Ok but if tony stark were to teach a science or math class he would totally be the type of teacher that’s totally lax and has pretty much no rules and goes off on so many tangents and rants about theories and possible inaccuracies, and will give you extra credit for finding a flaw in his own work, the type of teacher that allows you to be late if only you can answer the dreaded Question Of The Day™ that no ones gotten right ever, the type that everybody LOVES and can go to for any sort of help on any problem, allows cursing in the classroom (does it himself too) and starts a robotics club too just for the hell of it
Also probably starts roasting all his students/rap battles, starts robot fighting competitions in the middle of class, challenges students to dance battles, orders the whole class pizza because why the fuck not? Will kick anyone out of the class if they disrespect others or say uncalled rude shit, will take selfies with students who fall asleep during the lectures (and at the end of the year he will print a whole ass collage picture of all the selfies he’s taken with his sleeping students)
“You’re late,” he says, and the class settles in, righting in their chairs with big toothed smiles.
“What’ll it be today,” Casey says, already rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling.
So is Tony.
“How much does the earth weigh?”
The class breaks into chatter, quiet enough that it doesn’t breach the front of the classroom, but loud of enough the both of them know it’s there.
“Mr. Stark-”
“What’ll it be? A detention, or an answer?”
And Tony knows the answer, has a damn P.H.D. in this shit, but he never knows what kind of response he’ll get.
“Nothing.”
“You’re really not going to answer?”
Casey always tries. He’s stubborn, and bitter, but he hasn’t lost that itch to fight.
“No. I mean it weighs nothing.”
He doesn’t expect that.
“Elaborate.”
And Casey is smart, so smart, but sometimes he skips third bell to go smoke in the boy’s bathroom, and he wants the world for this kid.
“Weight depends on the gravity of the planet it’s on, right? So, technically, it weighs nothing.”
Tony loves these kids like it might move mountains, but they still find ways to surprise him.
“New kid.” Tony dumps his jacket on his chair as he walks in, spins on his heel and points to the back of the classroom, where a boy is bent over a book not really reading it, his shoes making quiet scuffling sounds as he fidgets. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
The room goes quiet when he enters, as it always does. It’s not because Tony cares – he doesn’t. It’s just a gentle gesture of respect, a thing the kids can give back to a guy who’s given them so much.
The boy looks up quickly; he appears startled, Tony thinks maybe he’s had too much sugar, or caffeine, because he’s way more alert than a sleep-deprived teenager should be. Tony watches the boy’s eyes, flitting nervously from student to student, all of whom are giving him bored looks or not looking at all. Finally, the kid speaks.
“I’m – I’m – I’m Peter,” he says quietly. “I’m from Queens.”
He glances at Tony with a brief, hopeful expression, then looks back at his book, his fingers lightly tracing the words without reading them.
“Welcome, kid. Okay, let’s talk science.”
*
Tony’s fast. He’s chaotically analytical, he knows things – the students have seen it. Like five weeks ago, when he noticed Corey’s sudden dip in attendance and his loss of interest in science (the kid had a passion for it) and somehow connected that with the two-days-prior conversation about Corey’s sick dog. When he mentioned it privately to the kid, he erupted into tears and told him how the dog had been put down – Tony sat with him after school every day for a month talking about it, until Corey came back with a watery smile and a puppy from his dad.
Now, Tony hadn’t known Peter Parker for long – he’d been in his class for a couple months – but he knew the kid was good. And yeah, good at science, but that wasn’t what Tony meant; Peter had a good heart, he wanted to help people, he’d ask ‘entirely theoretical’ questions about medicine and machines that could change lives but didn’t exist, and when Tony spoke he could see the twinkle in his eyes, and sometimes the kid doodled things on a stray notepad but Tony knew he was grasping onto every word he said.
But Peter’s effort dips; one day he’s racing into the classroom 20 minutes late, his still-open backpack shrugged over one shoulder and his hair a dishevelled mess and his cheeks red from running (Tony doesn’t punish him because he’s only just walked into class himself 10 minutes ago). There’s another instance in which Peter’s homework is scrawled messily in black ink and is half the length of anyone else’s. The tired eyes, the way his hands sometimes flit to his head, then jolt back as soon as he senses anyone’s gaze on him… Tony knows something’s up. He calls him back after class.
Peter looks nervous. Everyone’s gone home, it’s just the two of them now. Tony smiles and indicates to a free chair by his desk, but he himself sits on the table.
“Am I -“
“No,” Tony cuts him off, he doesn’t want to add anymore stress to the kid, and he smiles kindly. “You’re not in trouble, kid. Just wanna talk.”
Peter gazes at his lap. He knows what’s coming. He meets Tony’s eyes again. “I’m sorry -”
“Don’t be. Am I giving you too much work? I can lay off,” says Tony.
“N-No, it isn’t… It isn’t that.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Peter sighs. He does, he really does; no one knows he’s Spider-Man, and he wants advice and – well – his teacher is Iron Man, if he can make time to teach and save the world, why can’t Peter do the same?
“I can’t,” he says.
“Alright, kid.” Tony puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder encouragingly. “But you know I wouldn’t tell anyone, right?”
And Tony’s got this look in his eyes and he’s worked it out. He’s seen the headaches, the fidgeting, the guilt, he knows. The kid’s got a secret and he wants to help people. Sometimes he shows up with inexplicable bruises and promises they’re not from home, that he’s just slipped over during gym.
Peter breathes out and closes his eyes tightly. “I’m Spider-Man.”
Tony smiles. Peter’s eyes are still closed and his face has gone pale, but there’s some sort of relief there; his shoulders have relaxed and he seems somewhat happier, like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.
He opens his eyes and repeats himself more clearly. “I’m Spider-Man.”
“Well I must say, I was expecting Spider-Man to be… an actual man,” Tony jokes, and Peter’s eyes narrow playfully, but he looks so glad that Tony believes him. “Anyway, maybe you should come by the tower tomorrow night and Iron Man could be your mentor.”
“R-Really?” Peter grins widely. “Mr. Stark, that’d – that’d be awesome.”
Tony nods. “Sure. Oh – and we’ll have to fix that crappy pyjama suit of yours.”
“Hey! At least it’s comfortable! You fly around in a tin can.”
They both laugh. Tony squeezes Peter’s shoulder, and the kid’s chest fills with warmth. He’s got help. He knows it’s all going to be OK.
That shit is wild to me though. ‘This doesn’t benefit me personally, so why should I pay taxes for it?’
The VA doesn’t benefit me, so fuck those 25 year olds with traumatic brain injuries. Medicare doesn’t help me out, so grandpa can get bent. I don’t watch Sesame Street, so PBS? Fuck em.
Like, listen you putrid chuckleheads, we’re trying to have a fucking society here, and part of that is taking care of your fellow fucking human beings. Paying taxes for things you might not use is part of that. And if you view that as theft, you’re a dumb shit who can go live on your own in the tundra and see how well you do.
the fact that community colleges are seen as less valid and for “stupid” people is a result of classism and in this essay I will-
ppl in the tags saying that it’s “genuinely a lesser tier of education because people go there for trades and nursing and thats about it” are just proving that its classism. bc a) no thats absolutely not correct. a good chunk of people that go to community colleges do so to knock out their gen eds at a lower price than they’d be if they went to a four year, then transfer to a four year. and more importantly b) trade professions are not lesser than other professions that take higher degrees. people who go into things that take associates degrees are not “stupid”.
if you think ppl who are too poor to attend a four year university for all four years, or that ppl who are too poor to/don’t want to get their bachelor’s/master’s/doctorate are “stupid” then i have news for you:
thats classism, babe
A plumber/cleaner/nurse/etc with a plumbing/cleaning/nursing job is probably??? Doing better than a lot of folks with engineering/English/etc degrees working at Starbucks
I just figured something out.
You know how “Character is so smol!!! UWU” tends to grate on my nerves? I was thinking it was just because I get sick of certain fanfic tropes (and don’t get me wrong, that is part of it). But I just realized I’m also projecting 😔
I’m 5’7" which is not tall but also not short. I’ve sure as shit never been considered “small” or “tiny” (not even when I weighed less). Not even with my partners who were over 6’. As a matter of fact, the one who was 6’4" distinctly told me that I’m definitely not short.
So when I see a thing in which a character is my height or taller being written like “omg they’re so tiny” I get aggravated. This morning I was like “is author like 5’2” or something cuz I’ve never had these experiences or??? Is this a trope *by* little dainty folks or what?“
… … is jealousy the right word for what I’m feeling *sigh*
Smile It Won't Suck Forever 