#peter steeper

[eternal-learner]

rewatched "the new breed" recently and thought that university looked familiar. i went over and took a walk. beautiful area.

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 6 - Frozen Peas

Chapter Summary: Cat's plan kind of fails (is anyone surprised?)... but it also works out? Things happen and she’s reunited with a certain redheaded assassin.

Chapter Warnings: Talking about a mugging, playful threatening with a knife. This is and will be minor friendly! No smut in this story.

Notes: Nat returns this chapter! But this isn’t the last we see of Peter! Thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented/read so far! Getting notifications really encourages me and I enjoy each and everyone one of them. New chapters will come Monday/Thursday 5PM PST (I’m on time FINALLY). Also idk if I should make a tag list but if so lmk who’s interested! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"That was awesome!" Cat breathed as Spider-Man dropped her and Taco back on the ground. Her heart was still beating fast from the exhilaration. Swinging around New York was similar to riding a roller coaster, albeit a faster, steeper, more dangerous one with significantly less elbow room.

Spider-Man looked around the abandoned streets warily. "Um… are you sure this is where you wanted me to drop you off?"

Cat made sure she had the right dark alley. Granted, all the dark alleys looked generally the same in New York, but she had a great mind for directions. And she was pretty sure she was at the right place. If she squinted, she could spot a few familiar landmarks. And… there! If she could get a little closer, she could just make out the sliver of the door on the side of the wall.

The door of the safehouse.

"This is the one," she confirmed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't think I have any cash on me— wait—" He awkwardly patted himself down for cash, even though Cat couldn't see how any pockets could possibly be hidden in the folds of his spandex. "Yeah, no cash. Sorry."

Cat suddenly had an idea. "Can I have your autograph?"

"What?"

"You know, to sell it," she said unremorsefully. "It might help me make some money. Sorry if that's offensive. I need everything I can get right now."

"Oh, that's really smart. I didn't even think of that. I don't have any paper, do you?"

Cat rummaged around in her backpack. She had a few souvenirs, a mug that was only a little cracked, some pieces of cardboard, and an I-Heart-New-York sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her. Lastly, she pulled out an extra thick sharpie. She'd gotten most of the items in the soup kitchen cupboards, or at homeless shelters.

Spider-Man quickly scribbled his signature on all of them, leaving little sweet but unnecessary notes. "Here you go."

"I'm really grateful for this," she told him.

Before handing the sharpie back, he paused. He stared at her for a long time. "Are you going to be okay?"

She glared at him. "Of course I am!" she said indignantly. "I'm tough, you know."

"I know. You're pretty neat, Cat."

"You're not so bad yourself, Spider-Man."

He awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder, then removed it almost instantly. "Well, just know that if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be around. Just… scream for help, or something." He patted Taco on the head. "Bye, cute beagle." He shot a web up into a ledge of a building. He made a peace sign at her as he yanked himself into the air. "See ya, Cat!"

"Bye!" Cat called after him as he swung out of view.

I'll be okay, she thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She was so not going to be okay.

"Damn," she swore under her breath, jamming her knife in the lock for the eighth time in the dim hopes that it would work that time.

Cat dug it in harder, twisting and turning every which way. She was waiting for the telltale clicks and shifts, but they didn't come. Instead, the knife was met with a stubborn wall that blocked it from moving in further. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, with a sinking heart. They'd changed the locks.

"Damn it!"

Taco barked. Cat liked to imagine she was sharing her frustration.

Frustrated and disappointed, Cat gave up. Plan A was a no-go. She'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Which actually really sucked, because it was freezing. The wind was blowing with a frigid ferocity that night. She tried to yank the knife out of the lock, but it was stuck.

She swore again, tugging at the knife, but it stayed stubbornly stuck. Her grip slipped and she fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard. Oww. She groaned. Taco jumped up and padded over to her, licking her face.

Despite Taco being adorable as always, Cat was miserable. Her hands and face were numb with cold. She could hardly feel her fingertips. She was shivering in her feeble, tightly stretched coat and thin leggings that offered no protection from the cold. She'd been looking forward to the warm, welcoming safehouse, but now even that wasn't an option. The good thing was, the cold did a good job of numbing the pain on her face and ribs. She had long gotten used to the throb of pain.

Cat got to her feet, shaking with exhaustion. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Whether she was getting into the safehouse or not, she sure as hell was getting her knife back.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some warmth into them. She wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife, and raised her left foot to a position over the lock. Taco watched her with a perplexed expression, as if asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Pushing off of her left foot, leaning sideways, she tugged at the knife as hard as she could.

The knife came loose. Cat couldn't regain her balance quickly enough, so she went flying backwards, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crash. She collapsed to the floor with a heap. For a moment, Cat laid there, breathing hard, and felt impossibly tired. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep right there…

Then, she heard something moving behind the door. With a grunt of pain, Cat forced herself to her feet. She held her knife to her side, the slightest sliver of hope in her heart.

The door groaned open.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," Natasha said.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Natasha didn't say a word as she led Cat into the living room, and gestured to the table. Cat took a seat and watched as Natasha took out a bag of dog food from one of the cabinets and poured it into a bowl for Taco. Taco leapt on it eagerly.

"Do you have a dog?" Cat asked out of curiosity.

"No."

"Why do you have dog food?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Cat took that as a good enough answer. Natasha wordlessly passed her a box of Chinese takeout. The smell of it had been filling up the kitchen. Cat dug in the moment she had it in her hands, feeling impossibly luckier and happier than she had in weeks. She ate like she was starving— probably because she was.

Natasha was silent, watching her as she devoured the takeout. Once Cat had eaten almost half of it, she gently tugged it out of Cat's hands.

"Sorry," Cat said immediately, scooting back in her chair. "I didn't mean to eat so much, I just—"

"Relax," Natasha said. "I'll give it back. You don't want to eat too fast or too much, or you'll throw up."

"Right." Cat took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Here."

Natasha passed her a mug of steaming brown liquid. For a moment, Cat got excited, thinking it was coffee. When she took a sip and the taste of hot chocolate slammed into her, she wasn't too disappointed. It was surprisingly good. She was mostly glad Natasha had decided to let her in at all.

Cat wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to let the warmth of the room envelope her in its embrace. She relished in the moment, having a warm place to stay, food, and water. She shivered, remembering that it was only temporary and soon she'd have to be back out in the streets.

Cat couldn't take the silence. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Sometimes," she answered vaguely.

"How did you know I was outside?"

"Like I said, you were making a lot of noise. I didn't think that was possible, considering those walls are about two feet thick."

"You changed your locks," Cat said resentfully.

"It's called a safehouse for a reason," Natasha pointed out. "What would be the point if persistent little orphans like you could break in?"

"I didn't think anyone would be inside."

"And that makes it okay?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"Um… no," Cat said, trying to sound remorseful. "Sorry."

Another bout of silence passed. Cat was trying to think of a way to ask for the takeout back. Her hunger was still rearing its little ugly head inside of her. But Natasha was holding the box just out of arm's reach.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"I said, what happened to your face?" Natasha asked again, this time with an edge to her voice. Her eyes had narrowed.

"And I said," Cat fired back, "nothing."

"I gave you food," Natasha pointed out. Cat eyed the takeout box. "I could've left you out there in the cold. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

Cat bit her lip. That was true. What would be the harm in telling her? Her stomach whined, yearning for the takeout. Still, some part of her didn't want Natasha to know. She stayed silent.

Natasha sensed the shift in her silence. She pushed the takeout box toward Cat, just a little. Cat reached for it, but then Natasha pulled it away. Cat looked up at Natasha with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. No food?

"Answer the question, and you can have it."

Cat scoffed. "That's not going to work on me."

"We'll see," Natasha said with an infuriating amount of certainty.

Cat worked her jaw. She crossed her arms and leaned back, defiant. Natasha stared back with an equal amount of fierceness. Cat's stomach growled painfully. It was loud enough so that even Natasha heard. She raised her eyebrows. Then, the smell of the takeout got to Cat.

"I tripped."

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Fine. I got mugged." Cat lunged for the takeout box.

Natasha held it just out of reach, again. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who mugged you?"

"How do you expect me to know? They weren't keen on doing icebreakers, and there wasn't enough time for me to run a facial recognition program."

"What did they want?"

Cat crossed her arms. "I thought you said I only had to answer one question. This seems like a lot more than one."

Natasha passed the takeout box to her. Cat started eating with a fervor. She was starting to feel a little full, but too full was better than too empty. She'd learned on the streets that she never knew when her next meal was going to be. If overeating to the point of throwing up meant she could spend another night without starving, that was what she was going to do.

Natasha got up and left, then came back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. She watched Cat wolf down the food with a horrified fascination.

"Slow down. You're scaring me."

Cat made a show of chewing for a long time before swallowing. The food in the takeout box was almost gone. She polished off the last bit, feeling satisfied for the first time in weeks. She started on the hot chocolate next, tipping the mug over until the last drop fell into her mouth.

Finally, she settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Natasha passed her the bag of frozen peas.

Cat stared at the bag of frozen peas. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Put it on your face, idiot."

Cat pressed it to the bruise on her face. She winced. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby. So, what did the muggers want?" Natasha repeated.

Cat sighed, long and drawn-out. Natasha had been awfully nice to her. She was lucky to be in a warm room with hot chocolate and takeout instead of shivering out in the cold. The least she could do was provide her with a little information.

"Money. They saw me give, like, twenty dollars to this Girl Scout, but it was pretty much the last of it. I kept telling them I didn't have any more, but you'd be surprised at how dumb they are."

"I'm not. How did you get away?"

Cat grinned. "Oh, funny story, actually. You know that guy, Spider-Man?"

"Sure. We've met a few times."

Cat gaped at her for a moment, having forgotten that Natasha was the Black Widow. She probably had met Spider-Man before. "You have?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's a good fighter. He's a bit of a talker, but a decent guy. We didn't really do the whole 'getting to know you' thing. We were mostly focused on trying to beat the crap out of Steve and his groupies."

Steve… Cat thought. Who was Captain America. Natasha was on a first name basis with Captain America— obviously— which was so cool.

"Yeah, anyway, Spider-Man swooped in and beat up all the muggers and stuck them on the wall. Then he swung me here. I asked him to autograph all my stuff so I could sell it."

"Hmm." Natasha moved the bag of peas from Cat's eye to see the bruise. "How hurt are you?"

Cat's ribs were aching, but she knew they weren't broken. Maybe bruised. It was mostly her face that was hurting, but the frozen peas had done a good job of numbing the area. "I'm fine. My ribs hurt a little, but—"

Without warning, Natasha reached out and prodded her side. Cat yelped, more shock than hurt, and thrust her hands up in front of her to defend herself.

"Jesus! Could you warn me before you do that?"

"Where does it hurt?" Natasha asked unapologetically.

"Just… like, around here."

Cat stayed stiff as Natasha pressed lightly against her ribs, examining them. "They're just bruised," she told her.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You know, I could've told you that if you'd just asked instead of prodding me like some kind of lab rat."

Natasha straightened, looking her in the eye. She had an unnerving habit of doing that. Her piercing eyes were impossible to avoid. "So, tell me. What's your plan?"

"My plan?" Cat echoed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Your plan for living on the streets, finding a job, feeding yourself, making sure you don't die. Unless you don't have one?"

"Of course I have a plan," Cat said, not wanting to admit that she did not, in fact, have any sort of plan. "I'm going to go to homeless shelters and the soup kitchens to get food. And I'm going to get a lot of canned food from pretending to be a Girl Scout. And I'll learn everything I need to know in the library— Don't make that face!"

Natasha's smirk reverted into a suspiciously convincing blank expression. "What face?"

"Like you think I'm some silly little kid who has no idea what she's doing. I'm really good at memorizing things. I could learn everything I need to learn in the library— You're making the face again!"

The second time, Natasha didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Yeah, because it's a crappy plan."

"It's not a crappy plan."

"Really? Then why'd you end up here, of all places?"

"Because I—"

"—had nowhere else to go?" Natasha finished.

She took Cat's sulky silence as an affirmation and plowed on.

"You don't have a consistent source of income. How do you expect to pay for things like new clothes, necessities, or literally anything you need to survive? You're also an easy target because you're young and you barely know how to defend yourself. You got mugged, which I promise will not be the worst situation you'll find yourself in, and you only just scraped by."

"I can defend myself," Cat protested. She thought she did a rather good job of fending herself off against the muggers, considering the circumstances. "I have a knife!" She grabbed it from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Natasha.

What happened next Cat almost couldn't explain in words. It happened so quickly. In one swift motion, Natasha lunged over the table and did something weird and uncomfortable with her arm, twisting and maneuvering it forcefully so that Cat's shoulder slammed down on the table. Cat glanced up, straining her neck, to see that the knife had made its way into Natasha's grip. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Cat could've blinked and missed it.

"What… the hell," she breathed. Also, ow. Her shoulder.

Natasha released her. Cat grabbed her shoulder, wincing. "Just because you have a knife doesn't mean you can defend yourself." She examined the knife distastefully. "This a kitchen knife."

"That wasn't fair," Cat grumbled. "You're the Black Widow. I stood no chance."

"So? You think a bunch of muggers are gonna go easy on you just because you're a little homeless girl? Haven't you've already learned that?"

Cat crossed her arms. "Okay, I get it. My plan is a crappy plan. It's not like you have a better one."

"Of course I do. I'll take you there myself."

All at once, alarm raced through her. Cat's feet slammed onto the ground. She pushed the chair away from the table with a loud screech and stood up. "You're not taking me to CPS."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm not. Sit down."

Cat lowered herself back in the chair cautiously. "Then where are you going to take me?"

"I own an apartment not far away from here. I barely use it, so you could crash there for the time being."

For several moments, Cat couldn't speak. "W-what?"

"What is it with you and making me repeat myself twice?" Natasha groused. "Did you not hear the first time?"

"I heard," Cat snapped, recovering quickly. "Does it have heating?"

"Yes."

"And a plumbing system?"

"Yes."

"And coffee?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course."

"And Fruit Loops?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I could get some Fruit Loops," Natasha offered.

"Thank you," Cat mumbled, staring into the distance. This was impossible, right? There was no way something this good could happen to her. Her attention snapped back to Natasha, who was still staring at her.

"Why are you helping me?" Cat demanded. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Are you always this paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Fair enough," Natasha admitted. "But you just have to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," Cat said.

Something changed in Natasha's expression. Her eyes were faraway, looking into the distance. "You remind me of myself," she said. "I didn't want to rely on anyone either. But sometimes it's better to have people around you, people who are going to catch you when you fall."

Cat thought it was a bunch of bull. The more people she trusted, the more likely they could hurt or betray her.

"Anyway," Natasha continued briskly, abandoning her dreamy-eyed gaze, "you don't have any other choice. You can choose to go back in the streets and inevitably end up starving, poor, and out of options. Or, you could come with me."

"You promise you won't call CPS?"

"Sure."

That wasn't convincing enough for Cat. "I don't believe you."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to swear on a blood oath or something?"

That gave Cat an idea. She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

Natasha looked down at it. "This is hardly a legally binding contract."

"Pinky promise," Cat insisted. "The most unbreakable of promises."

Natasha linked her pinky with Cat's.

Cat nodded importantly. "The deed is done."

Natasha shook her head, bemused. "You're ridiculous."

Cat got to her feet. "So when are we leaving?"

"Slow down there, Turbo." Natasha got up as well and led her to the couch. Taco had noticed and followed them. "You look like you're about to kneel over. When was the last time you slept?"

When was the last time she'd slept? She honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Sleep first. Then we'll go."

"Okay," Cat agreed, too tired to argue. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and everything hurt. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. She laid down on the couch, resting her head on the arm rest. Taco jumped up and laid on her chest. It was a lot more comfortable than the chair she'd been tied to the first time she'd been here.

"Hey," she said with her eyes closed.

Natasha's voice came from a little to her left. "What?"

"Can you teach me how you did that knife thing?"

Cat didn't hear Natasha's response, because she was already drifting off to sleep.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also my asks are open so feel free to drop anything there too!

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 16

Settled in Spirit

Fidds kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming softly against his thigh, tapping along with the music—a scratchy old Eagles cassette that sounded like it had been played too many times. The tape warbled on certain notes, the melodies bending just slightly out of tune, but neither of them bothered to switch it off. The silence between them was companionable, but thick. It’s been a long day.

Outside, the road wound upwards, a gentle curve that only grew steeper the farther they climbed. The tires crunched over loose gravel now and then, a quiet punctuation to the otherwise steady hum of the car. Ford shifted in his seat, his knee bouncing in an unconscious rhythm, the restless energy that had become his constant companion still gnawing at him, even now. The road was unfamiliar—another thing to remind him how far he was from solid ground—and with every turn, with every incline, the feeling in his chest tightened, as though the higher they went, the harder it became to breathe.

“Fid,” Ford said, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. He hadn’t spoken much in days, except in clipped, disjointed fragments. He stared straight ahead, though he could feel Fidds watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Fidds said, keeping his focus on the road. His tone was light, easy, but Ford knew him well enough to hear the tension buried underneath.

Ford let his head fall back against the window with a dull thud, the cool glass pressing into the side of his skull. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but he couldn’t relax. His body wouldn’t let him, the dull hum of his anxiety winding tighter with every second. He exhaled, the sound louder than he meant it to be. “I don’t wanna see anyone else today.”

“You won’t,” Fidds said, and when Ford cracked an eye open to glance at him, he saw the quick flash of a grin, as if Fidds could make everything better just by pretending it already was. “Just trust me.”

Ford didn’t say anything, just leaned back, trying to force himself to believe it—to believe that whatever Fidds had planned wouldn’t end with an increased level of regret for agreeing to leave the house in the first place. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t comforting. It felt loaded. He turned his gaze back to the window, watching as the landscape shifted outside: the trees grew denser, darker, their branches spreading like fingers over the road, the light filtering through the leaves in soft, golden streams.

The sun was beginning its slow descent, throwing hues of pink and orange across the sky. But it didn’t soothe him. Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that they were moving toward something he wasn’t ready for, something that would ask more of him than he had left to give.

Fidds was talking again, but Ford barely registered the words, letting them pass over him like a gentle breeze, something light, harmless. His mind was elsewhere—still down in the lab, still drowning in work that wouldn’t fix anything, but at least kept him from thinking too much. He wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises.

When they finally pulled up, the road petering out into gravel and then into nothing at all, the view spread out before them—an endless valley stretching out beneath the cliff, the town below reduced to a scattering of indistinct shapes. From up here, the world seemed to fold in on itself, the edges blurring in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. Like something out of a painting. Fidds killed the engine, letting the car settle into silence, its vibrations dissipating into the quiet. The two of them sat there for a moment, neither moving, Fidds leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, Ford still hunched forward slightly, his legs tense.

“This is it,” Fidds said, more to break the silence than anything, his voice soft but steady.

Ford looked over at him, unsure what to say, unsure if he even had the energy to ask again why they were here. He just nodded, the motion stiff, before sliding out of the car. He felt the shift in temperature immediately—the breeze up here was cooler, cleaner, washing away the last of the day’s warmth. Fidds followed suit, moving more casually, as though they were just on another routine errand. He climbed up onto the hood of the car, tapping the metal with his hand, asking for Ford to join him.

Ford hesitated for a moment before stepping up, the car’s metal warm beneath him, and sat next to Fidds. The two of them looked out over the expanse of land together, the valley below small and fragile, like something Ford could fold into his palm. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his bruising knuckles across his palm while he took it all in.

Fidds settled back, leaning into the windshield, his posture loose, as if they were just two guys enjoying the sunset. But Ford could feel the weight of what went unspoken between them, that tension sitting between them. It had been there for a while now, in the spaces between words, silences that stretched too long. Ford kept things close, Fidds knew that—He always had. So, he didn’t press. He sat back, let the scenery speak for him.

“Fid,” Ford muttered, his voice quieter now, as if speaking any louder might break the fragile stillness around them. He stared out at the horizon, the pink and gold of the sunset bleeding across the sky, stretching farther, higher, pulling the day toward its end. “Why are we here?”

For a moment, Fidds didn’t respond. He sat up and leaned forward, reaching into Ford’s coat pocket, and with an easy motion, he pulled out Ford’s pack of cigarettes, shaking one loose without asking. “I come here sometimes when I need to blow off steam,” Fidds said, his tone casual, slipping one cigarette between his lips. He then held the pack out to Ford, who took it without a word. “It’s quiet,” Fidds continued, “gives me space to think.”

Ford didn’t respond at first, just rolled the cigarette between his fingers, watching the way the fading light cast long shadows across the valley below. The silence between them felt thick, but not uncomfortable—but the kind that had been years in the making. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, and Fidds sparked his lighter, first lighting his own with a slow drag, then holding the flame out for Ford. They resumed their positions on the hood of the car, Fidds’ legs stretched out in front of him and Ford sitting closer to the edge, his feet resting on the front bumper, the cigarettes burning between their fingers.

Neither of them spoke as they took long, steady drags, the smoke curling up into the air, disappearing before it could fully settle. The breeze was soft here, cool against their skin, and as Ford exhaled, he felt something loosen, if only for a moment. But it—the weight he carried—remained just beneath the surface, unspoken. Ford enjoyed it for what it was. For the first time today, he felt somewhat at ease. It was almost peaceful.

Fidds let out a long exhale, his eyes squinting slightly as the smoke curled up into the air. “You remember that winter break, in undergrad?” He asked, his question cutting through the chill in the air. Ford didn’t respond right away, just shifted, his gaze still lingering on the sunset. “You didn’t wanna go home,” Fidds continued, “Dorms had to be fumigated, and you didn’t have anywhere to go. I remember… I thought it was strange at the time. Like… we’d been roommates for years, and I never really asked why you never went back for the holidays.” Ford looked back at the ground for a moment, taking another puff and the memories came clearer to him.

“So when the dorms were closing,” Fid continued, “I thought, ‘Why not just bring you to Tennessee?’ I called up my folks, told them you were coming, and Mom went all out. She even learned how to make those latkes for you.” Fidds chuckled, a warmth spreading across his face at the memory.

Ford couldn’t help but smile, too, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Those were so good,” he said, resting back a bit on the car.

“They were.” Fidds agreed. “She made a huge batch, didn’t she? Way more than I thought we could’ve eaten. Of course she did. And you did eat them, every single one.” he said with a laugh. The smile on Ford’s lips grew at the sound. “My little brother, though…” Fidds went on, chuckling and leaning forward. “He was what—eight? Didn’t get it at all. He was like, ‘Why’s Ford here, how’s Santa gonna get him his gifts?’ All serious, like you were some kind of secret operative.” Ford huffed a laugh at the story, puffing methodically as he listened to Fidds recall it. He remembered the details, of course, but it was nice hearing it. “And then when you tried to explain, but he just kept pushing. You should’ve seen your face when you were this close to blowing the whole Santa thing wide open.”

A stronger laugh escaped Ford’s lips, genuine and warm, like the last rays of sun shining over the mountainside. “I never expected to have that conversation ever in my life. I didn’t know what to say,” he said, shaking his head. “Would’ve ruined the whole shebang.” There was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

They settled into a comfortable silence, the laughter hanging in the air like a sweet aftertaste. The warmth enveloped them as they sat on the car hood, the gentle breeze whispering through the trees and the distant sounds of the mountains—a chorus of rustling leaves and the soft murmur of wind.

Fidds’ grin faded slightly, morphing into a softer expression as he leaned back again. “You know, I think a lot about that trip.” He said, tilting his head slightly. “It’s when I first started really piecing things together. About you.”

Ford’s smile faltered a bit, his gaze back on the sunset, nearly finished now.

“I didn’t really pay attention before. The way you always left the lamp on in the dorm—I thought you were just up late reading, y’know? Never crossed my mind there was anything more to it.” Fidds flicked the ash from his cigarette, his voice quiet, softened by memory. “But at my place, you did it again… every night. There weren’t any tests to study for, any projects to finish. It was just us. It clicked for me.” Fidds paused, letting a few moments slip by, like he was weighing his words. “And even then, it took me another couple years still to finally figure out why.” he said. “I figure it’s the same reason you keep everything wrapped up.”

Ford sat still, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance, but his shoulders had stiffened, and his fingers toyed absently with the fabric at the edge of his coat sleeve. He closed his eyes briefly, just a second, then let out a measured breath. He didn’t meet Fidds’ gaze but held himself there, listening, like he was bracing himself.

“But once I saw it—I couldn’t stop seeing it.” Fidds’ continued, his voice a shade softer now, almost tentative, breaking through his usual steadiness.

Ford’s jaw tightened, just a fraction. It felt like being unwrapped, a slow unspooling of things he kept bound up tight. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly against the car hood, as if its solidity could keep him from unmooring.

“It took me years to realize it,” Fidds went on, his voice a low murmur, like he was pulling together threads of his own thoughts, letting the words settle. “But it’s like… once you notice someone carrying something, the way you do…” He hesitated, thumb rubbing over the worn filter of his cigarette. “You were always so good at hiding it, Ford. I thought you were just—invincible back then, y’know? Like nothing could reach you.”

Ford gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze shifting down to the gravel beneath his feet. He pressed his lips together, feeling the familiar tension of things unsaid tightening in his throat. The words hung there, filling the air between them, but he couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet the unguarded understanding in Fidds’ eyes.

“But now…” Fidds said, turning to look fully at him, his voice dropping to something steadier, clearer, “I just see that kid. Still afraid of the dark. Always folding in on yourself, like you can’t let anyone see. You carry it all, like if you let even a little slip, the whole thing’s gonna come down.”

Ford’s shoulders dipped, his fingers finally going still as if, just for a moment, he might let himself feel the weight he carried—letting it settle in, solid and undeniable. The tension had loosened between them, the silence thick and grounding, but strangely easier, like they’d landed on a shared truth they both recognized. They sat there, on the edge, but they were doing it together. And in that stillness, Ford felt the faintest warmth, something almost like gratitude, pooling into that hollow place he’d been desperate to fill. It was simple, unforced. Just them. And, for now, that was enough. The weight didn’t feel like a burden.

“Ford?” Fidds’ voice broke in, low and steady, pulling him back. Ford glanced over, their gazes finally meeting.

Fid studied him for a moment, a soft, crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth, eyes gentler than Ford could remember them. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, like a confession. He paused, swallowing as if weighing the words. “I don’t care if—” A faint, shaky breath escaped him. “It wouldn’t make a difference. If you left the light on.”

Ford felt his lip tremble, and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard as he took a nervous drag from his cigarette. He clenched his jaw, his leg bouncing again, but the words wouldn’t come. Fidds was onto him—had been for a while now. There was a sense of inevitability in the air, a moment where honesty would either surface or slip away. Ford wouldn’t be able to give him the whole truth. How could he? Where would he even begin? The truth was so knotted and complicated and unbelievable. And with Bill gone now, it’s not like he could show him.

But maybe the details didn’t matter. Not really. Fidds had a hunch, like he always did, an instinct that was maddeningly close. Ford knew he wasn’t asking for a revelation—just confirmation that he’d seen the cracks. “Do I… have to say it out loud?” Ford’s voice was almost a whisper, and even then it trembled around the lump in his throat.

Fidds didn’t press further. Instead, he let the silence settle, then shifted, sliding his arm around Ford’s shoulder, pulling him in with a gentle but sure grip. “No,” he murmured, simple and steady, his fingers pressing firm against Ford’s shoulder as though he could will away the tension still knotted there.

Ford let out a shaky breath, feeling something he hadn’t expected—a quiet, almost startling relief. They’d been down this road before, too many times to count, but every time, the sense of release caught him off guard, settling warm over him against a winter chill.

“Thanks for agreeing to join the project,” Ford managed, blinking away the sting that lingered in his eyes. His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual edge. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Fidds didn’t respond right away. He gave Ford’s shoulder a steady squeeze, a wordless acknowledgment. “I’m glad you asked,” he said at last, his voice quiet but certain. He held Ford’s shoulder a moment longer, as if wanting to say more, before letting go and hopping off the hood of the car, landing with a soft thud on the gravel below.

He took a few steps forward, hands in his pockets, then looked back over his shoulder. “Come to the edge with me.”

Ford hesitated, glancing out over the horizon before finally flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping down from the hood. His boots crunched on the gravel as he moved toward the cliff’s edge, each step deliberate, almost reluctant. Fidds waited a few paces ahead, hands still shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the valley stretched out far below them.

Something about the quiet here, the view that seemed to stretch on forever—it was peaceful, sure, but it brought with it a weight he could feel settling into his chest. The day had left him raw. The silence around him felt strange, almost unnatural. He’d spent so long wrapped up in the endless pull of work, the constant thoughts of Bill still present in his mind, that moments like these seemed strange now, as if he didn’t belong in the quiet.

Bill’s absence had been so loud today, despite everything—or in spite of it.There was something about all that had happened, like it was all intentional somehow. Meant to torment him. He felt the press of everything he’d held back—the weeks of empty, sleepless nights, the way he’d poured himself into his work just to avoid facing that void head-on. How things went at Reggie’s, the fight, and now here, at the edge of the mountain; he was face-to-face with it, the weight of it all.

Ford’s thoughts shattered as Fidds inhaled, sharp and sudden, then released a loud, open-throated yell into the vast, empty air. The sound cut through the quiet, jolting Ford back into the present. He looked over, bewildered, watching the echo roll out across the valley until it faded into nothing. “What the fuck was that for?”

Fidds turned to him with a grin, unbothered by Ford’s confusion. He clapped a hand on Ford’s shoulder, still chuckling a bit. “I do that a lot when I’m up here, too,” he said. “It’s cathartic, just letting it all out like that. Letting go. Feel like you can finally breathe after.”

Ford let out a small, skeptical laugh, shaking his head as he avoided Fidds’ gaze. “I don’t know, Fid…”

“Oh, c’mon, big guy,” Fidds teased, stepping back just a bit, giving Ford space and that steady, insistent grin that somehow made it all seem possible. “Do it. Let it go.”

Let it go. Three simple words, thrown out like a rope, like the answer to everything, something you could just set down and leave behind. It sounded so easy, like he could just look out into the endless stretch of sky and valley, breathe deep, and shed all the weight he’d been dragging. Like it was something that could be done by choice. He glanced over the edge, the sharp drop that seemed to go on forever. For a second, he imagined what it would feel like if he really could let it all go, if he could just let the air take it, that ache that had settled deep into his bones. But everything lingered. He could feel the pull, every small tether that still held him there, that he couldn’t shake.

Because it wasn’t just about letting go of Bill, or the memories of him, or that restless, hollow ache that had followed Ford ever since the silence began. It was about the small things that brought Bill back in flashes, haunting his periphery. The little glimmers that had him whipping his head around, thinking he’d seen a flicker of gold in the corner of his eye or caught a flash of him in a crowd, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’d hear Bill’s voice like he used to—smug, taunting.

But that hope—that wild, impossible hope—always settled back into him like lead. Almost a month had passed since he’d last heard Bill, and still the silence rang louder than he could bear, pressing into him harder each day. It was the stupidest, smallest things that got to him. A particular shade of blue he’d see in the sky, a ripple in the air that felt like his touch. Every one of those glints was a dagger, each one a reminder that, no matter how much he hoped, Bill wasn’t going to come back. That he’d been left with a hollow too deep to fill.

And every day, Ford lived through it again, the same realization, settling in like cold metal in his chest. Every day, he woke up a little more aware of how final it felt, and the glimmers of hope, those foolish sparks, grew less and less frequent. Fidds was right; maybe he needed to let go. Maybe he even wanted to. But wanting and doing were worlds apart, and that space between them—that cavern he couldn’t cross—felt like all he had left.

Maybe there was something to it. He watched Fidds, standing there loose-limbed, looking at him with that crooked, easy grin. Fidds always did seem to move through life like it was nothing more than water; even when the current got rough, he’d just flow along, somehow always keeping his head above the waves. Ford had spent more time than he’d admit envying that about him, the way things never seemed to stick to Fidds, the way he could let go as naturally as breathing. Maybe that’s why Ford thought, even if only for a second, that Fidds was on to something. If this was something he did to get by, it was worth a try. Fidds made everything look easier, anyway. Maybe it would feel silly—just some shout into the empty night—but maybe that was the point.

He chewed his lip, the taste of salt and smoke lingering on his tongue as he worked over the thought, rubbed his thumb absently over his knuckles, still clenched and rough beneath his fingers. He shifted, taking in a quiet breath, but it was sharp, thin. He couldn’t quite catch it, couldn’t bring himself to take it all the way, and before he knew it, he’d let the breath go again, without a sound, without release.

Let it go, he told himself, the words hollow, echoing back at him in the same stubborn silence that had followed him up here. He clenched his hands again, tighter this time, and tried to convince himself he meant it. Ford took in another deep inhale, letting the night settle in his lungs, steeling himself, like this time he could just force it all out. But as he held his breath, he almost felt it as it flashed in his memory, Bill’s fingertips tapping against his skin, that thoughtless, rhythmic drumming that he used to do when they laid together. It was small, insignificant. But the image came anyway.

He clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles whitening as he fought the impulse to hold on. Then he remembered, a shared glance across the lab, Bill’s amused smirk, the way he’d tip his head just slightly. Private, a look that no one else ever saw. Ford’s chest tightened, a flicker of heat spreading across his face as his breath remained caught behind his teeth. Ford’s fists began to shake. The edges of those details cut into him, refusing to stay contained—He remembered the way Bill chewed on the inside of his cheek when he was thinking.

Ford could feel his shoulders starting to tremble, his breath seeping out choppy and uneven. A few moments passed, flashes slipping through his defenses like cracks opening in ice. Bill’s laugh—low, quiet, meant just for him. And then a memory that stung, his voice, gentle, saying Ford’s name in that way that made it sound like it was his to keep. The world around him faded into those small, sharp details, everything receding as his vision blurred.

“Ford?” Fidds’ voice broke the haze, a soft tether pulling him back. Ford blinked, feeling the heat spilling down his face, and tried to shake it off.

But then the sobs came, raw and broken, something ripped from the deepest parts of him. His legs buckled, giving out beneath him, and Fidds reached for him instinctively, pulling him close, easing him down into the dirt. “Ford, hey—it’s okay,” Fidds whispered, his hand firm on his shoulder, holding onto him. “I’m sorry… It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Ford couldn’t stop, the grief spilling out in ragged breaths, his fingers gripping Fidds’ arm with the desperation he couldn’t hide anymore. Fidds’ hand stayed steady on his shoulder, and Ford could feel him breathing, matching the rise and fall, something steady in the chaos. He wanted to find a way to voice the ache in his chest, to share the agony, but all he could do was cling tighter, the words lost to the silence between shaken breaths.

And he knew then, that no matter how hard he tried—he couldn’t do it. This weight would remain, woven into him, unable to let it slip away.

—

As they entered the cabin, a silence stretched between them, loose but weighted, like something heavy draped over both of them. Fidds lingered by the doorway, one hand on the edge of his coat, watching Ford move quietly past, shoulders drawn in, gaze low. The car ride back had been thick with the kind of stillness that makes you aware of every breath, every shift in your seat, and Ford had barely looked up the entire way. Now, as he slipped down the narrow stairs toward the lab, his steps careful, almost practiced, he seemed to disappear into the shadows with an ease that struck Fidds in a way he couldn’t quite name.

Ford felt the familiar ache of exhaustion settle into him, wrapping itself into the places that had long grown used to bearing it. There was comfort in the lab’s narrow walls, in the sharp hum of equipment waiting to be used. He felt a pull to the tiny rituals he could rely on: the quiet stacks of books, the way his papers lay in their usual order, untouched. Here, he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to feel. Just work. Just that.

Fidds watched him go, the sting of regret settling in, thick and sharp-edged. He’d thought maybe a night out would ease some of the strain, give Ford a breath of something lighter, but all it seemed to do was fray the edges of whatever Ford had been holding onto. His reaction suggested a far heavier burden he’d let on in that half-choked confession on the cliffside. Fidds’ attempts to help felt clumsy now, like he’d fumbled into something delicate without fully seeing it, and in doing so had only left Ford more exposed, making his want to further retract.

Back in the lab, Ford sank into his chair, forcing his mind to focus, to clear. His fingers were unsteady, but he pulled a stack of readings toward him, pages full of scribbled notes, equations, sketches of geometric symbols he hadn’t quite finished, patterns that he was sure held answers if he could only see it. He gripped a pen, leaning forward as he tried to trace the next connection, the next step—but everything blurred, the lines swimming.

He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to write, methodically, his pen cutting sharp strokes into the paper. He scrawled calculations, numbers that only half-cohered. He could feel sleep pulling at him, heavy and unrelenting, but he pressed harder, dug his fingers into the pen, determined not to give in. If he could just stay here, in the rhythm of the work, maybe he’d find it again—the energy, the sharpness. Just one more set of figures.

But his head kept dipping, his hand slipping in jagged lines across the page. He pushed through, breath shallow as he clung to the final threads of his work, but it was slipping, fading, until, finally—his head dropped forward with a hard thud.

The impact jolted him awake—he blinked, the feeling of confusion settling in. Something was off. The weight in his hand felt different. His eyes flicked to the right; a standard #2 pencil was in his hand. His heart stuttered in his chest.

“I’m out of number 2 pencils.” He said out loud.

He felt it—the presence he hadn’t felt in weeks, burning at the back of his neck. He turned, slowly, every muscle tensing, and there—straightening the creases and folds of his lab coat sleeves, right where he’d left him. Their eyes met, and he straightened, ready to work.

Bill.

[Previous Chapter][Next Chapter]

[jupiter-crushes-the-moon]

The Victoria Trail starts at a roadside trailhead in Halifax, PA, about half a mile from the southern gate of the Joseph E. Ibberson Wildlife Conservation Area. My girlfriend dropped me off there at 10:30, with the understanding that I'd be back at the same spot between 2:30 and 3:30.

The week had been warm, and all the snow was finally gone - today was quite chilly at first, though. The southern gate of the park was just a blockade in the path preventing vehicle access, and the Victoria Trail started winding its way up Peters Mountain.

The path was rocky but not hard to traverse. Ronald got quite a workout on the steeper sections, which often took the form of rough stacked stone steps.

It was about an hour of navigating switchbacks and climbing rock steps before I reached the high point of the trail. I climbed up the rock pile and declared myself king of the mountain.

I surveyed my kingdom as I ate a protein bar and said hi to a group of passing runners, who I guess are also kings of the mountain. I set back off after taking a good sit, and set off along the ridge of Peters Mountain, where the Victoria Trail merges with the Appalachian Trail for half a mile.

They split back off before too long. I tried not to think too hard about just how staggeringly far in the wrong direction it was possible to go.

The descent down the north face of Peters Mountain was quite pleasant. Instead of the purgatory of stairs and switchbacks of the south face, the path simply was a long, straight gentle downhill slope.

One thing that struck me was how thick and fluffy the moss was growing. It made springy mats that I tried not to step on too often. In a few places, though, it blanketed the trail itself.

I took a detour from the Victoria Trail to cut through the interior of the park on the Rocks Trail. It was more mossy than anything, despite the name. It went west and met up with the Pine Trail, which then went northeast to the main gate of the park, where I planned on taking a second break.

There were some truly magnificent rocks, mosses, and shrooms, and they deserve their own posts. This rock was quite pleasing to behold, though.

[darthkvznblogs]

I actually am looking for more PS5 games to buy. A more detailed review/recommendation of Spider-Man 2 would be appreciated if you have the time.

Alright, I'm gonna try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible!

THE PROS:

-Story's great! Perhaps not as emotionally resonant as the first game (they really did knock it out of the park with the Otto-Li-Osborn story), but still very impactful, and I loooved everyone's characterization. The setpieces were freakin' wild, so much more intense than almost anything in the previous entries, but the smaller, quieter moments were also very well done. Dialogues are great, can range from corny to eye-roll worthy, but in such a way that it matches Spider-Man's vibe very well.

-Traversal is the best in the series, with multiple new options that feel seamlessly integrated and a boost to swinging speed that can genuinely get you across the city in just a couple minutes, if that.

-Combat has been streamlined in some ways, deepened in others. YMMV on some on the missing gadgets from previous games, but I found the new ones and the new abilities (and the much simpler activation mechanic, ditching the slow "weapon wheel" style for an L1/R1 + assigned button method) an overall positive change. You kinda need it, because this game has a much steeper difficulty curve than the previous two.

-Aside from some facial oddities (I do find it a bit annoying that they keep changing how Peter looks, and even though it's the same MJ face model she looks super different from the 1st game to me, too, while the characters from Miles' side of the story look better but still perfectly recognizable), game looks incredible. Visual design, costumes, special effects, just all around a gorgeous game, and incredibly well animated, too.

-Practically zero loading times or any sort of performance issue (I did play on the 60 fps performance mode, tho)

THE CONS:

-Some real narrative Choices(TM) are made that could definitely be divisive if you're expecting more of a traditional Spider-Man story. I personally wasn't bothered by most of these (especially as this is its own universe), but I could understand some ruffled feathers.

-The expanded map can get a bit same-y, outside the obvious landmarks, especially with the added speed which blurs things together a bit more.

-Like I said, some facial models/animations kinda dip into uncanny valley territory, at least for me. It's not game breaking, but it could potentially take you out of a scene if you're more bothered by it.

-Less activities/sidequests than the first game (but what's there is very good!)

-This is mildly spoilery, but my biggest complaint with this game is that they got rid of minor but valuable worldbuilding elements like the Twitter-esque social feed or the in-universe character bios. I get that that's a lot of writing that a lot of people are gonna skim or skip, but you want to see people's reactions to the crazy stuff that happens in this game, trust me. Also, if you miss the podcasts or they get cut off when you're swinging around, there's no way to replay them this time around, for some reason? Maybe I just didn't find them?

So, yeah! I think it's an easy 8.5 or 9 out of 10 for me! I had a blast, and even if I don't agree with some of their choices, I respect the hell out of them for making them. Insomniac!Spidey remains my favorite of all the Peters in the Multiverse <3

[sunaleisocial]

Study: Climate change may make it harder to reduce smog in some regions

New Post has been published on https://sunalei.org/news/study-climate-change-may-make-it-harder-to-reduce-smog-in-some-regions/

Study: Climate change may make it harder to reduce smog in some regions

Global warming will likely hinder our future ability to control ground-level ozone, a harmful air pollutant that is a primary component of smog, according to a new MIT study.

The results could help scientists and policymakers develop more effective strategies for improving both air quality and human health. Ground-level ozone causes a host of detrimental health impacts, from asthma to heart disease, and contributes to thousands of premature deaths each year.

The researchers’ modeling approach reveals that, as the Earth warms due to climate change, ground-level ozone will become less sensitive to reductions in nitrogen oxide emissions in eastern North America and Western Europe. In other words, it will take greater nitrogen oxide emission reductions to get the same air quality benefits.

However, the study also shows that the opposite would be true in northeast Asia, where cutting emissions would have a greater impact on reducing ground-level ozone in the future. 

The researchers combined a climate model that simulates meteorological factors, such as temperature and wind speeds, with a chemical transport model that estimates the movement and composition of chemicals in the atmosphere.

By generating a range of possible future outcomes, the researchers’ ensemble approach better captures inherent climate variability, allowing them to paint a fuller picture than many previous studies.

“Future air quality planning should consider how climate change affects the chemistry of air pollution. We may need steeper cuts in nitrogen oxide emissions to achieve the same air quality goals,” says Emmie Le Roy, a graduate student in the MIT Department of Earth, Atmospheric and Planetary Sciences (EAPS) and lead author of a paper on this study.

Her co-authors include Anthony Y.H. Wong, a postdoc in the MIT Center for Sustainability Science and Strategy; Sebastian D. Eastham, principal research scientist in the MIT Center for Sustainability Science and Strategy; Arlene Fiore, the Peter H. Stone and Paola Malanotte Stone Professor of EAPS; and senior author Noelle Selin, a professor in the Institute for Data, Systems, and Society (IDSS) and EAPS. The research appears today in Environmental Science and Technology.

Controlling ozone

Ground-level ozone differs from the stratospheric ozone layer that protects the Earth from harmful UV radiation. It is a respiratory irritant that is harmful to the health of humans, animals, and plants.

Controlling ground-level ozone is particularly challenging because it is a secondary pollutant, formed in the atmosphere by complex reactions involving nitrogen oxides and volatile organic compounds in the presence of sunlight.

“That is why you tend to have higher ozone days when it is warm and sunny,” Le Roy explains.

Regulators typically try to reduce ground-level ozone by cutting nitrogen oxide emissions from industrial processes. But it is difficult to predict the effects of those policies because ground-level ozone interacts with nitrogen oxide and volatile organic compounds in nonlinear ways.

Depending on the chemical environment, reducing nitrogen oxide emissions could cause ground-level ozone to increase instead.

“Past research has focused on the role of emissions in forming ozone, but the influence of meteorology is a really important part of Emmie’s work,” Selin says.

To conduct their study, the researchers combined a global atmospheric chemistry model with a climate model that simulate future meteorology.

They used the climate model to generate meteorological inputs for each future year in their study, simulating factors such as likely temperature and wind speeds, in a way that captures the inherent variability of a region’s climate.

Then they fed those inputs to the atmospheric chemistry model, which calculates how the chemical composition of the atmosphere would change because of meteorology and emissions.

The researchers focused on Eastern North America, Western Europe, and Northeast China, since those regions have historically high levels of the precursor chemicals that form ozone and well-established monitoring networks to provide data.

They chose to model two future scenarios, one with high warming and one with low warming, over a 16-year period between 2080 and 2095. They compared them to a historical scenario capturing 2000 to 2015 to see the effects of a 10 percent reduction in nitrogen oxide emissions.

Capturing climate variability

“The biggest challenge is that the climate naturally varies from year to year. So, if you want to isolate the effects of climate change, you need to simulate enough years to see past that natural variability,” Le Roy says.

They could overcome that challenge due to recent advances in atmospheric chemistry modeling and by taking advantage of parallel computing to simulate multiple years at the same time. They simulated five 16-year realizations, resulting in 80 model years for each scenario.

The researchers found that eastern North America and Western Europe are especially sensitive to increases in nitrogen oxide emissions from the soil, which are natural emissions driven by increases in temperature.

Due to that sensitivity, as the Earth warms and more nitrogen oxide from soil enters the atmosphere, reducing nitrogen oxide emissions from human activities will have less of an impact on ground-level ozone.

“This shows how important it is to improve our representation of the biosphere in these models to better understand how climate change may impact air quality,” Le Roy says.

On the other hand, since industrial processes in northeast Asia cause more ozone per unit of nitrogen oxide emitted, cutting emissions there would cause greater reductions in ground-level ozone in future warming scenarios.

“But I wouldn’t say that is a good thing because it means that, overall, there are higher levels of ozone,” Le Roy adds.

Running detailed meteorology simulations, rather than relying on annual average weather data, gave the researchers a more complete picture of the potential effects on human health.

“Average climate isn’t the only thing that matters. One high ozone day, which might be a statistical anomaly, could mean we don’t meet our air quality target and have negative human health impacts that we should care about,” Le Roy says.

In the future, the researchers want to continue exploring the intersection of meteorology and air quality. They also want to expand their modeling approach to consider other climate change factors with high variability, like wildfires or biomass burning.

“We’ve shown that it is important for air quality scientists to consider the full range of climate variability, even if it is hard to do in your models, because it really does affect the answer that you get,” says Selin.

This work is funded, in part, by the MIT Praecis Presidential Fellowship, the J.H. and E.V. Wade Fellowship, and the MIT Martin Family Society of Fellows for Sustainability.

[darkmaga-returns]

Trump Will Tariff China 104% at Midnight. Record-Breaking $1 Trillion Defense Budget. WH warns Iran. Iran defies Trump. Hezbollah ready to discuss disarmament. WHO's Multi Country Pandemic Exercise

Lioness of Judah Ministry

Apr 09, 2025

President Trump Will Tariff China 104% at Midnight

The White House said Tuesday that President Donald Trump’s tariffs on imports from China might rise overnight to 104%. Beijing refuses to withdraw its retaliatory tariffs on U.S. exports.

“It was a mistake for China to retaliate. When America is punched, (the president) punches back harder,” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said. “That’s why there will be 104% tariffs going into effect on China tonight at midnight,” she said during a presser. Chinese goods were already set to be slapped with 54% tariffs. The figure combined a 20% previously imposed tariff and a 34% additional tariff on Chinese goods. This is in retaliation for the U.S.’s large trade deficit with China.

Bessent: China Escalation ‘Big Mistake,’ Playing a ‘Losing Hand’

Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said Tuesday on CNBC’s “Squawk Box” that China’s escalation of tariffs is a “big mistake” because it is playing a “losing hand.”

Bessent said, “If we put up a tariff wall, the ultimate goal would be to bring jobs back to the U.S. But in the meantime, we will be collecting substantial tariffs. If we’re successful, tariffs would be a melting ice cube, in a way, because you’re taking in the revenues as the manufacturing facilities are built in the U.S., and there should be some level of symmetry between the taxes we begin taking in with the new industry from the payroll taxes as the tariffs decline.”

At Least 12 House Republicans Consider Signing Anti-Trump Tariff Bill: Report

Which would be promptly veto'd by grudge-holding Trump...

At least a dozen House Republicans are mulling whether to sign onto Rep. Don Back's (R-NE) bill which would restrict the White House's ability to unilaterally impose tariffs, Axios reports. Bacon is crafting a companion bill to the Trade Review Act of 2025 introduced by Sens. Chuck Grassley (R-IA) and Maria Cantwell (D-WA), which would require the president to notify Congress of any new tariffs within 48 hours with the administration's reasoning as well as an analysis of their economic impacts. The bill would cause any tariffs to expire after 40 days unless Congress passes a resolution of approval. It would also give Congress the ability to pass a resolution of disapproval which would eliminate the tariffs within the 40 day period.

Musk Continues Anti-Tariff Tirade at Peter Navarro: ‘Dumber than a Sack of Bricks’

Elon Musk has continued his public feud with Trump economic adviser Peter Navarro for his role in implementing reciprocal tariffs, calling him a “moron” and “retard” who is “dumber than a sack of bricks.”

Musk, who leads the Trump administration’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), began publicly criticizing Navarro, President Donald Trump’s senior counselor for trade and manufacturing, in a series of Saturday X posts. “A PhD in Econ from Harvard is a bad thing, not a good thing,” the tech mogul wrote of Navarro’s degree. “Results in the ego/brains>>1 problem.”

Trump claims countries ‘kissing my ass’ for tariff deals

The president says US trade partners are begging for exemptions as even steeper tariffs go into effect Wednesday

President Donald Trump has claimed that dozens of countries are scrambling to negotiate trade deals with the United States following his sweeping new tariffs, boasting that foreign leaders are begging for exemptions to avoid the full impact of the levies. Speaking at a National Republican Congressional Committee (NRCC) dinner on Tuesday night, Trump said his administration is “doing very well” in early negotiations with countries already hit with a baseline 10% tariff last week – and dozens more facing even steeper duties starting Wednesday.

SCOTUS Upholds Trump’s Mass Firing of Federal Employees, Overturns Far-Left Judge’s Rehire Order

The Supreme Court has affirmed the Trump administration’s authority to dismiss thousands of probationary federal employees. This decision, passed by a 7-2 majority, nullifies the order from U.S. District Court Judge William Alsup in San Francisco, which had previously mandated the reinstatement of 16,000 staff across various departments.

Judge Alsup’s ruling rested on arguments from nine nonprofit organizations claiming harm due to government staffing reductions. However, the Supreme Court dismissed these claims as inadequate to provide standing under the existing legal framework—effectively agreeing with President Donald J. Trump’s acting Solicitor General Sarah Harris, who argued in the appeal: “This Court should not allow a single district court to … seize control over reviewing federal personnel decisions.”

Trump signs executive orders to boost US coal as power demand rises

WASHINGTON, April 8 (Reuters) - U.S. President Donald Trump signed executive orders on Tuesday that aim to boost coal production in his latest action that runs counter to global efforts to curb carbon emissions.

Coal-burning plants generate less than 20% of U.S. electricity, a drop from 50% in 2000, according to the Energy Information Administration, as fracking and other drilling techniques have hiked production of natural gas. Growth in solar and wind power has also cut coal use.

US IRS chief to quit over deal to share data with immigration officials, report says

The acting head of the US Internal Revenue Service plans to resign over a new agreement to share the tax data of undocumented immigrants with Homeland Security personnel, the Washington Post reported on Tuesday, citing two people familiar with the situation.

Acting IRS commissioner Melanie Krause will participate in the deferred resignation program the government offered to agency employees in recent days, the newspaper said.

[crossover-enthusiast]

Beyond the hollow was the square top of the mountain and soon they were standing on it.

They had guessed before that this was an island: clambering among the pink rocks, with the sea on either side, and the crystal heights of air, they had known by some instinct that the sea lay on every side. But there seemed something more fitting in leaving the last word till they stood on the top, and could see a circular horizon of water.

Ralph turned to the others.

"This belongs to us."

It was roughly boat-shaped: humped near this end with behind them the jumbled descent to the shore. On either side rocks, cliffs, treetops and a steep slope: forward there, the length of the boat, a tamer descent, tree-clad, with hints of pink: and then the jungly flat of the island, dense green, but drawn at the end to a pink tail. There, where the island petered out in water, was another island; a rock, almost detached, standing like a fort, facing them across the green with one bold, pink bastion.

The boys surveyed all this, then looked out to sea. They were high up and the afternoon had advanced; the view was not robbed of sharpness by mirage.

"That's a reef. A coral reef. I've seen pictures like that."

The reef enclosed more than one side of the island, lying perhaps a mile out and parallel to what they now thought of as their beach. The coral was scribbled in the sea as though a giant had bent down to reproduce the shape of the island in a flowing chalk line but tired before he had finished. Inside was peacock water, rocks and weeds showing as in an aquarium; outside was the dark blue of the sea. The tide was running so that long streaks of foam tailed away from the reef and for a moment they felt that the boat was moving steadily astern.

Jack pointed down.

"That's where we landed."

Beyond falls and cliffs there was a gash visible in the trees; there were the splintered trunks and then the drag, leaving only a fringe of palm between the scar and the sea. There, too, jutting into the lagoon, was the platform, with insect-like figures moving near it.

Ralph sketched a twining line from the bald spot on which they stood down a slope, a gully, through flowers, round and down to the rock where the scar started.

"That's the quickest way back."

Eyes shining, mouths open, triumphant, they savored the right of domination. They were lifted up: were friends.

"There's no village smoke, and no boats," said Ralph wisely. "We'll make sure later; but I think it's uninhabited."

"We'll get food," cried Jack. "Hunt. Catch things. until they fetch us."

Simon looked at them both, saying nothing but nodding till his black hair flopped backwards and forwards: his face was glowing.

Ralph looked down the other way where there was no reef.

"Steeper," said Jack.

Ralph made a cupping gesture.

"That bit of forest down there . . . the mountain holds it up."

Every point of the mountain held up trees--flowers and trees. Now the forest stirred, roared, flailed. The nearer acres of rock flowers fluttered and for half a minute the breeze blew cool on their faces.

Ralph spread his arms.

"All ours."

They laughed and tumbled and shouted on the mountain.

"I'm hungry."

When Simon mentioned his hunger the others became aware of theirs.

"Come on," said Ralph. "We've found out what we wanted to know."

They scrambled down a rock slope, dropped among flowers and made their way under the trees. Here they paused and examined the bushes round them curiously.

(Stopping so ya can read)

Hmmm

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 4,573

Jake: Level up.

That absurd drubbing earned you another rung on your echeladder. One of the steeper prices you've had to pay for a bit of ladder climbing, but in the end you suppose it was all worth it to be able to bask in the glory and prestige of the PETER PANACHE rung. You guess? Who are you kidding, you don't have a clue what that even means.

[localwebslingers]

The assurance helped a little, even if it wasn’t enough to set him back fully on solid ground rather than his continued drop downward, Peter felt the smallest fraction better. He wanted her to know that, it was important that Mary Jane knew just how important she was to him. How treasured, how precious. Not in the way someone hid and tucked away something so that it stayed intact. No, he didn’t want to do that to her, she was not something delicate to tuck away on a shelf and protect from reality. Not something to keep.

Peter wanted her to live, and thrive, and know she was precious because of how she lived. The things she did, the way she made him feel. He was scared for her because he loved her so much, wanted her safe because that’s what people do when they love someone. She was precious because his life was better with her a part of it, and he knew it was.

He'd lost that feeling before, he couldn't stand the idea of it happening again...

When she sat up, he moved to let her up and off of the bed, eyes still trained on her and hands itching to hold on again. To pull her back close before settling for taking her hand and letting her pull him along. Following without question or concern. She could lead him halfway across the city right now and Peter wouldn’t even think twice about trailing along behind her. Still had to stay close, had to be sure. Like he was seeing her with his own two eyes, feeling her hand laced together so gently with his, and he still couldn't really believe it. Or worse yet, thought the second he left the apartment that it all would fracture and completely shatter apart. That it was then that something would really happen.

The drop downward was getting steeper…

He thought over the question and looked at MJ carefully, hand twitching to hold on- please don’t leave me I’m scared I can’t have you leave me I can't loose you I’m scared -before it loosened and Peter shook his head a little, “I can…I’ll be fine. It won’t be long.” he didn’t know which one of them he was trying to convince but he could push through one, quick shower, “If it’s okay with you I’ll leave the suit off in here? Not bringing what I got up to into the bed with me, right?” it was a light, almost hollow tease. Exhaustion was settling in faster and the shower, Peter was starting to realize, might be the only thing he had the energy left for. By the time he was back with Mary Jane in his arms and on the bed, he might be worn out enough to sleep.

With luck, it would be solid through the rest of the night.

\\ @redhead-reporter \\

"Surprised? Definitely. SCARED? Not even a little. I have WAY too many dreams about you that start just like that for you to have spooked me." MJ grinned, the heat of his lips on her skin radiating up her arm and straight into her chest. FUCK, she loved him so much. She felt it in her lungs every time she breathed, the sensation sitting resolutely within every drop of blood in her body. The notion that she dreamed about him wasn't even a tease to make him feel BETTER - virtually every time she closed her eyes, waking or dreaming, she saw him. Heard his infectious laugh in her ear and felt the ghost of his TOUCH on her exposed skin. It was the kind of all encompassing feeling that she NEVER wanted to let go of, would fight to the death to protect.

Perhaps he already knew that - perhaps that fear had SENT him here tonight.

MJ blushed ferociously at his question, even as her heart THRUMMED with pleasure. She didn't think he'd ever said the words before, at least not so explicitly. But they didn't come wholly as a SHOCK either, a soft smile spreading across her lips. "Yes, baby. I KNOW - you make sure I know." she promised him softly before leaning in to kiss his forehead. Determined to PEPPER him with warm affection, begin to drive away whatever cold had wrapped itself around him just like he always did for her. They took CARE of each other, eagerly so. Of course it mattered what had hurt him, where the PAIN had come from. But making him whole again was more important, since she stood no chance of feeling it herself until he was BETTER.

"I don't mind the suit in the bed. I DO mind you sleeping in the remnants of whatever you got up to out there, though. C'mon, let's at least get you a little bit CLEANED up first." MJ suggested, already sitting up to make it clear that she'd HELP him if he lacked the energy to do it alone. He'd probably feel a little better if he could wipe the GRIME of the city away - his physical needs met at a minimum even if the mental toll would be an ongoing battle. MJ took the hand he'd placed over her own and interlaced their fingers together, gingerly TUGGING him towards her tiny bathroom. "I've got fresh towels and that body wash you like ... you gonna be okay in there or do you want me to come WITH?"

@localwebslingers

[onlyincanadayousay2]

Peter Steeper

12 December at 19:01 2019

The Halifax Central Library will be five years old this week. It's one of the great social spaces in the city. I've enjoyed many presentations in the Regan Hall plus the Pavia Cafe and overhang on the top floor are a couple of my favourite places in the Library. I enjoy taking pictures of buildings under construction and there were many negative comments as it was being built but since it's been completed and won international awards it's been mostly favourable comments. Thank you to Elizabeth Wozniak at Northstar Immigration Law for making it possible to capture this image.

[shitty-eyepocalypse-domains]

Vast domain where you’ve hiked up a steep slope and now have to get back down. It seems much, much steeper going down. (That’s not even supernatural. Slopes always do that.) The trail peters out immediately. The soil is sandy and loose, with rocks that look sturdy but slip instantly out from under you. There’s always something to catch yourself on when you fall, but only barely — a skinny grass tussock, maybe, or a half-rotted dead branch — and only after you’ve nearly lost your balance completely, so catching the handhold comes too late stop the icy adrenaline stab. Your hands are cramping; will you even be able to grab the next one? Flat ground never actually gets any closer, of course, no matter how long you climb.

Holy shit this could be a goddamn statement. On that note, I am one of those people who absolutely get scared going down even a teensy hill cause ~anxiety~ lmao so mark that down on your increasingly accurate knowledge of my fears list.

[allkinds-oftrash]

The Crown S5E1 Commentary:

Non-Spoiler Gist - It was a good first episode, I am mixed about some of the casting but I'm going to chalk it up to the transitional period of it and I just need to get used to them. I was really surprised about the new Prime Minister.

Spoilers Under The Cut:

The way I got so emotional seeing Claire Foy again as Lizzie 🥺🥺

The transitional scenes crack me up I dunno why it just feels very meta

This report feels like an lie - who in the WORLD thinkd he's modern, young and empathetic??? OH COS DI WOULD BE QUEEN SJKSKDJD Ahhh the second honeymoon is a PR stunt yikes

I don't know how I feel about Elizabeth's Diana. Like obviously she's older and jaded so the vibe is different I dunno something feels off

Charles and Diana are being friendly??? Oh there he is Chucky being a dick

Awee babey Harry AWWW THE BOYS WANTING TO GO SHOPPING WITH THEIR MOM

It's all a lie Lizzie they aren't a happy couple at all.

Johnathan's voice as Phillip is SO OFF It needs to be steeper "A replacement" Lmao they're not talking about the boat anymore

Ohmygod they're playing Mariah!! I love that Diana is having the time of her life with her boys as she should!

Oop the article is coming I need to find this paper

Oooh is that the new Anne?? I kinda miss Erin already hdkdjd

What is so damming about this article omg Don't say no to Anne lmao do you want to die sir Lmaooo she's gonna see it eventually they can't hide it from her forever LOL THEY WENT TO PHILLY FIRST DJDKDKD Despite my issues with him, I do love his devotion to Lizzie

Not Chucky planning a pseudo coup ndndjd

Okay the new Anne has the voice down I need her more snappy This moment between mother and daughter is cute I'll give them that. Oh helloooo Tim hahaha

"How come I never noticed" "Cos you're married" LMAO I'm shook the guy playing Tim looks just like him

Not Charles and his pseudo coup Him complementing the PM sjdkdkk yall are boring white dudes calm down Lmaooo "It's instinct for renewal and it's willingness to make way for someone younger" Are we thinking of the same Conservative Party Chucky??? Chucky you're not Edward though. God the delusion of this man

Leslie is a vibe as Margaret But I swear the Queen Mother looks like a new person every time dkdjdkd

Lmao Lizzie is sussing them out Damn Martin is hot?? Granted all the Martins were shsjks I NEED to find this article and I wanna know what the journalist was on lmao

HE'S SIPPING HIS TEA LMAO after she told him abt the article Jesus she is NOT asking for funding for a ship?? Yesss Johnny tell her I'm very conflicted by John Majors he's so right in both of these convos but he's also a TORY 🤢🤢

Lizzie you sound like a spoilt rich person please shut up "Service I've given this country" 🤡🤡🤡 Okay Lizzie okay.

Hohoho Dominic West in a kilt??? He's an asshat for cheating on his wife but damn does he look good

Philly shouldn't be going this hard on a ship

John Majors is gonna be the Royal Fam's babysitter and therapist this season it's so funny please. John Majors is so right in this episode I can't even Peter Morgan HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME AGREE WITH A TORY

Literally me agreeing with everything John's been saying this ep:

[its-my-whump]

The Merry Whump of May - Medi Whump May – Day 21

@themerrywhumpofmay: desperation - hiking trail

@mediwhumpmay: field medicine

Annoying conversations ;-), road rash, accident, unconsciousness

"Yeah, let's go hiking together." Peters words were still running through his head. "It'll be fun."

Sam didn't doubt that it could have been fun, but that was before Peter and Emily bailed on him, leaving him to spend the whole damn day alone with Tonya.

She was a nice girl, but he had let himself be talked into a second date from Pete. Oh, he wanted to slap himself for his stupidity.

Now, he had about 8 miles of her undivided attention and unbearable hours of talking without any other distraction, yeah.

Peter was gonna burn for this.

Tonya was really nice and not stupid, but her chosen topics about new shoes or her brothers' gorgeous new boyfriend felt like torture. Exactly the conversations he wanted to have or more endure on his day off. Sam would have preferred to discuss the right temperature for boiling some water instead.

Actually, he would have loved to turn on his heal and make a run for it. After some more information about her grandma's fungus, (he hadn't really listen for quiet some time, so Sam didn't know, if it was a condition, problems with a moist basement or something to eat), he just knew he wouldn't survive this hike, when she kept on talking.

So he welcomed the following steep descent they were about to take. These were the moments, he was looking forward to, when she actually was using her mouth for breathing only.

Out of desperation, the short idea of a little push to her back jumped through his head, when they reached the edge of the cliff. He hushed his own thoughts.

"You wanna go first or shall I?" Sam was surprised by his own steady voice.

"Oh, I go then." He couldn't help himself, her smile was gorgeous nonetheless. 'Maybe, he should asked about that fungus thing again after all...'

"Okay, I follow a few steps behind. So you won't get any gravel on your head."

The first few steps were easy, but the path got steeper. She slipped, fell and slid down a bit. "Ah shit." Tonya hissed, her right hand burning, while she settled on a bigger rock. "You all right?" Sam closed up fast.

He gently took her hand in his own. "Damn." It was dusty, some road rash, little drops of blood were starting to stain brown into red. Sam grabbed for the bottle at the side of her backpack and washed the dirt away. He untied the bandana from his neck and signalled her to move her hand while he dressed her wound. "I'll make a knot now. Say, if it's too tight, okay." He smiled at her reassuring, she hissed. "Anything else? Your legs okay?" She just nodded, having a look on her hand.

Tonya still insisted on leading the way. After some hesitation they made good progress, which let her start talking again. "You know, Kevin just recently brought my brother this marvellous neckless..." Sam instantly zoned out. He didn't care for their relationship, he was just annoyed hearing about happy people or relationships and it kind of made the impression, that she was spreading hints in this direction. That fungus surely had to have been more interesting.'

Neither of them was prepared, when Tonya slipped again. Just out of reflex, she grabbed the first thing that appeared to bring any kind of support. Unfortunately it was Sam's lower leg.

The motion swapped his feet from under him, he unconsciously turned to the side, when she pulled him with. But only after his hands tried to catch his fall and were also slipping on the gravel surface, the side of his head connected with something hard. A last sensation of warm liquid splashing into his face, everything already dark, when the soft skin of his cheek was dragged over rough surface. 'Yeah, let's go hiking together. It'll be fun.' Peters voice rushed briefly through his head.

Tonya's scream was ringing in his ears until it faded into silence when he finally lost consciousness.

TBC (here)

Masterlist

[f1]

Hamilton hoping to salvage points after mistimed qualifying run leaves him 13th | 2023 Miami Grand Prix

Lewis Hamilton says he’ll be relying on strategy to score points after being eliminated in the second round of qualifying for the Miami Grand Prix. The Mercedes driver endured a difficult qualifying session which left him 13th on the grid. He brushed the wall at turn 17 during Q1 while swerving to avoid Kevin Magnussen’s Haas. Hamilton was on his way into the pits at the time, having decided he wanted a steeper angle on his front wing after locking up and running wide at the same corner the lap before. He secured passage to Q2 but got no further. His last effort left him a quarter of a second outside of the top 10. It is the second time in as many races one of the Mercedes drivers has failed to reach Q3, George Russell having been eliminated during Q2 in Baku last week. “That felt way too late, guys,” Hamilton told race engineer Peter Bonnington after his final run. He explained the team had sent him out of the pits too late at the end of Q2, leaving him in traffic and complicating his effort to optimise the temperature of his tyres. “It started out okay,” Hamilton told media including RaceFans. “There was a couple of decent moments throughout the session. “We generally have struggled to have the true pace to get into Q3 today. We were just right on the cusp of maybe not getting in. “Then right at the end we’ve just gone out too late. I was at the back of maybe seven cars and I started my lap with just not enough temperature in the tyres.” Hamilton said the Mercedes is lacking pace “everywhere” at the moment compared to their rivals. “If you look at the Red Bull, for example, they can use a a small rear wing and they’re fast on the straight and fast through the corners. “For us we have to have a bigger wing to get anywhere near them in the corners. So I think we’re lacking rear downforce mostly.” “We’re not where we want to be,” he added. “I wish we had a car that we were able to contend for wins. So it’s tough for us. But we just keep our head down, I’ve just got to keep my head down and keep pushing.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2023 Miami Grand Prix Browse all 2023 Miami Grand Prix articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[coffeenuts]

Tomatoes by Peter Steeper https://flic.kr/p/6Y2JXS