#I feel so fucking great today. ironically I'm having trouble getting anything done because I keep just lying down to sigh contentedly
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#tag talk#I feel so fucking great today. ironically I'm having trouble getting anything done because I keep just lying down to sigh contentedly#idk. I just feel so genuinely happy.#maybe it has something to do with the smell bout of random depression disappearing at least for now. no longer shitting out my guts either#and also I get to see the cute girl who also likes me back today so that's super pogchamp.#ugh do y'all have any idea how absolutely down bad I am for her??? like. seriously.#I know this won't be a long term thing but damn if I'm not gonna appreciate it for the two years I'm still living in this city.#like. I knew things would get better eventually. I was seventeen and telling myself things would one day be better#sure it's taken eight years but like... fuckin hell I'm self actualizing for real now.#mood stabilizers. adhd meds. hrt. I'm finally able to address the problems I've been battling my whole life.#and moving out from my parents has given me the freedom to figure shit out apart from the situation that's been fucking me up all my life#I just. fucking hell this is so nice.#YOOO I HAVE JIGGLY CALF MUSCLES AGAIN HELL YEAH#I've been a little wasted away for the past year but I've started working out again since since got adhd meds and damn#I don't like being so awfully skinny so it's nice to have curves and slight jiggles on my body again#calf muscles my beloved#I'm learning to love my arm muscles but I've always loved my leg muscles. partially I think cause leg muscles are associated with feminine#whereas arm muscles are culturally seen as masculine. so that kind of got embedded in my brain growing up. but I'm learning to love both#I also just love my body working like it's supposed to. the joy of a well oiled machine doing what it should.#ofc it's not always consistent. but it's nice when it's working as it should#also I bought a wireless charger for my phone since the charging port got even more fucked up and now barely works at all#so honestly that lifted a pretty big stressor off my mind since phone dying is a huge problem and a new phone is expensive#so I'm feeling more carefree with that at least temporarily fixed. won't have to worry about my phone again for prolly at least another year
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Growing Pains: A Morgan Stark FanFic
Summary: Morgan Stark, who is now starting her freshman year of college, was feeling on top of the world. Just posing for the cover of Empire Magazine in a Pink Iron Man suit that she designed and engineered herself. Accepted into the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and living on campus, away from the watchful eyes of her mother and Happy. Like any fresh face to a college campus, she had found stress relief in the frat parties, especially on dollar shot nights. While maintaining the stress of school, mommy issues and a troubling identity complex, she must also confront the grief of her father that she locked away for so long. While doing so, she must deal with the criticism of the tabloids and general public.
Word Count: 4k+
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It was Friday night, and Morgan was walking back to her dorm after her last class. She was looking forward to going out tonight with her roommate, Allison. She was halfway through the second semester of her freshman year and right now; she was feeling a little cocky. She had just posed for Empire Magazine, wearing the Pink Iron-Man suit she started designing at 14. This is part of what got her into MIT, but of course her 4.0 GPA, 4 years on the water polo team, and presidency of STEAM and Chess club didn't look too bad on her application either. There was controversy behind her going to the school that has had a statue of her father in the courtyard over a decade. Claims that her admission could be a conflict of interest but these were all shot down by her stellar academic record. She had laminated a Vogue article that named her the princess on campus and hung it on her vanity. Her mother was calling. She rolled her eyes before answering the call.
"Hey mom," she said.
"Hey baby, how was school?" she asked. Morgan would never admit this, but she heard her mother's voice. It brought her a great deal of comfort.
"It was good. I feeling pretty confident about the English Essay I have due next week, I pretty much done,"
"Oh good, I'm glad to hear that, I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow you have a speaking engagement and it's so-so important to be prepared because you'll be speaking in front of almost every media outlet so please-" her mother began but was interrupted by Morgan.
"Mother, when have I ever not delivered when it came to publicity or literally anything. I think I proved that I can be trusted with myself," she said.
"Of course honey I know that, I don't mean to project on to you. I guess I just called because I miss you, I'm always going to bug you about these things, it's my job," she laughed into the phone.
"I miss you too. Sometimes I wake up and wonder why you haven't barged into my room yet," Morgan laughed while unlocking her door. Allison was getting ready, deciding on what dress to wear.
"Well, we should go out to dinner after the event. I would never give up the time to be with you. I have to go but please try and jot down some notes for the engagement pretty please?" she asked.
"Of course, I'll take it easy tonight. I love you mom, okay bye," Morgan said, hanging up and letting her backpack plop down on the ground.
"Are you really not coming out tonight?" Allison asked as she glued one of her eyelashes on.
"Fuck no. I didn't go out last weekend and how many times have I pulled through even if I was hungover. Remember that chemistry lab that I threw up halfway through and got extra credit points for finishing," she pointed out while pulling her jeans off before continuing, "not to mention I got up early today and shaved, exfoliated, and washed my hair so I'm coming out," Morgan said.
"How can I forget, you convinced the professor but the entire classroom could recognize the smell of Pink Whitney from a mile away," she joked, changing into her dress, "too much?" Allison asked. She was wearing a tube top dress that has a hole to show off her belly ring.
"Not enough," Morgan joked, changing into a denim miniskirt and a white, tightly fitted long sleeve that had the word BITCH bedazzled across the chest. To complete the outfit she added a pair of chunky brown heels.
It didn't take long for the girls to finish getting dolled up. They didn't have to go far because the party was gonna be at a frat tonight but not just any frat, they were going to Kappa Sigma; this was the biggest frat on campus. Morgan was extremely excited, things were hard mentally but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The type of anxiety that someone gets on summer break because they aren't used to being free of responsibility. She chalked it up to being away from home for the first time in her life and all the reminders of her dad that were on campus. There were posters, quotes, and of course that statue. She was so young when he died, she didn't really remember him. Of course she had some core memories of him but she was 5 years old. As she got older, they began to become harder to piece together. Her mom made sure to keep her busy throughout her childhood, in an attempt to distract Morgan from the grief. Now that you were away from home and in what everyone referred to as 'her prime' she was questioning if she was really.. okay. Maybe she was just masking her personal issues with school and her social life. They finally reached the lawn of the fraternity, the house music was blasting so loud Morgan could feel the vibration through the ground. She could feel her phone buzz from her purse, she dug through it letting out an irritated groan when her pen dropped on the ground.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Morg, I got a notification that you left campus. Your mom told you that you have a speaking engagement tomorrow right?" she immediately recognized Happy's voice and laughed a little.
"Yes, I'm just hanging out with a couple girlfriends at their sorority and then going right back to my dorm," Morgan explained.
"Well that's weird considering your location is showing me the Kappa house and I can hear the music in the background," he said.
"I'm only going to be out for a couple hours and I'll call you if I need help and when I get back to my dorm. I'll be fine just please don't tell my mom I don't want her to freak out on me over something so small, please?" She tried as hard as she could to convey her puppy eyes from over the phone.
"Promise to call? Just for my peace of mind please, even a text," he agreed.
"I promise, love you Happy," you said smiling.
"Love you too kid," he said ending the call.
She really did have every intention of going home after a few drinks but that all changed. They met up with a couple of their friends and were drunkenly dancing with each other. Morgan made her way to the kitchen and poured herself about half a red solo cup of vodka. She poured a fair amount of the cherry kool-aid liquid concentrate into her cup and swirled it until it was decently mixed. She was a bit tipsy by this point which influenced her decision to throw a couple ice cubes into the cup. Her logic was that once the ice melted it would water down her drink. Allison found Morgan and let out a sigh of relief.
"I've been looking for you, one second we were dancing and the next I was lost," Allison slurred slightly.
"Just getting another drink is silly," she replied and Allison led them to the dance floor.
"Soo, one of my friends wanted to go really hard tonight because Monday is a three day weekend. She has Molly and I think we should take some together. I know what you're gonna say but I don't know, I feel like we've gotten so close since we moved into our dorm together. You're constantly working and I feel like you should let loose so you don't like.. combust," she laughed out towards the end.
Morgan didn't realize but she drank half of her cup while she was talking. She opened her mouth to respond but before she could, she turned into something else. She looked past Allison and made eye contact with what appears to be her father with a concerned face. Her heart stopped and she could now physically feel the rhythm in her finger lips. She looked at Allison in disbelief before going to point him out. As she arm raised to gesture to him, she realized it wasn't her father at all. Just a guy with dark hair and the same beard pattern. She almost started to freak out but began to talk herself down mentally. The only reason she thought she saw him was because 1: that dude looked incredibly similar. 2: she was drunk and therefore overly emotional. 3: she was projecting her sober stress onto her drunk mindset. Allison looked at her more concerned and asked if she was alright. Morgan at this point was a bit discombobulated, she was just telling herself that she was letting her anxiety get the best of her. She figured maybe a little Molly would give her a mental reset and easy some of her anxiety. To be fair she was pretty drunk by this point. Alli ends up leading Morgan into a bathroom, which she would have protested to in any other case.
"Oh my god! It's so pretty!" Morgan drunkenly gushed as one of her girlfriends pulled out the clear baggie that contained the pink powder.
"Right?" Allison remarked.
She used her fingernail to scoop the molly and bring it to her nose. It burned and made her eyes water a bit. Someone began knocking on the door which forced the girls out of the bathroom. They stumbled their way to the main common area where a huge group of people were dancing to We R Who We R by Ke$ha. Morgan was now dancing with Alli, who was standing behind her as she grinded against her backside. The drugs were really really starting to hit her and at first it really was helping with her anxiety. She was laughing, swaying back and forth to the music. She started laughing to herself about even having anxious feelings in the first place. She really was in her prime, front cover of Empire, full ride to MIT, projected to be valedictorian of her class, and she was hot as hell, on top of that she knew it. She had been told her whole life that she had a gifted mind, that the hurdles she was jumping over were remarkable. She always thought that was what adults told to every kid but it was like she hit an epiphany. She was the heir of the Stark fortune, not only did she inherit money but her fathers mind. She wasn't powerful; she was power. This was the first time she looked at herself from a different perspective. She was so high she felt like her body was buzzing with potential.
She turned around to find Allison was gone. Feeling a bit lost, she made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed her phone and texted her roomate to see where she was. It was after that she noticed her teeth were chattering slightly. She grabbed her pen from her purse and took a long drag. She turned around and looked into the mirror, at first she was just checking her outfit and makeup but then she got focused on her face. She had never noticed how brown her eyes were, it reminded her of the painting of her father that was in her mothers house; a honey, almost amber brown. She swore she could see specks of color floating around in her eye. She brushed her fingers over her lip, every other time she blinked she could see her father's face. She had to physically put her hands over her face to ensure it was still her. Her heart-rate was through the roof and tears began pooling in her eyes. She swung the bathroom door open again and started looking around for Alli who was nowhere in sight. She began to panic, she didn't want to call her mother or Happy. That would just cause mass amounts of problems, they specifically asked her not to do this. After taking a deep breath, she shoved her phone into her pocket and decided to walk back to her dorm. It wasn't like she was at a club, she was still on campus and a little less than a mile away from her room. Once she stepped outside the cool breeze pushed her hair out of her face.
It was dark and Morgan's high had started to turn from fun to scary. She could barely see anything around her and she felt like she was going around in circles. Everytime she thought she was finally starting to get close to her dorm, the less familiar she would become with her surroundings. Her feelings of paranoia and anxiety were getting bad, her emotions were heightened and she couldn't stop tears from flowing out of her eyes. She thought for a second she might be having a heart attack or something which terrified her. She was now on her phone debating if she should call Happy. Cats out of the bag if she did though, there was no way Happy wouldn't tell her mom. She could feel her heels sinking into the ground which scared her until she realized it was grass. Morgan looked up from her phone and realized she had walked all the way to the courtyard. Her hands fell to her side and she looked up at the bronze statue of her late father. As she started, she felt like the eyes were watching her.. maybe even judging. She tried to look away but she couldn't. She started walking backwards and accidentally bumped into someone. Once she first noticed that it was a man she got a bit scared but then realized it was Brandon: her highschool sweetheart.
"Brandy.. holy shit how -hiccup- long has it been," she slurred wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Morgan thank fuck I found you. Allison was throwing up in the kitchen skin and her friend told me you guys took MDMA. So much shit could have happened to- you know it's one thing to do drugs, it's another to wander off alone at night on drugs," he said, supporting her weight.
"I miss being on the chess team together, do you remember that time at the chess tournament? At that Hampton hotel and we snuck out of our rooms? I miss when times -hiccup- were like.. easy you know? The only thing to worry about was getting caught for dumb things," Morgan's face was flooded with tears and her teeth were chattering as she continued, "do you ever look back at things in your life and realized you might have been really sad without realizing it?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Let me take you home," he said more gently.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked.
"No, I was just worried," he said, taking her by the hand, leading her back to his fraternity.
"Why were you worried if we're not together, were you missing me?" Morgan giggled.
"This isn't fucking funny Morgan, it's not some game. You could have gotten abducted or raped. You think I don't notice you at the frat parties? You're drinking constantly and now you're doing drugs? I just don't get it, are you okay like honestly who are you nowadays?" he asked, turning around so that they were face to face.
"I don't know I- it's just kinda complicated and it's just a mix of all kinds of things. I'm sorry I didn't- please don't be upset with me," she said.
His face dropped when he saw her face. She looked so vulnerable and it made him feel bad for snapping at her, especially when she was this wasted. He grabbed her face and wiped the mascara stained tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. He was always infatuated with her, ever since he could remember. Even as children he liked the way she always had her nose in the air, especially because it wasn't in a cocky way. Being cocky meant that you were trying to be arrogant, Morgan just knew her worth and it showed in her demeanor; he loved that. They were on and off throughout middle and highschool. The type of couple that would look married walking into school, going through a three year divorce at lunch, and like they were on their honeymoon walking out of school. She was as smart as she was beautiful, athletic and knew where she was going.
"I adore you," he said, taking his long sleeve shirt off and draping it over her, leaving him in a blank muscle tee.
"Aren't you gonna be cold?" she asked?
"Better me than you," he replied.
They walked back to his room, the party was starting to die down. People passed out sitting up while sleeping against the walls. A couple that were making out on the couch. Brandon got Morgan to his room safely, she plopped down on his bed and took her heels off. He had gone into the bathroom that was attached to his room and came back with a wet towel. As she slid off her skirt he came back and sat on the bed, wiping the makeup off her face. He gave her three tylenols and made her drink an entire water bottle. After he was done, he went to walk out but Morgan begged him to stay. He ended up taking his jeans off and laying with her, he commented about how he was worried. That the pupil of her eyes were so wide and that she shouldn't have taken so much. She convinced him everything was okay, before they drifted off to sleep.
<3
The next morning, Morgan slowly woke up to the sound of pounding at the door. It was slowly becoming louder and more frequent. At first she buried her face into Brandon's neck but then all of reality hit her at once. She sat up and pulled her long, tangled hair into a bun. She hit Brandon in the thigh a couple times which stirred him awake long enough to hear the banging. Morgan jumped out of bed and grabbed her skirt, sliding it up her legs. She took her phone out of her pocket and saw that it was 3:30 pm and she had about a hundred missed calls from her mom and Happy. She grabbed her purse and sat back down on the bed, slipping on her heels and giving a kiss to Brandon who looked half asleep while sitting up.
"Call me?" Morgan asked giving him another peck on the cheek, he nodded and laid back down. She flings the door open revealing a pissed Happy; like really pissed.
"Your moms in the car, she made you wait until she laid her eyes on you. She's gonna hit the damn roof," he said.
"Happy not right now I don't feel good," Morgan said, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of her purse.
"Course not, you're hungover," he said.
"There's worse things to be in this world than being hungover," she said. Once they got to the car, she was kinda scared to face her mother. Morgan took a deep breath before sliding into the backseat.
"Morgan Stark, where the fuck have you been? I've been calling and calling, you weren't at your dorm. You told me you weren't going out last night and look at you," she was speaking with such intensity.
"I know I didn't think I was gonna go out I just-" Morgan started.
"You just disregarded the conversation we had yesterday? I told you that you had a speaking engagement yesterday and you just figured it didn't matter? That I could call and residual? doesn't that sound familiar?" Pepper said.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Morgan asked.
"I didn't-'' She started to rephrase but was cut off by her daughter.
"No i'm so sick of that honestly, when it comes to my academics i'm always praised. Told things like 'oh you're just like your father' or 'he would be so proud of you' and then if I show signs of mental illnesses he had that when being like him is a bad thing right? You know other than school you never compare me to him in a positive way. It's always 'oh you're so impulsive just like your dad' or 'oh you won't rest until it's done just like your dad' like what the fuck is that? Now you're making me go speak to a group of students and preach to them how adversity makes you stronger? I'm not a role model, I have my own issues and don't really feel up to playing Hannah Montana for a group of people. You do understand that I'm a full time student and when I have days off I don't want to be carted around and pretend to be something I'm not," Morgan said, sinking back into her seat after she finished.
"Oh my gosh, where is this coming from?" her mother pried.
"I'm just tired of you booking events without talking to me about it first. I have a lot on my plate and no offense or anything but publicity stunts are so not my priority right now," Morgan grumbled, her mouth starting to salivate uncontrollably.
"But getting wasted at a frat house when you know you have obligations the next day is the priority?" Her mother asked rhetorically.
"Why is it that I could literally wipe God's ass and you wouldn't bat an eye but obsess over the one time I went a little overboard at a party. I'm telling you that I don't want to do this and you don't care!" Morgan exclaimed.
"Well getting drunk and being too hungover to attend a public appearance isn't the proper way to tell me you don't want to do it," her mother said.
Morgan grabbed one of the ice buckets, dumping the contents out before vomiting into it. She could hear Happy and her mother going back and forth but obviously. She was throwing up so hard that she was struggling to breath. Vomit was coming out of her nose which burned horribly. She secured the bucket on the floor in front of her and reached up to grab a couple napkins. After wiping her mouth she looks up at her mother who has a mixed look of concern and disappointment written across her face. Morgan grabs the bucket again and continues to empty her stomach, even though she could smell the alcohol coming from her throw up. Morgan's anger was building and she couldn't talk herself out of it. She was upset that her mother wasn't understanding how she was feeling. That she wasn't taking her well-being into consideration. She did everything right, her whole life she was like the poster child of being a good daughter. Morgan was tired of feeling like her mistakes and flaws were the only thing being taken into consideration.
"I just thought you had things more under control and-" her mother started but was interrupted by Morgan.
"That's just the thing, you think things without knowing what actually knowing what's going on. So maybe you should fix that about yourself before judging anyone else," she said, getting up and getting out of the car which was stopped at a red light despite the protests of her mother.
Once she got out she started speed walking back to campus. Tears were still streaming down her face, she must have some molly in her system because she was feeling so vulnerable. She turned into a bookstore, not wanting Happy or her mother to pursue her. She called Brandon who picked up after a couple rings. She explained to him the situation and that she needed a ride back to campus which he agreed to. She sat at a small table and wiped her face with her hands. She was mentally and physically exhausted, she was also having a bit of a pity party for herself. She didn't get into fights with her mother often so when she did it always felt like the end of the world. She pulled her pen out of her bag and went to take a hit but remembered she was in a store. Not long after she started waiting outside, Brandon pulled up in his blue Mazda.
"What are you laughing at," Morgan said while putting her seatbelt on.
"You're a hot ass mess girl," he said, driving her away from her problems temporarily.
#marvel#marvel fanfiction#morgan stark#morgan stark fanfiction#morgan stark fanfic#iron man#Pepper Potts#happy hogan#tony stark#iron man fanfiction#morgan stark headcanon#marvel au#aged up characters#fanfic writing#fanfiction#marvel cinematic universe#Morgan stark aged up#college age Morgan Stark
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You're so very precious my little darling Pt.1
This was supposed to be my first attempt at writing smut but my prudish tendencies are incapable of doing it without proper build up.
Relevant info- aged up starker, peter is 28, tony is 46. This is mostly just light flirting and some coarse language. 1st of 3 parts. This is Tony and Peter's first meeting, Thanos has already been dealt with, Tony doesn't know that Peter is Spiderman... yet.
Do tell if you would like to be tagged in future updates.
Tony first met the smug little prick who ran 'park.er' at TechCrunch. He had these ridiculous brown curls that looked entirely way too soft, obnoxiously brown eyes that were way too big and a devastatingly disarming smile... with dimples. It was all too much and Tony didn't care for the way everyone seemed to be swooning at him at all.
They were on the same panel, discussing their respective new smartphones which were being lauded as "innovative & groundbreaking". Tony had questions about whether this inexperienced newbie's product was at the same level as his, but he actually respected the work the kid had managed to get done in the varied fields of genetics, textiles and adhesives (of all things) so he kept his silence.
"Starkfone is technically the first time that Stark tech is being retailed directly to the general public and there has been some criticism about the prices, or rather how high they are, what do you have to say for yourself Tony?" the moderator guy asked.
"Well, what has to be kept in mind is that unlike some other smartphone brands, we are manufacturing within these great United States of America because if I'm going to conquer the market then I'll bring the jobs too" Tony winked at the audience as they applauded "So yeah, prices are a bit higher but no one can deny that you get more bang for your buck. Especially when the Stark name is involved."
Tony had actually fought tooth and nail to get the prices lowered and they would be in the future, but yeah, besides the intelli-crops this was the first time that the general public was the customers rather than the government or other companies, they still had some stuff to figure out but Tony gave the audience his signature smirk and they cheered for him anyway.
Parker just looked on in amusement.
"Peter you're manufacturing the Gizmo in the US too right? Yet your product is 30% cheaper... How'd you pull that off?" The moderator asked the kid.
"Ah... after having spent like ten minutes in Mr. Stark's company, I'm coming to the realization that maybe my low pricing is a result of my low self esteem." The boy chuckled, the crowd laughed with him. Tony played along and shrugged.
"No but seriously... I have absolutely no problem being the Android to Mr. Stark's Apple" The kid grinned cheekily at the crowd and the audience ate it up. He definitely knew what he was doing.
And Tony hadn't missed the fact that the kid compared his tech to Apple.
"Are you calling my tech a vanity product kid?" Tony challenged, playful smile firmly in place.
The crowd went "Ooooohhhh" anyway.
"Oh no, I'm sure it's a great phone Mr. Stark! I just have no way of knowing for certain, you know... cuz' even I can't afford it" The kid shrugged smugly as he got another huge laugh from the audience.
******************************************************
Tony rarely had a quiet moment at events like this but he had managed to get away to an empty corner for a breather and was distracted by his phone when he felt a hand gently rest at the small of his back.
The Parker kid came around to stand in front of him, he was almost a head taller than Tony now that he was close up. The boy had moved his hand but Tony could still feel the tingles from the initial touch.
Trouble.
"Mr. Stark I hope I didn't offend you earlier... I was very nervous, this is my first time here and my friend Michelle told me that compared to you, I have the 'personality of a wet sock'. So, I guess I was just trying to make a good first impression" the kid caught himself from babbling more and it pissed Tony off, how sincere he sounded.
What also pissed Tony off was the fact that the boy wasn't just taller than Tony but also very muscular too, a twunk if there ever was one.
He was definitely only pissed at him and not attracted to him at all.
"Don't worry about it Parker I can take it... you did good today, great first impression, consider me blown away" Tony assured him with a friendly smile "And please call me Tony."
"Only if you call me Peter."
"You got it Pete." He said, trying to irritate the boy a little but didn't get much other than a little eye twitch.
"Was I interrupting something?" Peter asked
"Nope, I was just replying to some texts."
"Well, if you're free, I'd love to pick your brains about this AI project I've been working on and maybe buy you dinner?" Those eyes and dimples were in full effect, sincerety shining through... so Tony had a hard time saying no to the kid.
He definitely didn't just wanna spend time with an attractive, intelligent man... Tony was being generous and helping out the not-so-little guy.
By the end of the of the evening, filled with charming and intelligent conversation, he had to concede that the Parker kid wasn't all that bad.
******************************************************
The second time Tony met Peter Parker was almost three months later and he was at a low point.
Bruce and Rhodey were away at work, Happy was with Pepper and Pepper was... married.
And even though things were better after the Thanos episode, they weren't all that good.
And Tony was spiralling... rather publicly.
It's just that it had been a while since he his last encounter with alcohol and so the open bar at the Mayor's gala hit him like a truck. All while being surrounded by cameras and reporters.
Tony was about to respond to the asshole who kept asking him about Steve when he felt a hand rest at the small of his back and deftly start to guide him away from the bar and the cameras.
"Long time no see little darling" Peter Parker was looking down on him with those eyes and that face... God he's obnoxiously good looking.
Speaking of obnoxious "Did you just call me little darling?" asked Tony, justifiably indignant.
"Wow you really are drunk" Parker chuckled.
God has his voice always been this deep and husky...?
"That's not what I asked" Tony insisted
"Did you want me to call you little darling?" asked Peter, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Ugh- Where are you taking me by the way?" He's definitely still just as irritating as last time.
"Home"
Huh... hooking up with a business rival was not what Tony had planned for the evening but it was better than being miserable and alone, which was in fact the plan, so he went along with it.
Parker stopped by a Burger King drive through on the way which only made him all the more attractive to him.
They were awkward in the elevator of the Stark Tower and the boy still hadn't made a move which was a little weird.
What wasn't weird was Parkers arm casually draped around his waist.
Once they were in his quarters living room area and Peter seemed like he was starting to leave, it became evident to Tony that the kid had literally just meant dropping him home.
He was a little disappointed but he wasn't gonna say anything... until Parker opened his smart mouth.
"Well, I'll see you around little darling" He snickered
And Tony had intended to just give him a light shove, but the back of Parker's knee hit the couch and Tony stumbled too and somehow they ended up with Peter on the couch and Tony in his lap, straddling him.
"Gotta' say... when I imagined Iron Man making a move on me, I expected something a little more advanced than the 'stumble straddle'" the kid was playing it cool but Tony could see his blush.
So he responded with "You imagined me making a move on you?"
"Oh repeatedly... it has been my favorite fantasy since I was like 15" The kid had the gall to wink at him.
"Well sorry for letting you down kid... now are you gonna fuck me or not?" There was a corner of Tony's mind that was worried that he was coming off too desperate but Parker was hot and Tony was drunk and horny so he couldn't care less about appearances.
"Your ability to call me a kid and then ask me to fuck you in the same sentence would be worrying if I wasn't almost thirty... speaking of fucking you, that was my initial plan but you're drunk and I don't wanna take advantage of my little darling..." Peter was letting him down but he had a very fond smile on his face... it made Tony all warm inside. The pet name was growing on him too... uh oh.
What was also contributing to his warmth were Peter's, rather large, hands. Resting on his waist and thigh.
"Maybe I want you to take advantage of me..."
"Oh there's no 'maybe' about it... you have a semi just by sitting on my lap, this is as embarrassing for you as it is flattering for me..."
God he was a smug little prick, Tony loved it.
~To be continued~
#starker#pro starker#peter parker x tony stark#tony stark x peter parker#ironspider#starker fanfiction#iron man#iron man x spider man#spiderman
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Simon Hattenstone, Mike Tyson: 'I'm ashamed of so many things I've done, The Guardian (March 20, 2009)
The temperature seems to drop by 20 degrees when Mike Tyson and his minders enter the room. "Have I got to be nice to this guy?" he asks the film-maker James Toback. "No," Toback replies. "You can be as hostile as you like."
Yet Tyson doesn't seem to have the energy to muster up much hostility. He is wearing a baggy pinstripe suit that fails to disguise what's going on underneath. His belly squeezes out of his black shirt, and he can barely drag his size 15 feet along with him. His almost-beard, white flecked, is more oversight than design. His head slumps to the side as if his massive pit bull neck can't quite bear its weight. Everything is such an effort. He speaks quietly, lethargically, like a man who has been on a heavy dose of antidepressants for too long. His Maori facial tattoo, once so warrior-like, looks benign today. He could be Lennie in Of Mice And Men, the half-gentle giant who strokes the things he loves to death.
"Hello, legend," I say. Tyson looks confused, uneasy, says he doesn't take compliments well. But, for good or bad, Mike Tyson is a legend. Many experts would argue that he was the greatest heavyweight boxing champion - or at least should have been. Sure, he didn't have Muhammad Ali's wit or grace, but as a knockout puncher, none could match Iron Mike. He won his first 19 professional fights by a knockout, he was the youngest world heavyweight champion at 20, unbeaten in three years, so far ahead of the pack that there were no rivals. Then things started to go wrong.
His wife, the actor Robin Givens, went on television in 1988 alongside him and announced that he was a terrifying manic depressive and that their marriage was pure hell. In 1990 he lost his first fight to 42-1 underdog Buster Douglas. He'd become lazy and complacent, seduced by alcohol and drugs. In 1992 he was convicted of rape and deviant sexual misconduct, and served three years in jail. It should have destroyed him, and he might well argue that it did, but, amazingly, within a year of his release he regained his world title. Then, once again, he chucked it all away.
Since retiring four years ago, Tyson has done little with his life. He has boxed in a few exhibitions, put on more weight, got in trouble with the law again: in 2007, he was convicted of drink-driving after almost crashing into a police car. Three bags of cocaine were found on him, and he was given a day in jail, three years' probation and ordered into rehab. That is when Toback, an old friend, asked Tyson, now 42, if he could make a film about his life.
The result is extraordinary - pretty much a 90-minute monologue, some of it stream of consciousness. What emerges is a man who finds it impossible to censor himself. He talks vividly about growing up with a promiscuous mother who might have been a prostitute and about a father he never knew, stealing drugs from dealers as a 12-year-old, detention centre and being taken under the wing of the boxing coach Cus D'Amato, all while he was barely into his teens. Tyson is not a man who went off the rails. He was born on the skids. Somehow, and all too briefly, he managed to transcend his traumatic destiny
We arrange to meet in the Hollywood Hills at the opulent house of another film-maker friend, Brett Ratner. There are Warhols in the loo, Bacons in the kitchen, Giacomettis on the sideboard, Toback at the centre of the conversation, but as yet no Tyson. "We could be here a while - Mike's been held up." Toback and his entourage grin at each other. It's not the first time the boxer has delayed them.
Toback is disarmingly honest about why Tyson makes such a great subject. "The movie is like the aftermath of an earthquake. It's Mike standing there amid the rubble and wondering why he has survived. Ultimately, what I feel comes through is a struggle to justify his continuing existence because the highlights of his life are gone. Usually tragedy ends in death, but here's a tragic figure who has survived. And now that I'm here, what do I do?"
Their friendship goes back 23 years. Toback, an experimental film-maker obsessed with all things sexual, had just finished making The Pick-Up Artist with Robert Downey Jr when Tyson popped into the wrap party. "He was 18, hadn't become world champion yet. He'd heard about the orgies in [American footballer] Jim Brown's house and he was like, 'Tell me about those orgies.'" Then there were the acid trips. Toback felt that young Tyson was almost too curious.
Tyson arrives a couple of hours late. Years ago, there would have been dozens in his entourage, now there are only three. One stands over me, legs splayed, eyeballing me as I talk to Tyson. It's intimidating, but also quite funny - rather than protecting Tyson, he seems to be making sure I don't escape. It's a hot winter's day in LA. We are in the garden, the sun is beating and a rivulet of sweat is running down Tyson's nose. I ask what he has learned about himself from the film.
"When I watched it alone, I realised why people had certain opinions about me. When I was upset, I got upset like everybody else, but I'm an extremist, so when I got upset, I took it to the next level. I took it to the level of being almost violently upset. And I realise, if I was sitting next to that guy, he'd make me nervous. That guy was impulsive. Unpredictable." He wants to believe - he has to believe - that is the old Tyson.
What shocked him most? "I thought I was a dick when I was crying." This is Tyson the macho man speaking, wary of losing face in front of his buddies. But that's one of the most moving moments in the film, I say - he's talking about how he was bullied as a boy. "Well, that's your opinion, of course. Only." He talks quietly, with that familiar lisp, but the answer carries a hint of menace.
As a boy, Tyson was small, fat and bespectacled, weak with asthma and alone but for the pigeons he bought with stolen money. When kids picked on him, he just ran away. One day an older bully took one of his pigeons and popped its neck in front of him. That was the first time Tyson hit out. He surprised himself because he was good at fighting, enjoyed it, found it empowering. After that, he says, people wanted to be his friend.
"I'm a good guy, I'm a good brother. There's nothing wrong with me. Just don't push me too far, you know. I'm sure everyone has a breaking point in their lives." It's hard to know whether he's addressing the old bullies or me. Tyson's speech has a hypnotic, incantatory rhythm to it.
It was D'Amato who transformed his life. After being picked up by police at 12 with $1,500 in his pockets, Tyson was sent to a detention centre, where he learned to box. On his release he was put in touch with D'Amato, a Bronx-born coach in his 70s who had discovered Rocky Marciano and Floyd Patterson. D'Amato welcomed him into his home, fed him, educated him, trained him, disciplined him, loved him. Tyson had never known anybody like this. The two became inseparable.
"Me and Cus were two megalomaniacs sitting there talking about our future, what we could do. You understand? Two guys - we didn't have anything - talking about what we could do. I imagine myself being 13, 14, watching a great fighter fight, talking about why he is a great fighter, and asking Cus, 'Cus, how could I beat that guy if I was to fight him? What would you tell me to do to beat that guy?' " D'Amato told him that becoming a champion was more a mental and spiritual discipline than a physical one.
In 1982, aged 14, Tyson went to the junior Olympics and broke any number of records, including the fastest knockout (eight seconds). D'Amato told him he needn't worry about being bullied again, and Tyson knew he was right. He chokes on his tears. "Coz I knew I would fuckin' kill them if they fucked with me."
The most important thing he learned, he says, is that he wasn't dependent on others for his survival. "I didn't need to take the handouts. It was just psychological motivation, refusing to accept what you had always accepted, refusing to accept welfare, refusing to accept being bullied any more, refusing to live your life unlawfully." As he talks, the who man minutes ago was paralysed by uncertainty radiates a frightening conviction. "I took it to extreme levels. Success is something you work hard at, you put your nose to the grindstone and you do everything you can. You're hungry, you're grinding, and you're still not guaranteed success. So I took it to another level. I said, I'm going to die to get this. I'm going to dedicate my whole life to it. Second place is not going to do it, I'm going to be champion. And being champion is not going to do it, I have to be the champion that nobody will ever forget to the end of this planet."
Millions dream of being champion. Did it feel good being one of the few who succeeded? The diffidence returns: "That's where it gets complex. It gets tricky. I think anybody can do it because I don't think much of myself. I think if I can do it, anybody can do it." The trouble is, he says, he hears so many voices in his head, and they are so often at war with each other.
I ask if he feels more pride for the great things he achieved or shame for the bad things. "I don't know. Both become irrelevant. By thinking about the bad things, I start to feel really low and depressed. When I start to think about the good things, I just get pride and egotistical. So I try to leave them both alone."
Maybe the great tragedy in Tyson's life is that by the time he became world champion, D'Amato had died. He lost his moral compass and found himself surrounded by acolytes who encouraged his excess. He bought houses by the dozen, he had more than 130 cars, he bought lavish gifts (usually cars and jewellery) for women who had sweet-talked him for a couple of minutes. At his peak, he could command $30m for a night's work, and he earned more than $300m in his career. By 2003, he was bankrupt.
Now, he worries the film might be too successful and he will end up with "too much money and pussy" again. "It's pretty dangerous. I become accustomed to it." He has either had no money or a ridiculous amount in his life, and he feels safer with none. Does he miss the drama of his old life? "No, I was addicted to drama."
In the film he calls Desiree Washington, the woman he was convicted of raping, "that wretched swine of a woman" and insists he was not guilty.
Yet he talks explicitly, often alarmingly, about his sexual preferences and how he has treated women. "I like strong women, not necessarily masculine women, say a woman who runs an organisation, I like a woman with massive confidence and then I want to dominate her sexually. I like to watch her like a tiger watches their prey after they wound them. I want her to keep her distance for at least 20-30 minutes before I devour them and take them to the point of ecstasy. I love saying no when making love. What I want is extreme. Normally what they want is not as extreme as what I want. I want to ravish them. Completely... I may have taken advantage of women before, but I never took advantage of her [Washington]."
At times Tyson paints himself as a victim - of circumstance, of liggers, of women on the make - but in the end he says he has nobody to blame but himself. I say that the strength of the film is he doesn't absolve himself: "You say you didn't do the rape, but you did some bad things to women."
"I know. The fact is, I'm not trying to win no friends. I don't want you to think I'm doing this to try to get a clean-up job, or I want people to like me. I don't care." It's true, you don't feel he's trying to pull the wool over your eyes.
Tyson shakes his troubled head. "No... sometimes my mind tells me, you think you've got these white people fooled, that they like you - you're a fucking fraud." Now he's talking with visceral intensity. "My mind is not my friend: 'You're a fraud, you're trying to fool these white people.' And I have to contain that. That's the addict talking. That's the guy who wants to get high. The guy who wants to drink the Hennessy, the guy who wants to gallivant in the street with a bunch of crude women, that's that guy talking right now. That's not you talking, Mike."
He pauses, the sweat dripping from his head. "When you go to a doctor or a psychiatrist, and they say, 'Do you hear voices?' of course we say no, because if you say, I hear voices, they go, 'Have that guy straitjacketed' and you go to hospital. But we do hear voices. Our mind does tell us things. So your mind is not your friend if you don't discipline it and control it." He tries hard now to filter his thoughts, but he worries that it's a form of lying. Thankfully, he says, he doesn't have the same intensity of feeling any more. Maybe the antidepressants have made things easier. In 2001, he told reporters, "I'm on the Zoloft to keep me from killing y'all."
When Tyson went into rehab in 2007, he admitted being addicted to cocaine and alcohol. "I'll never beat that. That's going to be a till-the-day-I-die job. That's an inside job. Nothing to do with anything else. That's just a disease I have received hereditarily."
"Simon, keep the questions to the movie," says a minder. "We don't want to talk about stuff."
"OK, I'm sorry," Tyson replies meekly, but then goes on to ignore him. "Listen, I'll talk about anything. I'm not ashamed of who I am. I understand I've got to be sold in a certain way, but I'm not ashamed of anything I've done in my life. After all, my journey, I know who I am. And I'm cool with who I am." For a second, he believes it.
But there are so many incidents in his life that he knows he can't begin to justify. On his release from prison in 1995, by now a Muslim with the name Malik Abdul Aziz and his body tattooed with images of Mao and Che Guevara, he launched the following tirade on a reporter who suggested he should be in a straitjacket. "I'll put your mother in a straitjacket, you punk-ass white boy. Come here and tell me that, and I'll fuck you in your ass, you punk white boy, you faggot... I'll eat your asshole alive, you bitch... You scared, coward, you're not man enough to fuck with me, you can't last two minutes in my world, bitch. Look at you, scared now, you ho. Scared like a little white pussy, scared of the real man. I'll fuck you till you love me, faggot." It didn't help his protestations of innocence.
After being headbutted by Evander Holyfield in 1997, he bit off part of the boxer's ear in the rematch seven months later and spat it out into the ring. Tyson was fined a maximum $3m and had his licence revoked. But boxing needed Tyson as much as he needed boxing, and a year later he was given a final opportunity. By now, though, he had lost the pace, accuracy and hunger. His sense of fair play had also gone for a burton. In 1999, he was accused of trying to break Frans Botha's arms in the ring. That same year he was sentenced to a year's imprisonment after assaulting two motorists following a traffic accident. On his release, he fought Orlin Norris and knocked him down after the bell rang. A win in 2000 over Andrzej Golota was overturned when Tyson tested positive for marijuana. His second wife, Monica Turner, the mother of two of his six children, divorced him in 2003. In his final fight, against the journeyman boxer Kevin McBride, he was a pitiful figure - slumped in a corner, legs splayed, unable or unwilling to stand himself up. Straight afterwards, Tyson announced his retirement. "I don't have the stomach for this kind of thing any more. I don't have that ferocity. I'm not an animal any more. I'm not going to disrespect the sport by losing to this calibre of fighter."
When he talks about biting Holyfield's ear or beating up boxing promoter Don King in public, for example, he simply says he was insane.
Does he think the boxing led to that type of instability? "Boxing is nothing to do with madness, it's all about control and discipline. Madness has nothing to do with it. It's what you do with the discipline, it can drive you mad, but it depends on the individual, whether they allow it to drive them mad."
Today, Tyson lives by himself in a modest house in Las Vegas. A friend, Darryl, spends a lot of time with him and manages his affairs. His great hope for the future is that he catches up with his children, and becomes the kind of father he should have been years ago. "They never had a chance to hang out with me, like all these freeloaders did. 'Dad's an awesome guy, he's a fun guy, he's a goofy guy, he likes to make people laugh, he likes to buy gifts for people and stuff' - I never experienced that with them. I've worked hard all my life to give them a great life, and I never enjoy it with them. They get to go on all these great trips to Europe, and I should be with them."
Are they seeing a different you, the goofy guy? "I don't know - they tell me that I'm funny. Ha! I don't know. I'm just glad my 11-year-old kid doesn't have to live the life I did when I was 11."
Does he box? "Oh man, no, this guy's an erudite, he's not a boxer."
And if he got into boxing? "Let him go. There's nothing more humbling. Trust me, he'd become humble." Why? "Because it's for uniquely special individuals to do that stuff. You know, you got to strike a guy, you've got to attack the guy, but you're not mad at them, they didn't say nothing bad about your mother, then you're going and your objective is to dismantle him."
Looking back, he says, perhaps the biggest problem was achieving so much so young. "If you want to see a tragedy, just take a kid who's 19, 20 years old - some kid from the hood who's got some talent - and give them $50m. I didn't know what to do. By society's standards, you reach that level and people bow down to you. I never understood that."
Is there a danger in people treating you as a god? "No, there's a danger in that I might believe it. It's not dangerous that they say it. It depends what side of the bed I wake up on, I might believe it, then it's all downhill again, and I'm in for a big crash."
Moments later he's über-man, telling me just what made him a winner: he turned apparent disadvantages (such as his height: 5ft 11in, short for a heavyweight) into pluses (surprising challengers with his upward punching); he won fights before they started by staring out the opposition. "When you look at me, you think I'm a tough guy. I'm not a tough guy. I'm a smart guy. This is not a tough guy's sport. A tough guy gets hurt in this sport. This is a thinking man's sport. You see what happens to the tough guys; you see how they start talking, you see how they start looking. Later, they become more decrepit. This is serious stuff at the highest level. This is a brutal game."
What does he think D'Amato would say to him if he saw the film and knew how his life had panned out? " 'You swear too much!' " He grins. "I never swore in front of him."
A while later, Toback calls me over, and asks me to look at the film's trailer. It's early evening, the sun is setting and the sky is a salmon pink. The trailer is book-ended by Tyson quoting Oscar Wilde's The Ballad Of Reading Gaol:
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Tyson says it was Toback's idea to read the poem, but he is a fan of Wilde's. "Do you know who his lover was?" he asks. "The Marquess of Queensberry's son, and you know it was the Marquess of Queensberry who invented the rules of boxing. How strange is that?"
He seems exhausted. By the afternoon, by his life, by his mind, by everything. He says he thinks it is unlikely he will ever have anything to do with boxing again. I ask why he hasn't considered television commentary. He thinks some time before answering. "I am ashamed of so many of the things I have done." In boxing or in his private life? "In the ring, too."
It's not so long ago that he told me there was nothing he was ashamed of. He smiles, and points to his head, suggesting that the last thing you should ever expect from Mike Tyson is consistency. "There's a committee going on up there." And he laughs, a little desperately. "A committee! A committee going on up there! Oh God help me!"
#mike tyson#celebrity#repentance#penance#sinners#eccentrics#The Greats#personality#shame#authenticity#athletes
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