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cardest · 4 years

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London playlist

London - since 43 AD it has to be one of the more fascinating cities on Earth. Such a rich history. From Shakespeare Theatre to the music from there today. I just had to put a London playlist together. From Soho to Brixton, from Highgate to Clapham what a collection of songs! It’s over 350 songs and it could easily expand to 400. **I have a separate England & Wales playlist coming, so, stay tuned for that**.

To play the songs, hit the link right here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_ntP663JhZl-hvn9EwFp9L

ENGLAND & WALES playlist is coming soon! What songs have I left out? Let me know! Add your own songs! Cheers. Pip pip, tally ho!

LONDON 001 Generation X - Day By Day 002 The Clash - London Calling 003 Austin Powers - theme song (Soul Bossa? Nova ) 004 The Kinks - Dedicated Follower Of Fashion 005 Killing Joke - Empire Song 006 Black Sabbath - Wicked World 007 The Who - Welcome 008 The Damned - Neat, neat, neat 009 GIRLSCHOOL - LONDON 010 007 theme song 011 Motorhead - Motorhead 012 Wire - Ex Lion Tamer 013 David Bowie - Maid of Bond Street 014 The Misfits - London Dungeon 015 Rolling Stones - 016 The Adverts - Bored Teenagers 017 Siouxsie & The Banshees - Spellbound 018 Penny Dreadful - Soundtrack - Main Theme 019 Eurythmics - Love Is A Stranger 020 The Cure - Subway Song 021 Adam And The Ants - Puss 'n' Boots 022 Iron Maiden - 22 Acacia Avenue 023 COIL - Fire of the mind 024 Public Image Ltd - One Drop. 025 LUSH - Breeze 026 Bliss Signal - Surge 027 The Pogues - Misty Morning, Albert Bridge 028 PhD - Won't Let You Down 029 Birthday Party - Hats On Wrong 030 Eddy Grant - Electric Avenue 031 Help Yourself - Reaffirmation 032 Grave Miasma - Gnosis of the summon 033 Roy Ayers - We Live In London Baby 034 Led Zeppelin - The Rover 035 Gang of Four - What we all want 036 Pet Shop Boys - West End Girl 037 Sleaford Mods - 6 Horsemen (The Brixtons) 038 Paul Young - Love of the Common People 039 The Saint (original) - Theme 040 The Human League - Dont You Want Me 041 Sex Pistols - God Save The Queen 042 The Beatles - A Day In The Life 043 Def Leppard - Love bites 044 The Stranglers - Another Camden Afternoon 045 The Kinks - See My Friends 046 Elton John - Bennie and the Jets 047 Suede - Moving 048 Queen - Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy 049 Cliff Richard & the Shadows - She's Gone 050 The Rolling Stones - Start Me Up 051 Loop - Fade Out 052 Jah Wobble's Invaders Of The Heart - A13 053 The Magnetic Fields - All the Umbrellas in London 054 Wendy Carlos - Title Music From A Clockwork Orange (From Purcell's Music For The Funeral Of Queen Mary) 055 The Police - Every Little Thing she does it Magic 056 Cockney Rejects - The Greatest Cockney Rip Off 057 Spandau Ballet - Spandau Ballet Chant No.1 058 The Pretenders - Middle of the Road 059 The Who - Dogs 060 The Jam - London Girl 061 Cradle of Filth - Hurt and Virtue 062 Joy Division - Isolation 063 Nick Drake - At the Chime of a City Clock 064 Sham 69 - Cockney Kids Are Innocent 065 Deep Purple - Mandrake Root 066 Throbbing Gristle - Hit by a rock 067 David Bowie - Rubber Band 068 Roxy Music - Do The Strand 069 Slaves - Cheer Up London 070 T. Rex - London Boys 071 Kirsty MacColl - Autumngirlsoup 072 New Model Army - Archway Towers 073 Scorpions - Lovedrive 074 Isaac Hayes - Doesnt Rain In London 075 Peter Tosh - Buk-In-Hamm Palace 076 The Slits - Typical Girls 077 Pharaoh Sanders - Midnight In Berkeley Square (Instrumental) 078 Blue Cheer - Girl From London 079 Sex Pistols - Satellite 080 Judas Priest - (The Hellion ) Electric Eye 081 UFO - Lights Out 082 Joy Division - Digital 083 Muse - Uprising 084 George Harrison - All Things Must Pass 085 Robert Palmer - Addicted To Love 086 Fine Young Cannibals - Blue 087 New Order - Blue Monday 088 Würzel - Midnight In London 089 Rod Stewart - Gasoline Alley 090 The Wildhearts - Down On London 091 Supertramp - Nothing To Show 092 Motörhead - Metropolis 093 Current 93 - Lucifer Over London 094 The Pogues - Dark Streets of London 095 The Cult - All Souls Avenue 096 The Jam - In The City 097 The Undertones - Teenage Kicks 098 Iggy Pop - Play It Safe 099 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Jack the Ripper 100 The Cure - Lets Go To Bed 101 Suede - Animal Nitrate 102 Wire - field day for the sundays 103 Black Books TV Show - Opening Theme 104 Paul McCartney & Wings - London Town 105 Madness - Primrose Hill 106 The Troggs - No. 10 Downing Street 107 Iron Maiden - Gangland 108 PJ Harvey - The Last Living Rose 109 The Rollers - Soho 110 Electric Wizard - Lucifer's Slaves 111 The Buzzcocks - Just Lust 112 Doctor Who Theme Tune 1980 113 Cathedral - Fountain Of Innocence 114 Pretenders - Swinging London 115 Hanoi Rocks - Tooting Bec Wreck 116 Es - 'Chemical 117 Bee Gees - Trafalgar 118 The Peddlers - Under London Lights 119 Cliff Richard - The Young Ones 120 Big Audio Dynamite - Sightsee M.C 121 ABC - Tower of London 122 Accept - London Leatherboys 123 Pitchshifter - Please Sir 124 Portishead - We Carry On 125 John Lennon - Whatever Gets You Thru The Night 126 The Lurkers - Ain't Got a Clue 127 Iron Maiden - Die with your boots on 128 Siouxsie and the Banshees - Kiss Them For Me 129 Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - From Her to Eternity 130 The Jam - London Traffic 131 The Cranberries - Waiting In Walthamstow 132 The Kinks - Victoria 133 Heads Hands & Feet - Pete Might Spook The Horses 134 Whitesnake - Long Way From Home 135 Queensryche - London 136 Concrete Blonde - Walking in London 137 Deep Purple - Fireball 138 The Ruts - dope for guns 139 Wham! - Bad Boys 140 Generation X - One Hundred Punks 141 Joe Jackson - Down To London 142 Anti-Nowhere League - Streets of London 143 The Wildhearts - Shandy Bang 144 David Bowie - The London Boys 145 The Human League - Human 146 Cockney Rejects - East end 147 Dire Straits - Eastbound Train 148 Ian Drury - Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick 149 Sepultura - Filthy rot 150 The Jam - Down In The Tube Station At Midnight 151 Fine Young Cannibals - She Drives Me Crazy 152 Purson - Electric Landlady 153 Black Sabbath - Tomorrow's Dream 154 The Clash - Guns of Brixton 155 Blood Ceremony - Lord Of Misrule 156 Monty Pythons The Meaning of Life - Penis Song 157 Gentlemans Pistols - Hustler's Row 158 Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Relax 159 Jethro Tull - Cross Eyed Mary 160 The Yobs - The Ballad of the Warrington 161 Cradle of Filth - Principle Of Evil Made Flesh 162 Bruce Hornsby - The Black Rats Of London 163 Inspiral Carpets - How It Should Be 164 The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Foxy Lady 165 PETULA CLARK - WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL 166 Lush - Olympia 167 Hunters & Collectors - Blind Eye 168 Thompson Twins - Hold Me Now 169 David Bowie - The Man Who Sold the World 170 UK Subs - C.I.D. 171 Queen - Dont Stop Me Now 172 Bruce Dickinson - Accident of Birth 173 the clash - capital radio one 174 UB40 - Here I Am (Come And Take Me) 175 The Meads Of Asphodel - Guts For Sale 176 Horrible Histories: Savage Songs - Boudicca 177 Swallow the Sun - Labyrinth Of London (Horror Pt. IV) 178 Mad Professor - Ben Gone Wrong 179 Howard Jones - Things Can Only Get Better 180 Genesis - The Battle Of Epping Forest 181 The Damned - problem child 182 Squeeze - Cool For Cats 183 Manfred Mann - Belgravia 184 The Bee Gees - Walking Back to Waterloo 185 Pink Floyd - Waiting For The Worms 186 Madness - Victoria Gardens 187 Paradise Lost - Soul Courageons 188 YES - Roundabout 189 PJ Harvey - This Is Love 190 The Horrors - Jack The Ripper 191 King Crimson - Red 192 The Smiths - How Soon Is Now 193 Level 42 - Heathrow 194 Intaferon - Get Out Of London 195 Burt Bacharach - Bond street 196 David Bowie - Ziggy Stardust 197 The Clash - Londons Burning 198 Killing Joke - Follow The Leaders 199 Saxon - The Court of the Crimson King 200 Buzzcocks - Harmony in My Head 201 Fairport Convention - Fiddlesticks (Peel Session) 202 Napalm Death - Errors In The Signals 203 Empire - Hot Seat 204 Anathema - Shroud of Frost 205 Pitchshifter - Condescension 206 The Beatles - Hey Jude 207 Affinity - Highgate 208 KLF - 3 A.M. Eternal (Pure Trance) 209 Warren Zevon - Werewolves of London 210 David Axelrod - London 211 The Wombles - Wellington Goes To Waterloo 212 EastEnders Theme 213 Cathedral - Hypnos 164 214 Tom Jones - It's Not Unusual 215 Alan Moore with Tim Perkins - The Highbury Working A Beat Seance 216 Transvision Vamp - Sex Kick 217 Elton John - Tell Me When The Whistle Blows 218 Firebird - Bow bells 219 The Jam - A' Bomb In Wardour Street 220 Caravan - Waterloo Lily 221 Lord Sutch & Heavy Friends - Flashing Lights 222 David Bowie - Oh! You Pretty Things 223 Hot Chocolate - West End of Park Lane 224 Thames television ident 1984 225 Newtown Neurotics - Living With Unemployment 226 Peter Murphy - Cuts You Up 227 Suede - Metal Mickey 228 Peter Gabriel - Sledgehammer 229 Killing Joke - The Gathering 230 Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want 231 Kate Bush - Babooshka 232 Iron Maiden - The Prophecy 233 The Cure - Disintegration 234 The Damned - I Just Can't Be Happy Today 235 WIRE - Silk Skin Paws 236 Brian Eno - Here Come The Warm Jets 237 Souixee & the Banshees - Cascade 238 Jethro Tull - Jeffrey Goes to Leicester Square 239 AC/DC - Rising Power 240 Alternative TV - Life After Life 241 Napalm Death - Deceiver (Peel Sessions) 242 Electric Light Orchestra - Last Train To London 243 Bucks Fizz - London Town 244 The Sweet - Blockbuster! 245 999 - Bent Cross 246 The Groundhogs - Split, Pt. 1 247 Bow Wow Wow - Go Wild in the Country 248 Blood Ceremony - Half Moon Street 249 Ming Tea feat. Austin Powers - BBC One 250 Led Zeppelin - Immigrant Song 251 Big Audio Dynamite - EMC2 252 Crass - Banned from the Roxy 253 Sleaford Mods - Chaos Down In SoHo 254 Big Ben Chimes of Westminster, London 255 PJ Harvey - A Place Called Home 256 The Ruts - Staring at the rude boys 257 The Times - Whatever Happened To Thames Beat 258 Quincy Jones - London Derriere 259 Lush - Hypocrite 260 PIL - Reggie Song 261 The Style Council - You're The Best Thing 262 UK Subs - Dirty Girls 263 COIL - Slur 264 Frank Zappa - Dead girls of London 265 Iron Maiden - Prowler 266 The Slits - Difficult Fun 267 Killing Joke - Kings and Queens 268 Simple Minds - Chelsea Girl 269 Motorhead - Bomber 270 XTC - Towers Of London 271 Blitzkrieg - Hell to pay 272 Gryphon - Opening Move 273 The Challengers - The Streets of London 274 Peggy March - In Der Carnaby Street 275 The Damned - Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde 276 The Pogues - London You're a Lady 277 The Lords Of The New Church - Portobello 278 Rolling Stones - Hot Stuff 279 Joe Jackson - The Evil Eye 280 The Deviants - Garbage 281 Benny Hill Show - Wild Women 282 Suzi Quatro - Crash 283 Madness - day on the town 284 SHAKESPEAR'S SISTER - I Don't Care 285 Whitesnake - Wine Women An Song 286 Pink Floyd - Astronomy Domine 287 Rick Astley - Whenever You Need Somebody 288 Bauhaus - In the flat field 289 Dead Can Dance - In Power We Entrust The Love Advocated 290 Paul McCartney - Old Siam, Sir 291 Lush - De-Luxe 292 AC/DC - let's get it up 293 Sophia Loren & Peter Sellers - Bangers and mash 294 Black Sabbath - Childfren of the grave 295 Psychic TV - The orchids 296 Miracle - The Strife Of Love In A Dream 297 Carter USM - Lean On Me I Won't Fall Over 298 Screaming Lord Sutch - Jack the Ripper 299 WIRE - the 15th 300 Mott the Hoople - Honaloochie Boogie 301 Soft Machine - The Camden Tandem 302 Are You Being Served Theme 303 CATHEDRAL - Serpent Eve 304 Booker T. & The MG's - Carnaby Street 305 Culture Club - It's A Miracle 306 Motorhead - Nothing Up My Sleeve 307 Killing Joke - Money is not our God 308 Bronski Beat - Smalltown Boy 309 WIRE - Please take 310 Bananarama - Hey young London 311 The Jam - Carnaby Street 312 Catapilla - Charing Cross 313 The Shadows - Chelsea Boot 314 Ride - Chelsea Girl 315 The Damned - Grimly Fiendish 316 Marillion - Chelsea Monday 317 Slowdive - Celia's Dream 318 The Clash - Gates of the west 319 Thin Lizzy - Half Caste 320 David Bowie - I dig everything 321 VUUR - Days Go By - London 322 Elvis Costello - [I Don't Want To Go To] Chelsea 323 Uriah Heep - Walking in your shadow 324 Genesis - Invisible Touch 325 Amy Winehouse - Me & Mr Jones 326 Curve - Fait Accompli 327 Silverfish ‎- Crazy 328 Iron Maiden - Killers 329 Killing Joke - Ghost Of Ladbroke Grove 330 Sex Pistols - Anarchy In The UK 331 Paradise lost - remembrance 332 The Fall - Leave the Capitol 333 The Kinks - Waterloo Sunset 334 WIRE - Keep exhaling 335 The Peddlers - raining in London 336 Motorhead - damage case 337 10cc - Shock On The Tube (Don't Want Love) 338 Swervedriver - Rave Down 339 Spike Milligan - Tower Bridge 340 Phil Lynott - Solo In Soho 341 Adam and the Ants - Plastic Surgery 342 The Who - Pinball wizard 343 Pulp - Mile end 344 Generation X - Running with the Boss Sound 345 OMD - If You Leave 346 PiL - Public Image 347 Monty Python's Flying Circus TV show - theme song 348 Hall & Oates - London, Luck & Love 349 The Horrors - Three decades 350 Cathedral - Midnight Mountain 351 Killing Joke - glitch 352 Judas Priest - The Ripper 353 Air Raid Siren London Blitz 354 Dragonforce - Fury and the storm 355 Elastica - Connection 356 the Psychedelic Furs - Dumb waiters 357 Samantha Fox - Touch me 358 Wang Chung - Dance hall days 359 Kim Wilde - Water on glass 360 Siouxsie and the Banshees - Overground 361 Atomic Rooster - Tomorrow night 362 Fleetwood Mac - My Heart Beat Like a Hammer 363 Rainbow - Self Portrait 364 Billy Ocean - Love really hurts without you 365 Art of Noise - Beat box (division one) 366 Eurythmics - Never Gonna Cry Again 367 Samson - Grime Crime 368 Go West - we close our eyes 369 Ultravox - Saturday Night In The City Of The Dead 370 King Crimson - 21st Century Schizoid Man 371 Visage - Visage 372 Sandy Denny - Let's Jump The Broomstick 373 Brian Eno - Burning Airlines Give You So Much More 374 Fields Of The Nephilim - Blue water 375 Leftfield - Open Up 376 Blancmange - I've Seen The Word 377 Thomas Dolby - Flying north 378 Sisters of Mercy - Temple of love 379 Royal Orchestra - Royal Entrance Queen Elizabeth II 380 Pink Floyd - Goodbye blue sky 666 David Bowie - London Bye Ta - Ta

Play the songs here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1_ntP663JhZl-hvn9EwFp9L

#London playlist #london music #London #highhgate #david bowie #Judas Priest #lee dorrian #PIL #wire #killing joke #Throbbing Gristle #current 93 #music from london #black books #the horrors #pj harvey #motorhead #lush

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comparativetarot · 3 years

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Four of Swords. Art by James Pascoe, from the California Tarot.

Ina Donna Coolbrith was an American poet, writer, librarian, and a prominent figure in the San Francisco Bay Area literary community. Born the niece of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints founder Joseph Smith, she left the Mormon community as a child to enter her teens in Los Angeles, where she began to publish poetry. “The first white child to enter CA by Beckwourth Pass, in the first covered wagon train traveling that route." She terminated a youthful failed marriage to make her home in San Francisco, and met writers Bret Harte and Charles Warren Stoddard with whom she formed the "Golden Gate Trinity" closely associated with the literary journal Overland Monthly. Her poetry received positive notice from critics and established poets such as Mark Twain, Ambrose Bierce and Alfred Lord Tennyson. She held literary salons at her home in Russian Hill to introduce new writers to publishers. Coolbrith befriended the poet Joaquin Miller and helped him gain global fame. Her first love was poetry, but she earned a living as a librarian in the 1870s, first in Oakland where she mentored Jack London and Isabel Duncan, and later at the Mercantile Library and the Bohemian Club, where she was an honorary member. She worked 16-hour days, 6 days a week, and slept on a cot in the library.

California was her muse, her inspiration —- she loved the state’s natural beauty. "On June 30, 1915, Coolbrith was named California's poet laureate, and she continued to write poetry for eight more years. Her style was more than the usual melancholic or uplifting themes expected of women—she included a wide variety of subjects in her poems, which were noted as being "singularly sympathetic" and "palpably spontaneous”. Her sensuous descriptions of natural scenes advanced the art of Victorian poetry to incorporate greater accuracy without trite sentiment, foreshadowing the Imagist school and the work of Robert Frost."

#James Pascoe #California Tarot #Four of Swords #Four #Swords #Minor Arcana #Tarot #California #Ina Donna Coolbrith

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truecrimecrystals · 4 years

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Missing Black Lives Matter

There has been an ongoing discussion on this blog about how cases of missing black men, woman and children do not receive equal attention from both detectives and the media. Studies have shown that recovery efforts for missing people increases if there is a larger amount of media coverage on the missing person. However, studies also show that there is a clear racial bias in the media when it comes to covering cases of missing persons--and numerous findings have confirmed that cases of missing white people receive more media coverage than cases of missing people of color. (source)

In an effort to spread awareness about missing black women, men, and children, I have compiled a (growing) list of unsolved cases in the US involving missing black people that have been covered on this blog. Links to full write-ups and active GoFundMe pages, petitions, Facebook pages and/or flyers connected to the cases are provided as well. Please share, sign the petitions, and/or donate to the GoFundMe pages if you can. The lives of these missing black individuals and their families MATTER! They deserve justice and answers. Feel free to send me other cases that you would like to have added to the list.

Latrice Armstead, 38: vanished in July 2012. Last seen by her husband, even though she had an order of protection against him. Car was later found abandoned in Clarksdale, Mississippi. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Brandon Bankhead, 19: vanished after leaving a funeral in St. Louis, Missouri during May 2016. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Shaniece Briggs, 26: kidnapped from her home in Columbus, Ohio during June 2013. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Diamond Bynum, 21 and King Walker, 2: aunt and nephew vanished together in Gary, Indiana in July 2015. (full case write-up | fundraiser for private investigator)

Aliyah Boomer, 27: vanished in Brooklyn, New York in August 2015. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Danica Childs, 17: vanished in Federal Way, Washington during 2007, after it was discovered that she had been trafficked. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Jared Chavis, 19: vanished after getting into an argument in Houston, Texas during January 2018. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Kierra Coles, 27: vanished while three months pregnant in Chicago, Illinois during October 2018. (full case write-up | petition for more thorough investigation)

Athena Curry, 20: vanished from Atlanta, Georgia in the midst of an abusive relationship during May 2011. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Nahendra Davis, 35: vanished from Baton Rouge, Indiana in December 2018. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons flyer)

LeShay Dungey, 18: vanished while walking to a friend's house in Columbus, Ohio during January 2018. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Robin Ellis, 37: vanished while delivering pizzas in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania during December 2003. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Keiosha Felix, 15: vanished from Duson, Louisiana in April 2012. Charges against family members believed to be involved have been dropped. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Najah Ferrell, 30: vanished in Avon, Indiana in March 2019. Her severed foot was found over 100 miles away. (full case write up | fundraiser to support her two sons)

Arianna Fitts, 2: vanished in Oakland, California during 2016 while under the care of babysitters. Her mother, Nicole Fitts, was found murdered in April 2016. (full case write-up | fundraiser for search efforts | petition for thorough search and justice)

Kianna Galvin, 17: vanished from South Elgin, Illinois in May 2016. Foul play suspected. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Ebony Giddens, 27: vanished in Columbus, Georgia during March 2018. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Lakira Goldsmith, 20: vanished from Montgomery, Alabama in November 2018. (full case write-up | fundraiser for private investigator)

Bianca Green, 24: vanished in Inkster, Michigan during March 2011. She was 4 months pregnant at the time. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Ivory Green, 17: vanished in Utica, New York during March 2004. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Bilial Hammette, 18: vanished from his family's home in Beloit, Wisconsin during August 2011. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Darian Hudson, 23: vanished in Stillwater, Oklahoma during October 2017. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Erica Hunt, 20: vanished in Opelousas, Louisiana during July 2016. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Taalibah Islam, 20: vanished in Fort Worth, Texas in January 2006. Was last seen by her boyfriend, who later was convicted for kidnapping another girlfriend in 2012. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Keir Johnson, 34, and Chloe Johnson, 8 mos: mother and daughter vanished from Hampton, Virginia in April 2017. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Jerrica Laws, 24: vanished in Park Forest, Illinois during August 2015. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons flyer)

Kalisha Madden, 26: vanished after leaving her job with 3 unidentified men during November 2011. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Marlaquinta 'Marla' McGhee, 25: vanished from Memphis, Tennessee in May 2015. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Jasmine Moody, 18: vanished in Detroit, Michigan after getting into an argument with her girlfriend during December 2014. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Michael McClain, 29: vanished in Nashua, New Hampshire in April 2019. (full case write-up | fundraiser for billboards and a private investigator)

Christian Muse, 19: vanished from Oxon Hill, Maryland in July 2012. (full case write-up | fundraiser for reward money)

Arionna Parham, 18: vanished from Dickinson, Texas in May 2018. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Natanalie Perez, 19: vanished in Miami, Florida in June 2012. Believed to be a victim of sex trafficking. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Demakia Phinizee, 26: vanished in Tupelo, Mississippi during October 2007. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

April Pickens, 29: vanished in Asheville, North Carolina during December 2011. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Priti 'Ashley' Porter, 22: vanished from her family's home in Gastonia, North Carolina during April 2009. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Timeka Pridgen, 16: kidnapped from her home in La Grange, North Carolina in May 2001. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Sophie Reeder, 15: vanished in Fort Lauderdale, Florida in May 2017. Believed to be a victim of child trafficking. (full case write up | case Facebook page)

Jalesa Reynolds, 18: vanished in Scotland Neck, North Carolina in February 2010. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

LaQuanta Riley, 18: vanished in Montgomery, Alabama during December 2003. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Brittany Robinson, 14: kidnapped by her non-custodial father in Mobile, Alabama during June 2012. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Jasmine Robinson, 23: vanished in Archer, Florida in February 2019. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Relisha Rudd, 8: vanished in Washington, DC in February 2014. (full case write up | petition to increase reward money in her case)

Logan Schiendelman, 19: vanished from Tumwater, Washington in May 2016. (full write-up on case | fundraiser for reward money)

Alexis Scott, 20: vanished from Peoria, Illinois in September 2017. (full case write-up | fundraiser for search efforts & support for her young son)

Jasmaine Smith, 22: vanished from Warren, Ohio in June 2015. (full case write-up | fundraiser for reward money)

Sage Smith, 19: vanished from Charlottesville, Virginia during November 2012 after coming out as transgender. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Tammyetta Spaudling, 37: vanished in Jackson, Mississippi during September 2016. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Ebonee Spears, 30: vanished from Wilmington, North Carolina during January 2016. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Ciara Stacho, 16: vanished in Inkster, Michigan during August 2015. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Calandra Stallworth, 29: vanished in Crestview, Florida during March 2017. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Lashaya Stine, 16: vanished in Aurora, Colorado during July 2016. Believed to be forced into trafficking. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Keshia Sylvester, 29: vanished in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana during September 2017. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Mercedes Toliver, 18: vanished in Prescott, Arkansas in December 2016. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Nefertiri Trader, 33: kidnapped from her home in New Castle, Delaware during June 2014. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Christina Voltaire, 22: vanished from her apartment in Winter Haven, Florida during January 2011. (full case write-up | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Delecia Waddy, 24: vanished after being spotted in Richmond, Virginia in March 2017. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

DeNeka Walker, 30: vanished from Muskegon, Michigan in August 2010. (full case write-up | case Wordpress site | link to shareable missing persons' flyer)

Tamala Wells, 33: vanished in Detroit, Michigan during August 2012. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

Caleta White, 18: vanished after taking a bus to Tukwila, Washington in August 2006. (full case write-up | case Facebook page)

#tcoriginal #missing persons #black lives matter #true crime research #gofundme #petitions #signal boost

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Julius Hemphill — The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony (New World Records)

Julius Hemphill · The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony by Julius Hemphill

In a career that spanned only 25 years, reed player Julius Hemphill left an indelible mark with his music, as a player, organizer, composer and mentor. One could focus in on his work with Black Artists Group in St. Louis in the late 1960s, creating a collective that fused music, dance, film, theater and poetry with a sense of social activism and with his Mbari label, a model for artistic self-determination. Or one could jump to his move to New York in the 1970s where he was an active participant in the loft scene, performing solo, as a leader, with dancers and poets, helping to transform the sound of free jazz in collaboration with other Midwest transplants like Charles “Bobo” Shaw, Lester Bowie, Baikida Carroll, Abdul Wadud and Oliver Lake. There’s also his leading role in developing saxophone ensembles, from his appearance on Anthony Braxton’s “Composition 37” along with Oliver Lake and Hamiet Bluiett in 1974 which foreshadowed Hemphill, Lake, Murray and Bluiett’s formation of the World Saxophone Quartet a few years later to his establishment of a sax sextet. There’s the mark he left on musicians who came up under his influence like Tim Berne and Marty Ehrlich. And then there’s his compositions, with acclaimed early pieces like “Dogon A.D.” and “The Hard Blues” to suites like “Roi Boyé and the Gotham Minstrels” or “Flat-out Jump Suite” to “Steppin’” to the through-composed chamber music that he wrote toward the end of his life to Long Tongues: A Saxophone Opera, a large-scale theatrical piece that was performed a handful of times but was never recorded.

But for all that activity, Hemphill’s discography was never extensive, and most of what he put out is now out of print. Which makes this expansive boxed set scrupulously compiled by Marty Ehrlich from Hemphill’s archives at NYU invaluable. Over the course of seven discs, the collection documents Hemphill’s music from 1977 to a posthumous performance of his chamber pieces in 2007 at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Each disc stands on its own. Disc 1 documents performances of ensembles including his potent quartet with Olu Dara, Abdul Wadud and Warren Smith as well as a piece by a rare meeting with John Carter. Disc 2 captures a performance in duo with Abdul Wadud, amongst his most fruitful ongoing partnerships. Disc 3 collects the earliest performances of the box by a trio with Carroll and drummer Alex Cline from tiny venues in New York, Berkeley and Philadelphia in 1977. Disc 4 is given over to through-composed chamber works while disc 5 documents his solos and collaborations with poet K. Curtis Lyle and dramatist Malinké Elliott. Disc 6 is the most varied, collecting a variety of different groups. And Disc 7 closes things out with recordings from Woodstock, NY in 1979 by a previously undocumented group featuring Hemphill, Carroll, Dave Holland and Jack DeJohnette.

Ehrlich kicks off the in-depth booklet that accompanies the box with the following quote by Hemphill from a 1994 interview in Bomb. “Well, you often hear people nowadays talking about the tradition, tradition, tradition. But they have tunnel vision in this tradition. Because tradition in African-American music is wide as all outdoors.” Each disc of this set gives proof that Hemphill’s music completely embodied that ethos.

Ensembles

Julius Hemphill · The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony by Julius Hemphill

Hemphill was always a thoughtful ensemble leader, thinking not only about the blending of sonorities of specific instrumentation but also about the particular voices that his collaborators brought to the mix. Trumpet players, most often Baikida Carroll but also Olu Dara, were chosen as a timbral foil but as importantly for their sense of concise freedom, rich harmonic sensibility, open timing and ability to traverse the snaking open-minded melodicism of the leader’s compositions with aplomb. Hemphill noted about Carroll, “I consider the opportunity to bear witness to the eloquent beauty of Baikida’s music a distinct honor. . . Baikida Carroll is polarized, poised, at a matchless point between lyricism and fire. I hope he remains so.” Cellist Abdul Wadud, whose arch approach toward counter-melody and loping pulse, filling the roll of bass while adding an additional solo voice, was also a crucial member of the saxophonist’s groups. Then there are the drummers he regularly enlisted – Charles “Bobo” Shaw, Phillip Wilson, Warren Smith, a very young Alex Cline – each of whom brought their own unique grasp of malleable propulsion and multi-hued percussive colorations. All of this served as the perfect counterbalance for Hemphill’s biting tone, voluble articulation, multifaceted embrace of open groove, abstracted blues and lithe dynamism as a soloist.

The box is a treasure-trove of unreleased recordings of Hemphill’s groups. Disc 1 contains an extended live set by Olu Dara, Abdul Wadud and Warren Smith from a European tour on the heels of their recording of the oft-overlooked Flat-Out Jump Suite, here, trading the open-ended collective improvisations of the studio recording for fiery readings of two previously unrecorded pieces as well as the breakneck “At Harmony” which Hemphill utilized in various arrangements over the years. “Air Rings” by a quartet with Carroll, Philip Wilson and guitarist Jehri Riley presages the oblique angularities that Hemphill would explore in the 80s with his JAH Band with a heady solo by the trumpet player while also showcasing Wilson’s spry, polyrhythmic sensibility.

Disc 3’s documentation of sets by The Janus Company, a trio with Carroll and a then-21-year-old Cline on drums, is a revelation. The open form of the pieces like “#4” allow for probing playing by all three and the interplay between the two horn players and Cline’s spare, finely-wrought vigor. The disc is capped off by a live recording of a set by the trio joined by Abdul Wadud and here, the music takes on a spirited intensity. The circuitous collective improvisation segues into an abstracted jaunt through “Dogon AD,” a standout of the box.

The final disc of the set captures a live performance by a quartet of Hemphill, Carroll, Dave Holland and Jack DeJohnette from 1979 at a small venue in Woodstock, NY when all four were living in the area. Though this was never a regularly working unit, their extended improvisations taking off on three of Hemphill’s pieces are gripping. The four quickly establish a jubilant collective balance, leaving ample room for solos and group interaction. Holland is in fine form and the recording does a great job of capturing his lissome arco playing and gamboling sense of pulse at play off of DeJohnette’s orchestral textures and supple drive. Carroll and Hemphill are strikingly charged for the performance, each delivering torrid solos and reflective ensemble collaboration throughout.

Solo and Text

Julius Hemphill · The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony by Julius Hemphill

Any assessment of solo saxophone improvisation demands that one spend time spent digging into Hemphill’s discography. With Blue Boyé and Roi Boyé and the Gotham Minstrels, the reed player threw himself into explorations of structures he developed for both unaccompanied and multi-tracked saxophone. The pieces revealed a keen formative ear, stripping his compositional approach to their elemental frameworks. From his early days in St. Louis, Hemphill also dove in to collaborations with poets, pitting his solo excursions against the fueled narratives of writers like Watts Writers Workshop poet K. Curtis Lyle and dramatist Malinké Elliott. Disc 5 begins and ends with solo excursions, bookending live performances of Hemphill with Lyle and Elliott. While the set with Lyle is gripping throughout, the set with Elliott is dazzling, capturing multi-tracked musings constructed from “Bells,” a recording of a structure of resonant metal played with mallets and sticks at a salvage yard in Oregon, Hemphill’s horn and Elliott’s readings of text that draws on Ralph Ellison’s novel Invisible Man as a meditation on the Soweto Youth Uprising in 1976. The 22-minute suite moves across five “voices,” from orator to hipster to preacher, each positing a differing viewpoint of underlying dissent and frustration, notably the chilling skronk of “Soweto 1976 A Suite in Five Voices Part V Carnival Barker.” Listening to the closing “Solo Soprano Saxophone with Bells recording” is a teaser for a full-blown album that was never to be realized.

Duos

Julius Hemphill · The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony by Julius Hemphill

Hemphill made a handful of great duo recordings including meetings with Oliver Lake, Warren Smith and Peter Kowald. But his partnership with Abdul Wadud was one of his most long-lasting and most fruitful. The two made two recordings, both of which are long out-of-print, so it is particularly welcome that Disc 2 contains an entire set of their partnership. While the provenance of the recordings is unknown, Ehrlich found the cello parts for five of the pieces which appear to be written specifically for the duo. Ehrlich describes the pieces in the booklet for the set, noting that “Chromatic, open-ended melodic lines are placed in contrasting juxtapositions. The music has a sense of abstraction, while individual gestures evoke melodies known and felt. All of this sets up a charged emotional space for the improvisations to unfold.” The two navigate the countervailing parts with spirited zeal, moving seamlessly between unrestrained melodicism, bounding groove, thorny angularity, infectious free funk and hurtling intensity. They are entirely in synch throughout, their voices intertwined, prodding the pieces forward while leaving ample space for each other’s arcing flights. Hemphill touches on free-bop runs at times while Wadud moves in and out of the pocket, tossing off flittering pizzicato lines then diving off into flights of fiery arco. While all of the pieces are prime Hemphill, Ehrlich notes that none of the pieces from this set appear anywhere else in the archive or on commercial recordings, another element that makes this disc significant.

Composition

Julius Hemphill · The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony by Julius Hemphill

During Hemphill’s last decade, he received a few commissions to compose music for chamber ensembles, though these pieces were scantily recorded or performed. Disc 4 documents two performances of these works, one from 1987 at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston and another from 1981 at Soundscape in Manhattan. The disc kicks off with “Parchment,” a solo piano piece written for and performed by his partner Ursula Oppens. Hemphill rarely utilized piano in his groups, but here, he plies shard-like chords as fragmented, lyrical motifs emerge with unhurried deliberation. Hemphill’s arrangements of Mingus pieces for string quartet included here might seem an anomaly until one thinks about the arrangements of Ellington/Strayhorn pieces he did for World Saxophone Quartet. Recasting Mingus’ potent melodies for string quartet is a bit of a mixed bag. While he revels in the lush harmonic depth of the instrumentation, it’s only on his chart for “Better Get Hit in Your Soul” that things really click due in main part to the funky cello line that goads things along. The two extended pieces for mixed wind and brass quintet are much stronger. The expanded instrumental palette offers the composer timbral depth with John Purcell and Ehrlich moving back and forth between saxophones and clarinets, the pairing of Purcell on oboe with Janet Grice’s bassoon and trumpet player Bruce Purse and Ray Anderson on trombone and tuba filling out the tonal range. The groups attacks the arrangements with unbridled swagger, especially when the pieces open up for sections of improvisation which the group jumps on. Hemphill honed these skills with his large ensemble, his saxophone sextet and in his piece Long Tongues and one wonders where this avenue might have led had he lived longer.

Any of these discs, taken separately, would be a welcome addition to Hemphill’s discography. Taken together, they provide a wide-ranging, illuminating view even to those who’ve long immersed themselves in his music. Ehrlich concludes the booklet notes with this quote from the reed player. “This music is blues-driven. In terms of what has gone on before. Now where it goes from here — where it is going from here — may not be the same thing, ’cause it has to change, or it’ll die in my opinion. You know what I mean? The traditions keep on turning over! People keep looking rearward for the tradition. The tradition in this music is forward! Forward! Not what you did last week, but this week! You see what I’m saying? Now . . . that’s a hard road.” Diving in to the seven discs of The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony, one is struck by how much Hemphill championed that tenet throughout his career and, indeed, drove the tradition forward in all of his artistic pursuits.

Michael Rosenstein

#julius hemphill #The Boyé Multi-National Crusade for Harmony #new world records #dusted magazine #albumreview #box set #michael rosenstein #jazz #free jazz #improvised music

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ironfidus · 4 years

Text

Every Fifteen Minutes (1)

Summary:

“In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker,” the obituary reads. “2001 - 2017. Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony can't finish reading. He swears his heart stops. “FRIDAY,” he croaks.

He doesn’t have to finish the order; FRIDAY, as if reading his mind, activates his Iron Man suit and sends it to envelop his body. Tony is shooting through the skies before he even fully realizes it.

OR: Peter Parker was in a car crash—except... he wasn’t. One forgetful Spider-Kid, one sleepy best friend, and one misleading post on social media all lead to a disastrous turn of events, culminating in the arrival of an unexpected guest at Midtown High.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty)

:::

Chapter 1: count the ways I let you down

Every fifteen minutes, someone dies from an alcohol-related collision.

:::

“The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them.”

—L.J. Smith

:::

“All right, class,” Roger Harrington calls out over the sound of murmuring students. He is standing impatiently at the front of the classroom, leaning back against his desk as he flips through a pile of pamphlets in his hands. “Settle down.”

The students either don’t hear him or are simply content with ignoring him, continuing to chatter amongst themselves.

Did Ms. Warren assign us any homework for tomorrow?

Oh my god, did you hear about Lucas and Brooke? Apparently they broke up—

Can you believe what she’s wearing—

“I said settle down!” Mr. Harrington barks, restraint snapping in half. His students descend into a hush immediately, scrambling to attention with more than a little annoyance. Truthfully, despite his show of impatience, Mr. Harrington can’t find it in himself to blame them: it is their last class of the day, their “advisory period” as it’s named on their schedule, and it is typically the one period in the week where they can simply sit back and relax with their friends. He himself is dismayed by the disruption to their regularly scheduled programming (read: their “chill time” as Jason calls it)—he’s tired of dealing with students 24/7, damnit, and he needs a break, so sue him—but Principal Morita personally approached him with instructions earlier in the day, and he can’t exactly disobey.

So like any good teacher, Mr. Harrington shoves down his exhaustion and schools his face into a mild smile. “A few weeks from now, we will be participating in an educational program known as Every Fifteen Minutes,” he announces. “It is designed to teach students the severe, life-changing consequences of drinking and driving.”

The students burst out into hushed whispers. No doubt they all remember this program from the previous year, though it will be their first time participating. Mr. Harrington sends them all a pointed look, and they dutifully quiet once more.

“Now, for today,” he continues once he has their undivided attention, “all of you will be using this period to choose one person in your class who you admire. I will be passing out blank sheets of paper shortly. As soon as you receive one, please write down the name of your chosen classmate, and a short paragraph detailing your reason for picking them.”

Betty Brant’s hand immediately shoots up. Mr. Harrington stifles a sigh, giving her a halfhearted nod that signals go on, and she promptly asks, “What does this exercise have to do with the program?”

Mr. Harrington’s smile grows strained. “You’ll find out why we’re doing this later on in the program,” he replies vaguely. Before anyone else can come up with any questions, Mr. Harrington says stiffly, “Let’s get started.”

He sets the pamphlets back down onto his desk—they’ll come in handy later—and picks up another pile of paper; this time, the blank sheets he promised earlier. He hands the pile to the student at the front of the class, and immediately retreats to his seat as his students begin passing out paper to each other.

His part done, Mr. Harrington happily returns to grading last week’s tests, blissfully tuning out his restless students as they go about their task.

Once everyone has a blank sheet of paper in front of them, the voices recede to a trickle once more as they all rack their brains for a name. Some students steal considering glances around the room, appraising their classmates in their minds.

Peter Parker, Midtown High’s awkward disaster by day and Queens’ beloved Spider-Man by night, doesn’t need to give it any thought. He plucks a pen from out of his pencil case and immediately begins writing about his best friend.

Ned’s been my best friend since I was seven years old. I’d just transferred to Midtown after losing my parents, and as soon as I met him, he took me by the hand and invited me to play on the monkey bars with him. I wasn’t very good at it, but he kept inviting me anyway. It was the first time I smiled since my parents’ funeral. Since then, Ned has given me a thousand more reasons to smile. That is why I admire him: no matter what, Ned never loses hope or happiness. He always looks on the bright side, and…

Beside him, Ned is putting pen to paper just as easily, his choice coming naturally to him as well. He wishes he could write about Spider-Man—write about how his best friend is a real-life hero, how his best friend unhesitatingly puts his life at risk every night to fight crime, how his best friend swung into his room last night with a bleeding wound but also a blinding smile because there was this woman, Ned, and she needed my help, I couldn’t just do nothing!

But he knows Peter keeps his identity a secret for a reason, so Ned locks that desire away firmly. It’s not as if he can’t think of tons to write about, anyway, even with Spider-Man out of the question. After all, even before he discovered his best friend’s alter ego, he’s always known Peter is special. Because even before Spider-Man, Peter was already the strongest, most resilient, most selfless person Ned knew.

(Peter Parker was a hero long before Spider-Man was born.)

Peter’s had a difficult life. Time after time, life kicks him down and refuses to let him up. He lost his parents at such a young age, and then his uncle a few years later. But no matter what life throws at him, Peter always, always gets up. He never stops trying; he never stops fighting. I admire him because of his unyielding tenacity and his refusal to give in to life’s cruelties. Despite the hardships he’s faced, Peter is still the kindest, happiest person I know. He’s always willing to lend others a hand in whatever way he can…

:::

“Time’s up!” Mr. Harrington announces seconds before the bell rings. The students let out a quiet cheer as they drop their pens and gather their bags, and Mr. Harrington allows himself a small smile of his own. Still, he doesn’t let them run off quite yet. “I hope you’ve all finished writing your paragraphs,” he warns before they can rush out.

Their mumbled agreements make him roll his eyes. “All right, all right, I won’t keep you any longer,” he relents. “On your way out, please pick up one of these Every Fifteen Minutes pamphlets”—he taps the pile of pamphlets with his pen—“and make sure to read those over sometime during the next couple of weeks. That’ll be all, class.”

:::

The students had it easy, Mr. Harrington muses to himself as he shuffles through the papers with their choices. He, along with the other teachers, are required to stay after school hours and assess each student’s note to determine which of the kids should be selected to participate in the program as a “casualty.”

Principal Morita advised them to choose a popular, well-liked kid to ensure that the effects of Every Fifteen Minutes are profound and widely-felt. If it’s a popular kid you want, Mr. Harrington thinks, the choice is obvious.

As if to confirm his thoughts, his eyes fall onto the note at the top of the pile and zero in on the name Flash Thompson.

Eugene “Flash” Thompson, arguably one of the most popular students in his class due to his parents’ wealth and his own sophisticated attitude, has created a “following” for himself within the halls of Midtown High. His cronies tend to stick to Flash like glue, following their ringleader around like thoughtless ducks. But as popular as Flash is, Mr. Harrington feels reluctant to pick him. He doubts Flash fits the criteria of “well-liked” amongst the majority of his peers, despite his popularity. Flash is a bully of the “high school jackass” variety, and his snobbish attitude repels just as many people as it attracts, if not more.

Mr. Harrington shakes his head and tucks the note with Flash’s name under all of the other papers. He resigns himself to a long afternoon of sorting through the notes, keeping an eye out for any recurring not-Flash names. The faster he finishes, the sooner he’ll be able to go home.

Betty, Cindy, Charles, Flash again, Abe, Seymour, another Flash, Ned… Mr. Harrington perks up slightly. The note dedicated to Ned Leeds is noticeably longer than all the rest before it, and Mr. Harrington recognizes the handwriting as belonging to Peter Parker immediately.

Teachers aren’t supposed to have a favorite. That is the unspoken rule. But there is also an unspoken footnote to that unspoken rule that goes like this: Teachers might not be supposed to have a favorite, but they do anyway. As long as the students don’t know, well, it can’t hurt anyone.

Peter Parker is without a doubt Mr. Harrington’s star student. Friendly and polite to everyone, Peter is a beacon of light in his class, one that everyone—even those who resent him, like Flash—can recognize. Even without Peter’s conscious effort, his generosity and thoughtfulness draw his classmates to him like moths to a flame.

Besides his obvious goodness, Peter is also achingly smart. Ridiculously so. He is intelligent and creative and brilliant—but he never brags about it.

And sure, Peter has changed over the last few months, turning up to class later and later and sometimes even falling asleep in the middle of his lectures, but his grades never slack. Mr. Harrington can’t deny he’s worried about the boy. He’s heard all the rumors about Peter: he’s heard the other teachers discussing Peter’s sudden decision to resign from nearly all of his extracurriculars; he’s heard Coach Wilson muttering something about bruises and scars; he’s heard students in the hallway giggling over Flash’s proclamations that Peter is a liar pretending to intern for Stark Industries.

For the most part, Mr. Harrington lets the rumors flow in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t like judging his students or making assumptions, after all. But even he can’t ignore some of the signs. He sent Peter to the guidance counselor a few weeks ago after Peter fell asleep during Academic Decathlon and woke up screaming after everyone else went home, but the rest is out of Harrington’s hands. He isn’t allowed to pry, he knows that.

That doesn’t stop him from fretting, though.

He sighs and redirects his gaze to Peter’s note. Out of curiosity—wondering what kind of traits someone as pure as Peter Parker would admire—Mr. Harrington pushes his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and reads the whole note.

…he never fails to make me laugh or smile. Ned is one of the best and brightest things in my life. I’m lucky to have him as my best friend.

Mr. Harrington exhales softly, the breath rushing out with an awed sort of wonder. Peter’s note about Ned is heartfelt and sentimental, nothing like the snatches of she's cute and she always wears the most fashionable outfits or I think he's really smart he caught glimpses of from the other notes.

Setting aside Peter’s note about Ned for now, Mr. Harrington flicks through the rest of the notes until he finds Ned’s note—unsurprisingly for Peter. He pulls it out of the stack, smoothing it out on top of the other notes.

…and even though he’s had it hard, Peter never takes it out on anyone else. He embodies compassion with everything he does. I know I am grateful for him, always.

Mr. Harrington will later swear, on his life, that he wasn’t affected by the notes. But here in the relative privacy of the empty classroom, as he bears witness to Peter and Ned’s mutual devotion to one another, his eyes begrudgingly start to burn.

These kids, he suppresses a groan, blinking rapidly. He is an adult, for god’s sake. He doesn’t get mushy over touching words anymore. They’re going to be the death of me.

It is undeniable, though, that the loss of either boy will leave a crippling impact on the other and the rest of the class. Even if no one else chose Ned or Peter, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind; he’s seen the two boys’ influence on their classmates. Sure, they can both be shy and quiet at times, reserved, but the two have become irrevocably entangled in the lives of their peers. Peter, for example, never fails to provide a spot of cheer during his classes with Mr. Harrington; more often than not, Peter would spend half the class maneuvering around the tables at his classmates’ behest, occasionally bending down to talk one of his peers through a difficult problem. Ned, too, is a bright presence in the classroom, never failing to coax his classmates into raucous laughter after one of his jokes.

One of the two will probably be the best bet for the program, Mr. Harrington decides. But which one? Peter or Ned?

Mr. Harrington groans, shooting the clock a backwards glance. 4 p.m., he acknowledges to himself. He’s already spent upwards of half an hour agonizing over this choice, and he just wants to go home.

Looking back at the stack, his eyes catch on to the note right below Ned’s. The name Flash Thompson peeks out, barely visible at the corner of the note.

Slowly, a smile settles on Mr. Harrington’s face.

Again, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind. He’s long since been aware of Flash’s tendency to pick on (read: bully) Peter. Unfortunately, when Mr. Harrington went to Principal Morita with his concerns, Morita simply dismissed him without a second thought, citing the Thompsons’ excessive donations to the school as an excuse to let it go. At the time, Mr. Harrington merely gritted his teeth and gracefully bowed out of the principal’s office, resigned to keeping his silence despite the regret sinking in his stomach.

But now…

Mr. Harrington is just a teacher. There is nothing he can do on his own, not against a pair of wealthy parents or the principal. But there is nothing to say he can’t indirectly teach Flash a lesson.

This, this he can do.

Perhaps if Flash is forced to imagine walking down their school hallways without a hint of Peter Parker anywhere for the rest of his school days, he’ll realize Peter’s value and the faults of his actions. Perhaps if Flash sees how short and finite life is, he’ll see his wrongs.

Mr Harrington can only hope so, anyway.

:::

‘Every Fifteen Minutes’

“The Every 15 Minutes Program offers real-life experiences without the real-life risks. This emotionally charged program, entitled Every 15 Minutes, is an event designed to dramatically instill into teenagers the potentially dangerous consequences of drinking alcohol and texting while driving. This powerful program will challenge students to think about drinking, texting while driving, personal safety, and the responsibility of making mature decisions when lives are involved…”

:::

Three weeks later, the program truly begins. The principal makes sure to issue a warning beforehand to prevent any genuine panic from breaking out (the teachers learned that the hard way last year). With the reassurance that it isn’t real, many students see the two-day period scheduled for the program as a chance to take a break from their classes and unwind.

They know what is going to happen. They know it will all be fake. No one is actually dying.

But sometimes, “knowing” doesn’t really equate to “understanding” or “believing,” and the subconscious tends to work in strange ways.

Despite the principal’s briefing, the students find themselves unprepared for the emotional upheaval that surges in them with each and every student’s "death". Every fifteen minutes, a participating deputy officer enters a different classroom and takes away one student. After the student’s removal, another police officer enters the classroom to read out a prepared obituary to the silence of the class. The obituary would be posted at the front of the classroom, and that would be that.

The chosen student wouldn’t return to classes for the rest of the day. Their notable absence from their usual routine is supposed to “simulate the feeling of loss that the other students would experience in the event of a real death,” or so the pamphlet claims.

And it works.

Some students cry, loud and blubbering, as their friends are pulled out of the room. Others are silent, disquieted, as they try to imagine what it would be like if their classmate were really dead, immediately feeling dread and tragedy seep into them.

They’re only kids. Most of them have never even felt the effects of death before.

(They’re lucky. So, so lucky.)

Finally, an hour before classes break for lunch, an officer enters Mr. Harrington’s classroom. “Peter Parker,” he calls out, eyes flicking briefly to the card he’s holding. “Mr. Parker?” he repeats in the ensuing silence.

“I’m here,” Peter replies, a little surprised as he stands up, inwardly fighting to ignore the stares of his classmates. He didn’t expect to be chosen. He likes to be invisible, to stay in the background and blend in, and this is the complete opposite of “blending in.”

“Mr. Parker,” the officer offers him a sympathetic smile. “Please gather your things. You won’t be returning today.”

The finality of the words you won’t be returning settles like a death knell in the classroom, and the hard edge is only barely softened by the comfort of today. Peter can already hear Betty, one of the most sensitive and empathetic of all his classmates, begin to sniffle.

Fighting the urge to glance back at Betty and reassure her, Peter nods politely at the officer. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges with a respect that has been drilled into him by his aunt. He hurriedly shoves his pencil case and books into his bag and slings the backpack over one shoulder. He takes a moment to make sure his phone and his watch are both safe on his person –

Hold on. My watch. Peter’s eyes fixate on his wrist—his bare wrist—with growing horror. Where is it? Where did I leave it?

Mr. Stark will kill him if he’s somehow managed to lose his multimillion dollar StarkWatch. Make sure to keep it on you at all times, you hear me, Parker? Tony had threatened upon gifting it to Peter one rainy day. It cost me a fortune—I promise it’s more expensive than you. Just kidding. Not really, but that doesn’t matter. Just – wear it always, please? It’ll monitor your vitals for me, so I’ll be able to check that you’re alive and not, I don’t know, bleeding out in an alleyway or something. I have heart problems, you know.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, Peter thinks now. How the heck am I going to explain this one? He’d sworn to Mr. Stark that he’d never take the watch off except to—

Oh. Oh.

(“KAREN, remind me to put my watch back on tomorrow morning, yeah?” Peter says aloud to his AI, attaching his StarkWatch to the charging case it came with. It’s the first time he’s had to charge it so far—he doesn’t know how its battery has been able to last this long, but somehow he’s not entirely surprised, given that it is Tony Stark’s creation—and he’s more than a little concerned that his forgetfulness and Parker Luck are going to rear their ugly heads at the same time.

“Of course, Peter,” KAREN hums in reply.)

Peter calms down and resists the urge to facepalm. Of course he’d ended up forgetting it at home, even after making a genuine effort to remember to wear it. He briefly wonders how he could have missed KAREN’s notification before shrugging it off. He’ll just put it back on tonight, before going on patrol. Tony had designed the watch with Spider-Man’s trouble-magnet tendencies in mind, after all; he’s pretty sure Peter Parker can live without it for one day.

God, he must really be out of it if he managed to go half a day without realizing the heavy watch—not literally heavy, because it’s a StarkWatch and Mr. Stark is nothing if not efficient, but metaphorically heavy with the weight of Mr. Stark’s expectations—is missing from his wrist. Peter feels a yawn building in his chest and thinks, yep, still out of it. Between a long patrol spanning from late night yesterday to the early hours of the morning today, and back-to-back science and math classes with droning teachers who refused to let him nap, today has been hell.

Peter raises a hand to his mouth and stifles a yawn. Maybe I can rest my eyes for a bit now that I’m being taken out of class, he thinks hopefully. Worries about his missing StarkWatch abated and fighting drowsiness, he dutifully follows the officer out of the classroom without another word.

Mere moments later, a different officer enters the room, false obituary in hand. She stands behind Mr. Harrington’s desk as if it is a podium, and recites solemnly, “Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver. He was born on the 10th of August, 2001 in Queens, New York City, to Mary and Richard Parker. Peter is survived by his aunt, May Parker, as well as his close friends Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.”

Betty sniffles louder. His aunt, she keens in a hushed whisper to any who will listen. The only family he has left is his aunt. If he – if he were really dead, she’d be all alone—!

Her best friend, Cindy, reaches out between their desks and grips Betty’s hand tightly, like an anchor, a lifeline.

“At the time of his death, he was enrolled at Midtown High, where he touched many lives with his generosity and passion for life,” the officer continues, moving on to the next part of the obituary. Even as she reads, she keeps one eye on the students, her heart twinging briefly; she isn’t a mother herself—she doesn’t have kids to call her own—but she’s had to face the devastated parents of child victims before. She’s had to face child victims, period. It’s never a pretty sight. “A member of Midtown High’s Academic Decathlon, he displayed an unparalleled knack for solving problems and thinking outside the box. Peter truly lived life to the fullest through chasing simple pleasures: chatting with friends and family, eating takeout with his aunt, and reviewing any and all sci-fi themed movies. Peter had an uncanny ability to reach people in a deep and positive way; he was bright and energetic, and he was known for his tendency to help others.”

She pauses, her words sinking into the room savagely, raking through the students like a claw.

A few more students have started to shake at the sound of her words, and the image they paint—a dark-skinned boy in the corner, blinking rapidly at the mention of Peter’s tendency to help others; an Asian girl with pin-straight hair, biting her lip at the allusion to Peter’s brilliance; another boy, squeezing his eyes shut and looking away at the memory of Peter’s enthusiastic personality.

She shakes her head to clear the hesitation and adds, trying to maintain a facade of ruthless indifference: “He will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and all who knew him.”

And that final sentence, punching into the stillness of the room, makes it all so real.

The tension in the room crumbles, much like Betty Brant does in her seat, dissolving into breathless tears. Much like Abe Brown does, burying his face in his hands and refusing to look up. Much like Cindy Moon does, trembling minutely in her chair as she remembers Peter Parker, his smile twinkling brightly at her like the north star.

The officer trails off at last, and the room is left in silence as she gathers her composure and posts the obituary at the front of the room. The obituary has been professionally forged, made to appear real and foreboding—indeed, the dark borderings of the paper, the official lettering, and the sharp, crisp black ink all drive a nail into the proverbial coffin.

Listen, the obituary seems to whisper at them, vicious. Pay attention. You could lose him.

Without another word, the officer exits the room and flees the morose stares of the students. With the officer gone, all that is left is the obituary. There is no other sign that Peter Parker’s alleged death ever occurred, except on the faces of those he “left behind.”

And in the empty space where he would have been sitting, smiling, laughing.

(Already, they are feeling the effects of loss, their usually boisterous gossip never starting up. Normally, Mr. Harrington would be glad for the reprieve. But today, he looks at his students, sitting dazed and numb in the midst of Peter’s stark absence, and just sighs.)

(Amidst the haze of sorrow, amidst the uncertainty, Ned Leeds slumbers on in blissful ignorance, having missed the entire scene as well as the principal’s disclaimer. Ned doesn’t usually sleep during class, he swears; he always tries to pay attention out of respect for his teachers, if nothing else.

But today, he can’t muster the energy to feign awareness. He’s tired, the liveliness sucked out of his soul after an exhausting night spent hunched above his computer, splitting his attention between listening to the police radio chatter and prattling on about any reported incidents to his web-slinging best friend.

He loves being Peter’s guy in the chair. That fact is uncontested. And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

So Ned figures that if he has to miss a few hours of class to catch up on his much-needed sleep, then it’s worth it. What harm can it do, anyway? It’s not like he’s missing anything important.)

:::

It isn’t until the bell rings, calling for lunch time, that the students finally snap out of their stupor and Ned finally jerks awake. He yawns drowsily and blinks the sleep from his eyes, turning to Peter’s seat beside him. “Hey, Peter—”

Ned falls quiet, frowning in surprise when he doesn’t find Peter. Mumbling in confusion, he looks closer and realizes that Peter’s bags have disappeared, too. “What the—? Did he go to the cafeteria already?” he ponders aloud and tilts his head in confusion; he and Peter always get their lunch together. He can’t think of any reason why Peter wouldn’t have waited for him, especially since MJ is out sick today, leaving Peter with no one else to walk to the cafeteria with.

But where else would Peter be?

Finally, Ned just shrugs, figuring he can ferret out the why of it all later when he catches up to Peter in the lunch line. He gathers his bags in his hands and leaves the room, still puzzling over Peter’s disappearance. In his distraction, he completely misses the other students’ conversation about the very person he is seeking.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to get so emotional,” Cindy is saying to Betty. “It feels like Peter’s really gone.”

Betty nods rapidly. “I know! I mean, I guess that’s the point—to make us realize how serious this issue is. But it feels – weird, y’know? It’s not as if Peter speaks a lot normally—it isn’t any quieter now than it would be if he were still here—but he’s still an important, integral part of this class. I can’t imagine our class without him.”

“Pfft.” The derisive snort comes from Flash, who scrunches his nose at them as he overhears their murmurs. “We’re better off without that loser, anyway,” he says viciously, cuttingly.

“Wha— Flash!” Cindy scolds, straightening in her seat in anger. She was usually shy and timid, preferring to keep to herself, but her emotions run hot. Whenever she snaps, she does so with explosive force. “For once in your life, try not to be such an asshole,” she fumes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if he were really dead.”

Flash just harrumphs at that, turning up his nose with a sniff.

Cindy’s eyes glint with indignation. “Come on, Flash, stop—”

“Cindy,” Betty interjects with a pointed hum, resting a hand on her friend’s forearm. She shoots Cindy a significant look and herds the other girl to her feet. “Forget Flash. Let’s just go.”

“What?” Cindy blinks. “Betty, didn’t you hear what he said? How can you just—?”

“He isn’t worth it,” Betty shakes her head, the words cruel and dismissive, but the coldness of her gaze gentles when it sweeps past Flash again. She doesn’t say it now—doesn’t expose Flash—but she can’t forget what she saw earlier, as the officer was reading out Peter’s obituary: Flash, hunched in on himself in his corner seat, eyes downcast and red-rimmed. Flash is far more rattled by this program than he lets on, but if he wants to pretend to be a jerk to feel better about himself, Betty isn’t going to stop him.

They all have a lot to think about, after all, after today.

Cindy grumbles in annoyance, but begrudgingly follows Betty out of the room.

Flash waits until they’re both gone and he’s left alone in the sanctuary of the classroom before he lets the sneer fall from his face. Without his permission, his eyes automatically dart back to the obituary on the board.

Goddamn Parker, he thinks, stomping down his guilt. He’s never bothered to make things right with Peter, never bothered to apologize and reach out and try, but…

No. What am I thinking? Don’t be ridiculous, Flash. He’s not dead. He’s not.

When he looks back up, grappling with anger at Peter and anger at himself, he realizes he’s subconsciously made his way to the front of the room, stopping only when he’s directly in front of the obituary.

He gazes at it critically. Peter looks... happy in the picture chosen for the obituary. Then again, Flash thinks, Parker is rarely ever not happy. The only times he’s ever seen Peter without a smile are – shit – when Flash is teasing him. Flash doesn’t even know why he does it, really.

Well, no, that isn’t true. He does know.

Somehow, some way, despite the background he comes from, Peter seems to have everything he wants. (Everything Flash wants.)

Peter doesn’t come from money, Flash knows this—he knows this in the way Peter’s shoes never change even as they begin to fall apart, held together only by duct tape; he knows it in the way Peter goes through the same rotation of science pun t-shirts every once in a while; he knows it in the way Peter’s jeans still have the same stains from months ago, from when Flash shoved his lunch into his lap; he knows it in the way Ned always offers Peter half of his lunch everyday.

Flash knows Peter’s aunt struggles to make ends meet.

And yet Peter is still so irritatingly cheerful, day after day. He has friends, too—real friends the likes of which Flash wouldn’t be able to recognize. Ned and MJ don’t stick by Peter because of his riches or his reputation, not like Flash’s friends do.

And most of all, Peter is frustratingly intelligent. He has the Decathlon position Flash yearns for, he has the teachers’ favor (Flash sees the way Ms. Warren and Mr. Harrington smile whenever Peter raises his hand and blurts out the correct answer with record speed, even if Peter had noticeably barely been paying attention beforehand), he has the effortless straight-As.

He even has an aunt who loves him. On nights where Flash’s jealousy gets really, really ugly, Flash can’t help but think that Peter has more family than he does, despite his losses. Peter may have lost his parents and his uncle, but his aunt genuinely adores him, in ways Flash’s parents never have. The disparity has become obvious over the years: every time they have a Decathlon competition, Peter always has someone to cheer him on—a familiar vision of long brown hair and Go Peter Parker! banners and excited squeals—even though Flash has no doubt that May Parker is endlessly busy paying off the bills.

Flash’s parents are nowhere near as busy, and yet they have never once shown up to one of his competitions. And sure, he’s just an alternate, but he’s still part of the team. He wishes his parents could appreciate that.

So. Flash is jealous. He hates it, but – he doesn’t understand Peter. He doesn’t get what Peter has that he doesn’t; what makes Peter better than him.

He can’t accept it.

(So he lashes out. He lashes out and lashes out and lashes out, using Peter’s shame and pain as a balm for his own wounds.

It doesn’t help, not really. But it makes him feel powerful. It gives him control, the sort of control he’s never had in his own home where his mother is always flitting in and out like a flighty butterfly attracted to shinier things and his father is always filling the silence with drunken shouts, and Flash can’t bring himself to stop.)

Malice and self-loathing burning within him in equal measure, the opposing sides of the same coin mingling until the lines are blurred and the two are indistinguishable, Flash pushes his guilt into a vault and locks it in, firmly. There’s no way I feel bad for Penis Parker, he tells himself sharply. He deserves it. Someone has to show him his place, after all. Besides, I have nothing to be sorry for. He’s not even dead.

And so Flash does what he does best: he lashes out again.

Without a word, he digs his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the obituary, Peter’s name emblazoned prominently under his picture. He logs into his Twitter account and attaches the picture to a new post, thumbs flying rapidly across the keyboard as he types out a pithy caption with harsh, angry jabs. By the time the photo has been uploaded (accompanied by the acerbic words as if anyone would even miss parker, lol), his fingers are squeezing the phone so tightly it feels like it will leave a permanent dent in his skin.

(There’s no way Flash could have known the domino effect his actions would spark. He has no idea the disaster he’s courting by posting that obituary—and without any sort of disclaimer, no less. He doesn’t even spare a moment of thought for the possible ramifications of his post.

Truthfully, Flash isn’t thinking at all when he acts, the only thing driving him his contempt.)

:::

Tony Stark is in a board meeting when it happens. He’s barely paying attention as it is, leaning back slightly and scrolling through his phone beneath the table with the ease of someone who’s done so a thousand times before. He can sense Pepper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but no one else seems to notice his distracted state, so he ignores her palpable annoyance. He can just get FRIDAY to replay the highlights of the meeting for him later, anyway.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts with a smooth whirr, startling the board members. “Protocol: On the Web has been triggered.”

Tony jerks upright as if yanked by a leash, nearly losing his grip on his phone in his shock. Protocol: On the Web was designed to screen the internet for any mention of Peter Parker’s name, or any emergence of his face. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, sliding his phone into his pocket and swiping his hand across the air to signal FRIDAY to open whatever had flagged her systems.

The board members are murmuring amongst themselves by now, and Pepper’s glare has darkened, but Tony doesn’t even notice, his heart thundering in his chest. If Peter’s secret identity has been endangered—

Tony blinks.

It’s a Twitter post.

With more than a little confusion and wariness, his eyes take in the caption first: as if anyone would even miss parker, lol.

Tony’s gut churns at the callousness of the words, an intangible and unfathomable dread sinking its claws into his soul. He can’t quite understand why those words make his heart stutter in his chest, until—

Until he can.

There’s a picture of the kid above the heartless caption. Of his kid. Peter’s smiling up at him, curls as messy and unkempt as ever, freckles dusting his cheeks in a way that makes Tony want to squeeze. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are as wide and innocent as they always are, gleaming with the cheer of youth even from the other side of a screen.

And beneath the picture:

In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker.

2001 - 2017.

And Tony’s heart stops. His world starts to fall apart at the seams.

He can’t think. Can’t breathe. He collapses into his seat like the air’s been punched out of him, like he’s a marionette and his strings have been cut.

No. No no no—

Oh, god. Not him. He can’t be gone.

Please don’t take him away from me—

Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to all else as he stares blankly—uncomprehendingly—at the picture. Beyond the ringing in his ears, Tony can hear a broken, strangled wail—

It takes him a belated moment to realize the wail came from him.

“Tony—” Pepper’s voice is muddled in his ears.

Tony’s standing before he even realizes what he’s doing. He pushes his chair back, staggering away from the table of board members staring at him in confusion, as if Tony’s gone mad when Tony’s pretty sure they’re the ones who are insane, to act as if the world is still spinning, as if anything else matters. “I have to – I have to go—” he chokes out, fumbling with his wristwatch until the Iron Man suit starts assembling around his body in a familiar process that does nothing to ground him. “Pep—”

He turns to her in a panic, but he doesn’t have to worry: she’s already nodding in understanding and agreement as she leans in to see FRIDAY’s alert, her face pale and ashen, one hand clapped over her mouth as if to stifle a cry.

(Pepper has always loved Peter.)

“Go,” is all she says, but he’s never heard her voice like that before: like her reality is collapsing all around her and she’s helpless to keep it together.

(Maybe he’s the one who’s helpless.)

A few board members startle, exclaiming in protest.

Tony turns, ready to yell at them until they understand that his world’s just stopped, can’t they see, but Pepper is already on it. “Family emergency,” she says, hoarse.

And any other time, Tony would have flushed and immediately tried to deny the implications of him and Peter being “family” with a stammer, all the while feeling warm that Pepper recognized them as so.

(Why did he always deny it? Why did he never just tell Peter how he felt?

Now, he’s lost the chance to. Peter will never know how much he loved him, how much he still loves him, because nothing can take this from Tony—

Peter will never realize.)

But this isn’t any other time, because Peter is—

Tony grits his teeth. He can’t finish the thought.

Instead, he angles himself towards the window and shoots off the ground, crashing through glass and soaring through the air with one destination in mind: “FRI,” he says, voice wrecked and unrecognizable even to his own ears, “plot a course to Midtown High.”

(Because god, it’s midday on an ordinary, unremarkable Thursday and Peter is supposed to be in school. He’s supposed to be safe.)

:::

The first thing he does is order—implore—FRIDAY to call Peter, the command hoarse and shaky in his voice. Terrified.

The phone rings once—

“Please,” Tony mouths, the plea loud and deafening in the cavern of his mind. It’s all he can hear, but no sound leaves him. He’s breathless, the air stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how to return himself to solid ground. “Please. Please please please pick up.”

He’s never felt like this before, like the fate of his entire world hinges on one thing, one person, one phone call—

—Twice—

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, almost like he’s too afraid to face reality, to watch the moment of its inevitable collapse. To watch the foundations of his universe crumble to ashes, just like—

No. He can’t be.

—It rings a third time—

A few days ago—mere days—Peter had sent Tony a flurry of memes, all punctuated by at least half a dozen exclamation marks and emojified laughter. Tony had indulgently gone through each meme, snorted a couple times, and then restrained himself to sending back one eye-roll and a disapproving don’t use your phone in class, kid.

Peter had sent back an eye-roll of his own.

At the time, Tony could never have imagined this—could never have imagined losing Peter. If he could have envisioned this, could have foreseen the unadulterated terror gripping his heart, he would never have told Peter to stop texting in class. He would have maybe sent a laughing emoji of his own and encouraged his rebellious use of his phone during school hours.

Maybe then, Peter would pick up now. Wouldn’t leave Tony hanging in the worst moment of his life.

But he can’t take back the text he’d sent, the reproving don’t use your phone, and now Tony’s helpless to do anything but hope against hope that—

—Ring—

Tony swallows. Don’t ignore me, he wants to yell, even though the call hasn’t connected and Peter can’t hear him. You’re not supposed to ignore me. You have to pick up—I need you to pick up—

I need you, period—

Please.

—his pleas go unheard, and the phone rings again—

The phone clicks.

“Hey!”

Tony’s heart lurches to his throat, hope soaring—

“It’s Peter here!” A familiar, shy giggle erupts on the other end of the line—the same giggle that typically sends a burst of warmth blooming across Tony’s chest. “Sorry I missed your call.”

Tony inhales sharply, finally recognizing Peter’s familiar voicemail greeting for what it is. Peter’s voice giggles again, but this time, it brings him no joy, no contented bliss; this time, it sends his heart crashing to the ground, hope withering like unprotected primroses in the blistering desert heat.

“Please leave a message at the beep. Or, you know, just send me a text like normal people. Unless this is Mr. Stark, in which case feel free to keep calling and prove your senior status.”

Normally, Peter’s voicemail message brings an amused smile to his lips, exasperation and fondness swelling within his chest in equal measure. Peter, he’d chide, how many times do I have to tell you to change your voicemail? I’m not ancient. I’m efficient.

Today, Peter’s teasing voice makes him choke on air, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Instead of affection, it is dread that pools inside him; he takes several deep breaths, trying hard to contain the fear, but as the phone beeps tauntingly, a vision of Peter flashes across his mind. He can almost imagine the wide, shit-eating grin that took over Peter’s face when he first recorded the voicemail greeting, lounging lazily on a hammock of webs hanging from his ceiling.

His tentative self-control shatters under the weight of that image, and his dread surges and spills over the edges, breaking through the dam that is his restraint.

“Peter,” he croaks, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Salvation on one side, damnation on the other. “Peter, where – where are you? You have to… you have to call me back when you get this. Please. I—please.”

The phone beeps again, mute in his ears, and Tony is empty. He has nothing left to give, nothing but fear and uncertainty and desperation and—

A dying hope. Please.

Silence. There’s no one to answer his calls, to reassure him and comfort him.

Tony falls and falls and falls. He watched the sharp, jagged rocks rush up to meet him, lets the tempestuous waves swallow him whole. There is no salvation here.

:::

It isn’t until he is only a few minutes away from Midtown High that Tony finally musters the courage to order FRIDAY to reopen the post. He doesn’t want to see it—he doesn't want to face it, Peter’s death—but he needs to know.

“Boss, are you sure?” FRIDAY asks, hesitant. Sometimes, Tony can’t help but think that she knows him better than he knows himself.

This time, he blunders on, ignoring her unspoken note of caution. “Do it, FRI,” he snaps, breathless, steeling himself for the worst.

After a beat, the picture pops up in his visor.

Tony bites his lip and lets his eyes drink in the words:

“Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony’s heart stops all over again. He can’t see beyond those words—see beyond 16 and died and car crash and drunk driver.

“No,” he says, and it comes out as a broken moan. “No.”

(Tony prepared for the worst, but this—

Nothing could have prepared him for this.)

Please, no.

A drunk driver. Drunk.

Ever the masochist, Tony can’t help but flash back to years into the past, his past, filled with an endless stream of alcohol and an equally endless line of reckless actions. Tony had been stupid as a teenager. Young and wild and dumb.

What if he never stopped? What if he never put down the bottle?

What if it was him who killed Peter?

He’d never forgive himself.

(He already can’t forgive himself.)

Tony sucks in a harsh breath that scrapes against the inner walls of his throat like the serrated edge of a knife. A long, long time ago, the men in his life liked to say: Stark men are made of iron.

Well, if Tony were made of iron, then he is bending and twisting, caving in on himself, turning brittle and cracking and shattering beneath the vicious, unforgiving hammer that is the words drunk driver staring mercilessly back at him.

Tony closes his eyes and wills the obituary away with a whispered command; he’s seen enough. FRIDAY wordlessly obeys, for once quiet and unresponsive in the suit, lacking her usual sarcastic gibes. If he doesn’t know any better, he’d say she’s in mourning.

Tony mourns. He mourns Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, in the wake of the words car crash and drunk driver stampeding through his mind like a broken record. He mourns Peter’s awkward rambles and giggling laughter, Peter’s childish innocence and overeager attitude, Peter’s earnest eyes and beaming grins, so blinding in their brilliance that not even the sun can hold a candle to them—or to Peter’s radiance.

He wishes he could see Peter smile one more time. He’s always loved Peter’s smiles.

But he can’t. Now, stranded here in a world that has let him down in the worst possible way, all he’s left with are memories, memories that have been tainted by an unfeeling report and car crash… drunk driver. An accident.

An accident.

God, it was an accident. Just an accident. How strange—laughable even, in a sick, twisted way—that being Spider-Man hadn’t killed the kid (his kid, Tony thinks of him as his), but that a car had.

How strange, Tony thinks, that after years and years of torment and heartbreak, after wilting under his father’s cruel (loveless) gaze and Stane’s betrayal (a betrayal years in the making) and Steve’s deception (his eyes void of recognition and warmth, his lips downturned, his voice silent as he turns away from Tony Stark for the last time and walks out of his life), it is this that breaks the great Tony Stark.

Except it isn’t strange at all. It isn’t strange when Tony lets himself dwell on Peter and the exact curve of his smile—shy and sweet and true—the sound of his high-pitched laughter (you sound constipated, Tony mocks, like a beached whale, and Peter shoves him away with yet another constipated laugh), the way he’d tuck himself into the loop of Tony’s arm when he’s feeling anxious, his eager demeanor and unashamed declarations of you’ve always been my hero, Mr. Stark. On the exact shade of Peter’s eyes—a warm hazelnut brown, like a mug of hot chocolate by the fireplace amidst the winter storm—on the shape of his birthmark, on the nervous stammer that often befalls him.

On his kindness and his thoughtfulness and the way he lives and loves and laughs without fear. On the light that shines so effortlessly from within him, threatening to blind Tony with its virtuous incandescence.

If he weren’t Iron Man, if FRIDAY weren’t keeping him safe and engulfed within his nitinol confines, Tony doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself upright.

(If FRIDAY didn’t auto-lock the suit whenever he’s in it, Tony would gladly let himself fall.)

(Funny how Tony planned for nearly every eventuality.

Keyword: nearly.

He built Peter’s suit to be strong enough to withstand anything. He built the suit to protect the kid—just a kid—from Captain America himself, from alien weapons, from hundred-feet falls, from even the relentless cold.

He’s never once imagined he’d have to protect Peter from a drunk driver. And, well—

And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.)

:::

(In the end, it takes less than half an hour to fly to Midtown High in the Iron Man suit.

It’s twenty minutes of flight.

It’s an eternity of torture.)

:::

Tony Stark has always known three things for certain:

One: Howard Stark is an asshole.

Two: He will never be able to repent for all the deaths his weapons have caused. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many more people he saves, it will never be enough to erase his sins or wash the blood from his hands.

And three: If Peter Parker were to die, a part of Tony would die with him.

:::

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

#marvel #mcu #iron dad #irondad and spiderson #spiderman #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #marvel fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #ned leeds #flash thompson #irondad angst #trope: presumed dead #faye writes

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