#he joked that he would sell the coffee cup on eBay

[sunshineandlyrics]

Louis interviewed by Jon Weigell for Rolling Stone, 10 November 2022 x x 🥰

Rolling Stone Producer before the interview "I hope he enjoys being hot because the studio's AC is still broken"

Jon about Louis "I'm sure he enjoys being hot in multiple ways, he enjoys being hot every day of his life probably"

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Do Whatever You Want, I’m Super Dead

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim has come to the stunning conclusion that human bodies are defective and evolution needs to pick up the fucking slack.

Tim has come to the stunning conclusion that human bodies are defective and evolution needs to pick up the fucking slack. Why else would he be this miserable? Tim is settled in the manor’s TV room, curled up on the comfiest sofa in the house. He’s on his third episode of Riverdale in a row—not because he enjoys the show, definitely not. But he lost the remote under the couch some three hours ago and if he moves even an inch from his current position, he’s sure he will bleed out and die. Tim should have been prepared for this. For two days now he’s been crampy, but he figured it was just a stomachache and ignored it. Like an idiot. He let himself get lulled into the false sense of security like a helpless lamb being led right into the slaughterhouse. Needless to say, he learned his lesson when he woke up this morning feeling like his insides were being torn out with rusty pliers. Of everyone in the household, (which pretty much just means Cass and occasionally Barbara and Steph), Tim gets the worst periods by far. Yes, that is incredibly unfair and he is seriously considering selling his entire reproductive system for ten dollars on Ebay just to be rid of it. Bruce says he can get the surgery when he turns eighteen, but Tim would rather wait a few years than be put out of commission for such a long stretch of time. This is making him regret that decision, though.

It’s bad enough that every time Tim does a tampon run he has to look at that stupid “feminine care” aisle sign, like it’s accusing him of something. (And, yes, he knows that statistically there are far more cis women in the world who have periods than trans men, but still. Not fun.) To make matters worse, Tim couldn’t find his heating pad anywhere and didn’t feel like tearing apart his room for it, so instead he presses a hot thermos of coffee against his stomach, willing the cramps to subside. (Spoiler alert! They don’t. Tim’s body hates him.) Speaking of spoilers: “You’re doing the next food run after this,” Steph says as she enters the room. She’s got a bowl of hot mashed potatoes in each hand. She places one on the armrest next to Tim and snuggles into the nearby armchair with her own. “I almost blew up the stove.” Tim sits up a little, replaces the thermos in his lap with the warm bowl of potatoes. He’s starving. “You’re the best, Steph.” “Fuck you.” “So grouchy.” “I have a right to be.” “Come on, I’m too cute and crampy to be mad at. Also you’re currently in my house, so you have to be nice to me.” Steph throws an aptly named throw pillow at him. This one has the quote, “World Peace Begins With Inner Peace” stitched on the front—one of Alfred’s futile attempts at abolishing bickering in the household. Poor guy never stood a chance. “You did this to me,” she hisses. “How was I supposed to know we’d sync up? It was an innocent oversight on my part. Couldn’t be helped.”

“Jerk.” If Tim is a lamb in a slaughterhouse, then Jason is a kangaroo stepping into a boxing ring with two other, just as aggressive kangaroos. Tim didn’t even know he was at the manor today. Jay takes one look at Tim, burrowed under two blankets in a fetal position, and laughs. “Did the demon finally poison you?” “Har, har. You’re fucking hilarious.” Jason flops on the couch by Tim’s feet, probably would have crushed them if Tim didn’t move them out of the way just in time. Jason reaches over and steals Tim’s mashed potatoes like the absolute villain he is. He takes a bite, then gestures with his spoon to the television. “Why are you watching this crap?” Tim snatches the bowl back and smacks Jason in the arm for good measure. “Can’t find the remote.” “So? I thought you were a genius. Just hack into the TV or something. What else are we keeping you around for?” Tim shakes his head and eats his potatoes, uncaring when they scald his tongue. “Too tired.” “Are you sick?” “No, but my organs are melting.” Steph snorts. “And you called me grouchy.” “Oh, yeah? Says Miss “wahhhh, my boyfriend sabotaged me even though it’s actually not his fault at all and he’s just trying to live his life.’” “You did this to me on purpose and you know it. I was supposed to have another week and a half, but nooo, you had to take the reins and change it up. I have an English presentation tomorrow.” “I said I was sorry!” “Are you guys serious?” All eyes snap to Jason. “It’s just PMS. Get over it.” Tim slams his foot into Jason’s stomach as hard as he can. Jason lets out a wheeze and doubles over. “Jesus. What the hell was that for?” “Leg spasm,” Tim says innocently. “My bad.” “You bruised my fucking kidney, you little ingrate.” “Oh, you’re in a little bit of pain? Get over it.” “That was a joke.” Jason rubs the forming bruise with a wince. “I didn’t ask for a demonstration.” Tim eats his mashed potatoes and does his best to ignore Jason. He’s miserable enough today as it is; he doesn’t need his brother adding on to that misery. He gets hit with another cramp and grimaces, curling in on himself as tight as he can. So not fair. Jason stands and goes to the kitchen, leaving Tim alone on the sofa. He takes advantage of the free space and stretches out his legs across the full length again, biting back what is definitely not a whimper. Look, having a uterus fucking hurts, okay? Tim can take a gunshot any day, but his own body attacking him is just uncalled for. Whoever decided that anyone with XX chromosomes deserves to be put through pain as a regular part of life while the other sex doesn’t should be lined up and shot. Jason returns in seconds, this time with a chocolate bar that Tim vaguely remembers seeing in Jason’s junk food stash behind the microwave. He throws it at Tim, who fumbles to catch it. “Here. Am I absolved of guilt now?” Tim considers that for a moment. He gives the chocolate to Steph, who tears off the wrapper and wolfs the entire thing down in record time. She should be a gold medalist in eating. “Not much of a chocolate fan,” Tim admits. “It’s too sweet.” “Then what do you want?” “I like money.” “Why the fuck would I give you money? You’ve got PMS, you’re not dying.” “It’s like buying me another candy bar, but instead of buying the candy you can just give me the cash. Cut out the middleman.” Jason rolls his eyes. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.” “Fine, fine. If you want to buy me food, can you get some guacamole from that place next to Wayne Tower? The one with the really good quesadillas? I don’t want any quesadillas, though, just the guacamole in a to-go cup with a spoon.” Steph holds up two fingers. “Make that two,” she says around a mouthful of chocolate. “Two guacamoles. And maybe a handful of those chewy mints they have at the front counter too.” Jason sighs, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch. “Coming right up. But you two owe me for this.” Tim burrows deeper under his blankets, smiling. Yes, they can be annoying. Yes, they are utterly hopeless when it comes to things like this. But sometimes it pays to have brothers.

[the-fiction-witch]

Clone

REAL LIFE: SCANDAL COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: SMUTTISH SUGGESTIONS

"Hello everyone and welcome to this bullshit idea I had at five in the morning and instantly went online to buy something I do not need or want, but am going to make a age restricted video on it anyway." she smiled as she stood in her kitchen with some tools on the table Thomas beside her having a cup of tea seeming confused why he was even there. "So first things first. Thomas"

"Yes y/n?"

"Get your pants off Thomas"

"Way ahead of you y/n" he says sipping his tea

"Ohh I see" she says looking down at him however everything below there waists was hidden behind her kitchen island

"Yep."

"Did you do that while I was making your cup of tea?"

"Yes I did"

"why?

"when have you known me to wear pants at your house?

"That's true" she sighs "Next step" she says looking at some instructions on the table "Take your underpants off"

"Hu?"

"Take them off"

"... so just straight up. Get my dick out?"

"Yep." she laughs "Get your dick out"

"You should probably explain the video because this is a weird opening"

"I doubt any one is going to complain"

"Still"

"It'll make senses as we go on"

"You hope"

"How long does it take you to get your underwear off?"

"I didn't know I was doing this, these are hard to get off, Plus I'm trying not to let the camera see... or you"

"why? I have seen your dick lots of times."

"Still...

"Honestly Thomas I see it so much it's not even excited anymore"

"Awww am I not exciting?"

"not really no"

"Right What are we doing?" He asks handing her his underwear  "why am I naked from the waist down?"

"My enjoyment"

"This is weird. I do not like this."

"You don't like being whinnie the pooh?

"I very much am whinnie the pooh right now. what are we going to do?"

"We are cloneing your dick"

".... We're what?"

"we are going to use some science to make a clone of your dick"

"Sooo.. what are you gonna do with the clone of my dick?"

"That's none of your business Thomas"

"What are you going to do?"

"sell it on eBay probably" she laughs "Right lets mix some Goo!" she laughs throwing some equipment on the table

"Gooooo! I wanna mix the goo"

"No goo for you"

"For explanation we are actually following the direction we may skip some and also edit for jokes but this isn't like barbie was are actually doing it, Do not... copy me"

"I could have kept my pants on if I knew it was going to take this long"

"You complaining?"

"No." he shrugs "I am very happy we are not doing this drunk as you first suggested"

"why? you scared I'll burn your dick off?"

"A little bit yeah. this is legit science"

"It is, why did you come and join me then?"

"For reference. Y/n popped her head around my kitchen door while I was making a coffee and just said 'Hi Thomas I found a thing online, and I need to borrow your penis'"

"My exact words"

"Yes, and as any man with a functioning brain. I dropped my coffee and came over"

"As any man would"

"as anyone with a Penis would" He says "Anyone who hears the words ' I need to borrow your penis', You will hear that so few times in your life don't ask questions just go"

"I could have needed your penis for voodoo?" she laughs "Or... like to squish a bug"

"Or I could get a blow job." He shrugs "That's the risk you take when you run over to someone asking to borrow your penis."

"Sometimes it's blow jobs. Sometimes it's voodoo"

"You have to accept it" he shrugs "Are you in need of me yet?"

"Yes." she smiled as she filled a tube with goo "Stuff your penis in this tube"

"....Okay" He shrugs

"I love how you are all for this completely sober"

"I am strangely" he says taking the tube under the table

"Kick up a fuss about being handcuffed on camera, But stick your dick in a mystery tube on camera. Hell yeah" she laughs

"Ahhh you overfilled it, It's leaking out the sides of the tube"

"You're dick or the goo?" she laughs

"The goo" He sighed

"Would you like assistance?"

".... Yes I would sweetie darling" "Shut the face Thomas. shut it" she says moving under the table enough so only the top of her head was visible "Know one gif this! or I swear I will murder you all!"

"Having fun down there?"

"Shut up!" she complained "If you dare make a porn face up there I will actually bite your dick off." "I'm not doing anything... just standing here"

"You lean like lot to the left"

"I do"

"That's weird. You have a weird dick"

"... thank you."

"You're welcome" she smiled jumping up again "I love how we are that comfortable that I was literally like inches from your dick and you didn't give a shit"

"Know here you haven't been before darling"

"Stop it! you'll make people do the shipping"

"why is it called shipping?"

"Ohhh... ohh sweetie. There is not the time today" she says petting his hair "Right that should be ready now does it feel solid?"

"Uhhh... I don't know."

"I can poke it so yes!" she laughs taking the tube and putting it back on the table "You may mix this goo"

"wooo!"

"You may also put your pants back on"

"You mix goo I will put my pants back on, Where did you throw my underwear actually?"

"I didn't I just put them in my pocket"

"My underwear fits in your pocket"

"Yes it does. Make of that what you will at the size of thomas' penis. Or my pockets for that matter" she laughs "Now we poor the fucking radioactive green goo into the thing and theorecticly it will make the goo go in the shape of your dick"

"You've gonna have to blur that"

"I am,"

"Why is it green anyway?"

"There was three colour options on the product from where I bought it, One was like an orangey colour they called white which is the colour that you think of when you think of like flesh coloured vibrators and such its that not real flesh colour, then you could have one they called black which was very much the same thing but you know, I don't feel I need to explain. and they for one pound more you could buy one that was in as they called it radioactive green and will also glow in the dark"

"So we are making a glow in the dark vibrating replica of my dick?"

"Yes we are"

".... why would you want a vibe to glow in the dark?"

"so you can find it when you inevitably drop it in bed"

"Not a good idea though for hiding them?"

"Yeah that's true." she shrugs shoving the vibrator in the top "Right now this will take twenty four hours so... we will reveal to only us tomorrow,"

"Tomorrow"

"Now lets go play Pokémon"

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Keeping Company

Authors: @whumphoarder and @xxx-cat-xxx

Summary: While attempting to look after his migraine-riddled mentor, Peter manages to injure himself badly enough to need Tony’s help. 

Word Count: 3k

Authors’ note: Basically, Bethany and Cat are incredibly predictable people, so we each wrote our favorite whump tropes (Tony + migraine, Peter + stitches) and combined them to make our first collab story in response! Hope you enjoy reading as much as we enjoyed creating it together :D

Link to read on Ao3

Tony spits saliva into the toilet bowl for the umpteenth time, wishing that his stomach would get it over with and empty itself already just so that he can get back to bed. Not that it would make much of a difference; his head hurts no matter where he is, but he knows the rest of his body is not going to like the hour he just spent kneeling on the tiled bathroom floor come tomorrow.

“Tony? Are you in there?” someone calls quietly from outside the door. It takes Tony’s migraine-riddled brain a moment to place the voice. Peter, right. Peter, who is staying over at the lake house this weekend to help him upgrade FRIDAY’s interface while Pepper takes Morgan downtown for a day trip.

“Tony? Can I come in?” Peter calls. He sounds a bit more anxious now, making Tony realize that he never actually answered.

“Yeah,” he rasps, and his head thanks him with another vicious throb of pain that he can feel reverberating in the pit of his stomach. He reaches back for the doorknob with an arm that isn’t there before recalling that he took the prosthesis off in the garage because it was hurting him earlier. Then he remembers that he didn’t even lock the door to the bathroom. God, he’s a mess today. “‘S open.”

Peter steps in and immediately winces at the sight of Tony slumped on the floor. “Hey. Uh, did you throw up?” he asks.

Tony shakes his head. “Just nauseous.”

“Ah, okay.” The worry in Peter’s voice is clear. Tony has been getting migraines more frequently since the snap, but the kid has never witnessed one quite like this before. It was bad enough that Tony didn’t even make much of a fuss when Peter sent him to bed after his hands were shaking so badly that he’d slopped coffee over some exposed circuits in the mainframe and shorted them out.

He squints up at Peter. “Don’ worry, kid. It’ll pass.”

Peter nods. He crosses his arms awkwardly, looking like he’s not quite sure what to do with them, and leans against the doorframe. “Uh, how long have you been in here?”

Tony shrugs a bit. “An hour? Two?”

Peter’s face falls. “Why didn’t you tell me it’d gotten this bad? You said I should just do my homework because you were gonna fall asleep anyway.”

“Well what would you have done about it?” Tony retorts. It comes out ruder than intended and Peter’s gaze immediately drops to his feet. A pang of guilt hits Tony and he sighs, sluggishly rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. ‘S just frustrating.”

“No, it’s okay,” Peter reassures, sighing as well. “Just wish I could do something.”

“Build me a new brain,” Tony jokes weakly. “Sell this piece of crap on eBay. Someone’ll buy it—they always do.”

Just then another wave of nausea washes over him. His stomach clenches and for a moment he’s sure he is going to throw up. He bends back over the bowl and squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out carefully. Saliva is pooling in his mouth and the urge to gag is overwhelming, but still, he fights it. Despite how close he and the kid have gotten in the months following Thanos’ defeat, Tony isn’t quite ready to let Peter witness him losing his lunch.

“Actually,” he gasps out after swallowing thickly, “I think there’s some ginger ale in the kitchen. Can you, uh...?” he flaps his hand around.

Peter nods eagerly. “Yeah, for sure,” he says, and disappears through the open door.

The moment he’s out of the room, Tony gags. Nothing comes up, but the pain accompanying the movement is so bad that it sends white lights crisscrossing through his vision.

After another few dry heaves, he lets his head sink down against the rim of the bowl with a low moan that luckily nobody else can hear. He’s shaking and drenched in cold sweat. Pretty pathetic, Iron Man, he thinks.

Then he hears the sound of glass shattering downstairs.

Tony lifts his head weakly. “FRI?” he rasps. “Wha’ was that?”

“Peter appears to have broken a drinking glass,” FRIDAY reports, her volume a bit lower than usual.

“Hm.” As long as it’s not that hideous French sculpture in the dining room that Pepper’s grandmother gave to her, they should be fine. Not that Tony wouldn’t  love  an excuse to finally be rid of that thing—it gives him the creeps. “Is he alright?” he croaks.

“He assures me he is perfectly fine and will be clearing the mess up momentarily,”—Tony gives a small, satisfied hum and lets his eyelids drift back closed—“just as soon as he manages to stop the bleeding,” she finishes.

“Hm… wait, what?” It takes about two seconds longer than usual for Tony’s impaired brain to latch on to the meaning of that sentence. “What bleeding?”

“I’m totally fine, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice hollers up the stairs. Tony winces at the sound; he always forgets about the kid’s enhanced hearing. “Got it handled!”  

“In attempting to catch the falling glass, he sustained several lacerations to his right hand,” FRIDAY informs. “Most are superficial, though one of the cuts is bleeding quite heavily and may require medical attention.”

“God, kid, what did you do this time?” Tony groans quietly as he reaches for the sink to pull himself upright. The change in altitude dials up the pain another few notches and makes his vision swim. He maneuvers his way through the dimly lit master bedroom, swaying almost drunkenly.

The sunlight streaming in through the hallway windows when he opens the bedroom doors feels like a personal assault. Tony groans in pain, unable to stop himself, and brings his elbow up to cover his eyes. “FRI, blinds,” he manages to say through clenched teeth. The AI immediately draws the integrated blinds and the hallway blissfully darkens.

“Mr. Stark? Are you okay?” the kid calls from downstairs. “Don’t come down―I got this!” The slight waver of Peter’s voice at the end of the sentence however makes it clear to Tony that the kid has not, in fact, got this.  

“Too late,” he calls back, and then flinches at the volume of his own voice.

The stairs are a challenge with the added aura and wooziness on top of the usual balance issues he still has whenever he doesn’t wear his prosthesis. Holding tightly to the railing with his left arm, Tony concentrates on putting one foot in front of another. He has to stop twice—once to wait for a dizzy spell to pass, and the second time to breathe through another wave of nausea—but he makes it down in one piece.

“Pete?” he asks when he reaches the landing.

There’s a clattering sound and a muffled swear from the kitchen.

“Whatever you’re doing, just stop,” Tony says tiredly as he moves toward the kitchen, keeping his hand on the wall for balance. “Just sit down, and wait for….” he trails off, standing at the room’s threshold now and getting his first glimpse of the scene. “Yikes.”

It looks like something straight out of a B-grade horror flick. Peter is crawling around on the crimson droplet-stained floor, frantically trying to pick up glass shards with his left hand while holding his right—wrapped in a thick, bloodsoaked wad of paper towels—pressed against his chest. He glances up when his mentor stops in the doorway, eyes wide. “I’m fine—I promise,” he blurts.

“Yeah, you and me both, kid,” Tony mutters. He stands there for a moment, his gaze traveling blankly from the blood and glass pieces littering the floor, to the kid’s Pokémon-socked feet, and waits for his sluggish brain to formulate a plan of action.

“Broom,” Tony decides finally, and side steps carefully in his leather-soled slippers over to the pantry to retrieve it.

“Uh, did you still want the ginger ale?” Peter asks nervously. “Because it’s right over there,” he rambles, nodding to the bottle on the counter as he continues picking up glass. “It’s not cold or anything, which is why I was gonna put it in a cup with some ice, but—”

“Pete,” Tony interrupts.

Peter glances up at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m not all useless, alright?” Tony says. Peter opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, but Tony just holds up a finger, shushing him. “Just let me help you. Please.”

Closing his mouth again, Peter gives a single nod. “Alright.”

Tony grabs the broom and uses it to clear a path across the floor to Peter. The closer he gets, the easier he can see the kid’s pallor, which does nothing to decrease his worry.

“Alright, let’s see it,” he says, nodding to Peter’s towel-wrapped hand.

Looking reluctant, Peter peels back his makeshift bandages. Fresh blood immediately starts flowing from a deep, lateral gash spanning across the top of Peter’s palm. Smaller, superficial cuts cover his fingers, and Tony can see at least one piece of glass still sticking into his hand just below the thumb.

“Jesus…” Tony breathes. He isn’t a squeamish person, but this would be sickening even if his stomach wasn’t already on the verge of crawling up his throat. “How did you even do that?”

Peter gives a pained smile. “Super strength? Tried to catch the glass on the way down, but I guess I grabbed it too hard. Kind of embarrassing, actually...”

Tony swallows thickly. “Please don’t ever try to catch me if I’m falling.” He briefly closes his eyes, breathing out, and then forces himself to open them again. The blood flow from Peter’s palm hasn’t stopped; on the contrary, it is now steadily dripping onto the floor. “Alright, stitches,” he decides, covering the wound again. “Bathroom. Let’s go.”

Peter doesn’t protest, but he does pale somewhat upon hearing the word ‘stitches.’ Whether it’s from nerves or the blood loss starting to take its toll, the kid is visibly unsteady on his feet once he gets up. Tony would have offered a supporting hand, but he isn’t faring much better himself. The two of them start shuffling down the hall like a pair of tipsy penguins—Tony holding onto the wall for balance, and Peter clutching his injured hand to his chest, swaying ever so slightly.

“Sit down,” Tony orders once they reach the bathroom, motioning at the toilet. Peter obeys, letting himself sink down onto the lid with a heavy exhale. Tony flips on the overhead light and can barely suppress a moan when the brightness hits his retinas, but if he has any hope of fixing this, he needs to see.

He leans into the doorframe a little and briefly wonders just who he pissed off in a past life to deserve this delightful day before turning his attention back to the teenager currently bleeding all over his luxury white bath mat.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter mumbles. “You should just lie down, actually―I can take care of this on my own.”

“Sure kid,” Tony huffs. “If ‘taking care’ means passing out on the bathroom floor.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You’d rather us both pass out on the bathroom floor?”

“Gets lonely down there. Can keep each other company,” Tony mutters. He pushes himself off the wall and moves over to the medicine cabinet to start gathering the supplies they’re going to need. The suture kit he locates quickly enough, but it takes him a full minute to remember where Pepper keeps the tweezers and his hands are shaking so much that he almost drops the box of gauze pads. Then he pulls Morgan’s little step stool out from below the sink and sits down on it next to Peter. “Give me your hand.”

Upon closer inspection, there are two small pieces of glass still embedded in Peter’s palm. It takes Tony a couple of tries to remove them with the tweezers, but eventually he succeeds. Then he picks up the bottle of disinfectant from the counter and holds it out to Peter. “Can you open this?”

Peter gives him a puzzled look. “Aftershave?”

“Hm?” Tony frowns, then squints at the label of the bottle. “Oh.” He sets it back down. “Just testing you.” Peter rolls his eyes and Tony reaches behind himself for the correct bottle this time. Between their two working hands, they manage to remove the childproof cap and Tony gets the bottle in position over Peter’s hand.

“Okay, deep breath,” he advises.

Peter sucks in a sharp inhale, then bites his lip as Tony pours bubbling disinfectant over the cuts. Once the wounds are clean, Tony uses his teeth to tear open the packet containing the (thankfully pre-threaded) surgical needle. Peter gulps at the sight.

Tony carefully picks up the needle with forceps. “You alright?” he checks.

“Yeah, fine,” Peter grits back, looking anything but fine. “Let’s just get it over with.”

That turns out to be easier said than done. Try as he might, Tony can’t get his eyes to focus properly on the wound and his trembling fingers keep causing the needle to jump—not to mention the kid’s anxious flinching. After five full minutes of fiddling with the needle, Tony’s barely managed two stitches. Then the pungent stench of disinfectant mixing with the scent of Peter’s blood suddenly becomes too much for his stomach to take.

“Hang on,” he mutters before standing up and spinning around just in time to heave violently into the sink.

(So much about not throwing up in front of the kid.)

“Tony?” Peter asks in a weak voice when Tony’s retching tapers off.

“Just gimme… a minute,” Tony gasps, trying to breathe through the blinding pain searing through his skull. He shakily wipes his mouth, praying that he isn’t in for another round. “Sorry. I’ll fix it.”

“I know, I just—” Peter looks down at the needle, which is still stuck in his hand mid-stitch, and breathes out a careful exhale. Sweat is glistening on his face. “Maybe it’d be better if you just talked me through it?”

Somehow, the kid manages to look at him with both pleading and pity, and it causes a flare of anger in Tony’s chest at his own patheticness. He has to swallow hard to clear the tightness from his throat before croaking out, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

Peter picks up the needle and forceps with his left hand and follows Tony’s muttered instructions. The knots are the hardest part to explain. Tony has to talk Peter through which direction to pull the threads and how many times to wrap them around before tying them off, and it’s taking all of his patience to do so.

“It’s like the time May tried to teach me how to tie my tie for homecoming,” Peter murmurs, pulling the needle through his skin with the forceps. “Same frustration, just more blood.”

Tony huffs a bit and massages his own aching temples. “Still can’t believe you made it to sixteen without ever wearing a tie…”

“No, I’d  worn ties before,” Peter retorts, keeping his voice low, “but Ben always tied them for me.” He lets out a little hiss as he tugs the thread to pull the skin closed.

“Not so tight, kid,” Tony corrects. Peter nods and gives it more slack. It seems to be helping the kid to have something else to focus on besides the sutures, so Tony continues. “Jarvis had me doing double windsors the same week I learned to tie my shoes. Think I was three.”

“Child prodigy...” Peter huffs, though there’s no heat behind his words. After a moment he says, “Did Jarvis teach you to do stitches too?”

“Nah, that was Rhodey.” Tony feels his stomach twisting again at the recollection of that night and shudders a bit. “Don’t mouth-off to drunken frat boys, kid. Never ends well.”

Peter smirks a bit as he starts the next suture. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Eventually, they manage to finish stitching the wound closed. Tony douses him with antiseptic again, then wraps Peter’s hand in gauze bandages until it vaguely resembles an oven mitt.

“Okay.” Tony lets his head fall back against the counter and sighs exhaustedly. “Congratulations, kid—you just cleared another level on the way to becoming a full Avenger.”

Peter grins weakly. “It was kinda badass, wasn’t it?” He gazes down at his hand as if he can’t quite believe what he just did. Then he looks over at Tony and his face sobers. “You should go lie down. And I need to clean up the kitchen.” He starts to get to his feet, but the second he’s up, the color seems to drain from his face. Tony shoots out his hand and grips the kid’s bicep. “Or maybe I’ll just sit for a minute,” Peter murmurs, sinking heavily back down onto the toilet lid. “Or two.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Tony says in concern. “Please don’t faint and break your leg or something. I’ve hit my capacity for field surgeries today.”

While Peter rolls his eyes, Tony mutters for FRIDAY to dim the lights. The brightness in the room immediately decreases to a minimum and Tony could honestly cry in relief. Giving up all pretenses, he slides down off the step stool and stretches out on the floor mat, crossing his arms behind his pounding head to make a sort of cushion.

“Gross,” Peter mutters.

“I threw up Pep’s carrot soup today,” Tony murmurs in response, letting his eyes slip closed. “Don’t talk to me about gross.”

He lies there for a minute before he feels Peter getting up and stepping over him toward the sink. The water turns on briefly, then goes off again and the next thing he knows, a cool washcloth is being draped over his forehead and eyes.

“Thanks, kid,” he breathes. “Now let’s never do this day again.”

Peter groans and lies down beside his mentor on the absurdly plush bath mat.  “Agreed.” 

Bethany’s fics | Cat’s fics

[filosofablogger]

I’m not quite sure how it came to be Monday again already, but according to all my calendars, the one on my phone, on my laptop and the wolf calendar on the kitchen wall, it is once again Monday.  I can account for only 5 days since the last Monday, so perhaps Congress passed legislation making the weeks shorter, and nobody thought to tell me.  But alas, it is my duty … and pleasure … to start your week out with a chuckle, a smile, a hug and some love, so that is what I will do today.  Grab a cup of coffee and pull up a chair, and let me show you what I’ve found for us to smile, chuckle, and ‘awwwwwww’ about this morning!

You all remember Necco candies from your childhood, right?  It was never my favourite, rather a ‘meh’ sort of candy, but they seemed to always be popular.  It seems that New England Confectionery Company, the makers of Necco candy, are seeking a buyer.  The company, which has been around since 1847, has said that if a buyer is not found by early May, it will begin the process of shutting down as early as May 6th.  Now here’s what’s interesting … the candy is not popular, is often referred to as America’s least favourite candy, and yet people are going wild over the news that the candy may soon be no more.  I don’t get it!  The candies have described as “tropical drywall” and “plaster surprise,” according to The Wall Street Journal.

CandyStore.com, a Los Angeles-based bulk-candy retailer, reported that people began “panic-buying” the wafers on March 12, the day the Boston Globe reported Necco chief executive Michael McGee’s announcement that the candy company could shut down if it did not find a buyer.

Floridian Katie Samuels made an offer to CandyStore.com …

“I offered to trade my 2003 Honda Accord for all of their stock. I knew it was kind of a silly thing to say, but I’m serious. I don’t have much right now, so I was like, ‘I’ve got this car, and I want all that candy, so maybe they would consider it.'”  They didn’t.

Another online retailer, Candyfavorites.com sold more Necco Wafers on Wednesday than it would normally sell in six months, depleting 90 percent of its Necco Wafer inventory, said owner Jon Prince.

“We’ve had people offer to purchase our entire inventory. I had an older lady who offered to send me chocolate chip cookies for the entire year if I were willing to sell her beyond our limit. I was tempted because I love baked goods. But I didn’t do it.”

While a box of 24 rolls of Necco typically sells for between $21 – $35, they are now going on ebay for as much as $300!  People are apparently thinking to get rich off these undesirable little sweets!

And for your daily dose of cuteness …

It was windy in upstate New York last week.  So windy that it blew a little baby girl squirrel right out of a tree.  The squirrel broke the bone in her tiny left-front leg.  But take heart!  She was rescued by the Orphaned Wildlife Center, who took her straight to the Catskill Veterinary Services in Rock Hill.  They are taking good care of the little girl squirrel, and put a bright green cast on her little arm.  Awwwwwww ….

I bet you cannot watch this short clip without saying “awwwwwwww” at least once!  You can check her out on Facebook.

I have long bemoaned the state of higher (and lower) education in the U.S., the fact that we seem to be ‘dummying down’, the standards are not as high, and the focus seems more on job and techno skills than on the humanities, social sciences, literature, and teaching young people how to actually think.  A professor at Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU) has driven my point home.

The class project was to compare a social norm between the U.S. and another country.  Student Ashley Arnold chose ‘social media use’ for her norm, and for her country she chose Australia. But when Arnold got her grade back on Feb. 1, she was shocked to see her professor had failed her. Why? Because, according to the teacher, “Australia is a continent; not a country.” The professor, who has a PhD in philosophy, had given Arnold zero points in multiple sections of the assignment because she believed that Australia wasn’t a real country.This led to a bit of back-and-forth via email:

Ashley: I believe I got zero or partial credit because the instructor said, ‘Australia is a continent; not a country. However, I believe that Australia is a country. The research starter on the SNHU’s Shapiro library written by John Pearson (2013) states, that Australia is the ‘sixth-largest country in the world’ (n.p.). The full name of the country is the Commonwealth of Australia, meaning Australia is both a continent and a country. Therefore, these sections of the rubric should be amended.

Prof: I will gladly re-examine your week 2 milestone project report. But before I do I want you to understand that any error in a project can invalidate the entire research project. Research is like dominoes, if you accidentally knock over one piece the entire set will also fall. Australia is a continent; it is not a country. That error made it nearly impossible for you to accurately complete your week 2 research outline correctly. As I mentioned above I will look over your week two paper once again and see if you earned more credits than I gave you.

Ashley: Australia is both a country and a continent. It’s the only country that is both. I provided a resource in the first email that clarifies that for you. If you need further clarification google or the SNHU Shapiro Library has that information you. Again I mean no disrespect but my grade is affected by your assumption that Australia is not a country when it in fact is. Thank you and let me know if I need to provide further resources proving Australia is a country.

Prof:  Thank you for this web-address. After I do some independent research on the continent/country issue I will review your paper.

No, folks, sadly this is not a joke … it really happened.  Ashley was ultimately given a grade of B+, refunded her money for the course and received an apology from the university.  The professor is no longer employed at SNHU.

And finally, in Austria (which is also a country, by the way), a man posted a snarky warning about speed checks on his Facebook page, whereby he referred to police as ‘Smurfs’. 

Authorities in Tyrol province imposed the fine of €160, or nearly $200 USD, for violating “public decency” by “defaming two police officers.”  As I’ve said before … you want to be careful what you post on Facebook!

And that, my friends, depletes my supply of ‘jolly’ for the week.  Time for me to tackle the never-ending pile of laundry and start a bit of spring cleaning, on this snowy Monday in April!!!  Today I will tackle the baseboards, walls & trim in the downstairs bathroom.  Wish me luck!  Have an awesome week … and friends … please make sure to share those smiles I am seeing … they are far too gorgeous to keep to yourselves!  Keep safe, my friends.  Love ‘n hugs from Filosofa!

Jolly Monday … WHAT??? Already??? I’m not quite sure how it came to be Monday again already, but according to all my calendars, the one on my phone, on my laptop and the wolf calendar on the kitchen wall, it is once again Monday. 

[tune-collective]

An Intimate Conversation with Danny Clinch: His Latest Exhibit & Love Song to Asbury Park

An Intimate Conversation with Danny Clinch: His Latest Exhibit & Love Song to Asbury Park

“You’ll have to excuse me,” smiles Danny Clinch. “My head is hurtin’ a little bit, so maybe we can hang on the couches?” With a cup of coffee in hand and bleariness in his eyes, the famed music photographer explains that he had only gone to sleep a few hours ago. After a performance with his musical group, The Tangiers Blues Band, at a Howard Johnsons-turned-supper club in Asbury Park the night before, Clinch wandered over to his new gallery space at the Asbury Hotel. Sometime around 11:30pm the band had, as the photographer puts it, “a bit of a jam.” Former E-Street Band percussionists Vinny Mad-Dog Lopez and Richard Blackwell stopped by. Another musician dressed in a Safari outfit got on stage at one point and “started barking at people, telling them what to do,” laughs Clinch, who plays the harmonica. Hangover aside, he beams, “it was incredible.” 

Though photographers often operate within the binary of “artist” and “subject,” Clinch, 53, has come to inhabit the same world as the icons he captures. In the process of building an oeuvre of work that has offered intimate glimpses into the lives of superstars like Bruce Springsteen, Tupac, BB King and Johnny Cash—Clinch’s own life has become deeply shaped by the road, late night jam sessions and the process of making music. “Transparent,” his newest exhibition that will remain on display at the Asbury Hotel through April, offers a stunning and immersive depiction of this symbiosis. 

The light-flooded gallery that also has a stage for musical performances, offers a genre-bending assortment of both Clinch’s most iconic and lesser-known works. There is a story for every image: Green Day after their mudslinging shenanigans at Woodstock ’94 (“One of the security guards was pushing around the fans, so Mike got off stage and went down there. Security thought he was another kid, so they started beating on him”); Willie Nelson recording his 1998 album Teatro in California (“Daniel Lanois told me to come out there so I booked a ticket a few hours later); Springsteen at home playing music from Devils And Dust (“it was the first time anyone had heard the songs”). 

For Clinch, who attended the New England School of Photography and worked as an assistant to Annie Leibovitz, the incubation of his dual interests in music and photography began in Asbury. As a teenager he drove from his Toms River hometown to catch sets and take photographs of acts like the Stray Cats and the Greg Allman Band at the now legendary Stone Pony. But when Clinch began focusing solely on music photography in the early 1990’s, Asbury once again became his playground. “When I moved to New York and people didn’t want to shoot in the city, but wanted something that was still gritty, I suggested Asbury,” he recalls of the beach town that was then suffering from high crime rates. “There was nothing here, no businesses. I would go into Convention Hall [on the boardwalk] and there are big huge windows so the light floods in. You could just walk in there and own the place.” 

Springsteen’s Wrecking Ball photos were taken at a little bar over on Cookman—the Boss also drove Clinch’s 1948 Pontiac onto the boardwalk one afternoon for a series of images. “I was like, ‘Are we allowed to drive it up on the boardwalk?’” Clinch remembers of the shoot. “Then it was like, “Oh yeah, you’re Bruce Springsteen.” 

  You’re the first artist to have an exhibit at the new Asbury hotel. How did this collaboration arise? 

The hotel had this empty space and winter was approaching, so they offered it to me and put me in touch with a company called Baron and Baron to help plan it out. As soon as we began brainstorming we were like, “How can we make this different than just a regular gallery?” The huge windows in the entrance allowed us to do beautiful transparencies of my work. We also had my friend Tina Kerekes, who sells mid-century furniture and who I met on the boardwalk, come in and curate all the furniture. She helped set a vibe. We decided to put a stage in here to have some music. The idea was to have it be an experience–come in, hang out, bring your coffee in. We wanted to maximize the wall space, so we also brought in moveable walls.

How did you settle on the set-up of the images?

For the biggest wall in the space, I wanted to do a salon-style wall. I was going to frame all of this stuff and then I and then I discovered this board with foam-backing, so I thought it would be cool to come in and freestyle it a little bit. I chose the images and the sizes and we sat here the other night and made a little pod of photos here, a little pod of photos there. I also purposely included some local folks like Nicole Atkins, Brian Fallon and Joe Grushecky. 

At The Light Of Day Festival here in Asbury, Joe plays and usually Bruce [Springsteen] comes out and pays. A few years ago Joe invited me to play with his band, who usually ends up backing Bruce. So Joe says, “Bruce is coming out–let’s find out where you fit-in on the list!” I was freaked out, I was going to play “Murder Incorporated” on my harmonica. So I’m watching the set list and the song is coming up and coming up and then Bruce and Joe are talking and they’re looking at me and they go: “Alright! We’re doing ‘Pink Cadillac’ in G!” [laughs] Fortunately I had the right harmonica because I had to play the right key. I came back to Bruce saying something like “And here’s our friend Danny! He can sure take a photo but I don’t know about his harmonica playing. [laughs].” Then  he rips into Pink Cadillac [sings the opening notes] and looked at me like “Go ahead . . .” [laughs]. I laid it all out on the table. I love Joe forever for that. 

When did you start working with Bruce?

I had done all the stuff for The Rising in 1999 when he got the E Street Band back together, that’s when I started photographing Bruce. Being a guy from New Jersey I was like, “Ok I can die now” after that. And then he was doing Devil’ And Dust, and I was like “oh man, it would be so cool if he hired me again.” He hired Anton Corden. and I was like “Drats! I got my chance, so it’s all good.” And then I got a call from management saying “Hey Bruce wants to make a short film about this new record and he wants you to come to the house and film him playing some of these songs.” So I went to his place and that photo, [the one in the front of the gallery], comes from that session. I shot it all on super-16 and he played eight songs off the new record; nobody had heard these songs before. When I look at that photograph, it reminds of the moment I was looking through the camera and taking that photo. I remember it being the point in my career when I thought, “How did I end up in Bruce Springsteen’s house making this film and taking these photographs.” 

Of all the concerts you’ve been to, which sticks out as most epic of all?

Hmmm. The ones that come to my mind immediately as I start to run through my head are some early Radiohead shows that were really spiritual experiences. It brought all of the things that I love about music together. It was rock and roll but it was something unexpected, and then you’ve got Thom’s voice and Johnny’s guitar playing. Everything just locks in and it’s pretty incredible. I also have been lucky enough to be in some really intimate settings. I remember photographing Johnny Cash and asking him to play something so that I could photograph it, and he played “Bird On A Wire” for me and my two assistants. 

  Who has been your greatest teacher?

My parents. My Dad passed away in March and my mom will be coming in a little later today. They were always open minded people who were always welcoming to everyone. There was never any discrimination against anyone for any reason–they were always looking after people, helping people. They gave way more than they received and were really content with that. Simple folks, hard working and also they were just really supportive of what I do, regardless of what it was going to be. My father quit school in the eighth grade and became his own business man–hanging wallpaper and painting houses–and they just really showed me that hard work pays off. Being nice to people pays off. They treated people fairly and never judged a book by its cover. 

What about creatively?

Creatively, I think I am really inspired by music and by the musicians. It’s great to collaborate with Tom Waits. He shows up to a shoot and he has all these toys and all these ideas that he’s bringing to the table. And I’ve got my ideas that I’m bringing to the table and its really a joy to get to do that. Im not a person who ever tries to make someone do something that they don’t want to.  And I really admire people like Bruce and the Pearl Jam guys who are constantly building a community and giving back to their community. What they do is incredible. I did a film on the Dave Matthews band recently about where they are from and what their charity does. The list of people that they have helped out is ridiculous. I couldn’t believe it. 300 charities or something like that. 

Your vintage Pontiac is eye-candy. Where’d you find it?

I always joke around and say Tim McGraw bought me that car. I got a great job shooting Tim McGraw and had just moved into our house and had a garage. I was online looking around on eBay . . . it had to be 12 years ago. And I saw that car while we were waiting for Tim to come out to soundcheck. I was like: “That’s the car!” It was trained it to the border because it was in Sesaqatchuan, and then flatbedded to my house. 

  Transparent will be open every day through April 2017 at The Asbury Hotel (210 Fifth Avenue). The exhibit can be accessed through an individual entrance on Kingsley Street. All furniture and artwork on display are available for purchase. Photographs range from $500-$5,000 (Asburyparknow.com/danny-clinch).

  Source: Billboard

http://tunecollective.com/2017/02/09/an-intimate-conversation-with-danny-clinch-his-latest-exhibit-love-song-to-asbury-park/