There is no good excuse. As much as I’m still working and teaching, I had time to get this done before today and the delays were all my own laziness. I am so sorry! Hopefully I’ll get better and back in the swing of writing regular updates and have the next chapter out Friday! 

That being said, I had a blast writing this chapter and am so excited to lay the ground work for the larger world Resonance will be taking place in! And I’m grateful for everyone who has shown their support for this fic so far!

Special shout outs to @babybatbrat, @secretlystephaniebrown, and @notatroll7 for their support on tumblr and AO3!! It means so very much, thank you!

Chapter Two: A Visit to Forest Hills

Miles looked into the mirror, hands gripping the sink, and turned his chin slowly side to side.

“This sucks,” he surmised to his reflection. He groaned as he reached up and drug his hands down his face only to predictably flinch at the pain from his bruised jawline.

The bruises on his jaw were molted looking, purpled and pinked shining against his dark skin. It was noticeable, especially in how puffy his neck had grown overnight. But, he supposed, it at least wasn’t over his cheek or one of his eyes. That would have been near impossible to cover.

Sighing, Miles looked over and poked suspiciously at the scarf Ganke had offered him.

His thoughts on the scarf did not have too much time to develop, however, as the bathroom door came swinging open. Said roommate shouldered on in, carrying a load of books and papers.

“Hey, man, you need to knock before busting on into places like this!” Miles croaked, voice still sounding off and sore.

“I knew what you were doing in here, you were starring in the mirror and complaining,” Ganke said, putting down the laundry basket full of books and beginning to dump them out on the floor. The moment it was clear, he began picking up the towels sprawled around the tile. He still hadn’t looked up to make eye contact.

“Dude,” Miles groaned, dropping his shoulders to give further effect to his full-body eye roll. “I’m not complaining!” As the eye roll ended, Miles’ shoulders hitched and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. From the new angle, he could see even more of the bruise purpling the skin just beneath his ear. He reached up and tenderly stroked it. “Aw, man.”

Catching himself, Miles glanced down toward Ganke just as Ganke was looking up to raise an eyebrow at him.

Forcing a cough, Miles cleared his throat. “A-anyway, thanks for the scarf. Looks like I’ll definitely be using it today. But maybe I can, like, spider-heal up quick or something.”

Ganke’s brows knitted together in confusion. “You still don’t know all your powers?” he asked critically.

Despite himself, Miles shrugged. “Hey, I had like ten minutes with the first guy and, like, less than a day with everyone else. I’m lucky I learned the web-shooters were mechanical.”

Any time Peter Parker — their Peter Parker — came up in conversation, no matter how casual Miles attempted to make it, Ganke shifted uncomfortably. It was like he suddenly couldn’t get enough room between the two of them when he remembered that Miles was not that Spider-Man.

It was enough to make Miles mildly uncomfortable as well.

“It’s something you’ve got to find out,” Ganke said determinedly. “You’ve gotta find all of this stuff out about your body and your powers and, well, how you don’t end up Spider-Splat. It’s really kind of negligent for you not to, Miles.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Miles said, glancing at the mirror again to get more of a look at the rest of his body.

His jaw had its workout, but it was the rest of Miles’ body that had taken the brunt end of the punishment from his tangling with Electro the day before. And it had definitely been the rest of his body that he had felt that morning after he rolled out of bed an hour later than his morning workout schedule had required.

As far as he and Ganke had been able to determine, there were no broken bones, but Miles’ arms, legs, and ribs were a patchwork of angry bruising.

Worst of all, though, was the ugly open sores on his back, black and red with the skin singed. He had made the mistake of brushing his fingers over it the night before when Ganke was helping him clean them, but he hadn’t attempted again.

“Imagine if that suit wasn’t insulated,” Ganke whistled, his gaze following Miles’ own.

“Dude, after yesterday, I’m not even sure I believe it is,” Miles whined.

“Oh, it definitely is, or else you’d be crispier,” Ganke replied easily, picking up the basket of dirty towels to take out of the bathroom. “Remember those pictures we looked up last night?”

Gagging, Miles shivered. “How could I not, dude? I’m scarred for life now!” He looked worriedly at his back. “Um, hopefully only metaphorically.”

“Look on the bright side,” Ganke offered, shrugging his shoulders. “The worst of it can be covered with your uniform. People may notice you walking stiff, but at least it’s not going to be visible like it is on your face.”

“Yeah, real great,” Miles sighed, finally reaching for his neatly folded uniform on the side of the sink’s basin. “Guess I should think ahead for those situations, though. Never really worried about it before, but I guess that could be something kind of regular if that’s what one of the old Spider-Man’s basic baddies is capable of doing.”

“You could just not get hit,” Ganke deadpanned. “Always the best option in my opinion.”

“Gee, thanks for the stellar advice, man,” Miles grumbled as he pulled on his undershirt. Try as he might maneuver around it, the fabric grazed over the burns and caused a chill of pain to rush outward through his spine. He bit his lip to keep from getting too loud, but couldn’t avoid the rush of strung together expletives from sputtering out of his mouth.

Panting, Miles felt the wave of shock pass him. He opened his eyes to see Ganke’s shocked expression.

Grimacing at himself, Miles finished tenderly pulling down on the rest of his undershirt. “Um. I meant ow.”

“Hmm,” Ganke said in response, leaning back against the doorframe.

“Hey, my dad’s a cop. I’ve picked up a few choice expressions,” Miles defended, grabbing the rest of his uniform.

“It’s not that,” Ganke dismissed, tilting his head curiously. “Did you think about what I said yesterday? About getting some medical-grade supplies to keep in our room for stuff like this? I think it’s going to be a smart move.”

“I thought the best option was to not get hit,” Miles retorted.

“I’m being serious here,” Ganke said in earnest.

“And I’m definitely not using my weekend trip to stock up on my mom’s nursing stuff,” Miles groaned. “Do you know how much she’d freak if she even saw this bruise? I got a scab on my knee once and she had me elevate it and ice it for the rest of the afternoon!”

Ganke hummed again, glancing toward the door to leave. But he lingered instead of making his way out.

“Miles, you gotta get supplies, start being more prepared,” Ganke lectured. “Like with your web-shooters.”

“I know, man,” Miles grunted, popping his head through the cream vest of his uniform and finally putting on the last layers of clothing. “How quick do you think we can whip up replacement fluid in chemistry lab today?”

That caused a sputtering of noise from Ganke before he violently shook his head. “What? No way, dude, I told you. Until I know exactly what I’m doing, I am not going to make that web shooter fluid for you. I don’t want to—“

Throwing his head back, Miles moaned at the ceiling. “I know, I know. You don’t want to be the guy who killed the new Spider-Man. I get it.” He rolled his head carefully, avoiding the sporadic shots of pain from his jaw as much as he could. When he met Ganke’s gaze, he tried to look as emphatic as possible. “If we don’t make our own, though, I’m going to have to go get some. And if I do that, it means I’ll have to, you know,” he motioned with his arms, “go and see, like, her again. And I just don’t know if I can handle that level of awkward.”

“You’re going to have to,” Ganke said pointedly. “And why wouldn’t you want to see her? She seems like a cool old lady. And you said she was supporting you. And made tea. What more could you want?”

“Uh, to not remind an old lady constantly that her nephew-slash-son died and I’m going around wearing his hand-me-downs like a skin suit and taking his identity,” Miles countered quickly. “That’s kind of how I would like to live my life — spider-wise or other — if I could.”

“Well you can’t, at least not today,” Ganke argued, shouldering the door to leave.

Miles was more than prepared to leave the conversation where it stood. He stepped forward, though, and immediately felt his foot slipping from beneath him. Catching himself on the wall, Miles glanced around the floor of the bathroom. Where his foot had been was one of the several notebooks and papers.

“Hey! Wait!” Miles called, just in time to get Ganke to half step back and look over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Ganke asked back.

“Why’d you throw all my books and stuff on the floor? What was the point of that?”

“Oh, while you were healing up last night, I did some partial work for the classes you skipped the homework for,” Ganke answered nonchalantly. “It’s not everything, but it’s better than zero and failing.”

Miles blinked in surprise. “Whoa, really? I don’t even know what to say to that, dude, that’s really cool of you. And unexpected. Thanks.” He then looked back down to the mess on the floor. “Wait, no, that still didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, I knew the teachers needed to believe it was yours and had been shoved into a backpack overnight, so some wear and tear needed,” Ganke shrugged again.

“You are an evil genius, Ganke Lee,” Miles grinned, bending over to begin picking the books up.

“If I were, you chose a poorly in who to reveal your identity to, gotta say,” Ganke answered, rotating his wrist as he walked on to finish up his morning. “Please don’t ruin my scarf. My mom got it for me.”

“Scarf?” Miles repeated before snapping his fingers. “Oh, right! Good call!”

He grabbed his books from the floor and Ganke’s scarf from the sink counter before finishing up his morning.

From his morning onward, Miles’ school day was a practice in anxiety. More than once, he felt the eyes of his peers falling onto his scarf and looking perplexed or snide over it. It was enough to make the hairs on Miles’ skin stand on edge. He’d whirl around in the halls to see the faces of the people staring at him.

Each time he turned, however, he never found any eyes lingering on his wardrobe. At least not for long enough to equate to the rush of anxiety deep in Miles’ person.

In hindsight, it made sense.

Miles didn’t have many friends at school still, and few would notice a change to his wardrobe which still fell into the dress code.

In fact, Miles saw several scarves and scrunchies worn by students which were out of academy colors and arguably could have been called out but weren’t.

After lunch, Miles’ tension had left his body and he was instead looking more toward the anxiety of his chemistry lab with Ganke. Despite Ganke’s pleas, Miles was determined to talk his roommate into making some web fluid for him. He argued, mostly to himself, that it only made sense to become self-sufficient. To not bother May Parker all of the time.

He was so consumed with thinking through his debate with Ganke, that by English lit class, Miles had forgotten himself and began feeling very stuffy and hot.

Pulling on his scarf, Miles sighed and leaned back against the metal desk chair.

A jolt of pain radiated out from Miles’ back and he leaped to his feet with a yowl. His arms stretched back, reaching for the source of pain before Miles head began to throb with sharpened anxiety.

Looking around, Miles realized the entire classroom plus his teacher were staring at him. The looks ranged from surprise to giggling.

“Oh,” Miles muttered before offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry about that.” He lowered his hands and began to sink back into his seat only for the teacher’s throat to clear.

“Mister Morales,” he fussed, eyes beady behind thick wireframe glasses. “Is there something you would like to share about Wuthering Heights? Or do you have a spider crawling down your back?”

The students giggled in response, many shifting to glance toward their friends.

“Uh, probably the last one,” Miles said, sinking toward his seat again.

“Probably?” the teacher asked. “As in you aren’t sure if there’s a spider crawling down your back?”

Shiftily moving his eyes around the room, Miles grimaced. “I mean, I’m not a fan of, uh, spiders, so hopefully not? We could just, uh, keep talking about the old British people.”

That earned a few other giggles from the students, but they didn’t work to relax Miles exactly. Especially not when he realized the teacher was still staring intently at him.

“Mister Morales, is that some sort of rash on your neck?” he asked.

“What?” Miles asked before reaching up to his jawline and realizing there was no longer a scarf covering him. “Oh, uh,” he stuttered before his mind clicked with an idea. “Oh, shoot, I think maybe it was a spider after all. I should, like, go to the nurse!” He glanced toward the teacher, watching as the man straightened his glasses. “Please?”

The moment his teacher nodded in affirmation, Miles gathered up his belongings and booked it out into the hallway. As soon as the door closed behind him, Miles leaned against the nearest wall and let out a long, heralding breath.

He was not going to the nurse, but he suddenly lacked his appetite for class and for debating Ganke to make his new web shooter fluid.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Miles sighed. “Aw, man,” he moaned to himself and shook his head.

While he had only had the opportunity to be with his mentor for the better part of a day, and the other Spider-People even less, Miles had learned quite a few things from them. Things that had carried into daily life ever since.

Some he wished he had paid more attention to from the start, like with using the bus whenever possible.

Perhaps if he had, it would have saved him some web fluid over the month.

Miles took the advice more that day, though, because he had no web shooter fluid and even with spider-heightened endurance, Forest Hills was a fairly long walk from Brooklyn.

While Miles had made a point of not visiting the Parker house, he had the memory of the location burned into his memory. The neighborhood played out easily in his nightmares.

Walking from the closest bus stop, Miles couldn’t stop himself from pausing at a gated off alley, his eyes falling on broken pavement and tattered brick.

It made his chest tight and his body heavy to look down on the alley. It was barren save for the trash bin. But, for Miles, it was as haunted as any place in the city could be.

Mouth dry, Miles glanced over to the wall where he threw up the memorial to his uncle a month ago. It was already faded some, the sun must have hit the alley more than Miles estimated. He should have risked putting a finish on it, but then his father would have eventually noticed it and had questions about how Miles knew where Uncle Aaron had died.

It took a painstaking moment for Miles to finally rip himself away from the alley and continue the less than a block from the bus stop to the two-story home of May Parker.

In the last month, Uncle Aaron’s onsite memorial had faded obscurely in the background for most people, but the stacks in memoriam to Peter Parker seemed to be ever-growing, ever-changing. Wooden stars of David lined with bows and web decorated masks, candies and stuffed animals, pictures, melted candles, paper floats, weighted down balloons. It was impressive and daunting. And, a month later, more than a little messy.

Just from his small contact with May Parker, Miles had to imagine that she was not a fan of her yard becoming a cheap reminder of her son every day. The pain of it — similar to that pain for Uncle Aaron which had kept Miles away from Forest Hills — had to be unbearable.

For Miles, though, the real surprise came from the bent and folded signs which underscored the same message. RIP the REAL Spider-Man. Missed NOT FORGOTTEN OR REPLACED.

The last one caught his eye as he stood at the start of the sidewalk.

Thinking back to his missed lit class, Miles pulled out one of his fat sharpies and frowned. He leaned over and scribbled a messy N onto the sign so that NOR read more correctly on the board.

Running out of distractions and delays, Miles finally walked up toward the house and reached out to knock on the door when he heard low voices from the other side of the wall. He hesitated, eyes narrowing intently on the doorknob before he leaned in.

“I should have been here more, May, I’m sorry,” he heard a faintly familiar voice say. “Truth be told, I haven’t been much of anywhere since���”

Glancing away from the door, Miles could see that the lone front window had the glow of light. He knew there was a living room on the other side and that it would be awkward to explain his presence to most company.

He should turn around and come back another time. But the voice was so familiar he just had to know where he knew it from.

Glancing around the neighborhood, Miles made certain he wasn’t going to be seen before he reached out with both hands and begun sticking to the siding of the house.

After crawling toward the window, Miles timidly stuck his head down to look upside-down through the Parker house and catch a glimpse of May sitting on the plastic-lined couch with her guest.

The flash of brilliant red hair, the designer coat — Miles knew almost immediately who he was looking at.

“Mary Jane,” he mumbled to himself.

May reached forward and took Mary Jane’s hands into her own, squeezing them affectionately. “I know,” May said affectionately. She sounded heartbroken. “The important thing now, though, is we’re in this together. And I mean that.”

That was all May needed to say before Mary Jane let out a loud sob, folding forward and only catching herself on May’s shoulder before continuing to cry.

The two women held each other for a long time.

It made Miles feel intrusive and dirty to witness the moment. He cringed as he pulled himself back and away from the window.

Whatever was going on with the two Parker women didn’t involve him, and there was no telling how long that they would be wrapped up in their emotions. As they deserved to be.

Miles knocking on the door and blurting out Hey, Ms. P, mind lending me more of your nephew’s stuff? was downright ghoulish.

Still, he came all the way out to the middle of Queens, and Miles needed to make sure he spent as much time away for the second time as possible.

Everything in Forest Hills was too raw. For him. For Aunt May. For everyone.

But Miles only had enough fare on him for a one-way trip to Forest Hills. He had nothing to get him back because he was supposed to be able to make his own way back.

“Man,” Miles whined to himself.

Sticking to the walls, Miles climbed upward, away from the window and the all-too-private moment. By the time he reached the rooftop, it was simple enough to flip onto the top and walk to the back slope of the roofing.

He glanced over the obvious patches and still present damage to the singles. For a moment, he hesitated and wondered if he should have done more to repair the damage from the large fight he brought to May’s doorstep. A pang of regret came over his system.

Pushing it down, Miles shook his head and tried to focus on the immediate needs he could address.

The moment his feet hit the grounds of the backyard, Miles could feel what he needed to do. May had told him before that she rigged the shed entrance to let him have access whenever he needed it. And Miles, while appreciative, had made a point of avoiding needing it until that moment.

The lock popped off, a faint glow of a spider emblem dazzling Miles again as he approached.

It was still amazing — that May and Peter had built so much with so little available to them. Miles knew they had connections, access, experience with science and fields that would have made Ganke’s eyes swim in confusion. But walking onto the platform and descending into the original Spider-Man’s lair still felt like a dream.

Once he began to descend, Miles noticed voices and explosive glows of alternating colors. His eyes widened as he recognized some of the lights and sounds to be of the other Spider-People’s portals — mysteriously showing up on the large computer screens below. There were also, though, images and people he had never seen before.

“That looks suspicious,” Miles said, flipping his backpack around and quickly changing while the platform still descended.

The moment his suit was in order, Miles threw his backpack over his back and crouched, eyes narrowed. His body flickered into nothingness as he easily camouflaged into the world around him.

There was nothing too out of the ordinary beyond the computer screens. He crawled in preparation of things changing, but it continued to seem ordinary.

“Maybe Ms. Parker still comes down here,” he decided out loud, circling the main areas of the lair.

He came to a stop in front of the gala of costumes where he had taken his own. He looked and, with some apprehension, saw a new suit where his had once been.

It was tattered and bloody, broken up in pieces, with the eye lens shattered out.

Miles had seen the suit before, but not on a mannequin.

Slowly, Miles dropped his camouflage and continued to stare at the suit his hero had died in. He could see himself — small and insignificant, his face barely overlapping with Peter Parker’s chest.

Slowly, Miles reached up and placed his hand on the glass, pressing against the spider of Peter’s chest, running his thumb across it. He didn’t know if it was an apology, an appreciative thanks, or if it was anything at all.

All Miles knew was that it felt like there was more than glass and a few centimeters of empty space between himself and the Spider-Man who used to be.

His senses blared, a tickling feeling down his spine and neck.

Miles pulled his hand from the glass and looked over his shoulder just as the lift began to ascend without him.

Irrationally, his first thought was ghost.

Again, screaming that time, his senses picked up and Miles dropped to the floor just before a green blur sliced through the air with enough force to bust open several of the glass display cases.

“Well, well, well,” a very familiar voice spoke in delight from behind Miles. He looked to her — seeing the familiar wild hair, eyes beady behind thick octagonal glasses, and a sharp, pointed face. “If it isn’t Peter’s little invisible friend back again.”

“Dock Ock?” Miles gasped.

[littlej097]

For Those in My Heart - Chapter 4 “Little League”

Prompt: Roland decides to give Little League a try and Robin decides to be his coach.

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3

Ever since things had calmed down in Storybrooke, Regina and Robin had been really trying to maintain a normal life. However, for Roland, living in a mansion and going to a normal school was anything but ordinary. He had been the only child among the merry men and any education that he had gotten, he had learned from them. That being said, it had been a little challenging for Roland to make friends his own age. 

“I’m worried about him,” Regina said to Robin. “He needs to meet some children his own age.” 

“You’re right love,” Robin replied. “But I don’t know how to help him do that.” “Maybe he should get involved with something. A sport or some kind of activity.” Regina suggested. 

“I think that could be a good idea.” Robin agreed. The next night at dinner, they brought it up to Roland and were surprised when he instantly told them that they wanted to play baseball.

“A bunch of kids play it at recess but I don’t know how to play,” Roland told them. 

“Well, I think that can be arranged,” Regina replied. “The little league season is just starting. I think they’re still letting kids sign up. Papa can take you tomorrow.” 

“Really? Will you Papa?” The little boy exclaimed with excitement. 

“Of course my boy,” Robin replied with a smile. The next day while at the office, Regina got a pair of unexpected visitors. Roland ran into the office a huge smile on his face, dressed in his new baseball uniform. The uniform was complete with a set of cleats, bright white baseball pants and a royal blue jersey that read Granny’s on the back. 

“I didn’t know that Granny was sponsoring a team this year,” Regina replied with a laugh. 

“Do you like my uniform Mama?” Roland asked. Regina nodded with a smile. “Daddy even got me a glove!” 

“Well, that’s good,” Regina told him. “I don’t know much about baseball but a glove seems very important to the sport.”  

“Wait! The best part isn’t here yet.” Roland told her. 

“And what would that be?” Regina asked. As if on cue, Robin walked into her office dressed in his own royal blue shirt that said coach on the back of it. “You’re coaching the team?” 

“Yes, I am!” Robin replied proudly. 

“Robin...honey... you don’t know anything about baseball,” Regina said hesitantly. 

“Well, how hard can it be to learn,” Robin replied. “We stopped at the library and Belle helped me find this.” he added showing her a book entitled “Baseball for Dummies.” Regina couldn’t help but laugh. “I figured I could use a hobby as well.” 

“Alright love,” Regina replied. “When’s the first game?” 

“It’s next Sunday!” Roland replied excitedly. From that day on, Robin and Roland spent much of the next week at practice with the other boys preparing for their first game. When Sunday finally came, Regina felt nervous for both Roland and Robin. She packed the car with a large blanket and baby necessities for Addy. Then, Regina, Henry, and Addy piled into the car to get to the game. Roland and Robin had headed out earlier to get in some practice before the game. When they got there, Emma and Hook and the rest of the Charmings were waiting for them. 

“You guys came!” Regina said with a laugh. 

“We wouldn’t miss Roland’s first game.” Snow replied with a smile as she repositioned Neal on her hip. 

“I certainly wasn’t going to miss Robin’s coaching debut.” Hook replied smugly. 

“And what do you know about baseball, pirate?” Regina quipped. 

“Not much, but I know what my strengths are.” Hook replied. “I also know that this is going to be hilarious.” Regina simply rolled her eyes. With Henry’s help, she laid out the blanket and took a seat next to Snow. They set the babies in front of them who were content just to sit and play with their toys. 

“I can’t believe how big Addy is getting.” Snow remarked. 

“I know. She’s was four months on Friday.” Regina told her. “Time sure does go fast,” she added looking down at the little girl before her. She was just starting to get some patches of dirty blonde hair and her eyes were crystal blue liked her fathers. She had even started to coo and smile when they interacted with her. 

Within a few minutes, the game began. Robin ran out with Roland and about eight other six-year-olds. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh as Robin tried to corral all the kids and get them where they were supposed to be. As soon as the game began, it was abundantly clear that none of the kids, nor Robin truly knew what was going on. The first little boy up to bat hit the ball and everyone cheered. However, the little boy didn’t really understand which base he was supposed to go to and ended up running to third base instead of first. Needless to say, that was the team's first out of the inning. The second kid up to base hit the baseball off the team but wasn’t very keen on running. Robin tried to coax him into running to first base, but nothing was working. He finally decided to lift the little boy up by his armpits and run to first base with him instead. Regina hid her face in her hands. 

“We’re gonna have to leave Storybrooke. There’s no coming back from this,” she said. “What do you think of Boston, Addy? Should we live there after Papa’s done making a fool of himself?” The little girl smiled and reached for her mother's face. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

After a few more kids got to bat, it was finally Roland’s turn. “Go, Roland!” Everyone cheered from the sideline. He looked so little in his uniform and batting helmet as he held the gigantic bat. His first swing went all the way through but missed the ball. 

“That’s okay buddy! Keep your eye on the ball!” Regina yelled from the sideline. Roland looked confused for a moment and seemed to be thinking about what his mother was saying. He set the bat down and leaned in close until his eye was literally on the little white ball. No one could contain their laughter then. It was just too cute. Hook was practically doubled over laughing. 

“Who needs major league baseball when little league is so much funnier,” Henry replied. They endured five more innings of this and each inning got a little better because the kids understood a little more. In the final inning, the score was 2 to 1 (which was a miracle considering they even got that many runs). Roland’s team was in the field and they had two outs. 

“Alright boys, let’s finish the game here. One more out and we win!” Robin yelled from the dugout. 

“Next batter!” The umpire called. The largest kid from the other team came up to bat. He had been responsible for the one run for the other team. He could tie up the game right there. 

“This doesn’t look good,” Henry said to his mom. As the kid came up to bat, the pitcher threw the first ball and it happened to be a strike. Everyone cheered. Then the second ball crossed the plate...another strike. 

“Wow, they may actually do it. They may win!” Regina exclaimed. However, on the third pitch, they heard the sound of the ball hitting the wooden bat. It went flying out into the outfield, right above where Roland was standing. “Oh god please let him catch it.”  The little boy looked panicked. He began to run backward in an attempt to try and catch the ball. However, he ran into a problem His shoelace was untied. Roland tripped and fell backward onto the ground and the entire crowd gasped. Suddenly the ball cam plummeting down to the ground and just happened to land in the web of Roland’s glove. All the boys and Roland began to cheer and ran out to Roland in the outfield. He had done it! Roland had won the game for his team! 

“Oh my god! He did it! He actually caught it!” Regina exclaimed as she stood up with Addy and cheered. Henry and the rest of the Charmings stood up as well and cheered for the team. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Hook replied. “That Robin is a lucky man,” he added with a laugh. After all the kids packed up their stuff, Roland came running over to Regina. 

“Did you see it, Mama? Did you? I caught the ball and won the game.” he exclaimed. 

“Of course I did!” Regina replied as she pulled him into her arms. “I am so proud of you!” she added, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Robin walked over next. 

“Great game, coach,” David said as he extended his hand for a handshake with Robin. 

“It wasn’t the smoothest of games, but we got there,” Robin replied with a laugh. 

“I think now it’s time to celebrate.” Snow said.

“Can we go get ice cream? Please!” Roland begged his parents. Normally, Regina and Robin wouldn’t give in so easily considering that Roland asked for ice cream practically every day. However, today was a special day so they both replied with sure which set the little boy into cheers of excitement. Together the two families made their way to Granny’s to get some celebratory ice cream. 

“So is being a Coach all that you thought it would be?” Regina asked Robin. 

“I have to say. It is much more difficult to corral nine six-year-olds than I thought it would be.” he amended. 

“And just think, you still have a full season left to go.” 

“God help me.” Robin murmured. He knew that both he and the kids had a lot of learning to do but it would sure be quite the experience. 

[theconservativebrief]

The new movie BlacKkKlansman is one of my favorites of the year. It’s careful to let you know very early on that its story is a true one, with a few embellishments for film. And it likely does so because said story — a black man goes undercover and becomes a trusted confidant of some members of the Ku Klux Klan, including David Duke himself — would be written off as preposterous if it occurred in a fictional context.

But no, that man really existed. His name was Ron Stallworth, and as an officer with the Colorado Springs Police Department, he really did talk on the phone with local Klansmen and with Duke. With the help of his white partner, he was able to infiltrate the organization and work to bring down some of its local members.

It’s a great story that is made all the better by virtue of being true, and in both Stallworth’s book about the experience and in Spike Lee’s film, the story becomes a way to look at both the ridiculousness and the poisonousness of American racism.

I was thrilled to have Stallworth join me for the latest episode of my podcast, I Think You’re Interesting, so we could talk about the process of turning his incredible life story into a movie.

But I was also interested in how the film depicts the double consciousness of being a black police officer pretending to be a white supremacist, and the fraught identity of being a black police officer, period. I asked Stallworth about that, and his response, lightly edited for length and clarity, follows.

Todd VanDerWerff

One of the things the film depicts really well is the inherent conflict of being a black man in a police department. The first 20 to 25 minutes of the movie are just about that, before you get into the meat of the plot. What were your thoughts on that when you were a young officer?

John David Washington (left) and Ron Stallworth at the premiere of BlacKkKlansman. Emma McIntyre/Getty Images

Ron Stallworth

We as black cops live in a void, in that we’re too black for the white community and we’re too blue — as in the uniform, badge, and gun that we wear — for the black community. Neither one likes us. They don’t want to accept us. And yet we are in that profession for a noble, honorable purpose. Most of us get in there for that reason. We’re trying to do good for the public’s safety.

But you’re not accepted by either group. In terms of the white side, they look upon you as an n-word, resent the fact that you have the authority you have over them and put it to effect from time to time.

I’ll give you an example. I investigated a case where a white woman was raped. I’m the responding officer. One of the things we have to do in a case like that is we have to take any article of clothing they may have on because it’s evidence. I asked for everything. About a day or so later, I get a call up to the internal affairs office, the only time in my 32-year career I ever had to undergo an internal affairs inquiry. Her son-in-law was offended by the fact that I, a black man, had done this to his mother-in-law doing my job.

The reason why he filed that complaint was her rapist was a black man. So he felt like she was being taken advantage of by me. We quickly dispelled that, and the thing blew away, but the issue of my race came in for doing my job to the best of my ability in a proper procedural manner. That’s just one example.

To the black community, they don’t want to accept you because they view you as a traitor. You’ve chosen to join the system, to work against a system that they feel oppresses them. They forget that you are, in fact, one of them. Because at the end of the day, at the end of my career, when the badge and gun come off, I was and still am just a black man in America. They tend to forget all of that. I can’t tell you how many times I was called “pig.” Yet we can’t respond to it. We have to more or less grin and bear it and do our jobs, when in fact we want to respond accordingly.

That no man’s land that we live in, it’s a lonely existence, but it’s one that we’ve chosen, and if you can’t handle the pressures of that as a black man, you should not become a police officer.

Todd VanDerWerff

Do you have thoughts on if there’s a way to find rapprochement between police departments and black communities? When you were in the police department, did you see ways that the police can find to ease those tensions?

Ron Stallworth

The police department can ease a lot of tensions by being more thorough in vetting who they allow into their ranks. You get good people in there, and the good will pay off in the end. You bring somebody who has bad in them, that’s going to come to the forefront in time.

And in some cases, you know going into an interview, this guy’s not the right fit. But you put him on anyway. You take a chance with him when you shouldn’t. The interview process you see John David [Washington, who plays Stallworth in the film] go through to join the police department, that was a very true depiction of what actually happened to me. The only difference was I was 19, and in the movie, he’s around 25.

Those questions that they asked him were actually asked of me. In the book, I explain a lot of the questions. That was an accurate portrayal. I was 19 years old. I was still a kid, and I’m asked about womanizing and, “Do you drink? Can you handle being called the n-word? Be the Jackie Robinson, accept it with grace and dignity without fighting back, even though you want to?” That was a very true depiction of what I went through at 19.

Police departments can be more thorough in their vetting process. When they uncover a bad apple, they also need to be more aggressive to take the necessary steps to get rid of them and stop erecting the blue wall of silence, which is real. It is not a myth. There is a blue wall of silence that occurs.

Law enforcement needs to recognize that when you catch somebody that’s bad in the department, go after them aggressively. Give them the boot. Prosecute them if necessary. And stop looking upon that person — who’s basically degraded you and the entire profession by their illegal actions — as a brother officer. He or she is not. They’re just dirty, bad, corrupt cops that need to be booted out of the profession to clean it up all around.

For more with Stallworth — including why he tried to convince the filmmakers to give his onscreen alter ego a dog instead of a love interest — listen to the full episode, which also includes a conversation with writer-director Desiree Akhavan about her new film The Miseducation of Cameron Post, a coming-of-age story set at a gay conversion therapy retreat operated by fundamentalist Christians.

To hear interviews with more fascinating people from the world of arts and culture — from powerful showrunners to web series creators to documentary filmmakers — check out the I Think You’re Interesting archives.

Original Source -> The man whose story inspired BlacKkKlansman, on the complicated reality of black cops

via The Conservative Brief