Tony: think about the possibilities, you could stab your enemies with this
Stephen: it isn’t efficient: the heat will immediately close the severed arteries.
Harley: I’m sorry Stephen, but it actually works just fine.
America: and you just witnessed a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin having a conversation.
Peter: why use it to cut people when you can have toasts?!
America: and here’s the Hufflepuff
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Like I know that on the internet, anyone can claim to be anything, but as a Jew, I'm not cool with the slaughtering of thirty-thousand Palestinians, you know what I mean? And I'm so fucking mad that me and mine are being used as an excuse for Israel to participate in ethnic cleansing.
as a fellow Jew I’m beyond enraged at the Zionist Jewish community, including my family. The cognitive dissonance these people have is utterly mind boggling.
but honestly as a human being, if you are not moved or horrified or outraged or upset by the slaughtering of over 30,000 people trapped in the worlds largest concentration camp, there’s something fundamentally wrong with you. every human being with a conscious and intact soul should be outraged and horrified and grieving
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“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter called out on a whim.
Tony kept his eyes strictly on his task as he sounded out, “Hm?”
Peter watched for a beat that went on a little too long — earning a curious look from Tony along the way — as the man bent and folded the amber glowing metal with a pair of pillars in one hand and blacksmith tongs in the other.
Even though Mr. Stark hadn’t actually told him what he was working on, Peter was smart enough to put the two and two together. And while his visiting weekends were always ‘Internship’ days — which meant sometimes they’d work on their suits together, other times they’d brainstorm crazy new ideas that either took off or failed — Mr. Stark was right, today wasn’t technically an ‘Internship’ day. Not on his off-weekend that May had traded to make up for next week’s wedding.
And so, without any real plans for the weekend, Mr. Stark had simply told him he had a project he needed to wrap up. For Peter, that was the extent of that.
Taking a moment to truly watch and examine Tony’s movements, Peter didn’t need verbal confirmation on what he saw. It was obvious to the passing eye; a ring of sorts being crafted by hand, and the material used to forge it laid all across the table Mr. Stark had stationed himself at.
Peter could tell himself all he wanted that he didn’t know what provoked his next question. But even he knew the focus of the wedding had taken his thoughts hostage for a while now — sometimes even more than the lingering weight of being brought back to life.
“When you asked Ms. Potts to marry you…” Peter trailed off, swallowing hard to wet his parched throat. “When did you…I mean, how’d you…”
Tony slowly set his tongs down, careful on where he put the glowing hot ring along the way. An arch eyebrow vocalized his puzzlement more than words could’ve.
“How’d you know?” Peter forced himself to finish, the best that he could.
Tony let the tongs lay down next to his welding torch, being sure to keep the still-glowing metal in a safe place where it couldn’t be disturbed.
“That she’d say yes?” he tried to clarify, proving Peter’s attempt ineffective after all.
Looking down at his work table, Peter tapped his finger on the surface without ever stopping — never once finding the courage to look at Tony when he spoke.
“That you…loved her,” Peter managed to fight against every atom in his body that screamed for him to stop talking. “How do…how do you know when you love somebody?”
When Peter finally looked back up at Tony, he wished nothing more than if he could go back in time and shut up after all. The look of confusion on the man’s face was enough for Peter to crawl into a ditch and die from dirt inhalation.
“Like, obviously I know what love is,” he tried — oh boy did he try to make himself look better. “It’s not that I don’t know what love is — I love May, I love…you know, other family. And friends.”
He was making it worse. With every growing inch of Tony’s smirk, Peter knew he was making it worse.
“But what’s it like?” Peter finally found the words to ask, and with a heavy sigh parting the break that came in-between. “With you and Ms. Potts? What’s…what’s that like?”
Peter wasn't lying — not even in his nervous stammered fit that failed to string together a coherent sense of words. He knew what love was. He knew he loved Uncle Ben, he knew he still loved Aunt May. He knew he loved his parents at one point — what kid didn’t?
But yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about almost two nights ago. Not because of the aliens that landed at the compound while he was in Queens — no, something else finally disrupted his excitement for that.
It was remembering MJ’s smile on the bridge, and the way she smelt like powdered doughnuts and vanilla lavender, mixed with the draft of sea water that rose from down below.
The way the bridge’s lights made her skin look like polished chestnuts, and her hair a perfect frizzled mess of tangled vines and curls.
How her laugh was as soft as the wind, and her smile was bright as the setting sun.
It was remembering the way she made him feel — a way he’d never felt before. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain, but also couldn’t forget.
Peter couldn’t help but wonder what that was.
And as Tony looked at him head-on, with a small smile turning his lip up towards his ear, it was easy to say the older man had it figured out a long time ago.
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